As Ken and I walked home from the Metro around 10:30 last night, we saw a lot of commotion two blocks from our apartment. Twenty or more people and at least a dozen uniformed police (some in flak jackets) were milling around an intersection. Two police cars and a police motorcycle (blue lights flashing) were also in the narrow street. Over the next half hour, two other emergency vehicles arrived: one looked like a miniature fire truck (i.e. it was painted red, but was a little bigger than a pickup-truck and didn't have--or I didn't see--any ladders and hoses), and later an ambulance (lights flashing, but no siren). Whatever action was going on was happening in the dark, somewhere down the cross-street being blocked by police cars.
We're not ordinarily rubber-neckers, but this is an unusual occurrence in a foreign country, so we stayed for a while to watch and I decided to take some Flip footage for this blog. At first it seemed a bit like Keystone cops. It took nearly a half-hour for the police to put up "crime scene" tape across the beginning of the cross-street. Meanwhile, they had not blocked vehicular traffic to the through street. So between the double-parked police cars and the already narrow one-way street, cars were still crawling by to see the action (there wasn't any to be seen--though about 15 minutes after our arrival, we heard the sound of a large sheet of glass breaking).
This meant that the fire-truck took many minutes to slowly advance up the street, as it was following a continuous line of cars. Then, when it finally got to the intersection, we watched in amusement as it tried to negotiate what we have come to see as typical Greek parking habits (see below).
[Here are stills taken at several other times of "typical" parking scenes.
We have also watched with amazement as fairly large trucks make turns that require several backs-and-forths to go from narrow street to narrow street with no curb clearance at any of the corners.]
My first footage at last night's scene was of the fire-truck inching its way up the block. Then I shot how it tried to maneuver into place. First it pulled forward, preparing to back up into the cross street opposite the problem. Since there was still no traffic control, even in that intersection, more traffic surged immediately behind it making back-up impossible. There followed several minutes of gridlock--fire truck, motorcycle, cars--none able or willing to move to give the others room. Finally, after considerable blaring of horns, somehow various vehicles went around, went through or--in the case of the cycle--went on the sidewalk, and there was enough room for the firetruck to back up. Eventually, the ambulance arrived (still behind a line of cars, which never stopped).
Since people were still milling around on both sides of the street, I (and several other pedestrians) walked closer to the action, which is when I saw how many police were wearing heavy duty equipment. At one point, a Greek policeman sort of shooed us back, so I returned to the other side and took footage of the impending arrival ambulance.
Then, to my surprise, a policeman came over to my side of the street and said something directly to me that I, of course, did not understand. (Ken was somewhere else in the crowd, chatting with folks.) I smiled and said, "Hi," which is my way of letting people know I don't speak Greek--also because it is typically recognized as American. To be perfectly clear, I added, "I don't speak Greek."
His response was immediate, "You must delete your camera."
"I don't know how," I said, "It's new." It's not all that new, but I always have to look up the directions to do anything, so that seemed like the simplest answer, given his imperfect English.
"You must delete!" he insisted, and took the camera from me. Another policeman approached, "where you from?"
"California."
"Do you have passport."
"Of course," and I handed it to him.
Meanwhile, the first guy was busily deleting video of flashing lights, traffic, and emergency vehicles. The second policeman came back, handed me my passport, and said something to the first one that included the word, "Ameriki"--at which point the Flip camera was handed back and both walked away from me without any further discussion.
This "conversation" had taken place just outside a line of cars, so I walked to the curb where a couple of Greeks were sputtering--in English--at what had taken place. "What is this, a military secret?" one asked.
"The idiots," said another. Similar unflattering characterizations followed.
"You shouldn't have given him your camera," a third suggested, "he had no right."
Truth to tell, that had not occurred to me in the moment. I don't know what the rules are in Greece. Perhaps it is illegal to take photographs if the police say it is. (That actually did happen to me when I was traveling in Hungary before the USSR imploded....it was apparently not OK to take photos of certain bridges!)
It was only after all this was over and Ken and I had returned home that the meaning of it began to sink in. I had been on a public street that the police had made no effort to clear until the last five minutes or so. I followed directions to move away. I was taking innocuous photos of traffic. I was obviously an older woman and non-confrontive.
What was it about photos that the police found so threatening? Was there something going on in the darkened street with the sound of breaking glass that should not have taken place? Or is it just a reflexive exercise of power? You can't do whatever I say you can't do! Then I remembered the statistic reported by a Columbia University historian whose lecture we attended some weeks back, that 60% of the police force is known to be supporters of the "Golden Dawn"--neo-fascist--party. Is this kind of incident the edge of something that is already occurring, but that most people are unaware of or choose not to notice?
Here is the only remaining footage....
...for some reason, in his haste to delete, he backed up past the very last shot. First you see the lights of the ambulance, which has finally halted traffic simply by taking up all the space in the street. Then I pan to the right and you can see, just above the roofs of the cars, the police tape which was just put up across the darkened street. Then I pan to the left, and you see the lights of the fire-truck backed into the cross-street. Then again to the right. There are clearly people--police and pedestrians--milling everywhere. Then you see a policeman notice me and begin to walk in my direction.
Was that the man who deleted my pictures? I'm not sure. But the question remains, why? Was I a threat? Was I within my rights to be taking photos? Was he correct that I "must delete"? Did he have any right to do so? What does this suggest about the role of the police in a country that is imploding in slow-motion? Are there going to be "unforeseen consequences" that are currently not on the radar for the current directors of Greece's economic system?
We're not ordinarily rubber-neckers, but this is an unusual occurrence in a foreign country, so we stayed for a while to watch and I decided to take some Flip footage for this blog. At first it seemed a bit like Keystone cops. It took nearly a half-hour for the police to put up "crime scene" tape across the beginning of the cross-street. Meanwhile, they had not blocked vehicular traffic to the through street. So between the double-parked police cars and the already narrow one-way street, cars were still crawling by to see the action (there wasn't any to be seen--though about 15 minutes after our arrival, we heard the sound of a large sheet of glass breaking).
This meant that the fire-truck took many minutes to slowly advance up the street, as it was following a continuous line of cars. Then, when it finally got to the intersection, we watched in amusement as it tried to negotiate what we have come to see as typical Greek parking habits (see below).
[Here are stills taken at several other times of "typical" parking scenes.
 |
| Ken walking around a car parked in what ought to be a pedestrian cross-walk. One street is single-lane, given the cars parked on both sides. The other is two-lane and wide enough for two moving vehicles (assuming no one is stopped or double-parked--not always a good assumption). Both are one-way streets, although motor scooters consider the "no entry" signs (red horizontal bar) to be merely advisory. |
 |
| A mini-car parked perpendicular to all the others. But at least this is a two-way, fairly wide street. |
 |
| What can one say? What counts as being parked at a curb? We're not sure. But at least one of these street is wide and supports two-way traffic |
 |
| This is at a four-way, angled "corner." In case you can't tell, there is a second car parked behind the car on the right, narrowing the passage of cars in both directions! |
We have also watched with amazement as fairly large trucks make turns that require several backs-and-forths to go from narrow street to narrow street with no curb clearance at any of the corners.]
My first footage at last night's scene was of the fire-truck inching its way up the block. Then I shot how it tried to maneuver into place. First it pulled forward, preparing to back up into the cross street opposite the problem. Since there was still no traffic control, even in that intersection, more traffic surged immediately behind it making back-up impossible. There followed several minutes of gridlock--fire truck, motorcycle, cars--none able or willing to move to give the others room. Finally, after considerable blaring of horns, somehow various vehicles went around, went through or--in the case of the cycle--went on the sidewalk, and there was enough room for the firetruck to back up. Eventually, the ambulance arrived (still behind a line of cars, which never stopped).
Since people were still milling around on both sides of the street, I (and several other pedestrians) walked closer to the action, which is when I saw how many police were wearing heavy duty equipment. At one point, a Greek policeman sort of shooed us back, so I returned to the other side and took footage of the impending arrival ambulance.
Then, to my surprise, a policeman came over to my side of the street and said something directly to me that I, of course, did not understand. (Ken was somewhere else in the crowd, chatting with folks.) I smiled and said, "Hi," which is my way of letting people know I don't speak Greek--also because it is typically recognized as American. To be perfectly clear, I added, "I don't speak Greek."
His response was immediate, "You must delete your camera."
"I don't know how," I said, "It's new." It's not all that new, but I always have to look up the directions to do anything, so that seemed like the simplest answer, given his imperfect English.
"You must delete!" he insisted, and took the camera from me. Another policeman approached, "where you from?"
"California."
"Do you have passport."
"Of course," and I handed it to him.
Meanwhile, the first guy was busily deleting video of flashing lights, traffic, and emergency vehicles. The second policeman came back, handed me my passport, and said something to the first one that included the word, "Ameriki"--at which point the Flip camera was handed back and both walked away from me without any further discussion.
This "conversation" had taken place just outside a line of cars, so I walked to the curb where a couple of Greeks were sputtering--in English--at what had taken place. "What is this, a military secret?" one asked.
"The idiots," said another. Similar unflattering characterizations followed.
"You shouldn't have given him your camera," a third suggested, "he had no right."
Truth to tell, that had not occurred to me in the moment. I don't know what the rules are in Greece. Perhaps it is illegal to take photographs if the police say it is. (That actually did happen to me when I was traveling in Hungary before the USSR imploded....it was apparently not OK to take photos of certain bridges!)
It was only after all this was over and Ken and I had returned home that the meaning of it began to sink in. I had been on a public street that the police had made no effort to clear until the last five minutes or so. I followed directions to move away. I was taking innocuous photos of traffic. I was obviously an older woman and non-confrontive.
What was it about photos that the police found so threatening? Was there something going on in the darkened street with the sound of breaking glass that should not have taken place? Or is it just a reflexive exercise of power? You can't do whatever I say you can't do! Then I remembered the statistic reported by a Columbia University historian whose lecture we attended some weeks back, that 60% of the police force is known to be supporters of the "Golden Dawn"--neo-fascist--party. Is this kind of incident the edge of something that is already occurring, but that most people are unaware of or choose not to notice?
Here is the only remaining footage....
...for some reason, in his haste to delete, he backed up past the very last shot. First you see the lights of the ambulance, which has finally halted traffic simply by taking up all the space in the street. Then I pan to the right and you can see, just above the roofs of the cars, the police tape which was just put up across the darkened street. Then I pan to the left, and you see the lights of the fire-truck backed into the cross-street. Then again to the right. There are clearly people--police and pedestrians--milling everywhere. Then you see a policeman notice me and begin to walk in my direction.
Was that the man who deleted my pictures? I'm not sure. But the question remains, why? Was I a threat? Was I within my rights to be taking photos? Was he correct that I "must delete"? Did he have any right to do so? What does this suggest about the role of the police in a country that is imploding in slow-motion? Are there going to be "unforeseen consequences" that are currently not on the radar for the current directors of Greece's economic system?
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