What it takes to dance with the past?

The unbearable lightness of partying

What began as a local festival proposal has escalated into dispute over memory and the boundaries of celebration. We are in Greece, in September 2025, when a youth initiative unexpectedly sparked a national debate on memory, heritage, and the management of monuments. The newly formed Youth Council of Lamia, capital of the region of Central Greece, enthusiastically announced the organization of the first “Gorgopotamos River Party” under the historic bridge of Gorgopotamos, a site of executions of the national resistance during World War II and a landmark of great importance for national reconciliation and unity, as diverse guerrilla groups (ELAS: Greek People’s Liberation Army, affiliated with the Communist Party under the leadership of Aris Velouchiotis, and EDES: Conservative Armed Group, right-wing, under Napoleon Zervas) together with British saboteurs blew up the bridge under the leadership of Eddie Meyers, dealing a serious blow to the structures of the Axis forces. However, although the blowing up of the Gorgopotamos bridge was one of the greatest acts of sabotage during World War II, It was admired throughout occupied Europe, but its impact on the North African front was very limited because the operation was carried out after the fact, having been delayed by two months. During this time, Rommel’s forces, having lost the Battle of El Alamein, moved further west, so their supply route through Greece was no longer relevant.

Returning to the present day, according to the organizers, the event was a celebration of culture and music with DJs and local businesses, designed to attract people and showcase a place that often remains off the tourist trail. However, the announcement of the party caused a storm of reactions. In a live television debate, members of the Youth Council argued that they wanted to “showcase” rather than “desecrate” the site, putting it more firmly on the tourist map, assuring that they had obtained all the necessary permits and safety measures, which is now being disputed. In contrast, representatives of memorial organizations emphasized that the event was tantamount to an insult, with Ms. Lazou, a historian, professor at Aristotle University of Thessaloniki, and director of the National Resistance Museum, noting “the place where the DJs and tables will be set up is the site of the execution of patriots.”

Soon, the controversy spread beyond the local community. The Panhellenic Organization of National Resistance Fighters called for the cancellation, describing Gorgopotamos as “a leading place of remembrance not only for Greece but also for Europe,” since the blowing up of the bridge in 1942 is considered one of the most important acts of sabotage against the Nazis in Europe. At the same time, in a joint statement, the National Council for the Claim of German Debts (ESDOGE) spoke of an “ecumenical symbolism” that cannot be downgraded to a setting of food and music, recalling that November 25 has been established as the official day of remembrance of the National Resistance. Local authorities and relatives of fighters speak of “desecration” of the site, complaining that “development does not come by desecrating the blood-soaked soil of our ancestors” and calling on the municipal authorities to back down. The potential frivolity of an ambitious youth festival has thus turned into an open conflict over memory. However, the youth council does not seem to be backing down, with the party scheduled to take place as planned on September 19, insisting, despite the reactions, on their narrative that the party does not desecrate the site but rather promotes it to tourists, adding that young people communicate and learn about the site through this action.

What is the history of this place?

Gorgopotamos is not just a random bridge lost in a ravine in Central Greece, but a place of remembrance. On the night of November 25-26, 1942, “Operation Harling” unfolded, one of the most emblematic acts of resistance in occupied Europe. The preparation was impressive: British planes had dropped sabotage teams by parachute in the mountainous region of Giona, led by Colonel Eddie Myers and Major Chris Woodhouse. Their goal was to blow up one of three strategically important bridges; Gorgopotamos was deemed the most feasible choice, provided that the cooperation of the rebels could be secured. On November 19, 1942, the two leaders of the Greek organizations, Aris Velouchiotis and Napoleon Zervas, met with the British and decided to join forces, a special moment for Greece as, a few years later, these groups would form different camps in the Greek civil war.

The operation began shortly after 11 p.m., with the rebels attacking both ends of the bridge simultaneously. Approximately 150 men, 86 from the ELAS, 52 from the EDES, and 12 British commandos, carried out a coordinated attack. The bridge was guarded by about 100 Italian soldiers and a few Germans, equipped with heavy machine guns. At 11:07 a.m., the battle began at both ends, while at the same time small groups of ELAS cut the railway lines to the north and south to prevent reinforcements from arriving. Within a few hours, the explosives placed by the saboteurs destroyed two sections of the structure. At 2:21 a.m., the bridge was out of service. The rebels suffered minimal losses, with only four wounded, while the Italian guard suffered heavy losses.

The area under the bridge was marked by reprisals, with nine executions on the bridge itself and more in neighboring areas, while two decades later, in 1964, a forgotten mine exploded on the anniversary — the first time it was officially celebrated — killing thirteen people and injuring dozens in front of thousands of onlookers. At the same time, although unconfirmed, there were allegations that the mine had been planted later with the intention of exploding at the point of celebration, either by a right-wing paramilitary organization or by the secret services, with these allegations being made by politicians and intellectuals of the time. This turned the memorial site into a place of tragedy, adding new mourning to its already heavy historical legacy. For the record, the national resistance in Greece was recognised almost 20 years later by the socialist government of PASOK (Panhellenic Socialist Movement) in 1982, while in the years before that, there was the military dictatorship from ’67 to ’74 with the Polytechnic uprising in November ’73 in Athens, the invasion of Cyprus, and the creation of the pseudo-state by Turkey’s Operation Attila. In the intervening years, the fighters of the national resistance, especially those who were in the EAM, were labeled as communists, and many of them were persecuted and exiled to remote islands.

Who remembers when the decks were banging?

Gorgopotamos is not a luxurious backdrop for isolated events aimed at cheap tourism; even in market terms, a brand cannot be built without meaning. The bridge, and consequently the wider area, is a landmark with a dual and heavy legacy: on the one hand, the feat of blowing up the bridge in 1942, which became a symbol of unity and resistance; on the other, the trauma of the executions that followed and the tragedy of 1964. This place is engraved in the collective memory not only as a monument to heroism, but also as sacred ground watered with blood. Monuments such as this are active agents of social values, representing the memory of a community and at the same time acting as agents of social change.

The idea of a “river party” is a wonderful concept and a great opportunity to bring young people together for fun. But under the bridge? With a DJ, drinks, and street food, it’s totally at odds with the monument’s significance. No matter what the organizers say, this isn’t about creative dialogue with the monument or a new way of connecting with the space. On the contrary, the monument — designated as such since 1984, with legal restrictions emphasizing that up to 500 meters from the site is designated as a historic preservation area — is used as a backdrop for revelry. Memory becomes background, detached from its historical weight, and the act does not serve to highlight, but rather to sever its historical context.

The arguments that the event can contribute to the “promotion” or “promote” Gorgopotamos imply that the historicity of a place can serve tourist purposes without being altered, while a comparison with other monuments reveals the impasse of this logic. Could one imagine a party for “tourist development” next to the Srebrenica memorial? There, the sense of sanctity and tragedy of the place imposes limits that no one would dream of violating. How could Gorgopotamos be allowed the same treatment?

The “difficult past” requires constant interpretation and negotiation, while memory is not something static but an active process, making every event at a place of memory a political act that either illuminates, attempts to redefine, or empties meaning. In the same spirit, the Nara Document on Authenticity and the ICOMOS Charter emphasize that the use of monuments for events is not prohibited, but that dialogue, justification, and an interpretive framework are required to reinforce memory, not undermine it.

Even if one wants to view the issue of tourism in relation to the so-called concept of “dark tourism,” where places of violence and death are often commercialized, with the risk of becoming mere spectacles. The answer, then, is not an absolute “no” to events, but a “yes, with conditions.” Memory and cultural activities can coexist only if the event respects the core values of the space, gives voice to the agents of memory, and equips the public with more historical knowledge than it had before. In this case, it is not just a space, but a polyphonic monument.