Let me tell you my pain about the incident at the National Gallery. And I say pain because some of us ache for civilization; we studied it consciously, not because it fell on our heads. And we did it either with the help of our parents' savings or by working alongside while doing undergraduate, graduate, and doctoral work, research, internships, and publications—all unpaid and without recognition. In defiance of those who told us we would die on the mat—despite all of us knowing it. So it's a pain because most of us are not asking for either a thumbs up or a friendly pat on the back for what we do, each from their own vantage point...

But what we expect is a basic level of civility, especially from the elected politicians who are in the Greek Parliament and who represent not only the electorate that sent them there but all the citizens of this country: Christians and atheists, Muslims and Catholics, defenders of orthodoxy or not.

In the strange times we are going through, we are fighting to preserve the artist's right to express himself. Whatever that expression may be, it either agrees with us or it does not. So I realize today that there has probably been some kind of misunderstanding of the name and symbolism of the National Gallery. The National Gallery helps to represent all artists, not just those whose work is in line with the national agenda and ideals. The National Gallery guarantees pluralism and the representation of all artistic voices at the national and international level, not because it has always been so, but because it is the democratic thing to do.

Mr. Christopher Katsadiotis is one of these artistic voices, whether or not a certain portion of viewers like his work. It matters little. He ought to be represented even if he attacks the institutions; that is the meaning of art; that is the meaning of democracy.

The other thing? It is said that the National Gallery is anti-Hellenic. It is funny to accuse the National Gallery of disrespect, anti-Hellenism, and blasphemy. The same National Gallery that has many exhibitions on Hellenism in the years of the revolution, the struggle for national liberation, and even on subjects directly related to Byzantine and Christian art. But the National Gallery does not only represent these voices. I doubt that Mr. Papadopoulos's honorees had visited these exhibitions. I doubt if they would have visited the present exhibition that has caused such a stir, as it was ignored until recently. Let's not kid ourselves; for the average Greek, visiting the art gallery or a museum is an activity strictly limited to the school years. Is it their own fault? That is a discussion for another time.

But the Greeks' flexibility and tolerance of violence are also formidable. Perhaps this is the deeper problem. If the attack on the museum site is by activists, then the attack is, of course, reprehensible, and the activists are hooligans who have been good-for-nothing. When the attack is carried out by extremists who attack journalists for drawing a cartoon of Mohammed, then the attackers are beasts, animals who want to impose obscurantism. And when the attack is carried out by Mr. Papadopoulos? (A member of the far-right party Nike) Then there is a certain amount of flexibility (if not support) because we can't help it if it's our national and religious prestige that's being "damaged." Because it is unacceptable for a national institution like the National Gallery to house such works, and in the end, "the works that were vandalized were not even by El Greco."

But where do we draw the line on violence? When does violence impose obscurantism? Why is it not scandalous when the views of the Greek are identical with those of the vandal? And finally, how is the offended feeling of Mr. Papadopoulos differentiated from that of the offended Jihadist, since at their base the immediate reaction of both of them towards the source of the offense is absolutely identical with the Greek saying: does your head hurt? Then off with the head! (In the case of the jihadist, literally.) When and what kind of violence should shock us, in your opinion, and when is it allowed?

Is the sight of a public official going into a public institution and destroying art allowed to shock us? When a representative of the National Police cynically says, "They didn't get shot; it was only some teargas," on a national TV broadcast, are we then permitted to be shocked? Is the abusive and sexist speech of a politician towards a woman politician in parliament allowed to shock us? When, in your opinion, should the violence to which we are daily exposed shake us out of our slumber?

It is touching, however, that the Greek's sentiment has changed so easily from "I condemn violence wherever it comes from" to "They did him good; let them burn him." I read many comments stating that the National Gallery is paid for by citizens' taxes and should not be exposing such works. You know Mr. Papadopoulos is also paid by our taxes, and we certainly don't pay him to interpret the law as he sees fit and act based on the common or not sense of decency with regard to religious ideals.

And because life is a spinning wheel that keeps on spinning, I'm doing a little retrospective. In 1987 a similar scandal broke out in the US. Photographer Andres Serrano receives a $15,000 grant from the NEA. In addition to the money, his work will be included in a catalogue publication and will be included in a group exhibition that will travel to Los Angeles, Pittsburgh, and Richmond. The work in which Serrano participates is described by the New York Times as a 60x40 inch photograph showing Christ on the cross in a golden blur of fog. It was only when viewers saw the title of the work that they realized what it was about. The work is called Piss Christ, a title with two synonyms meaning urine and Christ. And then, rage.

Political figures in the conservative U.S. Senate condemned the work, and the ball got rolling, and other exhibitions and artists whose work was deemed offensive to public religious sentiment. What did it matter that Serrano was Catholic and grew up in a Catholic home, that his work was not an attack on faith, but on the hypocrisy of America's superficial relationship with religion? Serrano was accused of blasphemy by the Reverend Donald Wildmon, and thus began a period of catharsis that not only involved art but also where and how money was claimed by the respective ministry. In an article Thom Nickels had written: "Deep down there is something in this country that wants us to become like Iran. To obey strict and institutionalized boundaries that allow for specific thought and expression."

The other issue that arises is equally important and has to do with a movement of anti-academicism, as well as the censorship of artists, curators, and workers generally in the cultural sphere. As was quoted in Congress 38 years ago, "It's mothers and homemade apple pie against perverseness, us against some scumbag guys with PhDs." 38 years later, nothing around us is the same, yet somehow they still are. Personally, I do not find Katzidiotis' work blasphemous. Art is open to interpretation, criticism, to the creation of productive dialogue.

Art is not open to vandalism and restoration even if we don't like it.

I close with a quote from Wendy Steiner's The Scandal of Pleasure. "Aesthetic maturity means being able to tolerate contemporary art." I would add that it is only through dialogue that the aesthetic language of contemporary art is transmuted into knowledge for the benefit of the viewer.