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Mapping “Romeic” and “Hellenic” Same-Sex Desire: Articulating Heteropatriarchy and Male Homosexuality in Contemporary Greece Alex G Papadopoulos Department of Geography, DePaul University, Chicago, IL, US; [email protected] and [email protected] This study of the articulation of heteropatriarchy and male homosexuality in contemporary Greece questions the widely accepted paradigm that male same-sex desire in modernity is both ontologically and ritually divorced from ancient Greek practices. Drawing on Herzfeld’s (1982) ethnographic model of the dual construction of modern Greek identity as “Romeic” (qua actual, vernacular, rural-rooted, and “oriental”), and “Hellenic” (qua constructed, idealized, cosmopolitan, and occidental), the study explores the similarly dual sociosexual construction of male homosexuality following the creation of the modern Greek state in 1830. The study concludes that the Greek national project required desexing the ancient Greek past in the process of crafting a sanitized, heteronormative, and patriarchal polity in line with its Victorian-era counterparts in Western Europe. Furthermore, modernity reordered the extensive diasporic Greek communities in the Europe, the Middle East, and the Black Sea region in ways that promoted the fertilization of metropolitan Greece with a variety of rural and immigrant sexual imaginaries. Women now place their trust in men who tonight go off with other men Being left on their own dishes piled up in the sink nightclothes unbuttoned, lying on the sheets they stoop and rest on low chairs as their children’s voices from their bedrooms do not reach their ears. Women now place their trust in men who tonight are lying down with other men”1 (“Greek Fantasy,” written in 1997 by Yiorgos Chronas [1999]) © 2002 Editorial Board of Antipode. Published by Blackwell Publishing, 108 Cowley Road, Oxford OX4 1JF, UK and 350 Main Street, Malden, MA 02148, USA Mapping “Romeic” and “Hellenic” Same-Sex Desire 911 Mapping Greek Homosexuality onto Greek Heteropatriarhy In his History of Sexuality (1990; originally published in three volumes in 1976, 1985, and 1988), Foucault posits that “homosexuality” is a modern, 19th-century invention, based on discursive and scientific sensibilities of that time. The implication is that it is often erroneously compared to non-Western and premodern milieus. Foucault argues that Classical Greek pederasty was socially constructed in a very different way from modern homosexuality because of significant differences in the ideologies, iconographies, and practices of male same-sex desire in those times. I suggest here that his position is absolutist and utterly modern in its attempt to compartmentalize sociosexual experience searching across axes of time rather than place. In so doing, Foucault produces an evolutionary picture of sexuality formation. By describing ancient male Greek same-sex desire as an obsolete “other,” he cannot consider how antiquity-originating ritual behaviors and relationships of androcentrism, phallocentrism, and male domination were translated and modified into sociocultural and political experiences of the Byzantine, Ottoman, and post-Greek Revolution nation-state-building eras. Instead, I argue, male same-sex desire in the Greek world never suffered a definitive rupture in expression or ontology from ancient forms, which serve as the basis for continuous if flexible sociosexual traditions. I examine male same-sex desire through the analysis of a substantial queer Greek male literary and artistic corpus, while also relying on a personal ethnography.2 I significantly base this “autoethnography” on visits between 1996 and 2001 to numerous rural and urban places in Greece, including Athens, Thessaloniki, Thessaly, Thrace, and the Cycladic Islands. I do so, first, to theorize contemporary Greek homosexuality in terms of Greece’s political economy and the construction of a national political culture, and second, to define ecological relationships between male homosexuality and heteropatriarchy in contemporary Greece. Thus, I map an agenda for further research on Greek homosexuality and the power relations that insert it firmly into national and international imaginaries. The research is informed by three questions: How did/does the construction of an Enlightenment- and Romanticism-influenced political and state culture in early 19th-century Greece redefine the male sexual self and produce a spectrum of male sexualities? How do rural-urban migration and the varied diasporic experiences of Greeks shape their sexual values and practices? And how have these multiple male sexualities—also multiple types of male–male desire—underpinned patriarchy? First, I explore the process of state formation in the 19th century and argue that (1) it gave rise to a new type of political self 912 Antipode that read and selectively appropriated the Greek historical record, (2) it “de-sexed” ancient Greek history to harmonize it with Orthodox Christian dogma—the other signifying pillar of the new national identity, and (3) it affirmed masculinist authority structures by relying on the triadic division of power among patrilineal kinship, patriarchal Orthodox Christianity, and a strong martial culture tied to expansionist national aims. Second, I consider the question of the spatial boundedness of Greek sexuality—and Greek male same-sex desire in particular—by exploring the character of the historic and the contemporary Greek diasporas. I support my assertions with two case studies of the impact of diasporic experience on Greek homosexuality: (1) Alexandrian Constantine Kavafis’ gay erotic poetry and diaries, which have had a profound impact on the artistic expression of homosexuality in metropolitan Greece; and (2) an autoethnography of Koumoundourou Square’s sexual demimonde. I conclude that we can discern at least two distinct and coexisting traditions of same-sex desire: one that is fluid and contingent and rooted in pre-modern and prenationalist value systems, and one that recognizes orientations as fixed and immutable and has its roots in Western European conceptions of the self.3 Yiorgos Chronas (1999), a notable poet who wields some influence in the world of queer Greek men’s literature through his publishing house and bookstore, Odos Panos (Panos Street), makes important allegations in his poem “Greek Fantasy” about the ecological relationship between heteropatriarchy and homosexuality in contemporary Greece. The poem alludes to unequal gender and sexual divisions of labor in contemporary Greek society, the sociosexual construction of both home and public spaces, and the spectral continuity between homosocial and homosexual expression—at least among men. Chronas also suggests that male desire (beyond the boundaries of homespace) and female desire, which, at least according to “Greek Fantasy,” remains largely unfulfilled and unexpressed, are mapped vastly differently. In Greece, patriarchy, homosexuality, and misogyny have often been intimately linked, yet little literature is available that makes this explicitly clear. This is especially surprising since academia has long focused on and been fascinated by male–male desire in Classical Greece, especially in relation to pederasty, pedagogy, and the masculinist character of the city-state regime. Dover’s (1978) classic philological and art-historical study staged a set of arguments and methodologies that later scholarship has questioned. Most importantly, Dover argued that same-sex desire in ancient Greece was essentially analogous to (modern) homosexuality. Since Dover’s landmark study, other scholars have engaged the subject of family and sexuality in ancient Greece from the perspectives Mapping “Romeic” and “Hellenic” Same-Sex Desire 913 of historiography and social history, literary criticism and critical social theory, sociology, and demography (see recent works by Bremmer, Cohen, Halperin, Stuart, Thornton, Winkler, and Zeitlin). Their work is to a degree—and in some cases substantially—influenced by Foucault’s social constructionist work on sexuality. Anglo-American and European scholarship continues to break new analytical ground concerning ancient Greco-Roman sexuality, yet academia is largely silent on the subject of contemporary Greek male homosexuality:4 In particular, scholarship on how sexuality is imbricated into national identity, the family, class, gender, race, the sex industry, social marginality, the municipal disciplining of same-sex desire and practice through urban planning, and the AIDS crisis— to name a few possible research venues—is virtually non-existent. In Greece there are no university departments dedicated to gender and sexuality studies, reflecting the fact that there is general public discomfort about discussing these subjects. Thus, there have been no indigenous studies of contemporary Greek sexuality, most sexuality scholars coming either from the United States or Western Europe. A fundamental question that defines the boundaries and nature of scholarship about Greek identity concerns the purported division between an ancient and a modern Greek culture. There are several explanations for periodizing “Greekness” into “ancient,” “medieval/ Byzantine,” and “modern” historic experiences, the counterview being that Greek culture and identity, although clearly continuously modified, occupy a continuous if diachronic spectrum of experiences constituting a single cultural tradition. On the one hand, Enlightenment and, later, Romantic constructions of “Greekness” lionized the Classical epoch, and Periclean Athens in particular. The advent of neoclassicism in Western letters and arts framed in practical terms the manner in which the intellectual and aesthetic tradition of the Classical Greek world was appropriated by the Great Powers, especially Britain, France, and Germany, to be integrated into modern racist projects of nationalism. The French imperial expressions of a mission civilisatrice, the pedagogical homage to Classical Greek (and Latin) in elite British public schools, and the pillaging qua rescuing of relic artifacts of the Classical and Hellenistic world by British, French and Germans in the first quarter of the 19th century established a sense of ownership over, and a reasoned lineage to, the Classical world. On the other hand, during the 19th century, the West constructed the Greeks of the decaying Ottoman World as an Oriental “other,” tangentially and sometimes incidentally connected to Classical civilization. Jacob Philip Fallmerayer’s thesis that 19th-century Greeks were not connected either racially or culturally with Classical 914 Antipode Greek civilization exemplified such “othering” (Herzfeld 1982:75–76; Veloudis 1982:28–35). Early 19th-century Greek elites, influenced by Western-born neoclassicism, also devalued the living Greekness within the Ottoman state and the Levantine Greek diaspora. Ottoman bureaucratic practices did not help debunk Westerninspired constructions of 19th-century Greekness as a binary set: ancient Greekness as a museumized tradition nourishing the Western European cultural project, and modern Greekness as an ersatz variant of the ancient original. The Ottoman state ruled over and managed the day-to-day affairs of its non-Muslim subjects through the so-called millet regime: Millets were non-territorial administrative contracts with each of the three major religious minorities of the Empire—the Greek Orthodox, the Armenian Orthodox, and the Jews—that determined the privileges and obligations of each religious community vis-à-vis the sultan. Greek identity was thus subsumed administratively under Greek Orthodoxy and the corresponding millet—an administrative regime that included all Orthodox Christian subjects, regardless of their place of residence within the empire and their linguistic identification. Accordingly, the Greek Orthodox millet included linguistically diverse peoples of the Balkans, Asia Minor, the Trans-Caucasus, and the Middle East that fell under the civil and ecclesiastical jurisdiction of the Orthodox and Oecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople (Lewis 2001:36). Thus, the Ottoman authorities identified Greekspeaking and Bulgarian-speaking Orthodox peoples as members of one and the same “Greek Orthodox” millet, since it was their religion rather than their language that defined their administrative relationship to the state. These came under the label “Rum” (an Ottoman corruption of “Roman” qua Byzantine Orthodox) and were amalgamated in Ottoman census records under a single demographic category. The eventual demise of the millet system with the collapse of Ottoman power in Southeastern Europe and the establishment of the Greek, Serbian, and Bulgarian states set the stage for virulent politics of cultural revivalism and “identity cleansing.” In the two decades before the revolt against the Ottoman state, Greek elites agitating for independence were inventing “Modern Greekness.” Paris-, Vienna-, and Odessa-based Greek elites were in part responsible for the revolution against Ottoman authority (1821–1830). An essential element of their cultural-political struggle was to recuperate what they constructed as a corrupted umbilical to the Golden Age (Vlami 1997:73–74). After the revolution, the state fashioned a political self by appropriating selectively Classical Greek intellectual and linguistic traditions and integrating them with Orthodox Christian and Byzantine traditions—which had persisted through centuries of Ottoman suzerainty over the Greek World—into a new national imaginary. For example, the state adopted a highly stylized classicizing Mapping “Romeic” and “Hellenic” Same-Sex Desire 915 Greek idiom and grammar fashioned by Adamantios Koraes, a Greek intellectual of the Western European diaspora, and turned its back on the vernacular Greek language and its uncomfortable linguistic links to the multicultural, multiethnic, and integrative character of the Ottoman World. Indeed, the state was required to engage in this discursive revisionism if nationhood was to be enacted on the ethnic grounds that its elites chose. The new prototype political culture was embraced as purely “Hellenic,” cosmopolitan, modernist, and Western. Importantly for us, however, this selective rereading of Greek antiquity completely “desexed” the new political culture, burying the ecological relationships among ancient Greek martial culture, maleto-male homosociality and patronage, and male homosexuality that defined important aspects of civic life in cities like Athens, Sparta and Thebes. For example, nationalist pedagogy required the commemoration of the heroic lore of King Leonidas’s 300 hoplites at Thermopylae and the bravery of the Theban Sacred Corps, but it silenced the mention of the male homosocial/homosexual bonds that made them so effective. With Foucault, then, this triangular and interdependent system of sociosexual values was an essential part of the ancient Greek experience, but, counter his reading of Greek male homosexuality, this ecological construct continued to operate in 19th-century Greece and thus became a prime target of the architects of Greek modernity. Consistent with Foucault, again, the Greek state operated in accordance with the Victorian ethic of repressing sexual expression. Writing about the ascendant bourgeois repression of sexuality since the 17th century, Foucault could have also been addressing the 19th-century Greek nationalist project: Calling sex by its name thereafter became more difficult and more costly. As if in order to gain mastery over it in reality, it had first been necessary to subjugate it at the level of language, control its free circulation in speech, expunge it from the things that were said, and extinguish the words that rendered it too visibly present. And even these prohibitions, it seems, were afraid to name it. Without even having to pronounce the word, modern prudishness was able to ensure that one did not speak of sex, merely through the interplay of prohibitions that referred back to one another: instances of muteness which, by dint of saying nothing, imposed silence. Censorship. (Foucault 1990:vol 1, 17) In that sense, the Greek state became a sponsor of the heteropatriarchal, sexually restrictive, procreation-based Western paradigm, thus founding a new sociosexual discursive benchmark for the culture. Outside the circle of intellectual and political elites, vernacular practices evoked rural values, the conservatism of the Christian Orthodox 916 Antipode and Byzantine traditions, and were deemed “Romeic” (after Rum), reminiscent of the Ottoman past and by implication inferior (Herzfeld 1982:19–21). Ergo, an elite nationalist few constructed an idiosyncratic bridge between a romanticized and “sanitized” Classical Greek heritage and the new heroic, desexed, neoclassical “modern Greek” identity. It is the elites’ selective seeing and reading of Greek antiquity that helped construct “Graeco-Christianity” as one syncretistic charter cultural tradition out of the two unlikely bedfellows of Classicism and Orthodoxy. I hypothesize that the Greek state’s imperatives in 1830 gave rise to a new and parallel sociosexual self alongside an existing, vernacular, and organic one, rooted in ancient practices and modified over time by Christian and Ottoman practices. This new sociosexual self was masculinist, patriarchal, and entrenched in the emerging political culture and economy of the new state. The first king of Greece, Otto, son of Ludwig I of Bavaria, and Otto’s consort, Queen Amalia of Oldenburg—both admirers of Greek antiquity—became the prototypical First “Greek” Couple and attempted to nurture in Athens a Mittel-European authoritarian political and social culture. As Bavarian architects ordered and adorned the new capital’s public spaces with an invented official architecture, the Greek political economic elites fell increasingly in line with the capitalist and diplomatic exigencies of their era. The “English,” “French” and “Russian” parties dominated the domestic political scene, themselves local reflections of Great Power politics and economics in Southeastern Europe. In the politically volatile years following the establishment of the Greek State, Ottoman-era collective millet identity politics dissolved into masculinist personality politics focused on rivalries among the Greek Revolutionary heroes. While Revolutionary heroines existed (the captainesses Manto Mavrogenous and Bouboulina among them), none found themselves in the Greek political ruling class after the Ottoman Turks were defeated. The new politics was decidedly heterosexist and masculinist. Ancient Greek masculinity was not informed singly by heterosexual imperatives, procreative or other, but was fluid and conditional upon life-stage, class status, ritual behavior, and local and communal norms and customs. In both ancient and modern cases, however, masculinity was patriarchal in that women were subordinate and men held considerable political economic privilege. The patriarchal practices associated with the ancient Greek traditions are still evident in the Greek countryside, although cultural sectionalism assures that it is impossible to generalize about the status of women in rural Greece. Admittedly, these practices have been modified by Christianity and eroded by modernization and demographic change—especially rural Mapping “Romeic” and “Hellenic” Same-Sex Desire 917 urban migration, the rising status of women, and changes in fertility patterns. The new sociosexual paradigm, in contrast, is Western, cosmopolitan, explicitly urban in character, and Cartesian in its absolute classification of and distinction between, on the one hand, homosocial and, on the other hand, homosexual/heterosexual behavior and identities. I see contemporary Greek male homosexuality mapped, often uncomfortably and destructively, across the behavioral spectrum that spans the “Romeic” and “Hellenic” identities. Thus, I suggest that the coexistence of the “Romeic” and “Hellenic” cultural paradigms gives rise to multiple sexed identities, some of which come into direct conflict with the continuing Greek patriarchal project. Westernstyled, post-Stonewall gay and queer sexual identities are only some of several expressions of contemporary Greek male homosexuality— and those would be situated on the “Hellenic” end of the cultural spectrum. “Romeic” sexual behavior and identities, in contrast, are contingent upon class, situation (“rurality” immediately comes to mind), spatial sequestration (service in the military comes to mind), and life stage. These selective homosexual, bisexual, transgender, or transvestite practices are overlaid significantly by homosocial practices that either marginalize or entirely exclude women. What, then, is the evidence for a “Hellenic–Romeic” spectrum of sociosexual identities and behaviors? Furthermore, is the “Romeic”/ “Hellenic” sexuality pairing peculiarly Greek, Levantine, Mediterranean, or otherwise regionally specific? Foucault (1990) is silent on the matter in his History of Sexuality. In it, he speaks about the Western experience as a counterpoint to ancient Greek male homosexual culture and does not explore the regionalizations of sexual desire. In his book Same Sex, Different Cultures, Herdt (1998) questions the validity of the term “homosexual” for same-sex desire and sexual practice outside a strictly Western cultural domain. He writes, “The ancient Greek is not a homosexual, the Azande warrior who takes a boy lover is not gay, and the Sambia of New Guinea are neither of these and do not identify with these identities. To “export” such ideas and place them on other cultures constitutes a kind of old fashioned colonialism” (Herdt in Browning 1998:28–29). Herdt’s allegation, then—that same-sex erotic and emotive relations are commonplace and mainstream in some cultures—leads us to question how such relations can be sustained when operating within a procreative, matrimonial, and patriarchal system. The Greek case is instructive here.5 Gender-role-affirming and fertility festivals in rural Greece are mainstream and commonplace. In the pre-Lenten celebrations of “Lydinos” in the village of Kypsele, in the island of Aegina, villagers invoke divine intervention for family and agricultural fertility by constructing and displaying the effigy of a man with exaggerated, 918 Antipode exposed genitals. And in the village of Agia Eleni in the Prefecture of Serres, virginal adolescent males pull a plow through the village and then lie on the ground simulating coitus with the earth as part of the Easter-time firewalkers’ festival (Figure 1). In the Dionysian, ecstasiastic fertility festival of “Maides-Artozenes” in the Village of Makrynitsa, in Thessaly, men crown themselves with cherry blossoms and brandish maenadic thyrsoi6 in a parade. I suggest that such folk traditions, for example, harbor evidence of ideological and conceptual continuity of a moral and social canon that promoted homosocial behavior and male same-sex desire in the service of patriarchy. Festivals are important community-building events and symbolic and affirming of the androcentric, phallocratic nature of village life, the centrality and critical importance of male fertility, and the separate and less recognized contribution of women to the village’s prosperity. Most extraordinary among these fertility rituals is the “Bourrani” festival in the town of Tyrnavos, in Thessaly. In 1952, Thanos MourraesVelloudios documented ethnographically and photographically in great detail the Bourrani celebration. Christian crosses and evocations of the Trinity are here incorporated into a pre-Christian, magical, pagan event celebrating the “Borreas” (the northern wind—hence, through linguistic corruption, “Bourrani”). In Mourraes-Velloudios’s photographs, male-only celebrants dance line-dances while brandishing waxen and wooden penises, pour libations on the ground and on the penis simulacra, masquerade as the god Pan, prepare and consume a ritual meal of soup made of different grains, and socialize in the shade of pine trees (Figure 2). The men kiss the penis effigies, poke each other playfully with them, and wear them in headdresses while resting and conversing or dancing (Figure 3). The procession terminates at the Church of Prophet Elias in the highlands outside Tyrnavos. While the atmosphere is patriarchy-affirming and homoerotic, it is not homosexually lascivious (Mourraes-Velloudios 1996:92–94). Rather, the homosociality reproduces a moment when Dionysus and the Christian god converse, when homoerotic and homosocial practices glide into perfect alignment, and a time when church, landowners, and breadwinners (males all) reconfirm power relations in the village. This patriarchal, homosocial behavior promoted the domestic sequestration of village women and facilitated homoerotic behavior among Greek men,7 though village men did not identify as gay or bisexual, avowedly “modern” sexual identity categories. Rather, these homoerotic/homosocial practices supported a masculinist political economy of the village, underpinning the powerful triad of village priest, village president, and chief of police. I call such village structure and rituals of male homosociality “Romeic,” after Herzfeld’s (1982) Mapping “Romeic” and “Hellenic” Same-Sex Desire 919 Figure 1: “Anastenaria” firewalkers’ festival in Agia Elleni, Prefecture of Serres. Four strong and masculine village youth pull a plow simulating the breach of the Earth’s hymen. (Translation by author. Photo, ca. 1952, published in Mourraes-Velloudios 1996:33). Used with permission of Agra Publications, Athens, Greece 920 Antipode Figure 2: Bourrani festival in Tyrnavos, Thessaly. A group of farmers surrounds a chief, who wears a crown adorned with an effigy of a penis and carries another as a “scepter” and offers a libation. The penis effigies are, in fact, vessels for wine and are either ceramic or made of wood. (Translation by author. Photo, 1952, published in Mourraes-Velloudios 1996:101). Used with permission from Agra Publications, Athens, Greece use of the term to describe cultural identity and practices rooted in the Ottoman-period Greek village life and tradition. The gender-bending, homosocial libertinism of fertility festivals documented by Mourraes-Velloudios (1996) should not be seen as expressive of rural licentiousness. Patrilineal kinship traditions, Orthodox Christian dogma (based on a patriarchal Trinity), and the statistpaternalistic nature of the polity at local and national levels make heteropatriarchal, multigenerational families the ideal. Historically, recognized erotic behavior in rural settings was heterosexual and Mapping “Romeic” and “Hellenic” Same-Sex Desire 921 Figure 3: Bourrani festival celebrants playfully simulate intercourse between maenads and satyrs. (Translation by author. Photo, 1952, published in Mourraes-Velloudios 1996:110). Used with permission of Agra Publications, Athens, Greece 922 Antipode intended for, though not necessarily limited to, matrimony and procreation. Betrothals and matrimony were characteristically defined in line with class qua property interests, and dowries framed the manner in which property passed from one patriarchal unit to another, bypassing the hands of the bride.8 In such an environment, explicitly homoerotic relations of a formal or informal kind were (and are) unthinkable. Only in the city might such relations find covert expression. Subjugating the homoerotic in deference to the political and economic power of the heteropatriarchal complex in the countryside was nonetheless disturbed in modernity. The heteropatriarchal Greek national project, rapid urbanization, declining fertility rates, and the improving social standing of women all meant that local power was no longer narrowly defined by the village’s male elites. Since the Second World War, and especially since accession to the European Communities in 1981, the Greek economy has grown significantly. It has been thoroughly restructured through intense mechanization of agriculture, the consolidation of small farms into agribusiness cooperatives, the expansion of (primarily) light industries, the rapid growth of service industries (especially tourism), and the establishment of market linkages to European Union markets. As economic modernization has progressed alongside significant rural-urban migration, remote parts of the Greek space-economy have become integrated into the political economies of Athens, Brussels, and the world. Has this growth and development meant that Mourraes-Velloudios’s (1996) magical village life has disintegrated, never to be seen again? I would suggest not. Rather, I would argue that it has migrated, in the form of displaced farmers and their children, to the working-class neighborhoods of Athens, Thessaloniki, Patras, Larissa, and Kalamata, to name a few of the fastest-growing urban centers of Greece. The “Romeic” eroticism of these newly minted urbanites flows next to, and is articulated into, Western erotic expressions that now increasingly characterize a growing urban middle and upper class. Where is “Queer Greece”? The locus of male Greek homosexuality goes beyond Thessalian village rituals and Greek urban places. I suggest here that the changing character of Greek diasporas have historically shaped—and continue to shape—sexual customs. Accordingly, Greek sexual and heteropatriarchal practices cannot be adequately studied at the national and local levels. Although a national-level study may be possible in some cases,9 the spatial organization of Greek sexuality requires consideration of extensive and varied Greek diasporic experiences. Mapping “Romeic” and “Hellenic” Same-Sex Desire 923 Understanding the Greek Diaspora The advent of a sovereign Greece in 1830 brought forth nationalistic comparisons of different genres of “Greekness,” which, like all nationalisms, required the repression of some beliefs and practices and the cultivation of some sort of mythical Greek unity and authenticity. On the one hand, flourishing elite Greek diasporic communities in Western Europe, the Black Sea, and the Levant could then compare themselves with the newly constructed referent national culture. On the other hand, drawing upon romanticized and narrow imaginaries of Greekness, these diasporic elites, alongside the ascendant Athenian political elites, created affinities based on a cultural orthodoxy of linguistic idiom, dress, manners, taste, customs and practices. Robust, culturally sophisticated, affluent Greek communities throughout the Levant—especially in Constantinople, Izmir, and Alexandria—thus enlivened this national conceit of cultural unity and correctness. The geographical largeness of the 19th-century Greek diaspora had to do with the strictures and opportunities that the Ottoman Empire had historically afforded the Greek Orthodox millet. While the Ottomans defined “Greekness” as an administrative-religious category conflated with Christian Orthodoxy, the spatial distribution of Greeks across Ottoman political space from the east coast of the Black Sea to the tributary principalities of the Danube and the prosperous Alexandrian Greek community in North Africa allowed “Greekness” to be defined variably. Within the vast tent of that label, I would suggest that both the metaphysical and customary construction of the sexuality of these “Greeks” varied as well. Among recent transnational diasporas and alongside the longstanding Greek diaspora of the Eastern Mediterranean and the Middle East has emerged one partially related to post-Second World War European economic reconstruction (1950–1970). This new transnational diaspora of unskilled and semiskilled rural Greeks— made up at first by male and ultimately by both male and female guest workers—followed demographic growth, mechanized agriculture, and slow economic growth domestically, as well as high demand for industrial labor in Western Europe, the United States, Canada, and Australia. While Greeks immigrated abroad in considerable numbers during the 19th and 20th centuries, some Greek diasporic strongholds came apart. Starting with the 19th-century nationalist revolutions in southeastern Europe, Greek communities of Southern Bulgaria, Serbia, Romania, and Albania retreated from these newly founded states as a result of various expressions of ethnic cleansing. At the same time, “ethnics” associated with these same states who lived within the boundaries of the growing Greek state faced similar “cleansing” 924 Antipode pressures. The collapse of Greece’s Asia Minor campaign against Mustafa Kemal’s forces in 1922, for example, caused the virtual extinction of the Greek community of Izmir. Greek defeat in that war set the conditions for a massive population exchange orchestrated under the Treaty of Lausanne of 1923, and the influx into metropolitan Greece of more than one million diasporic Greeks of Asia Minor and Thrace. Greeks also fled Istanbul in massive numbers after the antiGreek riots of 1955, never to return, while at the same time thousands of rural Greeks took up industrial jobs in Stuttgart and Liege. Meanwhile, the majority of the Greek Alexandrian community decamped to Greece, Cyprus, and Beirut following the advent of Arab nationalist rule in Egypt in 1956. The break out of post-Cold War ethnic warfare in the Caucasus put Greek-culture communities there—especially in Georgia—under threat of extermination. The Greek government rescued most of them in an airborne military operation coded “Golden Fleece.” Other persons of Greek heritage residing in territories of the former Soviet Union “returned” to Greece under very liberal laws of “Right of Return.”10 These ex-Soviet émigrés often speak an ungrammatical Greek patois, and are not well equipped to compete in a Greek labor market now in sync with the European Union. Their “Greekness,” perhaps indisputable, cannot be accommodated very well within the national imagination forged by Athens and Athenian elites.11 The “return” of these often-rural diasporic Greeks to the national homeland is significant to our understanding of how Greek sexuality is mediated by transnational diasporic change. These persons have no tangible connection with metropolitan “Greekness” in any of its dominant forms, ranging from “Romeic” “magical” village life to sophisticated “Hellenic” life in Athens. Their insertion in the country’s landscape in some ways reinforces the identifiable “Romeic/Hellenic” binary of sexual practices and injects variant homosexual-heteropatriarchal behaviors into contemporary Greek society. The sociosexual impact of different diasporic experiences on Greek homosocial and homosexual identities has registered itself in both intellectual and material terms: in the cultural and artistic contributions of diasporic gay intellectuals such as Constantine Kavafis; and in the changing sexual practices on the part of “repatriated” Greeks of the diaspora now living in metropolitan Greece. Case Study I: Gay Diasporic Literature and the Poetics of Same-Sex Desire. Alexandrian Constantine Kavafis’s literary contributions helped catalyze contemporary artistic expressions of male same-sex desire and constructions of a popular imagination about modern Greek homosexuality. In his study of the impact of Kavafis’s homoerotic Mapping “Romeic” and “Hellenic” Same-Sex Desire 925 poetry on Thessaloniki poets starting in 1915, Plastiras (1996) notes that the philosophical and historicist dimensions of Kavafis’s poetry resonated with the existential anxieties of Macedonian poets and their historical imagination of Greek antiquity and Byzantium. Kavafis’s homoerotic, poetic internal monologues became the foundation for a realist erotic poetry genre that still influences literary expressions of male homosexual desire in Greece (Plastiras 1996:3). Although Kavafis’s eroticism is best mapped onto the self-indulgent and decadent fin-de-siècle existence of bourgeois Alexandrian Greeks like himself, the testimonial character of his poems and journals provided a framework, precedent, and ethic to others wanting to pronounce their eros from the literary rooftops, like contemporary poet Nikos Christianopoulos. Yet even for Kavafis, his elite social standing could not protect him from heteropatriarchy. He writes in his journal in 1902: I thought, tonight, to write about my eros. Yet I am not going to do it. How all-powerful prudence can be. I have liberated myself from it, but I am still wary of the enslaved, the eyes of whom may see this sheet. And thus I stop. How poor of soul [I am]. Let me mark a letter, though—T—as a symbol of my sentiment, or of this moment. (Kavafis 1998:2) Kavafis’ impulse to reveal the homosexual self becomes a spore for a new generation of erotic poets in Greece proper: G T Vafopoulos, Zoe Karelly, Giorgos Ioannou, Alexis Aslanoglou, Vassilis Dimitrakos, Yiorgos Chronas, and Nikos Christianopoulos. In certain ways, they go beyond “Kavafian ‘logos,’” as the literary establishment calls his elegant, suggestive, and luxuriant testimonial manner. They adopt a bitter, critical—but also self-critical and self-loathing—attitude and an in-your-face, unapologetic style. Here the accused is featured as homophobia, itself constructed as the handmaiden of heteropatriarchy. Christianopoulos describes the ways his poetry and existential anxieties differ from those of Kavafis: Kavafis is a poet of desire: he craves it, he relishes it, and he idealizes it. He occasionally speaks of abandoning the decadent life, though he even mentions it merely because he fears corruption. Other times, he pursues decency [poetry without explicit eros], but only because he is concerned about public censure. Sometimes, again, he becomes upset with his “rationality”—not his conscience—which fooled him in missing on [erotic] opportunities. He dedicates his later years to the remembrance of erotic pursuits … I am a poet of erotic agony. What Kavafis omits are major issues for me: unattainable satisfaction, exploitation, the physical and emotional battering, corrupt morals, annihilation of the self, remorse, guilt, disgust, despair. (Christianopoulos 1999:130–131) 926 Antipode The poetic outlets of Christianopoulos and his contemporaries filter Kavafis’s elite diasporic eroticism through their own class, local, and historical imaginations and their erotic practices, producing fresh literary images of male homosexual life in contemporary Greece. Their poetry unfolds in no uncertain terms the maps of their sexual quest. The periodicity and the spatial structuring of these quests reveal how parts of the Greek metropolis have become resignified by male homosexual practices performed in the image of machismo and heteropatriarchy, and at the same time in heteropatriarchy’s shadow: Christianopoulos writes explicitly about the Thessaloniki male homosexual demimonde in a direct, everyman idiom: From Vardari [Square] to the Fountain, and from the Tower to Courthouse Square, I am searching for you on all the “for sale” sidewalks, I tore through all the construction sites to find you. Could you be in a movie house? Are you playing in a billiard hall? Are you making a sucker happy in some room, some park, some bar? So I roam all alone and thirsty from Vardari to the Fountain. My fever cannot be suppressed, My heart cannot be manned by others. (“Saturday Night,” Nikos Christianopoulos [1998]) Vardari, or Democracy, Square is the axis mundi of Thessaloniki’s sexual margins, with the turn-of the-century Fountain located at the terminus of Egnatia Avenue, opposite Vardari.12 The segment of the grand avenue to which Christianopoulos refers is today an icon of old Thessaloniki. Here Roman imperial buildings and Byzantine churches are arrayed next to Ottoman period Turkish baths (hammams), the north edge of the Saphardic Jewish Modiano market, neoclassicalstyle apartment buildings, and much newer, post-Second World War, modernist, cement and glass mid-rise buildings. Since the late 1940s, Egnatia Avenue—and, by extension, the neighborhoods girding Vardari Square—have been in a state of advanced neighborhood transition. From its solidly middle- and upper-middle-class past, the grand avenue has become a haven for working-class commerces, cheap hotels marketing to Slav and Albanian shoppers from neighboring countries, and sexual minorities. Thus, the Fountain, Vardari Square, the waterfront White Tower, and the Courthouse Square prescribe an urban polygon of publicly performed male homosexual activity. Female homosexuality is virtually invisible in the city. Christianopoulos’ gay Mapping “Romeic” and “Hellenic” Same-Sex Desire 927 everyman would frequent the parks, the expansive parking lot of the General Staff of the Third Army, putatively straight porno theaters, and off-the-bright-lights side streets where gay sex can be procured for money, looks, favors, or other. In his book Canal d’amour (1996), chronicler and writer Thomas Korovines composes an ethnography and geography of sexual marginality in Thessaloniki in the 1980s. The “canal d’amour” is a small street that runs along a section of the medieval walls of the city in a poverty-stricken district that still bears its preliberation Turkish toponym, Barout Hane, or Gunpowder Depot. His narrative is less explicitly about the games between the “eromenos” and the “erastes” (the lover and his object of desire) than about the intersection of male same-sex desire with other denizens and practices of the urban margin. Above all, Korovines is a critical observer of the interactions among men in pursuit of sex with other men, the civil authorities, and the general public. In particular, he describes the multiple mappings and intersections of poverty, sexual desire, sexual assault and violence, and immigrant subcultures on the drug and prostitution trade in the poor Ladadika district (olive-oil sellers market), in Vardari Square, and in the Barout Hane districts. He describes decayed urban neighborhoods, geared to the satisfying of male same-sex desire, that operate through police tolerance, bringing together Greeks of all classes, Albanian migrant workers, repatriated Greeks from the TransCaucasian diaspora, Roma people, and the authorities. He paints a picture of an obscene economic system where sex, cash, protection, violence, drugs, and disease intertwine. The poets Kavafis, Christianopoulos, and Chronas, among other voices of Greek male homosexuality, subvert the silencing and the censorship that Foucault attributes to the bourgeois state. Importantly, they reveal that “Romeic” blue-collar and “Hellenic” white-collar male homosexualities are not airtight behavioral and ontological containers. The effete poet always falls in love with the grocer’s son. In fact, the two paradigms constantly interpenetrate each other, redefining their ontology in terms of their homosexual “other.” “Romeic” eros needs “Hellenic” eros as its crucial counterpoint. Case Study II: A Night at the Brothel: Diasporic Eros in Working-Class Athens I am a member of the Greek diaspora and an expatriate living in the United States. Though I had previously visited Greece annually in the summer, I arrived in the summer of 1996 with a new intent: to understand my placement within the erotic landscape of Greece. My guides through erotic Athens, Thessaloniki, and Mykonos were four close Greek friends: “T1,” a philologist and secondary-school educator teaching in the Greek periphery; “T2,” a Florentine-educated architect 928 Antipode practicing in Thessaloniki; “D,” a choreographer with the National Theater, also in Thessaloniki; and “C,” a freelance reporter and theater critic who shuttles between Athens and Thessaloniki on a weekly basis.13 Self-identified as gay, they regularly navigate the erotic spectrum of opportunities that emerge from the contingent articulations of “Romeic” and “Hellenic” sexualities. That summer, and in four subsequent summer visits, they became my informants in a personal discovery of places where male same-sex desire manifests itself. In our journeys, I found evidence of the spaces Christianopoulos and Chronas describe in their poems. Putatively straight Greek men and the daring among the much smaller number of self-identified gay males cruise municipal parks and parking lots, avenues and side streets, adult cinemas, marked cafés in city squares, even certain church squares, among a myriad of potential such places. These gay men signal these spaces as places of male desire through body postures and movements and their erotic productions, thereby subverting these places’ charter identity and function. This customary use of urban space as gay space is not outwardly much different from how gay men may be perceived as operating in American cities. But the impetus informing their actions is very different. In particular, this erotic activity embodies the very sociosexual tension between opposites: countryside versus city, village magic versus Cartesian urbanity, diaspora versus autochthonous origin. “C” showed me an urban place in Athens where male “Romeic” and “Hellenic” same-sex modalities have been articulated with one another in a highly subversive manner. The territory is defined by Koumoundourou and Omonia Squares, the municipal meat market, and Athenas Avenue and described by heteronormative society as a straight red-light district.14 On a number of nights, “C” and I walked around the territory and observed interactions among clients in automobiles and sex workers walking languorously on the sidewalk. Both groups were male. (In keeping with heteropatriarchal precedents, female sex workers are sequestered in domesticated spheres, or brothels, marked by a light by the door—not always red.) During one of our extended expeditions, we spent several late-night and early-morning hours in a brothel managed by a transsexual person whom “C” had befriended. Through the night, the manager of the brothel explained to us the articulation of two streams of sex-seekers. On the one hand were men seeking the services of female sex-workers —very often immigrant Albanian, Russian, Ukrainian, or diasporic Greek women. These men shuttled from brothel to brothel comparing the qualities of the women and their prices as if they were olive oil. On the other hand there were putatively straight men, though selfidentified as gay, seeking sex with men. These men loitered around the brothels offering sex to the men seeking sex from the women. Mapping “Romeic” and “Hellenic” Same-Sex Desire 929 These latter seekers thus derivatively engaged in male same-sex erotic activity, the brothels serving as a kind of catchment area for men. The brothel manager’s account of red-light district life and our own observations suggest that “Romeic” and “Hellenic” same-sex desires often occupy the same spaces. To some degree, the women figure as either human shields or media for male–male desire. They are, it seems, superfluous (see Nast this issue). Conclusions and an Agenda: From Angel to Safe Sex The Greek erotic landscape has changed dramatically in the last quarter-century. As Greece has become increasingly less “Romeic” and more “Hellenic,” its sociocultural construction of sexuality increasingly approximates that of its European Union partners and the United States. According to my informants and the Greek gay press, “Romeic” sexuality is still found in smaller regional centers like Serres and Kalamata—and in the countryside—but gradually Greeks appear to be emulating Western Europeans and Americans, adopting rigid sexual identities. Today’s options are increasingly being reduced to identification with straight, gay, bisexual, or transgendered practices. There are many plausible causes for the shift. The “GraecoChristian” nationalist project and conservative public-school education annihilated and silenced all references to the homoerotic character of ancient Greek martial societies through selective readings of the Greek past. “Hellenic” pressures through modernization, urbanization, rising levels of education, and cosmopolitanism, nurtured by increasing prosperity, openness of markets, and the explosion of international tourism, have eroded and often extinguished village homosociality and same-sex sexualities. These same socioeconomic processes have shattered the social cohesion of many rural communities and have made urbanites out of the practitioners of MourraesVelloudios’ magical festivals. At the same time, the historic Greek diaspora throughout the Eastern Mediterranean, the Middle East, and the Black Sea and a contemporary one in the labor markets of Western Europe, North America, and Australia have given rise to a system of exchange of sexual customs and values that has broadened the spectrum of sexual expression to include permutations of both “Romeic” and “Hellenic” erotic traditions. In either case, male same-sex desire operates within a patriarchal model, at least to the extent that life in Vardari and Koumoundourou squares attests. As the other social extreme, “Hellenic,” Western-styled cosmopolitan male same-sex desire operates as a segment of the leisure, tourism, and entertainment sectors in resort communities like Mykonos and Rhodes. The international gay clientele is conspicuously male, and the available venues and diversions are fashioned to attract the gay male’s pink dollar, or euro, as it were.15 930 Antipode In the last two decades, Greek attitudes towards male homosexuality have shifted. In 1983, director and screenwriter George Katakouzinos’ film Angel, based on a documented case of “Romeic” same-sex desire turned into tragedy, was chosen as an Official Selection in the Cannes Film Festival. The film tells the story of a naïve young man, the son of rural parents displaced in Athens, who falls in love with a macho sailor. The sailor presses the young man into prostitution as a transvestite as a means of escaping the abject poverty of their youth. Katakouzinos depicts the consumers of transvestite sex for sale as putatively heterosexual. Angel’s tragic mother, his quadriplegic sister, and his grandmother—who is a retired prostitute—are invariably depicted as entirely dependent and disempowered, sequestered in the house. Female sexual expression is entirely absent, unless one accepts Katakouzinos’s premise that the “ersatz” femininity of transvestite gay men sufficiently substitutes for it. In many ways, Angel’s angst-filled imagery is in keeping with Christianopoulos’s and other contemporary gay Greek poets’ Athens of pulverized gay souls, working-class desire, and physical danger. The film ends, as the real case did, with the young man murdering the brutalizing partner. Eighteen years later, in 2000, directors Thanasis Papathanasiou and Mihalis Reppas produced the film Safe Sex, a farcical comedy constructed around several vignettes involving the sexual adventures of forty Athenian men and women of different classes and circumstances. The film became the greatest box-office hit in the history of Greek cinema. Among the characters are Alexi and Panos, a gay, male, middle-class couple who would fit as well in Greenwich Village as in the posh Athens in which the screenwriters map them. Their sexual anxiety revolves around suspicions regarding compromised monogamy and Stathis, their “bi-curious” neighbor. In another vignette, Makis, a “call boy” interviewed by a TV “magazine show” about his life in the sexual margins, laments coyly on camera how poverty made him, a straight man, succumb to (male homosexual) “perversion,” while, off-camera, he takes calls on his cellular phone from clients—their gender unspecified—in a business-like fashion. The yawning gap in artistic values between Angel and Safe Sex notwithstanding, the two films mark a measure of distance between two very different views of Greek same-sex desire. If Angel is paradigmatic of “Romeic” sexuality, Safe Sex suggests that at least middleclass Athenian men who desire men have “evolved” into homosexuals. The depiction of women in Safe Sex also suggests that, at least in the Greek metropolis, women have gained significant ground in social and economic status and can live productive lives outside traditional marriage. Although the film often portrays them as either young kitten-like sex objects or neurotic, aristocratic matrons, it does contain female characters that reflect the social advancement of Greek women.16 Mapping “Romeic” and “Hellenic” Same-Sex Desire 931 Contemporary Greek male homosexuality and heteropatriarchy and their ecological relationships to ancient and other historic forms represent an important and largely unexamined area of scholarly study. Moreover, the work shows that contra Foucault, ancient homosocial and homoerotic practices and imagery persist across time and survive the sociosexual rupture caused by capitalism and modernity after the 17th century. Encapsulated in village vernacular practices, they emerge as a “Romeic,” Dionysian counterpoint, to a “Hellenic,” Apollonian sexuality—the former evocative of the Ottoman legacy, the latter anchored to the modernist project. Here I suggest that we can garner new understandings of the construction of Greek national identity and Greece’s nationalist project by exploring their connection with sexual identity construction. Of exceptional importance to geographers and anthropologists of Greece would be further research on the relationship between the homosexuality-patriarchy complex and the geographical and sexed nature and mechanics of the Greek diasporic experience. Acknowledgments I would like to thank Dr Heidi Nast for nurturing this project and for her patience and help in the editing of multiple drafts of the paper. I would also like to thank Dr Beth Kelly of DePaul University’s Women’s Studies Program and the reviewers for their constructive criticisms. The paper is much stronger thanks to their attention. Endnotes 1 The translations of the poems and diary notes of Greek authors that appear in this article are my own. The translation of contemporary Greek poetry is especially challenging, as the poets often use highly idiomatic vernacular language. 2 I was born and raised in Greece during the 1960s and 1970s. Since immigrating to the United States in 1980, and especially since 1996, I have integrated fieldwork in rural and urban Greece into my geographic research. 3 This hypothesis owes a great deal to Michael Herzfeld’s (1982) conceptualization of contemporary Greek identity as having a dual character: a “Hellenic” one mapped on the 19th-century nationalist revisualization of the ancient Greek self and a “Romeic” one reflecting the culturally diverse actuality of Greek life in the immediate aftermath of the Greek Revolution. 4 Similarly excellent ethnographic work has been done on the construction of Greek national identity, the culture of honor, gender, family, and fertility, religion, death rituals, and the refugee experience. See Argyrou (1996), Cowan (1994), Dubisch (1995), Gallant (2000), Herzfeld (1982), Hirschon (1989), Karakasidou (1997), Panourgia (1995), Seremetakis (1991), and Sutton (1994). 5 Note that there are substantial differences in local culture across Greece. Customs, linguistic idiom, dress, diet, worship, and death rituals varied historically and vary contemporaneously among regions and groups that make up Greek society. Moreover, it is critical to note that under “Greekness” we may cautiously include Hellenized “others,” such as the Vlachs, the Sarakatsan, and the Pomaks. 932 Antipode 6 A thyrsos is a wooden staff decorated with vines and garlands, commonly used in antiquity by celebrants of Dionysus. 7 The status of women improved dramatically once modernization took much of the Greek countryside by storm in the last quarter of the 20th century. The first Andreas Papandreou socialist government abolished—in fact, outlawed—the practice of dowry gifting, although Greeks, especially in rural places, continue to practice it. 8 There are exceptions to this rule. For example, among Greek Catholics on the island of Thera, property passes from one generation to the next through the mother’s line. 9 The upcoming volume titled Queer Italia (forthcoming), edited by Gary Cestaro, represents this approach. 10 Like other states with significant historic transnational diasporas (eg Israel and Ireland), the Greek state extends residency and even citizenship to persons who can prove familial and cultural affiliations with Greece, even when these persons may have never set foot in the country before. 11 This new harvesting of the diaspora has spawned racism among nationalist Greeks. Refugees from the former eastern bloc are sometimes derogatorily referred to as “Rossopontioi” and “Tourkosporoi” (“originating in the Russian coast of the Black Sea” and “spawn of Turks”). In both cases, the intended injury is supposed to take the form of constructing these persons as non-Greek. 12 “Vardar” is a Bulgarian toponym for the central Macedonian valley that terminates on the north Aegean coast. It is also the Bulgarian toponym for the Axios River that used to traverse Thessaloniki. For Thessalonians, the very utterance of the words “Plateia Vardari” (Vardari Square) conjures an image of illicit sex, poverty, and immigrants. 13 These persons can comfortably be counted as members of an intellectual, if not also economic, international male homosexual elite. Consistent with Nast’s description of American queer patriarchs, these Greek gay men are university-educated (often in elite universities abroad), multilingual, and employed in highly competitive professions. They provide support of Nast’s thesis regarding an ascendant queer patriarchy that is flourishing in the age of transnationalism. 14 As in Thessaloniki, Athens’ red-light district overlaps with Ladadika, the olive oil market. Given the explicit structural connections between the olive-producing countryside and Ladadika districts, and the rural origins of “Romeic” sexuality, it is perhaps not a coincidence that the two often occupy the same urban spaces. 15 No resort haven for gay women equivalent to Mykonos, Ibiza, Sitges, Provincetown, or Fire Island comes readily to mind. Interestingly, the town of Eressos on the island of Lesbos, alleged home of the poet Sappho, has become a minor pilgrimage site for gay women. 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