“We go home and plunge into darkness”: five mothers of murdered women recount

The issue of female infanticide is not new, but a hidden, ongoing tragedy. Behind closed doors and under the noses of local communities, women are being murdered every minute across the globe, often with the complicity of their immediate surroundings.

Director Martha Bouziouri explores this painful and highly relevant issue in her documentary theatre show, Pietà, which runs at the New World Theatre from 6 October. The show traces the personal and collective trauma of femicide, an extreme manifestation of gender violence.

With politically charged language, the performance confronts the aspects of this issue that are often silenced or distorted in public discourse: the patriarchal view of the female body as property and a battlefield for power; the role of the family in fostering gender violence; the societal cleansing of Greek society; the shifting of responsibility through blame and victim-shaming; the political silencing of the gendered nature of femicide through misleading narratives of “family tragedies” and “crimes of passion”; the gruelling, re-traumatising ordeal of the trial process; and the glaring absence of state support for the victims’ families.

In Pietà, a documentary theatre show that runs at the New Cosmos Theatre from 6 October, director Martha Bouziouri addresses a painful and highly relevant issue, tracing the personal and collective trauma of femicide, an extreme form of gender violence.

The performance draws inspiration from the experiences of five women who have suffered the ultimate loss – the murder of their child. These include: Koula Armoutidou (mother of Eleni Topaloudi), Eleni Kremastioti (mother of Erato Manolakellis), Katerina Koti (mother of Dora Zacharias), Alexandra Makou (mother of Garyfallias Psarrakos), and Rosa Fotiadou (mother of Sofia Savvidou).

Rosa Fotiadou

“The absence of your child, the longing to see them, to hear them, the pain, it never fades”

Sofia Savvidou was tragically murdered in March 2020 in the open-air area of a supermarket in Kifissia, where she was employed.

Together with her colleague Polyxeni Berdou, they were taking a break when her ex-husband shot them with his service revolver, firing 26 bullets.

It takes a long time to grasp what has happened to you. The absence of your child, the longing to see them, to hear them, the pain – it never fades. You just learn to live with certain things over time in order to survive. Every time I share my story, I do so in the hope that it will be heard around the world, to finally awaken us to the reality.

Rosa Fotiadou

Wisdom is not collateral damage, as some have suggested. I refuse to accept that. She is a victim of the patriarchy and the mindset that continues to pervade our country today. The murderer was filled with rage towards women, and even more so towards my daughter, a woman he had never met, nor had he ever heard her voice. He fired thirteen bullets at his wife and just as many at my child. He publicly claimed that he had issues with his wife, which I later found out was a lie. His hatred, his sexism, and the horrific act he committed reveal the monster he truly is.

The case will be heard in the Court of Appeal on November 1st, following a postponement granted in December 2022. We’ll see what happens with the femicide trials. We live in the city, so it’s easier for us to attend, but other families have to travel, and the costs are often prohibitive. It feels like the state is punishing us, showing no empathy for our pain. It’s a constant violation.

Wisdom is not collateral damage, as some have suggested. I refuse to accept that. She is a victim of the patriarchy and the mindset that continues to pervade our country today.

This trauma is not mine alone, it affects our entire family. There’s a child who was five years old when his mother was murdered. He’s now eight and a half, and not once has a social worker come to our door to check on how he’s coping, or how we’re managing. What resources can we turn to for help? How do we raise a new man, and how do we talk to him about the way his mother died? Eventually, you’re forced to pick yourself up, stand tall, and move forward. Life will never be the same. Everything feels incomplete, like there’s a hole in my heart. I will never again experience the joy and bliss I felt when my daughter got married or when my grandchild was born.

Wisdom is always with me, always by my side. Nothing can justify the unjust loss of my child, who will never return. I take solace in the fact that there are people in journalism and the arts who take these cases seriously and send a message. These incidents affect all of society. My family and I used to observe them from afar, until suddenly, it happened to us – the same way it could happen to anyone. That’s why we must fight to break free from patriarchal and sexist norms. I shout it with all my might: don’t segregate girls from boys. What can one possibly say to a mother who has endured such a tragedy? Nothing. Silence is the only response.

Katerina Koti

“This was a premeditated act of violence. He armed himself and lay in wait for his victim.”

In September 2021, 31-year-old Dora Zacharia was murdered in Rhodes by her former partner. The man stalked her and, ten days after their breakup, shot her with a shotgun. Shortly after, he took his own life.

Two years have passed since the incident, but Dora continues to be a source of immense strength for me. She never lets me down, and the actions we take are guided by her spirit. Even today, I still call out to her for lunch or coffee. In my daughter’s story, there was no love, only hatred and malice from a selfish monster. Men like him are indeed monsters. When a woman leaves them, hurting their egos, they believe she must die. It’s their twisted game. He couldn’t possess her as he wished, so when his plan fell apart, he took her life. He lost the game. That’s what happened to Dora.

Katerina Koti

We raised an independent, educated, and proud woman. We taught our children to trust the world. We read about incidents involving people like Gary and Caroline, but it always seemed so distant.

Dora wasn’t naive, she had lived and loved. She spent four years in Thessaloniki, a year in England. She was a woman who loved her work, sought creativity, and was always striving to improve. At the time of her murder, she was still attending graduate school. She was a vibrant, dynamic individual.

When she met this man, their relationship seemed normal at first. He was on his best behavior, and she saw no red flags when they decided to live together. But eventually, he began to demean her, stalk her on social media, and demand that she remove her photos. The outbursts of jealousy began. When they split, it came to light that he wouldn’t allow her to be alone or watch TV. They lived together for a month and a half before Dora moved back home. She didn’t want to discuss much about what had happened, assuring us that we would have time to talk. We had complete trust in her. After a celebration, we discovered he had a history of abusive behavior in his past relationships.

In my daughter’s story, there was no love, only hatred and malice from a selfish monster. Men like him are monsters. When a woman leaves them, hurting their egos, they believe she must die. It’s their game.

His family was aware of his violent tendencies and did nothing, effectively covering for him. They claimed to be a “family of hunters” when guns were found in their home. When Dora left him, he sent her a chilling message: “as you hurt me, I will hurt you.” She knew he was dangerous, but she could never have imagined what was to come. He stalked her for days in a rental car. Ten days after she left him, he took her life. The last morning I saw her, she was still asleep when I left for work. I told her, “Doraki, I’m off to work.” I learned about it later from a colleague who told me, “A teacher was murdered.” I instantly thought, “That’s my Dora.”

No one informed me, not even the police. I found out from local news websites. Dora had left our home, books and jacket in hand, but didn’t even make it to her car before he shot her. He then returned to his house and ended his own life. My child was disrespected by my child, and then by his family. They turned a blind eye to their son’s violent tendencies. That’s the kind of family they were – one that sees their child’s violence and chooses to ignore it.

It was a premeditated act. He took a gun and waited for his victim. Dora didn’t stand a chance. She tried to run, but couldn’t escape. I believe that girls today need to speak up and not be afraid. They should walk away with confidence when they sense something is wrong, and they should ask their parents for help. There’s no shame in that. Today, I urge them to also be vigilant of their surroundings.

Alexandra Makou

“We must never forget this incident, nor the violent mindset that led to it”

In the summer of 2021, the body of 26-year-old Garifallia Psarrakos was retrieved from the sea off Folegandros. She had been thrown into the sea by her boyfriend. Her death was a horrific ordeal. Her killer confessed to his crime, simply stating, “we had a fight, it was a mess.”

I speak to you because this incident, and the violent mindset behind it, must never be forgotten. I have pledged to honour Garifallia’s spirit and memory. This is my way of mourning.

Alexandra Makou

This girl was extraordinary, a wonderful child. We grew up together, and she helped us mature. We all respected her. She became a remarkable scientist, a pharmacist, dedicated to her field. I feel compelled to share this, since she no longer can. My life’s purpose now is to empower other women and anyone who seeks my counsel, in the hope that I can provide them with some strength. I hope my efforts are not in vain. This is what I discuss on Martha’s show.

Violence is pervasive, and those of us who are involved in these stories see it far too often. There have been times when I’ve felt utterly exasperated with the system, the state, and the trials we endure in court. You witness the system’s mockery, but I refuse to give up. I will be present at every court hearing, representing the voices of these girls who were unjustly taken from us. Some progress will be made, but it will never be enough. I am proud to be the voice for my daughter, and I understand that there are people who need our voice.

If even one woman is saved, that’s a tribute to our girls. My child’s killer will be free in sixteen years.

We have been sentenced to life in prison, and so has my child.

This society needs mothers and voices like ours to come forward. I have come to the realization that this is why I am here, to empower other women and raise awareness among men to think twice before they act. Garyphalia would never push someone off the rocks simply because they disagreed.

If even one woman is saved, it’s a tribute to our girls. I have three other children who are processing this even harder because they haven’t experienced the violence and hardship in our home. As a mother, I have to step forward, not just dwell on the fact that no one can change. That’s why I chose not to let my trauma be self-destructive. I want to be fair to my children; we have to move forward no matter what, lending strength to each other. Our trauma heals when we contribute to society.

Snapshot from the rehearsals of the show.

Snapshot from the rehearsals of the show.

There is, of course, a gaping hole within me. I’m missing a piece, it’s like being without a leg and an arm and having to crawl, but also refusing to give up. It’s a wound that reopens every so often. The court was another murder of Garyphalia; it’s not just a case, we didn’t lose a pin. I didn’t feel vindicated; no sane person can comprehend their child going on holiday and not coming back.

The man who killed my child will be out in sixteen years. We have been sentenced to life, and so has my child. I want to send a message to men, most of whom have mothers, sisters, and girlfriends. Would they tolerate such behavior? I think not. They should respect and treat women with love and equality. All families raising boys have a serious responsibility before them.

Eleni Kremastioti

“I would like to say to everyone who is raising children to raise people, there is no distinction between boys and girls”

24-year-old Erato Manolakellis was murdered in May 2019 in Lesvos by her estranged husband with a shotgun while their two-year-old daughter slept in the next room. At the time of her murder, she was on the phone with her best friend, who became the only witness to the crime.

On Wednesday, 20 September, the Court of Appeal for Erato’s case, which has already been postponed three times, reconvened in Mytilene. We once again traveled to the place where she was murdered. We had no other choice.

Regrettably, in the absence of state support, we are compelled to do as much as we can independently.

Eleni Kremastioti

It is both exhausting and soul-crushing, an almost brutal process, to repeatedly witness your child’s murderer, to relive their murder time and again, to no avail.

We are filled with rage, not just me, but all mothers, and outrage, and we are left wondering why they are inflicting this on us. We are not the killers. The actual killers enjoy more privileges. As defendants, they are at a disadvantage, not us, not our children.

Erato is an angel – we never refer to her in the past tense – a joyful child, full of dreams and hopes, and all of that was snatched away from her in an instant by a murderer.

Our lives have dramatically changed. We are raising a grandchild who is now six years old. He was sleeping in the next room when his mother was killed. We are trying to navigate this difficult and sensitive situation alone, with love, patience, honesty, and, most importantly, with the assistance of professionals. The people who are consistently by our side are the other mothers of girls who were murdered, the victims of femicide. They accompany me to the courts in Mytilene every time, and we provide mutual support. Society hears us, but the state seems to turn a deaf ear.

It is exhausting and soul-destroying, almost a brutal process, to watch your child’s killer over and over again, to experience his murder over and over again, to no avail.

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Experts and lawmakers are not heeding our calls. The laws for these cases should have been tightened by now. More severe measures need to be implemented when complaints are filed, and they should be taken more seriously. As long as we live, we will not cease to raise our voices, we will not stop trying. Not for our own children, who are sadly gone and will not return, but for other children, so that they do not find themselves in the same predicament.

I want to tell everyone raising children to foster individuals, without distinguishing between boys and girls. Nurture individuals who respect themselves above all else. For Erato and for all the girls in the world, this is the message I want to convey from the outset of this story: “Let life be life.”

Pietà took the notion of experientiality that characterizes the director’s work to its limits. Photo.

Koula Armoutidou

“A child cannot exhibit aggressive behaviour without their parent noticing it”

The 20-year-old student Eleni Topaloudi was gang raped and murdered in Rhodes by two men. After torturing her, her killers discarded her body in the sea in a nearby area. The young woman, although severely injured, was still alive when she drowned.

Since 2018, only minimal steps have been taken. The state is impersonal, and we feel as if we’re being mocked.

Let’s begin with the court process, the adjournments, and the interruptions. There have been 45 trials concerning the horrific murder of my child, and each time we are left behind to mourn and fume anew.

Koula Armoutidou

I believe that from the very outset, the laws and procedures should have functioned differently. We have travelled thousands of kilometres from Didymoteicho to Athens and back. Can you imagine the psychological toll of seeing my child’s status shift from victim to perpetrator in the courts? Who are they scrutinising, who are they condemning? The child himself? Is he being stigmatised, disparaged and vulgarised by the lawyers while the bench remains passive?

I feel, and I voice this emphatically, that the state is punishing us. Do the murderers of our children receive legal support while the families of the victims are left bereft? This rule of law failed to address the glaring issues, forcing us to air our grievances publicly. Are we to retreat, mentally drained, close our doors and descend into darkness? Our child was strangled, his skull cracked open, he was sexually assaulted, horribly wounded, including with a knife, and in the final act of this tragedy, thrown alive from a height of ten metres. And to such a murder, does the state grant the right of appeal? Twenty-seven trials were held at first instance, apparently, they were insufficient.

I feel, and I voice this emphatically, that the state is punishing us. Do the murderers of our children receive legal support while the families of the victims are left bereft?

I grieve because my child was taken from me in the most brutal way, and his killer will be free in sixteen years. What solace am I to find in that? With such sentences, crime will flourish. The laws are impotent, these monsters remain unpunished. As a society, we are also culpable for tolerating such behaviours. The perpetrators had shown signs, flaunting their wealth as a shield against the law. When we appealed for harsher penalties at Maximou, we were told ‘we are aligning with Europe’. This lacks any semblance of logic.

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What are we to think? Our financial ruin? We are frugal people, living on a salary, burdened with many responsibilities, and battling health issues. They offer us no assistance. Shouldn’t a solidarity fund be established for families like ours? But what can a privileged person understand, what can they feel? We have been reduced to begging to afford legal proceedings.

My mother-in-law, with the money she had painstakingly saved for my child’s wedding, helped us with the transportation and funeral costs. My son, Peter, who is now 17 years old, endured the horror of his sister’s murder. Not a single person knocked on our door to check on this child, to see how he was coping.

I’m terrified about my child leaving for college. I have one child in the grave and one alive, and I’m scared.

I want to tell parents to remain close to their children, to show them love and respect, to be their companions and their cheerleaders. A child should not exhibit aggressive behavior and a parent must not turn a blind eye to it. From my experience working in a kindergarten, I’ve seen violence. It is also prevalent among young people. What tragic circumstances are these? Where do we draw our strength from when we have no support, no family like ours – let’s not forget Yacoumaki’s situation. Honestly, what would happen if a politician lost their child?

In the show we follow these mothers on their journey after the ultimate loss. How do they go on – how does one go on – after that? Photo.

Martha Bouziouri

Director of the performance

“It’s remarkable how these women transform their pain into a public fight against gender violence”

After Amarynthos, Penelope’s Travels, and the film documentary À deux voix, Martha Bouziouri continued her creative exploration and personal introspection, examining manifestations of gender identity and delving into often traumatic areas.

“Through this performance, I am confronting, first as a woman and then as a theatre-maker, the ultimate act in the pyramid of escalating gender violence: femicide. Indeed, I’ve been searching for a long time. How do you talk about it? It’s painful no matter how you approach it. How can one contribute to this crucial area of visibility and affirmation that has emerged in public discourse, this time through the language of theatre? By letting your emotions flow while maintaining the necessary distance to create something that speaks to the audience?”

“My instinct led me to other women, mothers, who have experienced the ultimate loss: the murder of their child. Perhaps because I felt that through them, we could reach out to the girls who were lost, to hear their life stories, their beauty, their dreams, to see the Woman behind assumptions and numbers on blacklists. To stand with each one, before the next news of yet another woman no longer among us takes our breath away.”

Martha Bouziouri began her journey with one mother introducing her to the next. As the director, she kept a diary of thoughts, words, encounters, until the sound of their voices and the physical and mental presence of the girls among them became the raw material for Pietà.

“Their bond is incredibly moving. The friendship that unites them is unique because it is shaped by intense and seemingly contradictory emotions: at its core is the coexistence of ‘frankly, we would rather not have known each other’ and ‘now, we can’t imagine our lives without each other’. ‘We are united by the same pain,’ they told me.”

No one can better comprehend the grief of a mother who has lost a child than another mother who has suffered the same violent and cowardly loss. These five women, these five mothers, are a precious gift to each other, and an even greater gift to all of us. They are paragons of strength, tenderness, and dignity.

Martha Bouziouri started this journey with great reservations. She knew the journey would not be easy, how to put pain into words, and she was unaware of what shape it would take and where it would end up until it arrived to be captured on stage. Photo.

I am deeply grateful for the embrace they offered, the trust they placed in me – something that was not taken for granted. I consider myself truly fortunate to have met them, to have had them enter my life, and to have been allowed into theirs, and into the lives of their daughters. The way they transform their pain into action, into a public struggle to end gender violence, is remarkable. Even after losing the biggest battle, they continue to fight others to save just one girl. To raise a boy with respect and love for the opposite sex. “In our home, we are not only raising our own children, we are raising the society of tomorrow,” they told me. I will never forget that,” he says.

Martha Bouziouri embarked on this journey with significant reservations. She knew it wouldn’t be easy – how to articulate pain – she was uncertain about what form it would take and where it would lead, until she arrived to depict this lived experience, with all its seams and cracks, on stage. She chose to become the conduit to make it happen, encouraged by the mothers of the girls themselves.

“They have been incredibly supportive and reassuring. I openly discussed with them my fear of plunging them into dark places due to the experiential approach, of unintentionally re-traumatising them. And they would respond: “But we want to talk about our children, this is our life now”, “we want to keep the light on through this performance”, “you can’t re-traumatize us, because the trauma never ends. It only grows with time, it only becomes harder.” As my fear diminished, the responsibility grew,” he continues.

 

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In the show, we follow these mothers on their journey after the ultimate loss. How do they continue – how does anyone continue – after such an event? “The way they process and transform their trauma into a driving force is astonishing. Through these women, we shine a light on the lives of women no longer with us, we experience the mechanisms of survival, the unbreakable bond between mother and daughter as it persists on an immaterial level, the healing power of female friendship and mutual support as it is channeled into a common, righteous struggle,” says Martha Bouziouri.

Pietà pushed the concept of experientiality that characterizes the director’s work to its limits. It includes fragments from both her own life and the lives of the four actresses who, like all women in this country, have experienced moments that are abusive, manipulative, violent, and dangerous. The performance Pietà resonates with us, spotlighting the all-too-common occurrences of femicide, rape, and harassment. It serves as a site of mourning and commemoration, a field of honor for those women taken from us prematurely and violently. It’s a space of care, solidarity, and awareness, reminding us of the chilling thought – “that could have been me”. Pietà provides a platform for us to voice our pain, to demand justice, and to ensure we never forget.

Click here for more information about the performance “Pietà”.

This article was originally published in print by LiFO.

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