Oxi Day

G. K. Chesterton once wrote, “Courage is almost a contradiction in terms. It means a strong desire to live taking the form of a readiness to die.” He was right—courage often takes the form of defending what is right at the risk of self-destruction. Today, October 28^th, is Greece’s national celebration of courage. They call it Oxi Day (pronounced oh-he). Oxi means no. It seems an odd name for a holiday. No Day has a weird sound to it. But the history behind the holiday is really quite extraordinary.

In 1940, Mussolini wanted to station troops in Greece before attacking the Soviet Union. On the morning of October 28^th, Prime Minister Metaxas answered Mussolini quite simply: he said no. What followed was astounding. Greece was attacked and, facing unfavorable odds, little Greece fought back and won. The victory pushed the invasion of the Soviet Union back by a couple of months. When Hitler did invade the USSR, it was winter—a winter that the Axis was not capable of adapting to. Greece’s decisive “No!” in the face of evil played a key role in WWII.

Oxi Day is unique. Certainly Greece had been watching the compromises that occurred throughout the continent. It could have given in and used Neville Chamberlain’s “peace in our time” excuse. But Metaxas didn’t give in. After working in the Greek culture for the last several months, I’m hardly surprised. There’s a forthrightness in the citizens here—a willingness to speak back to those in power when there is a difference of opinion. Sometimes it can be aggravating to teach students who are so ready to disagree and don’t have any problems telling me when they think I’m wrong. But there’s a good side to that tendency as well. It makes for a whole country that was willing to say no to a Fascist dictator, even when the “safe” option would have been to say yes.

This morning I walked up to the town square in Agia Paraskevi. There are Oxi Day celebrations occurring all over Greece today, and a multitude of people were descending on the center of the municipality where I live. A service was in progress at the church, so I slipped in and stood in the back. Four men dressed in exquisite robes were singing at the front of the church, surrounded by children holding Greek flags. The men were singing Kyrie Eleison (Lord, have mercy).  It was a beautiful, robust version. At first, it struck me as odd to be singing that song on a day that celebrates the courage that led to a Greek victory over Mussolini. But then I realized that this was probably precisely the cry that went forth from Greece back in 1940. They didn't know that they wouldn't be destroyed. All they knew was that oxi was the answer to the evil crouching at their borders. But that “Oxi!” meant that the evil was now going to attack. It is easy to be brave in retrospect, when we know that outcome. Yet a decisive “Oxi!” seventy-three years ago was uttered with no assurance of victory, no comfort in knowing that good would prevail.

I suppose that in all our lives we have moments like October 28^th, 1940—moments when evil asks us to give ground rather than fight, when we have the option to appease, to open the door to the enemy. May we, like the Greeks, have the bravery to say no, the wisdom to cry for mercy in the impending battle, and a strong hope in a victory which shall preserve what is right.

For as Chesterton also said, “The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.” Then, for the sake of the good work begun in us, let us have the courage to say "Oxi!" when the temptation to compromise comes knocking on our souls.