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Sophocles was a man before his time, at least where protesters the world over are concerned. He and I were at school together although he was a few years older (496–406 BC). Antigone, among his greatest plays, is one that makes us think not just about politics, but also about the ethics that drive us to take a stance. If any of you missed it when he first put it on Broadway, here’s how it goes:
The sun also rises over Thebes. The two sons of Oedipus (his name means swollen foot and he had bad luck), Eteocles and Polynices, had arranged to rule Thebes by turn, a bit like Blair and Brown. Eteocles got used to being number one and refused his brother his turn. Polynices did what many politicians would do when screwed, he marched against his own city with foreign support. Both brothers were killed in the battle, and their uncle Creon decreed that Polynices was a traitor and should lie unburied outside the city. To the state he was a public enemy, the indignities on his body a warning to all aspirant revolutionaries.
Enter Antigone, the grieving sister of the dead brothers. To her, Polynices is a man, and the gods have decreed that every man must have a burial. He is also her brother, and who the hell is the state to tell her differently. She defies the state and gives him a token burial. Unlike the modern Greek state, my ancient countrymen did not fool around. Antigone is buried alive on the orders of her uncle Creon — who is also the father of her betrothed — who belatedly discovers only too clearly the cost of power.
I sat next to Sophocles during the première, and when it was over every lefty he and I knew stood up and cheered their heads off. To them Antigone was a rebel, someone willing to take a stand against laws they cannot accept.When they finally sat down, I and fellow righties stood up and began to cheer. To us Antigone was a conservative, one who prized individuality and conscience above the will of the state. Old Soph never told me which side he was on, even when I asked him on his deathbed. One thing is for sure. I don’t think Antigone was ever performed in the Soviet Union or present-day China because of the message it communicates.
When the great Jean Anouilh produced his version of Antigone in occupied Paris, the German censor (Otto Abetz) missed the point because he was a civilised man who loved the classics. Another thing about the première in Athens. My fellow Athenians maintained the next day that their mythical King Theseus had led a force to Thebes to force Creon to bury his dead niece. In the heated exchange we had in the crowded and hot Agora, this was held up as an example of the virtues of an interventionist foreign policy. I don’t think George W. Bush would understand a word even if he tried to read Antigone in a children’s book, but some insist that the grotesque Cheney had some researcher dig all this up before they went into Eyraq. In Periclean Athens, the play preached to the converted. Athens was an imperial power, and Sophocles kept his own thoughts to himself.
Mind you, Antigone was a drama queen. She hated her suffering and made it clear that she did. She told everyone about her fear of death but also about her love for her brother. She would have been perfect for one of those grotesque reality shows, where inarticulate slags spill the beans non-stop. Antigone loved the limelight more than Lady Gaga. She courted arrest, shunned the advice of her sister Ismene, and chose martyrdom to gain celebrity and fame. A bit like Amy Winehouse, wouldn’t you say? Which brings me to the protesters polluting London and New York, as if the two places needed any more pollution.
I wonder how many of them would protest if they had to deal with Creon rather than our ex-sainted blond or the ludicrous and ridiculous Bloomberg? Since protesting became chic during the Sixties — among the rich, the spoiled and the bored — Antigone has always come to mind. Buddhist monks still immolate themselves against the ghastly Nazis who are the Chinese in Tibet, as they did back then. Not so the publicity-seeking protesters of today. We all know that Wall Street is crooked and the best insider traders win out. But who allows them to do this?
The protesters should be badgering politicians to stop taking bribes from lobbyists, not stinking up St Paul’s and the Wall Street area, one of the nicest areas in the Bagel. They should also be burning down the offices of the EU in Brussels and beating up the bureaucrooks inside. Talk about arrogance and contempt for democracy. How dare these people attack the cops instead of the true Nazis, the EU technocrats and their enablers? All politicians, in fact.
Antigone ends with the following words: ‘For proud men who speak great words come in the end to despair, and learn wisdom in sorrow, when it is too late.’ Soph and I discussed the ending during many a balmy Athenian night drinking retsina just below the Acropolis. We both agreed that great literature teaches us everything but we understand nothing. That is why I never tried to compete with Sophocles. I had better things to do than write plays that no one understands.
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