In front of the Constitution, where MPs, ministers, foreign officials and thousands of citizens pass by every day, a small stage has been set up that resembles nothing of the usual demonstration or protest. It is the refuge of a father who has refused to eat for nineteen days, who has already lost more than ten kilos, who doctors warn is in danger, but who remains immobile and determined. Panos Ruzzi is not a random protester; he is the father of one of the fifty-seven children, students, young people killed in the train collision in Tempe, in what was described from the outset as a 'national crime'. And today, almost two years later, he feels he has no choice but to risk his own life to be heard. The whole of Greece is watching Panos Rouchi fight this battle in front of the Parliament with emotion and anger.
Rucci's request is not complicated. It asks for neither compensation nor special treatment, it does not blackmail, it does not threaten. He's asking that his child be exhumed so that toxicology tests can be performed. It is the self-evident right of a parent who cannot rest until he knows exactly how his child left. This is not an unreasonable insistence, but a basic necessity; because when the official investigation leaves gaps, when the necessary tests have not been carried out, when shadows remain, the family is entitled to demand a full investigation. But what should go without saying has turned into a battle with the institutional walls of the country. The judiciary refuses to accept, the competent authorities talk of "unnecessary procedure", and so the father has found himself with his back against the wall. And when the state closes all doors, your only option is to use your own body as a weapon of last resort.
And as the days go by, the government's attitude seems more and more indifferent. Instead of standing by parents, giving them answers and respecting their right to know the truth, it keeps putting up obstacles, invoking procedures, delays and pretexts. Panos Rucci is forced to exhaust his own body in order to be heard, while the State turns a deaf ear. As if that were not enough, the families of the victims have long been confronted with an even more serious insult: slander. From the very first days after the tragedy, some journalists and politicians have been quick to accuse them of doing all this for money, of having financial motives behind their struggle, of seeking compensation rather than justice. As if that were not enough, there were even more outrageous statements: that the children who were lost were 'sacrificed' to make the railways safe. How can such a thing be said about fifty-seven young people who lost their lives overnight because of criminal negligence and incompetence on the part of those who had the responsibility to protect their lives? And what is worse: instead of taking responsibility, those who were in charge are throwing the ball from one to the other, as if they were talking about numbers and not human lives. It is the most vulgar inversion of reality; people who mourn their children are portrayed almost as 'opportunists', while the real culprits are left out of the picture. And this suspicion comes back whenever parents refuse to keep quiet, as a mechanism of silencing and denigration.
Toxicology tests and the devaluation of justice
Toxicological testing is not a technical issue; it is a matter of dignity and trust. When you lose your child in such a tragedy, it is not enough to be told that "the death was violent". You want to know what happened, whether there were factors that have not been disclosed, whether there were substances or circumstances that might have shed a different light on the picture. It's not an obsession; it's a right. And it's no accident that parents insist on it, because there are already clues that raise reasonable questions. Analyses by the General Chemistry Department have shown traces of chemicals, and it has been revealed that flammable liquids were being carried on the freight train. This does not in itself mean that it explains the deaths of the children; but it clearly shows that the investigation cannot remain half-true.
The problem is that the State seemed to be reluctant to open this chapter. From the very first moment, toxicology tests were limited to the drivers, as if the rest of the tragedy did not matter. And when the families insisted, there were delays, postponements, technicalities. A trial that is constantly postponed, an inquest that is hastily closed, an investigation that seems to stop where it should have started. All this feeds the feeling of injustice and reinforces distrust of justice. Parents do not see a mechanism that tries to find the truth; they see a mechanism that wants to close the file as soon as possible.
And this distrust is not limited to families. It has spread throughout society. From all corners of the country, citizens are talking about cover-ups, about delays that seem deliberate, about a State that protects itself more than its citizens. It is no coincidence that even the European Public Prosecutor, Laura Covesi, has openly addressed the issue. She said what we all know: that there is a lack of trust, that Greece seems incapable of demonstrating that its justice system is operating transparently. When it comes to Europe talking about these gaps, it is no longer a matter of 'relatives' voices'; it is an international report on a country that is showing itself incapable of standing up to the test.
As if all this were not enough, even in the European Parliament, where one would expect Greek representatives to stand up for the families and demand transparency, the opposite is often the case. There are cases where Greek MEPs, instead of supporting the debate, rush to stop it, to close the issue before it is even heard. It is the most painful picture: the very representatives of the Greek people turning their backs on one of the most serious tragedies in our modern history.
It is the social dimension that hurts the most. Because the citizens see, understand, sympathize. The image of a father wasting away in front of Parliament does not leave them indifferent; on the contrary, it fills them with rage. But they also see the apathy of the institutions. It is this contrast - a society that cries out and a government that remains silent - that breaks down trust and leaves the wound open.
The second tragedy: when justice kills memory
The tragedy of Tempe did not end with the loss of that night; it continues every day in the courtrooms, in the delays, in the evasions, in the devaluation experienced by the families. This is the second tragedy, that of justice. Because when the State fails or refuses to get to the truth, it kills the memory of the victims a second time. And this second murder is more insidious, because it is not written in blood, but in silence, in indifference, in omissions that become the status quo.
The relatives are not seeking revenge; they are seeking justice. They don't want to bury others with their children; they want the responsibilities to be highlighted, for society to know what happened, to change something so that it doesn't happen again. And yet, every time they speak out, they are treated as 'troublemakers', as people who need to be silenced in order for the country to move forward. But the truth is that the country cannot move forward without justice. And the citizens know this. That is why all of Greece stands by them. From small towns to large squares, from marches to social networks, society is showing in every way that it has not forgotten. The only one that seems to want to forget is the State itself.
And herein lies the real question: what kind of democracy is it that forces a father to starve to be heard? What kind of state is it that puts families against each other instead of standing by them? What kind of society will we be if we silently accept that a tragedy of such magnitude can be put in a drawer, forgotten, erased with a stamp of 'closure'? Debt is not just about families; it is about all of us. Because if we accept that the Tempi can be forgotten, then tomorrow every other tragedy will be forgotten. And then impunity will become permanent.
For as long as the authorities insist on turning a deaf ear, they are not only insulting parents; they are underestimating the intelligence of an entire people. They take it for granted that we will not turn our backs on them, that they will continue to be in power for many years, that society will tire and forget. And yet, society does not forget. We are asking for justice together. Parents are asking for justice for their children who were so unjustly lost in a crime that could have been avoided; and we, as citizens, are asking for justice because without it no democracy can stand. We will not forget and we will not stop until the end, because in this struggle we are all together.
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