The Price Of Freedom Is High

Press, Volume CVI, Issue 31322, 18 March 1967, Page 5

The Price Of Freedom Is High

Refugees are not the product of world wars. In 1967 there are considerably more refugees in the world than there were in 1945, and the number increases daily. Every 15 minutes someone in the world will break for freedom across a border, and if we could count these homeless ones in Europe, Asia and Africa we would come to an incredible total, perhaps as high as 15 million people.

This is the story of three such people. They are among the lucky ones who got through, and we record their story simply as a dramatic example of the price some people are willing to pay for their freedom.

The story begins in one of the ancient villages of Greece, Lavrion. Many Greek shipping millionaires have their mansions nearby on the coastal road, but Lavrion itself, for all its beauty, is a place of intense poverty and need. Little houses clustered on the hillside are inhabited by Greek refugees who jam together in crowded conditions, and who search by day for the ever-elusive employment. In the heart of the village stands the cold stone walls of the former prisoner-of-war camp which has been, since 1945, the central Greek camp for receiving Iron-Curtain refugees. Last November I stood at the gate of this camp and presented my credentials to the guard. With a fellow New Zealander and a Greek refugee officer I had travelled the 40 miles from Athens to meet the people in this place. Inside, the general air of dejection and dullness was oppressive. As with all refugee tamps the days were long and the ilaonotony unrelieved. It was the same as I had seen in all the other refugee camps in Europe, but with one fascinating exception. As we moved around the compound the sadness was accentuated by the plaintive notes of a violin being played by a master hand in another part of the building. The music of Mozart was our background as we spoke with Jugoslavs, Czechs and Bulgarians about their hopes, until eventually we came to the room where the musician was at his practice. With great courtesy he put down his violin and bowed to us. His conversation was in French and I understood just sufficient to make me want to find the full story. On returning to Athens I searched the files to piece together this story which is really in three episodes. The accounts are factual, and only the names have been altered.

In August, 1966, the newspapers of the world announced the brief fact that three members of the National Opera Company of Bucharest had defected to the West. The 100 strong Opera Company had arrived in Greece to perform at the Athens festival, and while there two violinists and one singer had made independent escapes to seek asylum. The accounts were vague, and it remains until now for the story to be told. Violinist The first to escape was Petroff, the man who had been playing Mozart in Lavrion camp. His method was simple and sudden. The clearance at

the airport completed, the Opera Company had gone to the Herod Atticus Hotel. After placing his bags in his room Petroff returned to the hotel lobby, still in his travelling clothes, and walked out a side door.

Speaking neither Greek nor English, he was fortunate to find a French-speaking bystander who directed him to the nearest police station. It was some hours before he was missed.

Meanwhile the police obtained an interpreter and pieced together the story. He explained his growing discontent with the Communist way of life and said: “I finally concluded I could no longer live in an atmosphere of hypocrisy and continuous terror of conscience.” As a member of the State Opera and simultaneously a professor of violin in a Bucharest music academy, he had all the artistic opportunity he desired, but these without freedom could not be tolerated by his sensitive spirit Mezzo Soprano After the defection of Petroff, security was strengthened and on the next three days the Opera Company played nightly at the Festival Theatre. All this time greeneyed Madeleine, one of the leading singers, was making her own plans. Aged 27, she had a good record of singing.

The visit to Athens was the fulfilment of her private dreams of freedom, and plans were carefully considered. Luckily, she had a close

friend in Athens, and by means of a messenger was able to slip her a surreptitious message shortly after arrival. On the night of July 31, 1966, the Opera Company pre-

seated its performance as usual. Madeleine sang her main part right through and then, with thumping heart, left the stage and apparently headed toward the dressing rooms. Suddenly she changed her direction and ran out the stage door at the side of the theatre. There was a shout inside, but Madeleine was in luck, for straight ahead was a powerful car with its engine running. Still in her stage dress, she jumped in the open door of the car and sank back in the seat with tears of relief. Two men ran out of the stage door, but they were too late, and in a short time the escape was secure and Madeleine was resting in a quiet cottage in Salonika. On August 11 she presented herself to the Police and was granted political asylum. Another Violinist The final defection was that of Jozef. Unlike the other two, Jozef was married, but he shared their fierce desire to find freedom.

He had joined the Bucharest Opera Company in 1961, and when it was announced in early 1965 that the com- • pany would visit Athens he resolved to use the occasion • to escape. For long hours he talkeu the situation over with •' his wife, a 34-year-old Jewess whom he loved greatly. If escape meant leaving his wife in Rumania he was not prepared to go, but if a way could be found to leave together then that was a way worth any risk. They devised a clever plan. Gradually it became plain to ' the neighbours that Jozef and his wife, who had always been considered a happy couple, had fallen to violent quarrels. In due time no-one was surprised to learn that the wife had begun divorce proceedings on the grounds of cruelty. The case went through the courts quickly and to enable her to get away from her overbearing husband, the sympathetic judge, on the basis of her Jewish origin, gave Jozef’s wife a visa to leave the country.

Fate Intervenes All this was, of course, a subterfuge, and Jozef waited anxiously to see whether it * would prejudice his chances of the visit to Athens. His luck held and with the others he arrived for the festival in Athens on July 27. From the start he looked for the moment of escape, but always it seemed to elude him. As the days passed he began to despair, especially when the defection of Petroff and Madeleine made everyone nervous and put under suspicion. Fate has a way of Intervening, and on one of the last days transport problems meant that the group had to walk to rehearsal. Josef walked slowly and just a little to the rear of the party. Another break came when a taxi pulled up beside the kerb to deposit its fare. As quickly as possible Josef slipped in the still open door and said “Police—quickly.” In the manner of taxi-drivers everywhere the driver had shot away and was lost in the traffic in an instant.

Today Josef Is still in Greece and his wife in Italy. In the confused world of international refugee laws they cannot be reunited until one country is prepared to admit them both. They have spoken on the telephone, but mostly their life has become a kind of suspension, and they wait, with what patience they can, the slow machinery of Government investigations. All these are unfinished stories. One day, perhaps in New Zealand, perhaps in the United States, two violinists and a mezzo-soprano will again perform In a great arts festival. But this time the song will come from a heart of freedom.

This article wae written lor “The Press’* the Rev. R. M. O’GRADY, resettlement officer of the National Council of Churches in New Zealand.