PASOK candidates on the campaign trail
One thousand kilometers, three regions, nine municipalities, four candidates. Kathimerini followed the election campaign of the candidates for the presidency of the socialist party
A few days before the members – and so-called friends – of PASOK head to the polls to choose their next leader, Kathimerini tracked the four leading candidates on their campaign trail. We accompanied them to cafes and public squares, where posters featuring their portraits frequently took center stage. We heard “O Ilios o Prasinos” (The Green Sun), PASOK’s famous anthem, blaring from rasping loudspeakers and noted the slogans that energized the audience. Despite their stylistic differences, a common theme emerged from all four candidates – incumbent leader Nikos Androulakis, former minister Pavlos Geroulanos, former EU commissioner Anna Diamantopoulou, and Athens Mayor Haris Doukas: The party elections are critical, and the turnout must be significant. At the very least, they all agree on this point.
Nikos Androulakis
The evening service, Nikos Xylouris, the roast pork
“How did you prepare for the Spartathlon?” an employee at the Navis cafe in central Sparta, located in the Laconia district of the Peloponnese, asks just before they transform part of the courtyard into a campaign stage early in the afternoon a few days ago. In about an hour, Androulakis is expected to speak here, but some are concerned about the turnout due to the rain and the bishop’s celebration scheduled for the next day, as the evening service coincides with the speech of PASOK’s chief.
However, as the minutes pass, the tables begin to fill up. Soon, the upbeat tunes are replaced by PASOK’s ritual songs, such as “Afton ton Kosmo ton Kalo” (This Good World) by late Cretan singer-songwriter Nikos Xylouris and “Eimaste Dyo” (We Are Two) by Mikis Theodorakis, the legendary activist and musician. By 6 p.m., patrons are also seated in the adjacent cafe, where two giant screens display a program by the cult TV carpet seller Despina Miraraki. Androulakis has yet to arrive. “He’s ready,” his photographer tells Kathimerini. “He’ll show up when the place is full.” Indeed, within the next 15 minutes, the area around Navis becomes crowded, including standing patrons, and the first notes of late songwriter Manos Loizos’ “Kalimera Ilie” (Good Morning Sun), a classic tune closely associated with the socialist party, signal his arrival.
He crosses Lykourgou Avenue on foot, and when he reaches the cafe, the attendees stand and applaud. “I decided that the elections should take place a year and a half before their scheduled date because I didn’t want what’s happening in SYRIZA to happen in PASOK,” he says as he begins his speech. For about 20 minutes, he addresses the “great duty of PASOK to provide a serious, credible, progressive opposition to New Democracy,” discussing the housing crisis, tourism, and noting that public surveys show PASOK polling in second place.
Androulakis basically defends his position. “This opportunity didn’t fall from the Acropolis,” he asserts. “The stork didn’t bring it either; rather, it is the result of the work done in the party over the last two and a half years.” He asks for their vote to continue his strategy for political autonomy, unity, daily struggle, confrontation with vested interests, and ethics. At one point during his speech, he appears serious, communicating not just with his hoarse voice, but also with expressive hand gestures. He repeatedly raises and lowers his left hand for emphasis, counting the measures he plans to take on his fingers and clenching his fist.
After stepping down from the podium, a stripe of sweat runs down his back, darkening his khaki shirt. But now, among the crowd, Androulakis relaxes. He smiles as he engages with citizens eager to embrace him, asking for selfies and saying, “Good luck, President, and may you become prime minister.” One gentleman mentions he has been voting for PASOK since 1965. “Well, how old are you?” Androulakis asks, and when the man replies, “Eighty,” he quips: “You’re kidding? I thought you were no older than 68.” A young boy shouts, “Only PASOK!” He jokes with some women from Serres, in Macedonia, who traveled from Messinia in the Peloponnese to hear him speak. With the youth, he discusses soccer. “I’m green in everything,” he says, hinting at his support for Panathinaikos. The schedule is tight. Time is running out. “Well, kids, I have to go now. Kisses!”
‘Wherever they take me’
“I just have a small suitcase, and I go wherever they take me,” Androulakis tells Kathimerini. In these intensely packed days, his only moments of relaxation come when he calls his son. He feels optimistic about the election outcome, stating that his journey – “without (political) favors, without direct assignments” – proves he will be a capable prime minister when the time comes.
Around 8 p.m., a large crowd gathers outside the Arcadia Labor Center, with some attendees wearing green shirts. Once again, there’s applause and the refrain “We’ll make the sun drunk” from the song “Kalimera Ilie.” Inside the hall, two PASOK posters adorn the walls. His speech here is more political, and he delivers it with greater passion. He describes himself as “a simple kid from PASOK.” He claims to have engaged in his fair share of self-criticism and expresses his desire to continue the strategy that has propelled the party from 8% to 13% and beyond, “with more action and risk.”
The audience erupts into applause at various points, particularly when he emphasizes that PASOK is the party that can defeat ruling New Democracy. Toward the end of his speech, he raises and lowers his fist like a hammer, declaring, “Together, let’s move stronger, even higher; we can make it.” The crowd embrace and kiss him. Someone inquires, “We have a president, so why are we having elections?” Another expresses fear, saying: “What does the mayor want? Can you tell me? I’ve heard that Diamantopoulou was supposed to join New Democracy, but Mitsotakis cut her off to become the leader and collaborate with [the conservatives].” “Come now,” Androulakis reassures him, “We’ll stay united; don’t worry.”
He needs to leave for Nafpaktos in Western Greece, where he will spend the night before speaking there the next morning. However, they persuade him to make a stop at the Thodoris grill house to try its famous roast pig. The shopkeeper is thrilled to see him. “Mr President, he won’t be able to sleep tonight from joy,” says his wife. “I’ll just have a beer,” Androulakis replies, pulling one from the fridge. When he goes to pay, they refuse to accept his money. “I’m of the old orthodox PASOK,” Thodoris insists, “Stay and eat.” They chat about soccer, share stories from Tripoli, the capital of Arcadia, and discuss the party. He takes a bite of the meat, unable to hide his enthusiasm. “Ah, Thodoris!” he exclaims after a second bite. “This is what I call campaigning – PASOK is all the sustenance I need.” And juicy roast pig, too.
Pavlos Geroulanos
Coldplay, ‘Renaissance,’ and dried Kymi figs
Pavlos Geroulanos has a plan. He has printed it in a pamphlet titled “Renaissance,” which he distributes at every stop on his tour. Last weekend, he discussed this initiative in all four cities of Fthiotida, in central Greece. The structure of his speeches remains consistent: He first outlines the problem, asserting that the worst, and not impossible, scenario for the country is another bankruptcy.
He then introduces “Renaissance,” emphasizing the decentralization of power and its transfer to local government organizations. He frequently mentions “PASOK members who are achieving more than PASOK,” referring to party members in local offices. “I promise they will be my first call; I will ask them to help connect the party with society,” he declares.
To realize his vision for the country, he stresses the need for effective communication and a strong team, drawing on his experiences from revitalizing the bankrupt family business to his tenure as a minister to illustrate why he is the right person for the job.
Throughout his 12-hour schedule – broken only by a one-hour intermission for phone calls – he avoids relying on slogans or revolutionary songs. Instead, in the packed hall of the Samaras Hotel in Lamia, the capital of the Fthiotida region, music by British rock band Coldplay plays softly in the background. He takes his time, unafraid of pauses, and maintains a deliberate pace. He engages his audience with probing questions: “How many of you see your area depopulating?” He consistently circles back to his program.
His next stop is Atalanti, the second-largest town in the region. He exits the Skoda and removes his earbuds. “Hello, Mayor,” he greets the local leader who is waiting for him. Later, in the public square, he visits four or five cafes. In one, he goes straight to the kitchen. “Where is the chef?” Wherever he finds willing conversation partners, he takes a seat. “Sorry for intruding,” he apologizes. “Come on, comrade, we’ve been waiting for you,” one patron replies. “We want unity,” says another. “Don’t be afraid of me,” he responds.
At the Atalanti gathering, 50 people show up. Before heading to the next stop, he decides to visit another cafe. “It’s a waste of time,” warns one of his advisers. “It’s not PASOK-dominated.” Nevertheless, he proceeds. “I started shaking hands during coffee hour,” he shares, “and now we’ve moved on to tsipouro time.”
He gets back into the car and puts in his earbuds again to make a phone call. We stop at a gas station where he gets out to pay himself. “Good luck,” the attendant says. “Thank you,” Geroulanos replies. On the way to Molos, a small town, we get lost due to a GPS glitch, causing a delay, but he remains unfazed. He explains to Kathimerini his plans for the country, his ideas for developing neglected areas, and insists he is not in a dilemma about his candidacy for the presidency. “I’m ready; I have a clear idea of what I want to do.” He is untroubled by the possibility that voters might perceive him as an elite representative, an outsider within PASOK. “In Athens, I received the same percentage in Kolonaki and Sepolia,” he notes, contrasting the affluent neighborhood with lower-income suburbs. “Where people know me, there are no such reservations.”
We arrive late at the Molos train station, about whose operation he has tabled questions in Parliament. A large crowd has gathered. “Pavlos, Pavlos!” “This is the next leader of PASOK!” They listen intently, ask questions, and read his “Renaissance” pamphlet. Back in the car, he enjoys dried figs from Kymi. “They’re my favorite snack. They’re a superfood.”
Without a break
In the town’s cafes, he expresses a desire to sit down for a tsipouro with the locals, but his associates dissuade him. “We can’t leave the mayor of Stylida waiting,” they remind him, and he complies. After visiting the seaside town, where he discusses issues such as fish farming and the understaffing of the local hospital, it’s time for Lamia. He seems tireless. “You don’t want to relax now! Yesterday, I got home around 10.30 p.m. I hadn’t seen my wife in a month. We finally managed to watch an episode of a series together,” he shares, noting that his daughters are his main source of relaxation.
Next, he enjoys lunch with representatives from the local community at a restaurant in Lamia. After the meal, he delivers another speech. Although the schedule originally included a break, he opts for an impromptu stop at the rehearsal for TEDxLamia. He greets each speaker and asks about their themes. “Sorry for interrupting,” he says.
Following this, he gives an interview for a local channel and then delivers a speech at a hotel, where posters of his face are plastered everywhere. He engages with the audience, taking photos and staying until the room empties. “[You were] great,” they tell him. “We want change.” He gestures with his right hand, mimicking the act of dropping an envelope into an invisible ballot box.
Anna Diamantopoulou
Hugs, hoarseness and omens
On Monday evening, at Mujer – meaning “woman” in Spanish – in Korydallos, western Athens, the tables are packed. By 8.15 p.m., when Diamantopoulou arrives, the crowd spills out onto the street around the bar, with some people straining to catch a glimpse of her while others gather by the open windows to listen.
She remains calm, smiling as she unfolds her arms to greet dozens with handshakes. More than 300 people are present, many of whom have seen her at a previous gathering in Korydallos, where she made her first appearance after announcing her candidacy.
For about 40 minutes, she speaks passionately, drawing comparisons between PASOK and SYRIZA. “We understand how crucial it is for a party to have roots – roots in democracy,” she says. She acknowledges the “social outrage” present in the country, covering a wide range of topics: farmers, small and medium-sized entrepreneurs, the housing crisis, national issues, long-term care structures, and public universities. Naturally, she addresses the role of PASOK and the stakes of the party leadership elections, asserting that “the next prime minister of the country can and must be a social democrat.”
Her voice is hoarse, and several times during her speech, she appears to squeeze her diaphragm through the fabric of her silk blouse, seemingly trying to take deeper breaths. As she continues, she becomes increasingly adept at warming up her audience. A young woman inspects her from head to toe, absentmindedly playing with her hair, her gaze lingering on Diamantopoulou’s shoes and bracelet. Middle-aged men cluster in small groups, while others order drinks with the tickets they received at the entrance.
When she begins discussing her career and background, the girl playing with her hair looks her directly in the eyes. She returns to the topic of reforms and the party, emphasizing, “Each of us should support the candidate we want with passion and sound arguments, but we must not blame others – only then can we achieve unity at the grassroots and at the top.”
She intends to leave early tonight, as the debate is scheduled for the next day. However, the crowd is reluctant to let her go. One by one, they approach her to greet her, lining up to shake her hand and share their concerns: issues related to disability, matters involving the EOPYY healthcare organization, and books they urge her to read. “It’s my birthday today; I canceled everything to be here for you,” one woman tells her. Diamantopoulou hugs her and wishes her a happy birthday. “We should have brought you a cake,” she replies.
When she steps outside to greet the remaining attendees across the street, the crowd closes in so tightly that a car nearly runs her over. “Can’t you see where you’re going?” Diamantopoulou reacts, taking a sip of water to soothe her dry mouth.
Many women express that she inspires them, and she embraces them, posing for photos. Local officials seem eager to introduce her to potential voters. A driver lowers his window, inquiring about the crowd. “The president of PASOK, Anna Diamantopoulou, is here,” a man replies. “I see the future,” he then tells Kathimerini.
Forty minutes after her speech concludes, she reiterates that the debate is scheduled for the next day and that she needs to rest her voice to prepare. “If you perform like you did today, you’ll exude confidence,” they encourage her. “You’ll make a difference.”
Without ‘accessories’
Before getting into the Citroen waiting for her, Diamantopoulou tells Kathimerini that she is very optimistic about the election results. “In the last 15 days, the atmosphere has really warmed up.” Her interactions with the public rejuvenate her. “I’m no longer tired; my passion continues to grow.” When I mention what was said in Tripoli about her candidacy being orchestrated by New Democracy, she responds, “You’d have to be quite foolish not to realize that I will attract people from the center, and those individuals will leave New Democracy.” At Diamantopoulou’s gathering, there are no posters, slogans, or revolutionary songs. “I have extensive experience; I can certainly chant slogans, but I believe more firmly – and consciously – in changing the political discourse. People have had enough of that.”
Haris Doukas
Cameras, evening tea, and ‘Carmina Burana’
Most days for Haris Doukas are divided into two parts. From morning until afternoon, he has obligations and meetings as the mayor of Athens. From the afternoon until evening, he attends appointments and events as a candidate for the presidency of PASOK. On that Sunday, he appeared on Athinas Street, which is closed to traffic for a municipality festival on World Car Free Day, around noon. He has just come straight from the airport, having spent Saturday touring Thrace in northern Greece for his other role. As he arrives, TV cameras rush toward him, and he shows complete awareness of their presence. He walks confidently, and when someone shouts, “Mayor, Mayor!” Doukas remains focused on the cameras.
First, he greets the police officers on duty, then he interacts with the children gathered there. He stops at each activity, joking with participants – from adults trying to balance on roller skates to little kids cycling around obstacles. He ensures there is space in the cycling lane, applauding those who complete the race. When he reaches the skateboarding area, he asks the organizer, “Isn’t this a bit dangerous?” The organizer assures him it’s safe and informs him about a large skateboarding event scheduled for Athens this year. Doukas shows interest and asks a colleague to take down the organizer’s contact details.
His smile reflects his satisfaction with the festival’s success. “Nice, huh?” he asks his colleagues repeatedly. He thanks the Red Cross volunteers and then speaks to state broadcaster ERT. By 1 p.m., he is at the mayor’s office for scheduled appointments. “He’s never late,” his colleagues tell Kathimerini. Doukas agrees, joking, “I’m not on PASOK time, in a witty reference to the old-school socialist officials’ notorious habit of running late for events, speeches, and other commitments. “We did really well up there,” he says, listing the cities he has just visited. “The PASP is fully behind me,” he adds, referencing the PASOK-affiliated student group, “because I publicly stated, ‘[We want free] education for all, and you can sod off.’”
A few hours later, he returns to Athinas Street to announce Locomondo, the band that will close the festival. His father accompanies him for the rest of the day’s events. After another meeting, they quickly stop by the inauguration of the renovated Commercial Association building.
Next, they head to the Acropolis Garden, a playground in the Plaka district, which he inaugurates in collaboration with the NGO Elliniki Etairia – Society for the Environment and Cultural Heritage and the Onassis Foundation. Many people seek to speak with him, and he discusses the area’s problems with members of the Plaka residents’ committee. “Save us from the tables and chairs; we’ll complain to you up close after the ‘party,’” they joke. “I will continue with passion, and I plan to demand much more as the PASOK leader,” he responds. When asked if he would resign as mayor if elected, he firmly replies, “This is out of the question.”
He reads his speech from a paper, feeling each line with his fingers. Soon, he must leave for his campaign event in Menidi, western Athens. He listens to all the speeches and hears complaints whispered in his ear. He asks the protesters to leave their contact details and poses for a few more selfies before having to go. “I’m heading to Menidi. Role change,” he says.
In the car, he drinks water, chews gum, and cleans his hands with a wet wipe. Lately, he has been drinking a lot of tea for his throat. “I’m usually on duty from 6 a.m.,” he explains. He finds his energy not in sleep but in his interactions with the public. “You gain it from your relationship with the people.” He aims to change the direction of Greece by implementing a collaborative model of power, first in PASOK and, eventually, in the country. He has no regrets about his candidacy. “No one will ever say to me, ‘Haris, you didn’t dare, you didn’t try,’ which is why I can sleep peacefully at night. I couldn’t avoid confronting this responsibility.” He doesn’t believe he has betrayed anyone, stating, “The party is not just a group of friends.” Although he didn’t expect his life to take this path, he embraces it. “Being a mayor is not theoretical. In politics, you can leave a significant footprint,” he says confidently. He believes he will win. “If you don’t believe it inside yourself, you can’t convey it.”
In Menidi, approximately 300 attendees are excited to see him. Against the backdrop of “Carmina Burana,” the powerful cantata that once marked the opening of the massive PASOK rallies during the era of the late Andreas Papandreou, Doukas greets them with a broad smile and shakes hands. “Today you are mayor,” they tell him, “tomorrow president.”
‘Hold tight, beat the right’
Here, no notes are needed for his speech. He speaks from the heart about the country’s regression, salaries in education, costly interbank transactions, and the role of PASOK. “Should we be afraid to say that we must win?” he asks. Slogans resonate from the crowd: “Haris, hold tight, beat the right!” “For a strong PASOK, close to the people!” “With Haris Doukas for change!” He pauses to allow the audience to express their enthusiasm, smiling broadly. He identifies himself as a soldier of PASOK, asserting that for the “great battles” ahead, the party will welcome anyone willing to step up as a frontline soldier.
As he concludes his speech, he moves into the crowd with a glass of tea. The waiters offer white wine with ice. “Did we speak well?” he inquires of the audience. They pull him in for photos in front of a banner featuring his image, and he seems to enjoy the moment. On Sunday night, his gaze reflects the same determination it held in the morning, but his handshake has become more assured. “Let’s go,” he says a little later. “We have a debate to prepare for.”
