The political psychology of the modern voter is often characterized by a metaphysical, almost romantic relationship with the specter of the past. The average citizen likes to be frightened, likes to hope, but above all likes to remember past collective aspirations—not exactly as they were experienced, but as they would have liked to have experienced them.
So I am watching, with that necessary ironic detachment that comes from a knowledge of history, the new digital and political spectacle surrounding Alexis Tsipras’s so-called «new venture.» And I can’t help but smile as I watch the exact same people, with the exact same keyboards, spewing tons of enthusiasm, as if they’ve rediscovered the Holy Grail of social liberation.
The phenomenon is psychoanalytically remarkable. The very same fans who today swear by the «mature leader’s» grand return are the very same ones who, just a few moons ago, welcomed Stefanos Kasselakis with shouts of triumph and messianic fervor. Back then, the messiah wore tight-fitting shirts and spoke English with a Wall Street accent; today, the messiah returns dressed as the wise steward of our national disappointments. In both cases, the essence remains the same: the complete castration of personal and collective responsibility. The modern Greek leftist—or the one who imagines himself to be one—is not looking for a political program; he is looking for a father. Or, at the very least, a good godfather who will take it upon himself to absolve him of his own guilt for his own inaction.
Because, let’s not beat around the bush: when SYRIZA, after the shock of successive defeats, attempted to get back on its feet and articulate a serious, organized, and collective vision for a fresh start, all of today’s so-called «enthusiasts» remained conspicuously inactive. They met every genuine effort at collective rebuilding with deep, cynical disdain. They preferred their couches and social media, waiting for the next «trend.» And now, as soon as the shadow of the old leader appeared on the horizon, they’re rushing to welcome the new «bearer of hope.» This is a political version of the eternal tourist, who switches hotels in search of the best all-inclusive deal—except that here, the package includes free ideology and zero effort.
The question, of course, is not whether Tsipras’s venture will succeed, but what will become of all these latecomers if next winter’s polls turn out to be cold and bleak. Will they, I wonder, seek yet another political home? Will they look for a new or a revived political space that will simply keep them close to political influence, to current events, and—most importantly—to electoral survival? The answer is obvious: yes. Because opportunism in Greece is not an ideology; it is a biological necessity. It is the need of the political parasite to feed off whatever host of the moment promises power or, at the very least, a place in the spotlight.
The audience this new «movement» is targeting is an electorate that is weary, deeply disillusioned, and, ultimately, trapped in political nostalgia. These are people who are not looking for a new, groundbreaking narrative about today and tomorrow. Instead, they are searching for the memory of an era—back around 2015—when they believed, even if only for a few weeks, that «something could change.» They are searching for their lost idol in the mirror of history. But nostalgia, no matter how powerful a political emotion it may be, no matter how much it stirs hearts at party rallies, has one fundamental flaw: it is sterile. It cannot produce a future. It produces only repetitions, usually in the form of a farce, as old Karl Marx would say.
The harsh truth is that Greek society seems to be seeking something entirely different. It is looking for something beyond the figures and political approaches that have already been tried, worn out, and failed miserably. At the same time, however, what is truly new has not yet found the way—or the courage—to express itself politically, socially, and organizationally. We find ourselves in that classic “interregnum” described by Antonio Gramsci, where the old is dying but the new cannot yet be born. And in this dark interlude, the monsters and the purveyors of despair emerge.
Let’s not kid ourselves. Alexis Tsipras is not returning today as the impetuous leader of the radical Left of the previous decade. That Tsipras is dead and buried beneath all the things he failed to do beyond the commitments of the memoranda. He is returning more as a seasoned manager of a broader social disillusionment. The tragedy of the situation, of course, is that this disillusionment was shaped, to a large extent, by his own historical and political trajectory. He is the doctor who comes to cure the disease that he himself helped turn into a chronic condition.
And this is where the central, fundamental question of the politics of reemergence lies. It seeks to regain society’s trust, yet still keeps its cards tightly hidden. What is the true substance of this endeavor? What are its alliances? What is its strategic direction? No one knows. It’s playing a political game of «hide-and-seek» at the expense of a people who have lost everything. For any thinking citizen, this secrecy, this «wait-and-see» approach, raises more serious concerns than it provides a clear picture of what it is actually seeking to achieve. Does he want to save the center-left, or does he simply want to save his own reputation?;
At one time, the Greek Left—with all its flaws, divisions, and dogmatic rigidity—articulated grand social narratives. It had collective visions and historical aspirations; it spoke of changing the world and truly believed in it. Today, a caricature of its former self, it is merely seeking a way to engage with a society that has become far more skeptical, far more weary, and, fortunately, far more demanding in the face of political fraud. Society has suffered and learned its lesson; the Left, on the other hand, seems to have suffered but learned nothing.
We do not, therefore, need any more copies of older, failed political models. We do not need a return to the past based solely on cheap sentimentality and nostalgia for «past glories.» The question before us is starkly simple: is what is presented to us today as «new» truly a viable political prospect, or is it merely a clever attempt to revive the old balances and the convenient sentiments of another era? Is it a new beginning or the latest facelift for an aging political establishment?;
And to put it even more bluntly, in terms of real life: What does this place have to offer someone who is 20 or 30 years old today?; A child growing up amid total job insecurity, who sees his or her paycheck disappear within the first ten days of the month due to the high cost of living, who is unable to rent a decent home because of the housing crisis, and who sees their future as a black box full of uncertainty? Are we going to tell him to vote for Tsipras because 2015 was «great» amid the roadblocks of self-delusion? Young people don’t need faded albums of memories; they need a present and a future.
The Left, gentlemen, can once again become a truly mainstream social movement in only one way: when it decides to provide convincing, tangible, and realistic answers to the issues of everyday life. On bread, rent, electricity, and the dignity of work. And let the would-be saviors understand this well, It can't be done without conflict. It cannot be done without deep, painful cuts into the rotten body of Greek capitalism and state-dependent parasitism. It cannot be done without a clear willingness to «break eggs». If you're afraid of the shell, you don't eat the omelet—you just eat your words.
A new, serious Left cannot be built on metaphysical appeals to enlightened leaders, nor within the sterile offices of closed-off scientific staffs and technocrats who view society as a statistical sample. Either it will be a Left of social movements, of the grassroots and genuine rupture, or will it simply be a variety troupe that stages the same tedious melodrama over and over again for a few faithful followers and many onlookers? The cards are on the table; the question is whether there is anyone who has the courage to break them, or whether we will continue to hatch them, waiting for them to emerge… as doves of peace and political survival.
