Three Deaths Shifted Course of Greek Crisis
By MARCUS WALKER
It was noontime on May 5, and the tension was palpable as angry crowds gathered in Athens's main squares, readying to protest deep spending cuts needed to earn an international bailout.
"Don't worry," Ms. Papathanasopoulou told her mother on that May day. "I'm on an upper floor." Besides, the 32-year-old was leaving work early at 3 p.m., for a doctor's appointment to learn whether the child she carried was a girl or a boy.
She never found out. Shortly after 2 o'clock, as the throngs marched past her building on Stadiou Street, hooded men shattered the window, poured gasoline on the floor and hurled in a Molotov cocktail. Toxic smoke filled the three-story bank, sending 24 people who worked there climbing out of windows or clambering onto roofs of adjacent buildings.
Ms. Papathanasopoulou and two colleagues, people who had watched her marry her husband nine months before, succumbed to the thick black fumes before they could make it out.
Ms. Papathanasopoulou and two colleagues, people who had watched her marry her husband nine months before, succumbed to the thick black fumes before they could make it out."She and I did everything together. We were best friends," says her husband, Christos Karapanagiotis. "No one could imagine this."
For decades, Greece had tolerated unruly, sometimes violent protests against the state. Athens's radical anarchist fringe, of which police believe the arsonists were members, even enjoyed moral legitimacy in the eyes of many Greeks. The attitude reflected society's deep mistrust of its rulers and, more recently, anger at a debt crisis that nearly tipped the country into bankruptcy.
May 5 changed all that.
The deaths of three innocent employees shocked Greece, shifting the national mood and the course of this year's crisis. Instead of rising social unrest as many had feared, Greece has seen only fragmented opposition to the euro zone's most drastic austerity measures. An expected backlash against the ruling Socialist government failed to materialize in recent local elections. And last week, when the government announced fresh budget cuts, the streets were mostly quiet.
The deaths of three innocent employees shocked Greece, shifting the national mood and the course of this year's crisis. Instead of rising social unrest as many had feared, Greece has seen only fragmented opposition to the euro zone's most drastic austerity measures. An expected backlash against the ruling Socialist government failed to materialize in recent local elections. And last week, when the government announced fresh budget cuts, the streets were mostly quiet.
Some Greeks say it took a tragedy to burst the romantic idea of rebellion rooted in their history of resistance to the state, forcing a sobered society to face the need for radical economic overhaul. It wasn't lost on Greek commentators that the three who died went to work that day instead of protesting.
"The deaths were the first day of a new recognition of reality," says Panagiotis Petrakis, a leading Greek economist. "It is not a bright reality, but people recognize now that the old economic model, based on debt, can no longer feed us."
Ms. Papathanasopoulou and the friends who died with her—34-year-old Vivi Zoulia and 36-year-old Nondas Tsakalis—have come to symbolize something more: the struggle of a generation of young, well-educated Greeks trying to build a life in an often sclerotic economy.
For weeks after the fire, flowers for the dead and teddy bears for the unborn child piled up at the charred façade of the bank, as May's popular fury against banks for bringing Greece low turned into identification with three hard-working employees.
"You have burned the 700-euro generation and their children," read one handwritten note taped outside the bank—a reference to the low starting salaries, often about $958 a month, of those who flock to Athens in search of fortune. The message has resonated in a country of close-knit families, where nearly everyone has a relative chasing that same dream.The three bank workers had followed a well-worn path: childhoods among Hellas's idyllic seashores and landscapes, advanced degrees from abroad, and a choice between trying to contribute something to their country or greater opportunities elsewhere. Thousands go overseas, draining the country of its best minds. Around 110,000 Greek university graduates, most with master's or doctoral degrees, live abroad—nearly 10% of all university-educated Greeks, according to a recent survey.
"Those who stay in the U.S. or elsewhere become successful people in science, business or other fields, whereas those who return to Greece go to waste," says Stavros Politis, a 33-year-old property developer who lost his friend Mr. Tsakalis in the fire. Mr. Politis, who himself got a master's degree in Britain but returned to Greece to work, knew Mr. Tsakalis since their childhood summers in a small fishing village on the Ionian Sea.
Marfin Egnatia Bank, where the victims worked, paid wages above the Greek average, although still low by Western European standards. Friends and relatives of the three say they viewed Marfin as a meritocratic employer, free of the nepotism and corruption that afflicts many Greek institutions.
But a labor-ministry inspector's report in July suggests the bank branch on Stadiou Street partook in what some observers here describe as Greece's national sport of bending the rules. The report found that the branch didn't have a required fire-safety permit, didn't conduct fire drills and had only one emergency exit, operated by a remote-control device that was hard to find in the smoke.
A bank executive says the exit was unusable anyway because of the flames, and most employees found other ways out.
In their first media interview, Ms. Papathanasopoulou's family blames the arsonists first and foremost for Angeliki's death. But they also point to Greece's poor governance.
"Our parents raised us with the romantic belief that things function in this country," says Angeliki's older sister, Sissy, a civil-service legal adviser who lives in the western city of Patras. "What happened to my sister shows us the true picture. Nothing is working in Greece."
The Papathanasopoulou sisters shared a genteel childhood in Greece's mountainous west, in a small port town called Aigio that faces the southernmost peaks of the Balkans across the Gulf of Corinth. The town, so old that it sent ships to the Trojan War, exports raisins these days.
The girls' parents, a lawyer and land registrar, took them on trips around Greece and abroad
and to the theater and to museums in Athens. They encouraged the sisters to take piano and ballet lessons. "We tried with all our hearts and efforts to provide them with as many qualifications as we could," says their father, Zacharias Papathanasopoulos.
With a head for math and science, Angeliki excelled at school. "She was the brains of the family," says Sissy. After attending the small high school on the street where they lived, the girls were drawn to the capital.
Angeliki met her future husband, Mr. Karapanagiotis, when they were 19-year-old math students at the University of Athens's graffiti-adorned campus on the edge of town. He says his wife loved the outdoors, and the two often hiked, climbed or hunted in the mountains. After graduating, the couple moved to London in 2003 to attend business school. Ms. Papathanasopoulou obtained a master's in actuarial science, while Mr. Karapanagiotis studied international accounting and finance.
Staying in London, with its greater job opportunities, was tempting, but the tug of kin and country proved stronger. Greece had recently adopted the euro, its economy was growing and it was preparing to stage the 2004 Olympics. Returning to Athens in 2004, Ms.
With a head for math and science, Angeliki excelled at school. "She was the brains of the family," says Sissy. After attending the small high school on the street where they lived, the girls were drawn to the capital.
Angeliki met her future husband, Mr. Karapanagiotis, when they were 19-year-old math students at the University of Athens's graffiti-adorned campus on the edge of town. He says his wife loved the outdoors, and the two often hiked, climbed or hunted in the mountains. After graduating, the couple moved to London in 2003 to attend business school. Ms. Papathanasopoulou obtained a master's in actuarial science, while Mr. Karapanagiotis studied international accounting and finance.
Staying in London, with its greater job opportunities, was tempting, but the tug of kin and country proved stronger. Greece had recently adopted the euro, its economy was growing and it was preparing to stage the 2004 Olympics. Returning to Athens in 2004, Ms.
Papathanasopoulou took a job at a forerunner of Marfin, working 12-hour days as a business-loan officer, and earning barely €1,000 ($1,300) a month after taxes.
"The pay was peanuts, but we were investing in our careers, in order to have a good life later,"
"The pay was peanuts, but we were investing in our careers, in order to have a good life later,"
says Mr. Karapanagiotis, who works in the business department of a shipping company.
The couple became friends with Ms. Papathanasopoulou's colleagues, Mr. Tsakalis and Ms. Zoulia. Mr. Tsakalis was born on Lefkada, a green island off Greece's western coast, near ancient Ithaca, where Odysseus set off on his travels. An only child, Mr. Tsakalis lost his father at a young age and was brought up by his mother and his uncle, a merchant-ship captain who sailed the globe.
The couple became friends with Ms. Papathanasopoulou's colleagues, Mr. Tsakalis and Ms. Zoulia. Mr. Tsakalis was born on Lefkada, a green island off Greece's western coast, near ancient Ithaca, where Odysseus set off on his travels. An only child, Mr. Tsakalis lost his father at a young age and was brought up by his mother and his uncle, a merchant-ship captain who sailed the globe.
Mr. Tsakalis also studied in Athens, then got a master's in banking and finance in the U.K. An introverted, taciturn young man, he was "not your typical Greek," says his childhood friend Mr. Politis. He was often critical of the corruption he saw in Athens and believed his generation, with its low pay and stifled opportunities, was paying the price for Greece's old ways.Each summer, Mr. Tsakalis would return to Lefkada, where he would sling a towel over his shoulder and walk to his favorite beach. "This place was his paradise," says Mr. Politis, sitting by the harbor one afternoon as the village settled into its winter slumber after the tourist season.
Mr. Tsakalis and Ms. Zoulia, who came from the Aegean island of Milos and whose family declined to be interviewed, were among the guests who came to a tiny village outside Aigio in September 2009 to attend the wedding of Ms. Papathanasopoulou and Mr. Karapanagiotis. Guests danced to traditional Cretan music and drank wine made by in-laws and fiercely strong raki until 7 a.m., when the bride and groom dived into the sea.
Soon after the newlyweds returned from their honeymoon, Greece began its descent. National elections in October led to a new Socialist government, which declared that the defeated conservative administration had grossly understated Greece's budget deficit. The revised shortfall of more than 12% of gross domestic product, more than three times the previous official estimate, shocked international markets.
As investors fled Greek bonds, the government pledged ever-harsher spending cuts and tax
As investors fled Greek bonds, the government pledged ever-harsher spending cuts and tax
hikes. Unions protested with growing vehemence. Heavy debt repayments loomed in the spring, threatening Athens with bankruptcy.
The crisis couldn't overshadow the couple's happiness, says Mr. Karapanagiotis. "We were going to start a family."
The national strike on May 5 brought more than 100,000 people onto the streets. Parliament was due to vote the next day on cuts to pensions, public-sector pay and other spending demanded in return for a bailout by the European Union and International Monetary Fund.
Old and young, conservative and radical, straight-laced union members and unruly anarchists vented their anger at the financial markets and politicians. Clouds of tear gas wafted across Athens's central Syntagma Square as riot police struggled to beat back protestors trying to storm parliament.
The crisis couldn't overshadow the couple's happiness, says Mr. Karapanagiotis. "We were going to start a family."
The national strike on May 5 brought more than 100,000 people onto the streets. Parliament was due to vote the next day on cuts to pensions, public-sector pay and other spending demanded in return for a bailout by the European Union and International Monetary Fund.
Old and young, conservative and radical, straight-laced union members and unruly anarchists vented their anger at the financial markets and politicians. Clouds of tear gas wafted across Athens's central Syntagma Square as riot police struggled to beat back protestors trying to storm parliament.
The main protest march proceeded up Stadiou Street, where stores and banks, including the Marfin branch, were accustomed to demonstrations. Most had their metal shutters pulled down. Almost alone, the Marfin branch had no shutters, and its staff was at work.
A bank executive says Greek regulations forbid metal shutters on listed neoclassical buildings. It was the branch manager's decision to stay open, he adds, but employees could decide whether to come to work. "It was their free choice," he says. The bank declined to make the manager available for comment.
Andreas Triantafyllides, who owns a men's clothing shop next door, had the shutters down on his building despite the regulations. "If you want to protect something, you do it," he says.
For the bank employees, skipping work wasn't an option. "If you work for the private sector, you know automatically that there is no such thing as a strike," says Mr. Karapanagiotis. "If you are trying to build a career, you don't want to be blacklisted."
In addition, Ms. Papathanasopoulou didn't want to take a day's vacation, which would have cut into her maternity leave. And it was hardly the first demonstration in Athens. Previous violence was limited to property. She felt safe at Marfin, says her husband. "Banks are supposed to be protected."
Around lunchtime, her sister Sissy phoned. "Don't worry, I'm leaving early," the younger sister said, echoing what she'd told her mother.
Vassilis Hadziyakouvou was guarding the bookstore he manages across the road from the bank. He says that even old, respectable-looking people were chanting, "Burn down the parliament." He watched as masked men smashed the bank's windows and poured gasoline into the foyer.
"They could see that there were people inside," he says.
A security camera inside the bank recorded a Molotov cocktail exploding at 2:08 p.m. Mr. Tsakalis can be seen standing still, unable to react. Smoke blotted out the camera's view within nine seconds. Firefighters later found Mr. Tsakalis lying on the bank's staircase.
Ms. Papathanasopoulou, trapped in her third-floor office by the smoke, phoned her husband for help. In their last, brief words to each other, she told him she was dying.
He rushed to his car and headed for the bank, but police and firefighters held him back. His wife was found collapsed by her desk, according to coroner Filippos Koutsaftis.
In the street below, Ms. Zoulia's elderly mother wailed for her daughter Vivi, who asphyxiated on a narrow third-floor balcony that didn't jut out far enough to escape the smoke.
The news of the deaths knocked the wind out of the protests. Parliament adopted the austerity program the next day amid only muted demonstrations. Thousands of Athenians gathered near the bank to protest against violence. In Aigio that night, locals held a candlelight vigil for Ms. Papathanasopoulou, and a large crowd of mourners gathered later that week for her funeral.
The scene was similar at Mr. Tsakalis' funeral on Lefkada and Ms. Zoulia's in a modest suburb of Athens where her mother and brother live. Local TV showed Ms. Zoulia's relatives weeping as her coffin was carried between rows of wreaths, including one sent by the prime minister.
The rioters who set the fire remain at large.
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748703805004575606712320692660.html#articleTabs_comments%3D%26articleTabs%3Darticle
A security camera inside the bank recorded a Molotov cocktail exploding at 2:08 p.m. Mr. Tsakalis can be seen standing still, unable to react. Smoke blotted out the camera's view within nine seconds. Firefighters later found Mr. Tsakalis lying on the bank's staircase.
Ms. Papathanasopoulou, trapped in her third-floor office by the smoke, phoned her husband for help. In their last, brief words to each other, she told him she was dying.
He rushed to his car and headed for the bank, but police and firefighters held him back. His wife was found collapsed by her desk, according to coroner Filippos Koutsaftis.
In the street below, Ms. Zoulia's elderly mother wailed for her daughter Vivi, who asphyxiated on a narrow third-floor balcony that didn't jut out far enough to escape the smoke.
The news of the deaths knocked the wind out of the protests. Parliament adopted the austerity program the next day amid only muted demonstrations. Thousands of Athenians gathered near the bank to protest against violence. In Aigio that night, locals held a candlelight vigil for Ms. Papathanasopoulou, and a large crowd of mourners gathered later that week for her funeral.
The scene was similar at Mr. Tsakalis' funeral on Lefkada and Ms. Zoulia's in a modest suburb of Athens where her mother and brother live. Local TV showed Ms. Zoulia's relatives weeping as her coffin was carried between rows of wreaths, including one sent by the prime minister.
The rioters who set the fire remain at large.
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748703805004575606712320692660.html#articleTabs_comments%3D%26articleTabs%3Darticle
