Gillian Bouras
An Australian
Writer
Living in Greece

December 2013

Forty-five years ago, my parents moved into a house that had no front fence. In most of that Melburnian suburb, although side fences served as a practical sort of divider, lawns sloped freely down to the concrete pavements, and nobody thought anything of it. I certainly didn’t, but these days the subject of fences and walls is very much on my mind, and I think of that estate’s plan as being symbolic of a kind of trust and freedom that may have disappeared forever.

 

When I moved into my mother-in-law’s house in the Greek village somewhat later, I was struck by the fact that a high stone wall and a tall wooden gate separated the building from the street. Here was a place with a very different history, one involving brigandage, war and occupation: there was even a hidden entrance to the upstairs bedrooms.

But village life had settled into a quiet tenor in the 1980s. When Aphrodite went out, she simply poked a long stick through the catches on the outside gate, or else tied them together with an old piece of ribbon. This was the signal that she was not at home, and no one would have dreamt of entering the house in her absence. Later a friend from another village told me that his father had often said, ‘Never trust a man who locks his house.’

By that standard, there are now a great many untrustworthy people about: these days village houses have high fences with wrought-iron spikes on top, outside windows are barred, and many are the sophisticated locks and alarm systems, while the population of large and aggressive dogs increases almost daily. These trends started, I think, with the first waves of immigration in the 1990s, and have become much more marked with the long years of economic crisis Greek society has had to endure.

Then there’s the matter of walls. Humankind has always been fond of them: the oldest extant Daddy of them all is the Great Wall of China, started in 500 BC, and eventually stretching for 22,000 km. I remember when the Berlin wall, all 112 km of it, was constructed in 1961. The East German authorities said it was to prevent the penetration of Fascist influences, but the whole world knew the wall was built to prevent the persistent defection of the population to West Germany. I also remember my mother saying, ‘If that communist society is perfect, then why have they had to build a wall to keep people in it?’ 28 years later the wall came down.

Keeping people in, keeping people out. In December last year, Greece finished building its own 12.5km wall along the Turkish border. Photos show it to be a surreal structure of roll upon long roll of barbed wire. Who knows when it will come down? But the most sinister construction of all at present is surely the so-called Separation Barrier, first mooted by the Israeli Government in 2000. By the summer of 2010, 520km had been completed, much consisting of nine-metre concrete slabs. This wall does not follow the Green Line, the pre-1967 Israeli border, but instead cuts deep into the West Bank, isolating a great many Palestinians, and irrevocably altering their lives. Many human rights activists allege that the Barrier is a land grab rather than a defensive operation, and that two million innocent people have been manoeuvred into an open-air prison, while as early as 2004 the wall was declared by the International Court of Justice to be illegal.

And what about Australia?   The Australian branch of Amnesty International claims that there are currently more than 7500 people being held in Australian detention centres, of whom 1200 are children, and that there are instances of detention lasting for many months, or even years. The branch is running a Freedom from Fences campaign, and has raised more than $60,000 so far in its efforts to support those imprisoned, and to see that they are freed as soon as possible.

It is an illusion, surely, to think that safety can be guaranteed by a big enough fence or strong enough wall. Shakespeare caused Pyramus to refer to the vile and wicked wall that separated him from Thisbe. How right comic Pyramus was, and Lord, what fools we mortals be.  

Gillian Bouras

 

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Gillian Bouras 2018 CreativityGames.net