A true capital of culture, Athens is strewn with reminders of the gifts the gods left in their wake: theatre, poetry and sculpture. Yet modern Greece has faced financial ruin, crippling austerity measures and record rates of unemployment in recent years. The country is also dealing with a refugee crisis, with tens of thousands of people seeking asylum on its shores. So how do artists continue creating amid these economic and social crises? Street artist Spike 69, film director Thanos Anastopoulos and members of the Skrow Theater group tell us about making art against all odds.
WITH his gelled hair, taste for coffee and keen interest in women, Muhammad Fawzy could be a university student anywhere. At the age of 21, and studying engineering at Cairo University, he should be looking to a bright future; after all, the world is crying out for technically minded graduates. But Mr Fawzy feels the outlook is bleak. He worries that no job he finds after graduation will pay enough to cover his costs, let alone allow him to support his widowed mother. Without a good salary, Mr Fawzy cannot buy a flat; without his own home he cannot marry; and without marriage, he cannot have sex.
“I cannot have a girlfriend for religious reasons, and because I wouldn’t like that for my sister,” explains Mr Fawzy. “I was in relationships [with women] previously but it never got physical. I never held their hands or kissed them.” He often talks to women, but on Facebook: it affords privacy and safe distance. As with much else, his predicament about women is more complex than just the pull of tradition.
His views of Islam are just as tangled. He regards himself as more devout than his parents, but does not pray regularly; he prefers the company of friends to listening to preachers, yet craves a purer version of Islam. Egyptian tradition, he thinks, is tainted by a culture of bribe-paying, nepotism and other behaviour banned by religion. “We need to enforce morals that the West has taken from us.” The spread of atheism, he thinks, is a menace.
IN A SCENE FROM Norwegian journalist Paul Refsdal’s new documentary Dugma: The Button, Abu Qaswara, a would-be suicide bomber, describes the sense of exhilaration he felt during an aborted suicide attack against a Syrian army checkpoint. “These were the happiest [moments] I’ve had in 32 years. If anyone had felt exactly what I felt at that moment, Muslims would want to go through the same feeling and non-Muslims would convert just to experience it,” he enthuses to the camera, visibly elated by his attempted self-immolation.
Abu Qaswara’s attack failed after his vehicle was blocked by obstacles on the road placed by the Syrian military. But speaking shortly after he returned from his mission, it was clear that his brush with death had filled him with euphoria. “It was a feeling more than you can imagine,” he says. “Something I cannot describe, it cannot be described.”
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