By Amy Abdalla
ATHENS – On an afternoon in June, a German researcher, a Croatian couple on vacation and an American journalism student gathered outside of what looked like an abandoned building. “Maybe this is when they ambush us,” one man joked while banging on the chained doors.
The German pulled out her mobile phone and displayed a photo of a poster, to reassure everyone they were in the right place. Copies of the red and black poster were plastered on walls across Exarcheia, Athens’ anarchist-controlled neighborhood, and announced a gathering to discuss the eviction of refugees from abandoned buildings in Greece.
Intrigued, each of these foreigners had made his or her way to the Gini building of Polytechnic University at 6 p.m., just as the poster prescribed. What they hadn’t realized was that anarchists aren’t known for being punctual.
The group bided its time by examining the graffiti that caked the outside of the building. Political statements on issues including LGBTQ rights, anti-war sentiment, migrant inclusion and anarchist power covered almost every inch of the once-cream-colored campus.
At 6:20 p.m., a disheveled Greek man in his mid-thirties came up the stairs and tried the door himself. “It’s locked man,” the Croatian man called, nearing defeat. The new arrival shuffled down to what the foreigners had assumed was an abandoned security kiosk, and woke a seemingly homeless man who lounged inside.
The two returned, one now holding a key, opened the creaking metal gates of the building, and propped the door open with a garbage can. The first man smiled apologetically and offered, “Sorry, we’re on Greek time,” with a shrug.
The hallway inside of Gini, like the outside, had graffiti decorating the walls. A “No photos” sign hung over the doorway of the lecture hall, which was also covered in artwork and political statements.
The lecture hall, initially empty, began to fill as tourists and anarchist strolled into the room.
By 7:30 p.m., an assortment of about 30 people had gathered. Scattering into small groups, they ate snacks and passed around cigarettes. Chatting in a variety of languages, some joked in German, others caught up in Greek. The room was marked by a lack of urgency. The American student leaned over to the German and asked who was in charge. The German scoffed, “No one. That’s the whole point.”
A toddler ran through the aisles of the hall as his father chased behind, calling after him in Spanish. His mother watched with a group of Greek youth. With her stroller and baby bag, she stood out from the students who were mostly clad in black and leather, though she seemed totally at ease as they chuckled together at the unfolding scene.
The American approached a small group discussing refugee policy and was met with welcoming smiles and apparent anticipation. She introduced herself as a journalist, and their excitement evaporated.
They gave her a flyer in English with information detailing the state of refugee life in Greece, along with a list of demands of support for migrants. They passed around translations of the same information in Greek, Arabic, and French.
As of 8 p.m., nobody had taken the lead or spoken over the general hum of conversation. The foreigners realized that nobody intended to. People flitted in and out of the hall, running across the street for coffee, rejoining and reforming groups as the discussion moved in disjointed waves across the room.
The German researcher and the Croatian couple folded into clusters along the perimeter. Word of the American journalist had spread. A skeptical glance made it clear that she was not welcome.
She waved goodbye and left unquestioned. Just past the hallway of graffiti, and the garbage can propping open the door, a small group had gathered. They were hanging up a new set of posters.
