“Because you are Slavomacedonians from St. Demetrios!” he answered. “Your children need to change schools and attend the Slavomacedonian school.”

My mother retorted, “Comrade Niko, you are making a big mistake! My children and me are Greeks! We are descendants of Alexander the Great! We have nothing to do with Slavomacedonians. Just because we lived in St. Demetrios, doesn’t mean that we are Slavomacedonians! My father was a Greek priest and fought against the [Bulgarian] komitadjis so that Macedonia could remain Greek. I heard that you, comrade, originate from Pontus [Asia Minor]. With your logic, you should be Turkish then!”

My mother’s fervent complaints had a positive effect, I suppose. My brother and I returned to the Romanian school and continued to take Greek and not Slavomacedonian classes.

The Greek communists on the Florika base also tried to divide the adults into Greeks and Slavomacedonians. They created a committee of communist members that visited the inhabitants of the base one by one so that they can classify them into one or the other group. It was evident however that for many people, the committee members had already decided the result before the visits. Perhaps these visits were a means to inform the inhabitants of their classification, or a means to convince them of it.

Many inhabitants were greatly shocked when they learned that from one day to the next they had become Slavomacedonians. Some actually dared to complain. Others on the other hand accepted the committee’s decision without a word. This should not come as a surprise to anyone today as we lived under such oppressive conditions that all decisions depended on the communist leadership of the community.

When the committee members came to our room to classify my mother, she was naturally informed that she was Slavomacedonian. My mother however, did not accept this. My brother and I cried and pleaded with her to accept so as to avoid seeming oppositional because we were afraid that the community leaders would take her away from us into exile again. My mother however did not hold back her tongue and did not display any fear as she harshly criticized the Greek Communist Party’s plan.

“Comrade Elpida, I had heard of you but I never imagined that you would be so difficult,” said one of the committee members who had visited our room that evening.

After visiting our family, the members went to see an old lady who lived in the next room. Like us, she was from Macedonia [Greece] and had also been brought as a hostage by the KKE to Romania. Unlike us though, she had originally been a refugee from Asia Minor but had immigrated to Greece after the  Asian Minor [Ottoman Turkish ethnic cleansing] Catastrophe. My brother and I were listening behind her door:

“How should we classify you granny? Greek or Slavomacedonian?” they asked.

“Greek! How else, my children? I am from Asia Minor, poor old me! What business do I have with Slavomacedonians?” she replied.