I really wish I’d had a longer camera lens with me in Greece so that I could have snuck a shot of the police in Athens. My lens only extended to 100 mm, and I could not have done justice to the rosy-cheeked gangs of teenage youngsters who patrol the streets of Athens without getting an arse chewing from them.
They were unlike any police I’d seen anywhere else. Their average age appeared to be about 22 or so. At first I thought I was simply miscalculating and that they were actually older than they appeared to be, but as the months wore on I noticed that most Greeks appear to be older than their actual age, and that the police still had the dewy softness that accompanies those last few layers of baby fat. I don’t mean to imply that they were fat, because most were not, they were just very young and hadn’t developed the muscle mass that displaces the appearance of being fed on mother’s milk.
They were also very well-dressed, in navy blue jump suits and roguishly tilted berets. Only the Italian Carabinieri in their Armani designed uniforms are better dressed than the Greek Police. I wish American police had designer uniforms. It makes me feel sorry for American police.
The Greek police were well-armed, with sleek berettas slung none-too-securely on their still developing hips, and they traveled in packs. It was rare to see two policemen patrolling the streets of Athens together. They were much more likely to congregate in groups of 4 or 5 or 6, in squares or street corners.
Last year, Athens was all over the news when a policeman shot and killed an unarmed 15 year-old boy. There were massive protests and riots throughout Greece and many banks and other businesses were set ablaze in downtown Athens. Much of the trouble was blamed on anarchist groups, but I believe that a lot of normal Greek citizens also showed up to protest police brutality and the unnecessary use of force. I wonder if that’s why the teenage police gangs I saw in Athens looked so skittish. The teenage policegirls especially worried me because they always had one hand on their sidearm, heading darting this way and that, on the lookout for god knows what.
It has to be said that Greece is an extremely safe country with a very low crime rate. I don’t remember seeing any police on the islands, but I think that’s just due to my poor memory and their low numbers. Athens, however, was thick with teenage police gangs. They could often be spotted stopping newly-arrived immigrants from Bangladesh or Pakistan and asking to see their papers and ID. Immigration is a new phenomenon in this extremely homogenous country, and the Greeks are having a difficult time adapting to their changing world. Unfortunately, these teenagers in their dashing berets and designer uniforms do not inspire confidence. I felt like they needed a gruff old tobacco-chewing Chief of Police to teach them the ropes and to remind them that pulling out their weapon should be a last resort, not a first impulse.
The teenagers need someone like the cop I saw in mid-town Manhattan, wearing an old coffee-stained uniform and trying to work out the cause of a minor fender-bender that was blocking traffic on 7th Ave.. The two drivers involved in the accident were standing on either side of the cop, shouting abuse at one another and blaming each other for the accident. A few minutes of this and the cop held up his hands. ”I am about ta administah justice!” he said in a heavy New York accent. He pointed to the man on his right, “You — get in your car and drive home!” He pointed to the guy on his left, “You– get in your car and drive home!”
The drivers did as they were told, the onlookers applauded, and life in the city went on without a hiccup.
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