Chickens, Dogs, Trees and Justice – Greek Style

Lived on a Greek island for years, a lovely place in so many ways but the legal system was another matter entirely.  Here's a piece trying to get to the underbelly of a Greek justice system.

Chickens, Dogs, Trees and Justice – Greek Style

This week I found myself observing the Greek legal system in operation.  Waiting for my lawyer to be free to meet with me involved a three-hour stint in the number 1 court in Rhodes court building.  Finding myself at the back of the court with a perfect view of the proceedings and nothing else to distract me, this is the tale of that case, not mine.

My lawyer was the prosecuting attorney in what was obviously a long running family feud.  All participants lived out in the country and wore simple clothes, their distinctive accents very guttural and accompanied by hand waving and expressions that ranged from head hanging ( “the poor me, can’t you tell I’m innocent”), performance to the stabbing accusative fingers at the relatives at the back of the court (“They are the guilty ones!”),  to a strange crucified pose that many adopted - their arms outstretched on either side and their chests bared to the court pleading their Christ-like innocence and the evilness of their opponents. 

Given the time it takes for court cases to reach the court in the Greek Justice system things had obviously had time to fester nicely.  What had started as a grudge over land boundaries had grown in a year to the cutting down of the neighbour’s trees.  This was followed sometime later by a chicken-shooting incident that was graphically described.  Having waited 4 years all parties were anxious to have their say in court.  These chickens were duly described along with photographs of their bodies and the truly extraordinary egg producing capacity of these particular birds dwelt on.  The bird-shooting incident within one year had been escalated into the shooting of a family dog.  Tit for tat events followed fast and furious, interspersed with recollections of endless shouting confrontations where each had obviously called the other all the bad names they could think of. 

The actual court case was supposed to be dealing with what had happened on Sept 26 2001 when an assault of one of the parties had occurred.  The magistrate and the lawyers tried in vain to keep the witnesses to the day in question, but having waited 3 years all the participants could do was burst out with the long running history of this feud.  In vain did the magistrate remonstrate and try to cut them off. They were determined to have their full say.  Allegations did not stop with the chickens/dogs and trees incidents but even memories of relatives long dead were hauled into the open, along with descriptions of their tendency to go around chicken killing etc.  The implications were clear.  Both sides wished to demonstrate once and for all that the other side was clearly from an evil bloodline that did bad things not out of honorable revenge but out of sheer badness - like their mother/father or grandfather/grandmother before them.  It took me a long while to work out that all the participants were actually closely related and shared a common grandfather.  There were two cliques in the court and when one side was giving evidence the other group could be heard muttering, “Ψέματα” – (lies) in low tones. 

The court policeman kept having to come over and tell each group to be quiet.  Emotions were obviously running high and as the hours dragged on the 4 magistrates were losing patience at all the time this case was taking.  They had fifty cases to get through that day and the way things were going this was not going to be possible.  The glories of the digital camera have reached Rhodes and so with almost every pronouncement the lawyers would produce yet another colour print out.  The actual incident had happened here. (A photograph of the house and yard was entered in as evidence to the bench).  And here is the balcony where she had shouted at him. (Another colour masterpiece was handed to the bench).  When the plaintive mentioned his poor demolished trees, before and after photographs of the aforementioned trees were duly presented.  At first it had seemed very systematic but as piles of colour photographs grew on the magistrates’ bench so did their anger.  Colour photographs of the dead chickens and the dog that had been killed were added to the rest.  As the pile grew, interspersed with 3 years of statements given to the police about previous encounters, the leading magistrate became incensed with rage.  At which unfortunate point the attorney for the prosecution decided to do a Perry Mason and started pointing out minor discrepancies, like, “You say it was at 4 o’clock but in your statement to the police on the 30th you said it was at 4.30 etc”, pausing for effect. He then approached the bench with the aforementioned offending statement carefully highlighted in yellow and presented it as evidence. 

This piece of paper was not even looked upon by the livid magistrate in the middle; she merely made a note of yet another piece of paper presented to the courts.  But Perry Mason was not daunted and launched into another point about the witness saying she was near the window.  The same report, another copy, this time highlighted in green, was presented to reinforce the validity of his point.  At which point the middle magistrate could restrain herself no longer and took the by now massive pile of documents, photos of houses/yards/chicken/dog/title deeds/statements and affidavits, threw them on the bench and started screaming at the lawyer, “I don’t care if it was 4 or 10, or on the balcony or beside the window – why are you wasting this court’s time?”  She screamed at the attorney, “We have been here two hours and have other cases. Get to your point.”  The attorney looked crestfallen and went back to his bench and put down his carefully green highlighted statement and acquiesced, putting it back among his pile of papers instead of on the bench. 

Then gaining steam again he seized another piece of paper and approached the bench, waving a document that proved without a shadow of a doubt that two of the main protagonist’s sons went to karate classes, and as such were quite capable of threatening his client.  This piece of paper, a clipping from the local newspaper about the local karate club, was duly submitted to the bench.  The middle magistrate’s mouth fell open and she gave the lawyer a look of pure hate before angrily minuting the 100th piece of evidence.  Poor Perry Mason. I could see he had simply no idea of how angry he was making all the magistrates.  Behind his back they rolled their eyes in despair and shook their heads at each other in disbelief.  The people in the back of the court were beginning to giggle now and then and the earlier shoulder shaking and smirks were much more blatant.  The court usher came over repeatedly and told everyone off in stern tones.  Then a new witness was called.  He was probably the most important, being somewhat impartial.  He was grandfather to both of the main parties and had actually witnessed the event on the 26th September.  So there was a sense of anticipation, as having both sides completely differing views of what had occurred, we all waited to hear what light he could shed upon the events.

An elderly village man with a shock of white hair, unshaven and dressed in farmers’ rough and worn apparel, was ushered into the court.  He was obviously confused as to where to stand and had to be lead to the witness stand in front of the bench by the prosecuting attorney.  The magistrate started to question him, but I was bitterly disappointed as his accent was so dreadfully strong I could not make out one word of what he said.  Worse still, with every question from the magistrate, he left the witness stand and kept going up to the bench to answer them.  Angrily the prosecutor kept leading him back to the stand and shouted, “stay there” as one would to a dog.  Even this had no effect, as with the next question he once again approached the questioner as you would probably be wont to do in the village when someone asked a question. 

His face red with anger, the lawyer hit on a brain wave.  He instructed the old man that in court you could not speak if you did not hold onto the podium on the witness stand.  Turning to the magistrates, the lawyer raised his hand, placating, as if to acknowledge the lie he had just said.  But it worked!  The old farmer grasped the podium with both hands as if it were the book of God itself and was obviously annoyed no one had told him such an important thing before.  I was furious at missing the most important witness of the case, when the muttering of the magistrates soon made things much clearer.  One magistrate confessed he could not make out the heavy dialect of the man and the two others admitted they had difficulty knowing what he was saying.  The attorney, now sweating heavily, approached the old man and, holding out both arms in a beseeching gesture, he asked this question in slow, loud, clear Greek, as one would to an idiot.

“What time did you go to your daughter’s house on the 26th September?

The answer was guttural, but slower than before, and yet did not answer the question asked.

“Everyday I visit her”.

This induced guffaws from around the court and the court official was out of breath racing around trying to quieten people.  The lawyer swallowed hard and persevered bravely.  He held one of his palms flat and with the other hand made an axe like slashing motion into his palm with each word, even slower and clearer than before.  Each karate chop to his hand was harder than the previous one.

“What time on the 26th September did you come to your daughter’s house?”

This time the answer was crystal clear and said as slowly as he had been spoken to, so everyone could hear.

“11 am in the morning”.

The relief in the court was tangible and the lawyer looked immensely pleased.  Not only had he solved the moving about problem but he had also established communication in difficult circumstances.  A real victory of sorts.  But before he could ask the next question, the elderly man reached inside his ancient jacket and starting hauling out boxes of medication that he was on and talking about his various ailments.  The people around me burst into fits of laughter and even the usher gave up in despair and sat down.  The lawyer was examining his star witness as if he was there just to torment him.  One magistrate lowered his forehead onto the bench in front of him, whether in despair or to hide his laughter I could not tell. 

The case had taken on a real pantomime performance as no one could get the old guy to stop.  Having at long last discovered the rules, holding the podium with one hand, he ran on like a clockwork toy gesturing at his relatives behind him with his other hand, and in sweeping gestures over all his medication.  Unfortunately his heavy accent had returned and all his mighty statements were unintelligible. The magistrates tried to stop him, as did the lawyer, but he was unstoppable and so they left him to run down and he did eventually.  Panting, he finished Forrest Gump style, but in Greek, with a clear, “And that is all I have to say about that.”  He went to step down from the witness box and the prosecuting attorney told him to stay as the defense lawyer had some questions to ask now. 

The prosecutor’s first question, about the incident of the trees (it had been his saw that had done the damage), so angered the old man he grasped the podium so hard it shook.  On and on he railed in anger, but about what no one was sure, as his heavy guttural accent had returned.  The lawyer seemed to have learnt from his previous experience and said he had no more questions.  This won him a smile from the middle magistrate in reward.  Not asking another question might have pleased her so much he might have just won the case! 

Unfortunately the old man had taken umbrage at the first question and really felt he had a lot more to say and would not step down.  Told by the magistrate to step down, he refused and shook his head stubbornly.  The prosecuting attorney approached him and whispered in his ear and pulled his arm quite roughly.  This actually pulled the old farmer off the stand but since he had by now worked out that it was the podium, not the stand that granted you freedom of speech in this court, he refused to let go of it.  So the podium tipped over slightly and the two of them scuffled, the lawyer sweating and red, and the old man hanging on to the podium and his right to speak by a death grip.  The prosecutor managed to prise his fingers off the podium, which returned to an upright position, although rocking alarmingly.  The farmer kept up a tirade of abuse - in which the Greek “F word” featured strongly - as he was ejected, and by now the audience in the court was in stitches and enjoying themselves immensely. 

This was turning into an unexpectedly good show and you almost felt their desire to have the old guy back, seeming to realize he was the star turn of the day.  The usher could not get the crowd to quieten down and the middle magistrate sensing things were out of control, called for a break.  I missed the end of the story, as I had to go home, but left enthralled by the majestic spectacle of it all. I wish I could tell you the result - who killed the chickens, who shot the dog, cut the trees and assaulted the man - but I have a sneaking suspicion that even by the end of the whole case most of these things would still be unresolved.  In the villages on this island, under the heavy accents, there are many mysteries and deeds done in the night that never get explained and perhaps even the best legal system in the world would be left sweating and red faced, but absolutely none the wiser.