The clown of a party leader has introduced into the Cypriot political scene the equivalent of “dumping” in the economy—he systematically lowers the bar. The worst part is that his antics are accepted
We teach young children, among other things, how to match body language with verbal communication.
“Say you’re sorry to your sister, Niko.”
ΣΧΕΤΙΚΑ ΑΡΘΡΑ
“I’m sooo sorry.”
“No, that’s not how you say ‘I’m sorry.’ Look her in the eyes and say ‘I’m sorry’ properly [with the right tone]”
If nonverbal body language (and the emotions it conveys) doesn’t align with what our mouths are saying, the message comes across as insincere. Little Nikos doesn’t mean his apology. He says it because he has to. We, however—his parents or teachers—want to teach him how to apologize; we’re socializing him into mutual accountability.
A key element of socialization is the use of the body. We send messages through our bodies. If we don’t acquire this skill, we’re not only awkward but, often, offensive to others.
I wouldn’t wear shorts to a funeral, just as I wouldn’t wear a swimsuit to class. As a guest at a wedding, I smile when I greet the newlyweds; I don’t make a disapproving face. At a memorial service, I dress appropriately—as is expected in my culture. The head of the shopping center that suffered extensive damage in the recent earthquake in Japan, apologized for the deaths, first bowing with a mournful expression, as is customary in Japanese culture.
Why do we behave this way? Because our attire—the way we use our bodies—has symbolic significance. If I go to a funeral in shorts, I’m showing disrespect. If I go to class in a swimsuit, I’m showing a lack of seriousness. If I go to a ceremony in flip-flops, I’m showing that I don’t take it seriously.
The clownish MEP, who willingly plays the fool to attract attention, attended his own wedding not only in a regular suit, but dressed like a penguin — in a tuxedo and bow tie. I’ll overlook his ridiculous posturing—his imitation of the manners of a media-constructed, aristocratic foreigner. A child of his imitative era, he designed the ceremony for Instagram, not for its symbolic significance within the context of his tradition.
What matters is something else. Even he understood that a wedding ceremony is an event of special symbolic significance and wore formal attire (albeit ridiculous by our standards), when he could have gone in his tracksuit or shorts and sneakers. He didn’t do that. Even Karagiozis knows how to behave when it comes to matters that concern him. He bows to the vizier; he doesn’t point a finger at him.
I direct my own show, therefore I exist
When the clownish Member of the European Parliament and party leader shows up at a memorial event marking the 30th anniversary of the murders of the late Tassos Isaac and Solomos Solomos, wearing shorts and sneakers, the charitable interpretation is that the poor fellow hasn’t realized where he is—he doesn’t grasp the solemnity of the ceremony. The less charitable interpretation is that he knows full well what he’s doing, but wants to attract media attention with his eccentric appearance.
My own interpretation does not distinguish between the two. The clownish MEP lives in the social media universe, where appearance coincides with reality. In everything he does, he behaves more like an observer who relays events, and less like a participant who experiences the events in which he takes part. He lives so much for the “likes” that his ability to discern—for example, to distinguish a memorial service from a beach party—has been dulled.
His wedding was designed to be, first and foremost, a media event, not a religious ceremony. Through his social media posts from the European Parliament, he reports—selectively describing what is happening, without expressing opinions on what should be done. Description replaces opinion. When he interviewed parliamentary candidates on camera, he ate salad and chatted with them, though it’s true that I didn’t hear him rambling or, like Karvelas, show off on camera.
Publicity is everything to him. He’s making a profitable career as an influencer. He shamelessly capitalizes on his self-ridicule because he can. There’s a demand for everything. The clown of an MEP stages himself. He doesn’t know who he really is because he doesn’t seek it out or cultivate it—he just stages it. I stage myself, therefore I am.
He went to an official memorial service dressed as if he were going to a club or a beach bar. He was not concerned with the solemnity of the ceremony or the feelings of mourning that accompany it. His emotional intelligence (not to mention his intellectual intelligence) is lacking. While he understood the symbolism of his own wedding, he ignores the symbolism of a memorial service concerning others. The fact that he represents citizens makes his low level of emotional—and, consequently, aesthetic—intelligence particularly problematic. How can someone who lacks even basic social skills represent you with dignity? I don’t know how his priest father feels, but I would feel incredibly ashamed of my clueless son. I must have done something wrong.
Political dumping
The clown of a party leader has introduced into the Cypriot political scene the equivalent of dumping in the economy. Just as some companies engage in dumping their exports by lowering their prices even below production costs in order to make sales, the clown party leader is lowering political standards across the board—systematically lowering the bar. Discounts on everything!
Lower, Lola / lower, Lola / with you I fall even lower…
In the European Parliament, he votes without—as he sometimes admits—knowing exactly what he’s voting on. Although he has been a Member of the European Parliament for two years, he claims ignorance about the Cyprus issue, and, instead of participating personally in the National Council, he sends a private representative. He announces the founding of a political party while wearing a clown nose. He makes faces, jumps around, and grins foolishly in front of the camera to draw the public’s attention to his social media posts. When invited to live TV or radio shows, he often arrives late, embarrassing his host. His Greek is at the level of an elementary school child. He ignores multisyllabic words he doesn’t hear often (e.g., “hygienic,” “food-related”), while his English is at a tourist’s level. His language is permeated by the same lack of care that his appearance often reveals. It is highly doubtful whether he can write a coherent paragraph or understand a relatively complex text (such as this article) in any language.
Even more striking is that this clown’s political nonsense is accepted. Some find him entertaining. Others see him as an interesting topic of gossip at family or social gatherings. Those who, by virtue of their position, should be disturbed by this, remain indifferent. Instead of the President of the Republic excluding his successor from the National Council, he made him a welcome guest. Instead of the journalists who interviewed him on TV or radio excluding him from their program because he showed up late, they accepted him. Instead of the organizer of the event honoring the late Isaac and Solomos showing him the door for being “inappropriately dressed,” he allowed him to participate.
The clownish party leader is the mirror that reflects our ugliness. The degeneration of a society that does not think, but only consumes; that is not offended, but only enjoys the spectacle; that does not want to be responsible, but is only indifferently critical. The decay of a society in a state of apathy, without a compass, that doesn’t know where it stands or where it’s going, that considers the carnivalization of public life to be promising and frivolity to be political criticism. The decadent system that governs the country not only remains indifferent but relishes the spectacle. It knows full well that clowns merely entertain; they pose no threat. Those who do pose a threat are fired or persecuted.
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