If someone were to draw a first conclusion from the prologue of Alexis Tsipras‘ book — beyond the seven reasons that led him to write the book Ithaca — it would be that, in his own way, the former Prime Minister signals his intentions for the period ahead. And his intentions, based on what he says in his book, can be none other than the creation of a political movement.
“This book is not just a record of experiences. It is also a proposal. It is the attempt to transform the knowledge acquired in the fire of crisis into thought, into a plan, into a vision for tomorrow’s Greece. A Greece that will not proceed fearfully or resignedly, but will dare to think, to demand, to change,” writes Alexis Tsipras, among other things, describing the new endeavor in his own way.
And at another point he adds: “My own Ithaca is not simply a narrative of the past, it is not the narrative of homecoming. It was not written only to record events, as a kind of account. It is, first of all, an attempt to understand the present; to see how we got here, through what path, what choices, what small or great victories, what defeats. And, at the same time, it captures my pursuit to speak about the future, not in terms of abstract wishful thinking, but to describe it as analytically as possible and with the belief that History has not ended.”
Alexis Tsipras: The book – journey to “Ithaca”
Referring to the reasons he wrote the book, he mentioned, among others:
“I write this book because I believe that politics is the field where the vision for a just world is tested against reality, thus giving meaning to the limits and essence of a society’s struggles for a better tomorrow. Because I believe that this world can change for the better.
I write to record the experience of a country and its people, who, in one of the darkest moments of their modern History, dared to claim dignity, violating the rules — those rules that had been imposed not to protect the weak, but to ensure the permanence of the powerful’s power.
I write about a collective effort that did not hesitate to challenge an establishment that considered itself the permanent owner of this country. An establishment that had never imagined that its power could be temporary.
I write because I want to show that while I may have made mistakes, I never lacked courage, nor did I allow my country to be fatalistically pushed over the cliff by those very people who would later point fingers at us as responsible for the destruction.
I write because I want to show that I put myself at the service of my country but also in the cause of social justice, pursuing with all the flame of my soul, and with the last drop of my strength, a better fate for this tormented people.
I also write because I want to speak not only to those who have memories from yesterday’s events, but also to young people — to those who did not live through all these difficult and simultaneously thrilling experiences that defined us. Young people who have no memories from the day Alexis Grigoropoulos was murdered, Pavlos Fyssas was killed, who did not feel the tightening in their heart when it was announced that the country was entering the Memorandum in 2010. Today they are seeking their own paths, first of all with the anxiety to understand a world that, day by day, is changing radically.
Finally, I write this book because I feel I do not have the right to leave History in the hands of those who believe it belongs to them, just because today they are considered the winners. History is not a trophy, nor a field of ownership. It is our common ground, a space of memory, responsibility and truth.”
The former Prime Minister, referring to 2015, writes, among other things: “The time has come, then, for my own voice to be heard. The time for the truth as I lived it to be told. My own truth.”
Describing, moreover, those critical moments, he emphasizes: “When I assumed responsibility for the country, in 2015, reality was relentless. Many urged me to avoid responsibility, to shift it to others, so that I could take over as ripe fruit a completely exhausted country. I did not back down. I assumed responsibility, when Greece was at one of the most critical turning points in its modern History. The decisions that had to be made did not simply have political cost; they had moral weight, social extension, historical dimension. I felt I was carrying on my shoulders the ghosts of yesterday’s unjustified struggles, but also the hopes of an entire generation that dared to believe that things could change. It was not simply the responsibility of governance; it was responsibility towards a collective need for change and dignity.”
Alexis Tsipras refers to 2019 without, at least in his prologue, showing bitterness about SYRIZA’s defeat. On the contrary, he appears particularly proud, as Greece in 2019 was not the same as the one he inherited: “In 2019, I was not the same,” he writes. “Most importantly, Greece was no longer the same. The country did not resemble the Greece of paralysis and fear — that shadow of itself that dragged its humiliated steps endlessly. It had regained its economic autonomy, had healed, to some degree, its wounds, had stood on its feet again. Not without losses, not without mistakes, but with head held high. I had lived experiences that shaped me deeply. I now knew, experientially, what it means to govern with bated breath and under melting conditions; to bear the weight and the attacks, to endure questioning, to protect what can be saved and to build what did not exist.”
