Her Body, His Words

By Dimitra Karapanagiotou, Hannah van der Wurff and Anne de Vries

There, on a bustling street in Brussels, dotted with bars and restaurants packed with people, walk Zoë and her friends. “Wait!” Zoë hears, and she turns around to see a man point at her behind and say, “there’s something falling out of your back pocket.” “What is it,” she urges the man while she reaches for her pockets. Her friends push for her to come along and ignore the man. As he approaches, still pointing at her behind, Zoë spots the man’s friend laughing and before she can connect the dots, the man grabs her ass.

As a reflex, she lashes out at him and yells: “Fuck off!”

“It felt like a violation of my body,” said Zoë (21), a London resident. Besides the fury and adrenaline she felt, she had been angry at herself for trusting the stranger on the street and disregarding her friends’ warning. “Ideally, we should be in a world where I shouldn’t ‘have known’.”

After the eruption of #MeToo one year ago – showing the magnitude of sexual intimidation and harassment – several European cities such as Amsterdam, Rotterdam and Paris have introduced legislation in response. The offender can be fined at an average of 190 euros in the Netherlands and up to 750 euros in France. According to a 2018 report by IOS, a statistics bureau, most of this intimidation includes whistling, catcalling, being followed, and physical harassment.

These newly enforced legislations also follow a call by UN Women and their Dutch division for municipalities to start saying #HereToo. This in the name of ‘Safe Streets’, a recent Dutch initiative to counter street intimidation, for the over 80% of women who have experienced sexual intimidation in public.

While Zoë’s example of physical harassment is gripping, it isn’t extraordinary. Many women have different experiences with street intimidation. It happens so often, Zoë said, that she’s “gotten used to it, in a sad way.”

Making her way home alone on a dark recent Tuesday night, Sophie (21), a student in Rotterdam, didn’t expect to bump into anyone in the quiet residential area where she lives. Making her way down the main road her neck hairs stood right up when she heard heavy footsteps that did not match hers. “Maybe it is just a man going home,” she thought, as she strayed off the main road to reassure herself that it was her imagination. He turned the corner with her. In the ten-minute walk that followed, she quickened her pace as the man narrowed the distance between them. Taken over by anger and fear she turned around, looked him in the eye and shouted at him to leave her alone. He bolted.

She tries not to walk home alone anymore.

Two months ago, during her stay in the US, Josien (20), an exchange student in Phoenix, Arizona, was walking around with a cart in a supermarket. She was leaning on it as she scanned the shelves. She was strolling through an aisle full of people, when, all of a sudden, a man in his sixties whistled at her and looked her up and down. She stood still and felt aware of her body. Perplexed she thought: “Are you really doing this?” She debated whether she should say something but decided to walk on.

Speaking to The Stand, neither Josien, Sophie nor Zoë were certain what they’d done to provoke the intimidation, or how they could have avoided it.

But it’s not just these explicit accounts of intimidation that jar these women. ‘The look’ that they receive every day makes you feel “like someone is undressing you with his eyes.” It is a look that makes you feel “objectified”, said Josien. It happens during the most mundane moments of daily life, such as walking home or going to class, and “you’re no longer the woman going from A to B,” but the man has taken charge of your feelings. Josien said, “I hate that that’s possible.”

The few men that agreed to speak to The Stand for this article seemed unaware that grabbing, following and catcalling cause fear.

“In your mind, you’re doing nothing wrong” said Stefano (26), a landscaper, while remembering the times he and his friends catcalled women. Driving in a car, they’d try to capture the attention of women passing by, shouting “pussy”, “mamma mia” or just making a loud noise, before driving away, laughing. It seemed like a game to them without the “intention to be offensive,” according to Stefano. They never thought about what the women felt in that moment. He said: “We always see things from a male point of view.”

Other men in Groningen expressed similar views. Hudayfah (23), a student, told The Stand he finds it hard to see the harm in whistling at a girl, although he can imagine that a girl would feel unsafe when that happens.

“I’m not permanently afraid or something,” Josien says. Each incident lasts only for a moment but it happens so often that it affects her. “You see all of the scenarios in your head.” Which is why she doesn’t engage whenever it happens, as she fears that it might get worse if she does.

Some men have started to pay attention to women’s feelings on the matter too. Stefano said this is what changed his behaviour. His girlfriend made him realize how being catcalled in the street makes girls feel and how it affects them, such as having to change their clothes, posture and behaviour when leaving the house. Now, he no longer finds catcalling funny. However, he can still understand the male perspective. He feels that as long as men don’t bring women down and treat them “like an object,” they can joke around with their friends.

Catcalling and other forms of street intimidation are also a way for men to prove themselves to other men, thinks Stefano. When feeling insecure about themselves, men “try to bring out a kind of bravery, manpower, trying to not treat the woman as an equal but as an instrument, to be equal to other men.”

Both Zoë and Josien can see how male street intimidation can be a result of vulnerability. Whether it’s an inability to communicate sexual attraction to women, or to assert some kind of power and, as Josien says, to feel like “a real haantje” (a classic alpha male).

In the end, Stefano doesn’t think that “people that catcall ever get the girl.”


 

Meet the Man Who Nearly Overturned Italian Democracy

By Gabriele Cruciata

In 1970 a fascist coup failed at the last minute in Italy. The man who was instructed to put a bullet in the president’s head tells his story to The Stand.

Angelo is 77 years old, and wrinkles pass all through his face. He lives in Cittaducale, a small village in central Italy, where he was born. He spent all his life here. His home is an old-fashioned flat filled with old knick-knacks. “Would you ever imagine I was about to kill the Italian President?” he asks.

During the night of 8th of December, 1970, in Cittaducale it was raining heavily. Junio Valerio Borghese, a fascist Italian aristocratic with a past in the naval force, organized a golpe for that night. The wildlife police were his closest partners in crime. At that time, Angelo was part of the wildlife police, whose main barracks was and still today is in Cittaducale.

“They ordered us to get prepared” he said, speaking in Italian. “We all thought it was a training, and we were so pissed off! After all, why do you organize a practice session during such a rainy night?”. Angelo remembers all the details from that night. “Our superiors organized a group of four trucks for a total of about 120 wildlife officers. I was in the leading truck, and this allowed me to have a good view of what was going on”.

When Angelo is asked to talk about how they felt inside the truck, a ghostly expression immediately appears on his face. “We were angry, of course. But as we spent lots of time on Via Salaria following signs for Rome, we progressively felt a sense of anxiety. Trainings were supposed to last for 30 or 40 minutes, no more. We were worried, we were in the heart of the Cold War”.

After some hours driving, the truck reached Rome. “We were seven or eight Kms from the national TV headquarters, while anxiety was growing. We didn’t have a clue of what was going on, and at some point my truck stopped. One of the Commanders rashly got out of the truck and approached two strange guys in the dark”.

Who were they?

“At first, I thought they were two frocioni having secret sex in the car, they were so strange!” he laughs. Frocioni is an Italian word for “fags”.

Did you manage to look at them?

“No, it was so dark, it was raining. But we really weren’t understanding why our Commander decided to stop for a pair of frocioni. When he came back into the truck, he wanted us to come back to our station. We made a U-turn and went back to Cittaducale. In that moment I realized they weren’t frocioni and that something serious was going on”.

In the following weeks and months, his life went back to its everyday routine. “Once, it was Sunday and I was at my parents’. My dad started to call me: “Angelo! Angelo! – he screamed – C’mon, c’mon, come here!”. When Angelo entered the room he found his dad in front of the TV. “He asked me “what the hell did you do? What did you do that night? Look!”.

TV news was reporting on Borghese’s Golpe, and I was involved in the story. I was there that night. I was involved in a fuckin’ coup, you know what I mean?”. It was March, 1971.

The next day, Angelo arrived at the wildlife police station. His workplace was surrounded by Carabinieri. They wanted to investigate on the coup d’état and question all the officers who worked that night. “When they called me – Angelo says – I was afraid. I remember a white, empty room with a desk. An officer was standing right behind it. When he started questioning me, he took a violent attitude. He screamed, he wanted to convince me to tell the truth about that night. He was furious, he tried to punch me in the face”.

When Angelo talks about the interrogation he gets nervous. It was at the end of his questioning that he discovered something he did not yet know: the role he would have had if the coup attempt had gone ahead.

“At the end, I was standing up to go away while he loudly told me You know what? You were expected to kill the President. I got a chill. “I was about to change our history”.

Still today nobody knows why the coup failed that night. Prosecutors know for sure that Angelo’s Commander phoned Junio Valerio Borghese immediately after meeting with the guys in the dark, and he was told to come back to the station. In 2004, thanks to the American Freedom of Information Act, Italian journalists discovered the “frocioni” were two American secret agents who ordered Borghese to stop the coup. Sicilian mafia was aware of the plot, as well. Borghese died in mysterious conditions in 1974.

“Sometimes I wonder how I saw two American secret agents deciding about a coup d’état during the Cold War. I’ve always been a simple person, my world is this small village, but my life intertwined with a coup in which America, secret services, fascists and mafia were involved. I still don’t know the word to describe it”.


 

Stolen Van Gogh Paintings Found “By Chance”

By Gabriele Cruciata

Back in 2016, the Italian police discovered two stolen Van Gogh paintings in a suspected mafia boss’ house. An anonymous source told The Stand that officers weren’t looking for the missing paintings.

On the 7th December 2002 two men climbed a wall of the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam. They broke in through a window and stole two paintings that hung on a wall on the first floor. Fourteen years later the Italian police found the paintings in Castellammare di Stabia, 25 kilometres away from Naples. “Those paintings were found by chance during an anti-mafia inspection,” tells an anonymous policeman The Stand.

“By chance”, a key expression. “That day we were called to inspect a mafia boss’ villa. We didn’t expect to find those masterpieces at all”, the source said. Raffaele Imperiale, the suspect, had collected Van Gogh’s works for many years. He’s on a trial now. His lawyers are trying to get his sentence reduced because of his collaboration with the police. But our scoop provides information not known to the judges, who are ruling in the Imperiale trial.

One of the stolen paintings is titled View of the Sea at Scheveningen (1882) and it is “one of the first works Van Gogh made without the supervision of his teacher Anton Mauve,” says Axel Rüger, Van Gogh Museum’s Director. The other one, Congregation Leaving the Reformed Church in Nuenen (1884), “was made while the painter was living with his parents, therefore this work is of biographical value as well” he adds.

After the two paintings were returned to Amsterdam two years ago, the museum organised a press conference. On that occasion, Rüger declared: “We can close the door on this particularly painful period in our history. I’ve been looking forward tremendously to the day when we could show these two gems to our public again. That day has come, and they finally have a face and a voice again.”

The Italian policeman told The Stand Imperiale could not have easily sold the paintings on the illegal market. “People who steal artworks are generally excellent thieves, but terrible art critics” he said. “They usually don’t know how important some documents are. Nobody will illegally buy a Van Gogh without the documents stating the painting is original”.


 

C’est la Révolution!

By Clémence Waller

Monique Lafay (71), can’t remember what she was doing when policemen barged into her neighbor’s apartment. She remembers the shouts, muffled sounds of struggles and facing angry policemen, as she discovered they were arresting her student neighbors for assembling Molotov cocktails in their bedroom. What she did not realise was that she was suspected of doing the same.

She recalls her 21-year-old self, a law student at the Université Claude Bernard in Lyon, being petrified. As the two policemen glared, barked at and questioned her, she quickly assured them she had nothing to do with the student riots, and insisted the police talk to her neighbors and the family of the little boy she babysat that lived downstairs. Satisfied with her alibi, they left with the two students and shoved them in the back of the police van, while Monique was left alone.

Violence, suspicion and even deaths. «C’est la chienlit!» It is chaos/shit in the bed!  Never have there been more fitting words to describe the turmoil of the French student population of 1968. This nationwide student protest was inspired by student revolts throughout Europe and the 1964 Berkeley Free Speech Movement to protest the Vietnam war.  These protests were sparked by a sense of “asphyxiation” and the classic French ‘ras-le-bol’ with the bourgeoisie, strangling social constrictions and the ruling elite.

The protests started peacefully; streets deafened by the roars of thousands during marches, colorful signs hoisted up high, displaying slogans against gender segregation in schools, job insecurity and finally the blockading of Parisian Universities, Nanterre and La Sorbonne.

But egged on by Daniel Cohn-Bendit, “Danny the Red”, a young student revolutionary, the student protests took on a more violent and political turn.

Chaos in the streets

On May 2nd 1968, the police were dispatched to violently bring an end to this blockade, injuring hundreds of Parisian students. Outrage bled throughout the nation as various other universities were held hostage by students, including Lyon, where Monique was studying. By May 24th, the workers and the unions had joined the fray.

However, the spark for reform roared into the uncontrollable wildfire that would ensue a paralyzed country, riots, paranoia, looting and even deaths.

Students rioting, police brutality, charred bins smoking, makeshift barricades, sirens blaring: this is what Lyon looked like from May to June 1968. Monique had a front row seat to the unfolding events as she was part of the minority of students who did not protest.

After seven years in convent school, she recalls the shock she felt when seeing her generation stand-up against the ruling class. “I did not have the revolutionary mentality,” she laughs sarcastically. These memories bring up a strange sensation within her, one of bemusement but also criticism. “The protests started out fine, then quickly degenerated into a mess,” she recalls as other groups tagged onto the student movement and started vandalizing public buildings and institutions.

“What shocked me the most was finding out that people had been killed on Lafayette Bridge,” she exclaims. She refers to the bloody night of the 24th of May 1968, where René Lacroix, police commissioner, was killed by a runaway truck on the infamous Lyon Bridge amidst another violent altercation between youth and police. This incident resulted in the first death of the May 1968 protests, as well as 42 injuries and over 200 arrests.

A nation held hostage

“I loathed masses and protests then and I still do today. I also didn’t feel especially oppressed nor did my family have the money to waste on me having to redo a year because I was protesting.”

Monique recalls her annoyance when she was unable to work during the summer due to having to study for her exams, which had been postponed to September. For the rest of France, the events in Paris on May 10th-11th 1968 led to a nationwide strike in solidarity with the students. Shopkeepers no longer had any food to sell, nor was there any petrol being dispensed at the gas stations. Trains, factories and post offices also went on strike. “The country was completely paralyzed.”  

She quickly added that despite not taking part in the protests, it brought about some positive changes. “In my view, women won the most out of those protests. There was a liberation of speech, a de-stigmatization of women taking the pill for example. There was less bitterness, more freedom and fraternization. More women went into the workplace and asked for divorces.”

The youth sent out the message that they would not just be seen, they would be heard and that message was received loud and clear. “Even today, the government still fears students,” Monique smiles cheekily.


 

The St. Phelim Tragedy

By Rebekah Daunt

On Sunday the 24th of March 1968, Betty Allshire decided to take a break from her household chores and stepped out into her beautiful garden to enjoy the morning sunshine.

The air was crisp and clean, everything was still, and the only sounds to be heard were those made by a few scattered birds singing in the trees overhead.

Betty’s eldest son William and daughter Judy had left for church with their father half an hour earlier. Betty, a regular churchgoer, had decided to stay at home this particular morning and care for her youngest daughter Anne who was feeling ill because she demolished far too much birthday cake at a friend’s birthday party the day before. The little girl was now paying the price for her sins and was curled up in bed, nursing a tummy ache.

After carefully selecting some daffodils to fill a vase on the kitchen table, Betty gradually became aware of the sound of propellers and the earth started to vibrate beneath her feet.

Her eyes were drawn skyward as an aircraft came into view; the roar of the engine filled the air. “It was the 10:30 Aer Lingus Flight to London,” she exclaimed, “Cork Airport was very quiet back then, it was easy to identify the planes flying in and out, they ran like clockwork!”.

Betty confesses that she remembers feeling a pang of jealousy at the time and would have loved to be jetting off on that plane.

Later that afternoon, Betty sat down to a late lunch with her loving husband and three children in the kitchen of their family home.

The sound of a news bulletin hummed on the radio in the background. Conversation at the table was soon brought to a standstill as the headlines began to unfold. The family, almost choking on their steaming bowls of tomato soup, listened in horror as the top news story unravelled.

An Aer Lingus plane, named St. Phelim, had gone down off the coast of Wexford. The aircraft en-route from Cork to London plummeted 17,000 feet into the Irish Sea, killing all 61 people on-board.

Funeral of some of Tuskar Rock air crash victims at St. Finbarr’s Cemetery on March 30, 1968 (courtesy of the Irish Examiner)

Betty, a former administrator, could hardly believe what she was hearing.

Mrs. Allshire, who will be celebrating her 80th  birthday this October, recalls feeling lost for words at the lunch table. “I could not understand why this had happened; it was such a calm and beautiful day. I had seen the plane shortly after takeoff. A plane crash seemed so unlikely.”

As covered by the Irish Examiner, experts proposed that the plane might have been stuck by migrating birds. Others suggested that the crash was due to a mechanical failure or a collision with a target drone or missile.

Bonnie Gangelhoff, daughter to American passengers Mary and Joseph Gangelhoff, reflected on the crash that killed her parents to the Irish Times in 2009. An investigation into the crash was published in 1970 and a second in 2002.

50 years on, the cause of the crash has yet to be determined.

“This tragedy is like being hit by a double whammy,” said Bonnie, “no definite answers about why the plane went down and no bodies to bury.”

Investigators believe that the Captain of St. Phelim, Barney O’Beirne (35), fought to keep the plane in the air for 30 minutes after take-off before spiralling out of control and crashing into the sea  near Tuskar Rock.

London Air Traffic Control received a broken message from the captain that was later interpreted as “12,000 feet, descending, spinning rapidly”. London ATC never heard from the aircraft again. According to RTÉ news, a full alert was sounded once London ATC lost contact, but it was too late.

Today the pilots on board are remembered as the first recipients of the Wright Brothers Award which honours exceptional service to aviation.

Only 14 bodies were recovered from the jet which had Irish, British, Swiss and Belgian passengers and crew on-board. According to the Irish Times, this was worst crash involving an aircraft in Irish history.

“It was a very sad time for the family and friends of the victims and we were simply devastated for them,” reflects Betty.

Betty will never forget how helpless she felt for all those involved. A woman of great faith, she firmly believes that life is precious, a gift from God. “Live every day to the full, none of us know when our days will come to an end.”

Concluding with a quote by Abraham Lincoln, Mrs. Allshire confirms the importance of making the most of the present day. “The best thing about the future is that it comes one day at a time.”


 

1968, The Year of Raging Reforms

By Valerie Scholz

1968, a turbulent year of worldwide student protests. In German metropolises, demonstrations are almost on the daily agenda. Pharmaceutics student Klaus Scholz is on his way from Karlsruhe to Berlin, making use of his short Easter holiday for an obligatory family visit. But this is not the sole purpose of his trip. He has come to raise his voice.

The trees lining the West-Berliner Ku’damm sway in the evening breeze. However, the wind does not carry the familiar fresh scent of spring, instead, a burnt stench is in the air. Thousands of tromping footsteps and monotonously aggressive chanting “Gestern Dutschke, morgen wir!” drowns out all other noise and rings in Klaus’ ears.

West-Berlin 1968: loud, bold and rebellious. The age of subordination and courteousness lies in the past. The gap between youth and the elderly is widening. Daringly short skirts, extravagant outfits, and deafening rock music on one side, incomprehension and conservative ideologies on the other. Young West-Berliners don’t want to fit in. They want to provoke.

Provocation for Change

German students sparked an anti-authoritarian movement all over the country, condemning any type of control, whether of familial, educational or political nature. Protests began as a response to war, grievances and injustices around the world. Students fought for a free society and a reform of the archaic system.

“The protests were meant for provocation”. New forms of demonstrating were established, “Go-ins” or “Sit-ins” included the siege of public spaces. Hand-drawn banners often declared entertaining statements instead of political slogans.

“Part of the Movement”

Klaus’ first contact with the movement occurred in the sleepy town of Karlsruhe. One day, students gathered in front of his institute. They argued and chanted phrases: “Unter den Talaren – Muff von 1000 Jahren”, referring to the still deeply enrooted fascism in institutions and the previous generation’s way of life.  

“We were demanding a self-purification”, Klaus says with a sparkle in his eyes. “Things that had been kept secret for years finally came up”. The students believed that the country ought to be cleansed of former national socialist partisans and mentality. “We were there to tidy up!”

“It felt so good to be part of something, to be part of the movement”, Klaus remembers. At each side of the city’s main road Kaiserstraße, the virtuous citizens of Karlsruhe gasped at the procession of hundreds of marching students. Some linking arms, others holding painted banners, where crooked letters formed phrases like “THE OLD NAZIS HAVE TO GO!”.

The “Revolution’s” Crash-Landing

However, protests were not peaceful everywhere. “It escalated more and more”, Klaus’ voice darkens. What started off with enthusiasm and optimism, ended in a civil-war-like situation.

Only a few days before Klaus’ trip to Berlin, the attempted assassination of Rudi Dutschke by a Hitler-sympathizer appalled Germany’s student population. Dutschke was a leading figure of the Socialist German Student Union (SDS) and stood for the student movement.

Following the assassination of peacefully protesting student Benno Ohnesorg in 1967 by a West-Berliner policeman, the attack on yet another student fueled an uncontrollable rage and desire for revenge amongst the protestors. Instead of de-escalation, police forces fought rage with violence.

Klaus gasped at the scene in front of him. The West-Berliner Ku’damm resembled a battlefield. On one side troops of policemen wearing ankle-length dark coats, their grimacing faces half covered by helmets, fists clenched around their truncheons, desperately attempting to stop the raging students. Opposing them, burning torches, raised fists and blind hatred.

The water cannons behind the police defence line spurt water that hits the front lines of protesters with the force of bricks.

Klaus had set out to Berlin with faith and pride but left with disappointment and bewilderment. “You always ran after the mass as a student”. However, witnessing the violence on both sides of the conflict in the streets of Berlin, Klaus distanced himself: “It had gone too far, I never wanted this.”

The Wake-Up Call

Despite condemning the violence, Klaus is confident that the 1968 student movement has positively affected Germany politically, socially and culturally.  

Although the riots did not bring a grand revolution, they were a “wake-up call”. They caused a break with the authoritarian past and allowed the society to move forward with increasingly more personal and sexual freedom.

“When I was young, I always focused on the easygoing sides of life: sports and nice girls”, Klaus smirked. The events of 1968 woke him up too and perhaps marked his first step from the “blindly naive young man” to the reflecting adult of today.

“You have to go out there and do something” in order for change to occur. Today as a pensioner and author, Klaus has found literature to be his voice of revolution. In his novels he holds a mirror up to society, seeking to facilitate progress. Just like 50 years ago.


Feature image shows Klaus Scholz (left) and fellow students in midst of an animated discussion

The Day that Changed Greece Forever Through the Eyes of a Boy

The Day that Changed Greece Forever, Through the Eyes of a Boy

By Dimitra Karapanagiotou

“The military has taken over the governance of the country,” stated an early morning radio announcement in the year 1967. Themis Karapanagiotis was only nine years old when these words transformed the political scene of Greece and the lives of the whole nation. The 21st of April would be a day he would never forget.

On that day the people of Athens came across a bizarre sight: military tanks were positioned all around the city and in the perimeter of the parliament. Uniformed men carrying guns were on the streets and it was clear for every passer-by that democracy was now a thing from the past.

In fact, that was the beginning of the Greek military junta, the dictatorship that would last seven years and polarize the nation. The regime aimed to crush communism and bring back the traditional values that would make the country the “Greece of Greek Christians” (ΕλλάςΕλλήνωνΧριστιανών) once again.

During those years human rights were violated, suspected communists were jailed, tortured and exiled, while people all around the country lived in constant fear of a possible arrest.

This situation was obvious since the first day of the dictatorship, as Themis recalls.

“I was only nine back then so I couldn’t understand much. I remember that I went to school and they told us to go back home,” Themis says. “We were just happy not to be at school, we didn’t know how serious the situations was.”

But after going home he soon found out that something was wrong. The radio, the main source of information for rural Greece at the time, kept playing military marching music instead of the usual songs, while official state announcements kept being broadcasted every few minutes.

“Those announcements were scary and confusing. They listed all the laws and articles that were no longer valid, I couldn’t understand a thing. They kept saying all the things that were forbidden. No more than three people in a group, no going out at night, no this and no that – nothing was allowed anymore!” he exclaims with frustration.

Kimmeria however, was not just an ordinary Greek village. Known as the home of the communists and nicknamed among the locals as “Little Moscow”, the village immediately became the target of arrests.

“The police came and arrested people that were known to be communists. They didn’t say where they were taking them, not even their families knew where they were. We only found out about the exiles and all the other atrocities when the dictatorship was over, years later.”

These arrests were truly traumatizing for the young boy as many of his friends’ parents and his neighbours disappeared, but they also created a fear that was more personal.

“I lived with my grandparents back then. My grandfather was a communist, he fought during the civil war. He used to have trouble with the law and was even in exile for years before the dictatorship, so he just stayed quiet, he didn’t want to get arrested and leave us alone,” Themis says.

What he distinctly remembers from the 21st of April is the quiet. “People were numb. No one said a word, they were all afraid that someone will tell on them if they said something negative. I now understand that they must have been terrified.”

Today, Themis can still remember everything that happened during the seven years of the Greek military junta. “Growing up during that time, it changes you,” he says bitterly. “But these experiences made me believe in democracy and freedom. I could never support such a regime.”

Although the Regime of the Colonels, as it was known, ended by the year 1974, the wounds it left behind remain. “That period changed my country, it divided the people and it still does.”

In fact, the regime has supporters even today. With the economic crisis and the current political state of the country, many people idealize the regime as the only way for the country to truly recover.

Although such authoritarian beliefs are widespread across the country, Themis remains optimistic that the dark times of the dictatorship will never come to be again. “I can’t imagine how this could happen again. Things are very different now.”

 

The Red Guard in China’s Cultural Revolution – Join or be ‘Destroyed’

By Yujia Yang

Green military cap and uniform, Sam Browne belts, red armbands (always on the left arm), Little Red Book held tightly – the typical dress of the Red Guard during China’s Cultural Revolution from 1966 to 1976. “They were the biggest nightmare when I was 16 years old”, says Xianping Wang, 66, a retired Chinese teacher from Guiyang Shengfu Road Primary School.

Wang took a deep breath and recalled her story, “One Sunday afternoon in March 1968, a small group of Red Guard broke into my house when I was having a nap with my sister and my parents were at work. A woman, a member of the Guard,spoke to my sister. She said, ‘Xianling, we are now 20 years old. Do not go to university to listen to those rubbish things. It is time to join us, like me, to devote ourselves to Chairman Mao’s revolutionary cause!’ Her tone became cold; she threatened my sister that they would confiscate our property and take me away if sherefused to join them and be one of the adherents of Mao. In fact, she was a childhood friend of my sister, even I regarded her as my second sister, but…” Wang stops and looks miserable.

The Red Guard group was first formed by China’s youth in response to Mao Zedong’s call to propagandise his ‘true’ communist ideology. It rapidly grew around the country and became a mass organisation, including farmers, literary and artistic workers and neighbourhood committees. As a political propaganda tool, the Red Guard was under protection and enjoyed the personal support of Mao; this meant they could do anything they wanted like taking away anyone they suspected of being a counterrevolutionary.

(Source: Baidu)

“The woman gave my sister no chance to answer. After she had finished, she immediately left. But the rest of members loudly read out their slogan ‘战无不胜的毛泽东思想万岁!’ (Long live the invincible Mao Zedong thought!), and started to search my house; everything was dumped on the floor, everything.” Wang continues in a trembling voice: “There was nothing we could do; my sister and I just stood there and watched. We had no idea what had happened and why they were doing this to us.” Wang still looks confused, even now. She continues: “Previously, other groupsof Red Guard just came to propagandise and tried to find out whether we had any ‘forbidden books’ like foreign literature. Normally, they just burned any books they found, and left.”

“I felt every organ of my body cease to operate as soon as I heard it, because I was indescribably scared. Since that day, I have continually had nightmares about someone taking me away.” Wang pauses for a few seconds to calm herself down. Then, she begins again, “My sister embraced me, and kept comforting me that she would not let it happen. After telling our parents what had happened, Xianling insisted that she would join the Red Guard in order to keep me safe, because she believed that the Red Guard could do anything if people disobeyed them. Of course, my parents disagreed and my father suggested that our whole family might pretend to move, while in fact only my parents would return to their old home on weekdays while my sister and I stayed at home.”

During the decade of China’s Cultural Revolution, there were also many organisations that lined up on mass against the Red Guard groups. Wang’s sister, Xianling, had entered Guizhou University in 1966, just after the Cultural Revolution had begun; she founded a student newspaper with her friends, aiming to help the public to keep hope by publishing positive articles about China’s real history, society, politics and economy. Wang says: “My sister always tells me not to give up hope for the future.”

“I read all of articles from their newspaper when I holed up in my room. I can feel the power of words that cheered me up and made me determine to do as the same as my sister did.” Wang continues with a slight smile, “After one month, we were finally able to go out because the local government suppressed the Red Guard, as some Red Guard groups were out of control. In the next few years, my sister and I wrote articles together and contributed to many newspapers not just local until Cultural Revolution truly ended in 1977. Then we became teachers because we believed that our next and future generation will have material effects on our society, so correct education is vital.”

“Although, Cultural Revolution was an extreme dark period for China, we still need to remember and reflect on it. The most beautiful rainbows come after the worst storms.”


 

Pardon Her French

By Lucy Frowijn

She leaned against a concrete wall that reached about the height of her waist and glanced over the lake with the marble tombstone in the middle. The fall had given the water a green glare. Atlanta was usually quite rowdy, but that Saturday the weather was calm and the Martin Luther King jr. memorial exuded a certain peace. Joke Barth felt herself getting emotional the same way she did years ago. “I just stood there and thought to myself: anyone who tried to make a change in this fucked up country died trying. This never should have happened.”

Joke Barth lived on the other end of the world when MLK jr. got shot in 1968. She left her Dutch roots behind as soon as she reached adulthood and moved down under together with her husband. After having lived in Australia for four years, they moved to New Zealand together with their newborn son and bought a small wooden house in Dunedin, a university city on the South-Island.

Life in New Zealand was not easy. Joke‘s husband lived his own life, she had a three-year-old son to take care of and although she worked full time, she could barely get by financially. She could only afford about three sets of clothes that she washed immediately as she got home every night, hoping that they would be dry the next morning for her to wear them again.

New Zealand and Australia, at the time, were known for their strict immigration policy. Joke explains how, while they were willing to give you a chance, as an immigrant you had to prove yourself and work in order to survive. “If you didn’t work you didn’t have any money and if you didn’t have any money you could sleep under the bridge. They didn’t care” she says.

“I remember being at work one day and receiving a phone call from the crèche because my son had caught the measles. The doctor said it could take weeks for him to recover and I panicked because not being able to work meant not getting any salary”, she says.

Despite the difficulty, Joke felt more at home than ever. She found a job at an engineering firm where she became the only woman in an all-man’s company, and the men took her in as if she was family. She did everything from administration to accountancy and was particularly fond of “Mr. Bennets”, her boss, whom everyone mainly saw as a grumpy old man. “We would joke around together. He’d make a mistake and say ‘Oh, aren’t I stupid?’ and I’d reply: ‘Well, Mr. Bennets, there’s no substitute for brains.” she says, clearly warmed by the memory of the man.

Joke explains how, while Australia and New Zealand might have been strict when it came to immigrants, it was never a matter of discrimination.

Dunedin was known for people of Scottish descent and Maori people, the indigenous people of New Zealand, to live together in harmony. Every year during ANZAC day (New Zealand’s and Australia’s equivalent of liberation day) everyone would participate in the parade, no matter what their origin, or skin color was.

Joke explains that it was precisely this peace-loving attitude that existed in New Zealand that led to astonishment about what was happening in the United States at the time. “New Zealand may have been on the other side of the world but its people weren’t retarded. They were completely up to date on what was happening in America”, she says.

When Martin Luther King jr. was assassinated on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, media coverage in New Zealand exploded. Joke explains how television coverage would just go on and on. Normally it ended at about 11 PM but this time it went on all night. She explains how the next morning her colleagues couldn’t stop talking about it either: “People were flabbergasted.”

But the matter also got very personal for Joke. She herself had moved to a country where she was a foreigner and while life was tough, she was welcomed with open arms. “I felt the pain right in my soul and I remember thinking: who the bloody hell do these people think they are?”

Joke went to the memorial in Atlanta years later: “I had to. It touched me so much back in 1968.” And so she stood there leaning against that concrete wall and commemorated those who died trying to make a change.

“In my work as a life coach I meet many different people on a daily basis, invite them into my home and advise them on how to turn their lives around. But I don’t judge people on their background” she says.

And that open-minded attitude takes on a special shape when combined with Joke‘s typically down-under bluntness as she said: “Why would you give a shit where people are from or what skin color they have?”


(Person on feature image: Joke Barth, 28)

Severe Flooding Hits Capital of Taiwan

By Oscar Cheng-Kai, Wu

 

A storm has caused flash flooding in the Taiwanese capital. According to local media and several sources, no casualties have been reported, but the flooding is disrupting daily life. The Stand spoke to a professor who specializes in urban planning to understand the issue.

Charles Lee, a sociology student from the National Taiwan University, said that “It is dangerous to ride my motorbike on those flooding sections because it either risks the whole bike to shut down due to water cooling, or me falling down on the slippery ground and thus injuring myself. So I decided to take a walk, though it takes about one hour instead of 15 minutes on normal days.”

It is estimated that more than 4 inches of water poured into the city. Some regions in the city had been choked by 2 inches of muddy water.

Flash flooding had spilled over the surface and almost reached the entrance of underground tunnels. Many entrances and exits of the system had been closed by the Metro Rapid Transit, Taipei’s subway system beforehand.

Some of the city’s areas reported extreme traffic congestion. In other flooded regions, people were trapped on isle-like high grounds, waiting for the water that surrounded them to draw away.

Vun Kong-Ti, a NTU student who majors in politics said: “Luckily, I avoided the flooding by staying on high ground that night.”

Kong-Ti later told the Stand about what should be done in order to free the city from the curse of occasional flooding, “The city needs a revolutionary renovation that does focus on reducing the impact of the inevitable future flooding on people’s daily life.”

Professor Liao Kuei-Hsien, who specializes in urban planning and water management, offers her assessment of the cause: “The infrastructure is outdated and only serves the purpose of guiding the water out as rapidly as possible. But it no longer works in times of extreme downpouring like this.”

“We spend a lot of budget on transforming the river in order to guide the current. By removing obstacles along the river, we actually make things worse because it will result in the flash flooding in the downstream which is exactly the problem that our capital has” she said.

She suggested there should be a shift of perception for both policymakers and ordinary people: “The authority should review the spatial planning and people’s perceptions need to change.” she also suggested. “People need to accept flooding is actually inevitable during times like this and adjust their lifestyle to a more flooding-resilient fashion.”