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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.
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