Crash and burn

Greece is engulfed in crisis – and its battles have only just begun.

Greeks do a good job of cleaning up. Over the past month, municipal workers have been on a mission to rid Athens of the angry slogans that appear overnight. These range from "Ugly cities burn beautifully" to "Let the plutocracy pay for the crisis" or, simply, "Destroy".

But graffiti is not all the cleaners have to contend with. Demonstrators leave a trail of debris: slabs of broken marble prised from pavements, smashed shop windows, wrecked bus stops, burned rubbish bins and leaflets denouncing the government's harsh economic austerity measures.

No amount of cleaning up can hide the scale of the crisis engulfing Greece. Economically, politically, socially and, some say, even spiritually, the country has reached a dead end. The failings of a near-bankrupt state built on cronyism, corruption, nepotism and greed have been exposed.Greeks, I think, always knew that things were going this way - a culture in which citizens strove to have at least two houses and three cars, but evaded tax collectors and often the law, couldn't be maintained for ever. The state had become as overstretched as its citizens; the bloated public sector, used by successive governments to trade jobs for votes, was always going to prove unsustainable.

Yet the current crisis has still shocked many. Financial turmoil hit soon after the socialist government revealed the real size of the public deficit in late 2009. At 12.7 per cent of GDP, the hole in Greece's finances is almost twice as big as the conservative government had claimed before its electoral defeat last October. This discovery and what it may mean for the eurozone's stability have left many Greeks reeling.

Now, Greece is being held up by the world's press as an example of how not to run a country. Some of its EU partners have accused the country of intentionally misleading the Union about its finances in order to enter the eurozone. Worse still, the crisis has exposed the inner workings of a society with little concern for meritocracy. Not since the collapse in 1974 of Greece's military government, the "colonels' regime", has the body politic been so shaken.

The ascent to power of the socialist Pasok party, led by George Papandreou, one of Europe's most progressive politicians, is a relief for those who want change. He has pledged financial reform, and to combat the country's "systematic corruption". But even senior government cadres seem overwhelmed by what must be done. On the seventh floor of an Orwellian building erected by the military junta, I met Michalis Chrysohoidis, the minister in charge of counterterrorism. The son of farmers from northern Greece, Chrysohoidis is a down-to-earth politician who was instrumental in bringing members of the notorious "17 November" guerrilla group to trial in 2003. Yet he was downbeat. It wasn't just that the previous government had undone Greece's recent progress, he said - its modernisation, the improvements to law and order. It was also how the public administration had been left. Political patronage meant civil servants had hidden a great deal. Files and figures on state finances had either gone missing or been fabricated. It was only when Pasok came to power that they discover­ed how serious the situation was.

The draconian economic policies announced in an effort to appease the EU and the markets (where Greece must raise roughly €54bn - £46.8bn - this year to service the country's €300bn debt) have stoked anger and fear. Chrysohoidis thinks that social unrest may get worse in the months ahead. "When people feel the effects of the measures in their pockets, the situation could deteriorate," he said.

Clawing back credibility

In Athens, the mood has become increasingly edgy, at times even violent. On 5 March, after a particularly nasty rally, protesters tried to storm the parliament. And there are concerns that armed extremists, exploiting the economic tumult, will also strike. In the same week, police narrowly thwarted an attack in a shoot-out with a man believed to be a prominent member of the far-left guerrilla group Revolutionary Struggle. Over the past few years, Greece's network of terrorists has grown. "There is a whole new generation, many from well-heeled families, who like to plant bombs and kill people," Chrysohoidis told me.

Papandreou realises it will take a revolution to reform Greece. The good news is that he is honest, decent and without doubt the most cosmopolitan politician to have led the country. The son and grandson of former prime ministers, he was brought up in the US, Sweden, Canada and the UK. Also the president of Socialist International, he has used his global connections to claw back some of Greece's lost credibility. Better still, he sees the crisis as an opportunity for change.

On 25 March, as Greece celebrates its 189th anniversary as an independent state, EU leaders in Brussels will decide whether to provide financial support for Athens. Aid is crucial to lowering the country's borrowing costs on the international markets. But Germany is reluctant to back EU assistance, without which Greece may be forced to go to the International Monetary Fund for help. Many in the bloc would regard that move as a breakdown in European solidarity, a blow to the Union's pride.

Whatever the outcome, this is only the beginning of Greece's battle - and it is one that will require much more than mopping up.

This article first appeared in the 29 March 2010 issue of the New Statesman, Hold on tight!

Biteback and James Wharton
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“It was the most traumatic chapter of my life”: ex-soldier James Wharton on his chemsex addiction

One of the British Army’s first openly gay soldiers reveals how he became trapped in a weekend world of drug and sex parties.

“Five days disappeared.” James Wharton, a 30-year-old former soldier, recalls returning to his flat in south London at 11pm on a Sunday night in early March. He hadn’t eaten or slept since Wednesday. In the five intervening days, he had visited numerous different apartments, checked in and out of a hotel room, partied with dozens of people, had sex, and smoked crystal meth “religiously”.

One man he met during this five-day blur had been doing the same for double the time. “He won’t have been exaggerating,” Wharton tells me now. “He looked like he’d been up for ten days.”

On Monday, Wharton went straight to his GP. He had suffered a “massive relapse” while recovering from his addiction to chemsex: group sex parties enhanced by drugs.

“Crystal meth lets you really dig in, to use an Army term”

I meet Wharton on a very different Monday morning six months after that lost long weekend. Sipping a flat white in a sleek café workspace in Holborn, he’s a stroll away from his office in the city, where he works as a PR. He left the Army in 2013 after ten years, having left school and home at 16.


Wharton left school at 16 to join the Army. Photo: Biteback

With his stubble, white t-shirt and tortoise shell glasses, he now looks like any other young media professional. But he’s surfacing from two years in the chemsex world, where he disappeared to every weekend – sometimes for 72 hours straight.

Back then, this time on a Monday would have been “like a double-decker bus smashing through” his life – and that’s if he made it into work at all. Sometimes he’d still be partying into the early hours of a Tuesday morning. The drugs allow your body to go without sleep. “Crystal meth lets you really dig in, to use an Army expression,” Wharton says, wryly.


Wharton now works as a PR in London. Photo: James Wharton

Mainly experienced by gay and bisexual men, chemsex commonly involves snorting the stimulant mephodrone, taking “shots” (the euphoric drug GBL mixed with a soft drink), and smoking the amphetamine crystal meth.

These drugs make you “HnH” (high and horny) – a shorthand on dating apps that facilitate the scene. Ironically, they also inhibit erections, so Viagra is added to the mix. No one, sighs Wharton, orgasms. He describes it as a soulless and mechanical process. “Can you imagine having sex with somebody and then catching them texting at the same time?”

“This is the real consequence of Section 28”

Approximately 3,000 men who go to Soho’s 56 Dean Street sexual health clinic each month are using “chems”, though it’s hard to quantify how many people regularly have chemsex in the UK. Chemsex environments can be fun and controlled; they can also be unsafe and highly addictive.

Participants congregate in each other’s flats, chat, chill out, have sex and top up their drugs. GBL can only be taken in tiny doses without being fatal, so revellers set timers on their phones to space out the shots.

GBL is known as “the date rape drug”; it looks like water, and a small amount can wipe your memory. Like some of his peers, Wharton was raped while passed out from the drug. He had been asleep for six or so hours, and woke up to someone having sex with him. “That was the worst point, without a doubt – rock bottom,” he tells me. “[But] it didn’t stop me from returning to those activities again.”

There is a chemsex-related death every 12 days in London from usually accidental GBL overdoses; a problem that Wharton compares to the AIDS epidemic in a book he’s written about his experiences, Something for the Weekend.


Wharton has written a book about his experiences. Photo: Biteback

Wharton’s first encounter with the drug, at a gathering he was taken to by a date a couple of years ago, had him hooked.

“I loved it and I wanted more immediately,” he recalls. From then on, he would take it every weekend, and found doctors, teachers, lawyers, parliamentary researchers, journalists and city workers all doing the same thing. He describes regular participants as the “London gay elite”.

“Chemsex was the most traumatic chapter of my life” 

Topics of conversation “bounce from things like Lady Gaga’s current single to Donald Trump”, Wharton boggles. “You’d see people talking about the general election, to why is Britney Spears the worst diva of them all?”

Eventually, he found himself addicted to the whole chemsex culture. “It’s not one single person, it’s not one single drug, it’s just all of it,” he says.



Wharton was in the Household Cavalry alongside Prince Harry. Photos: Biteback and James Wharton

Wharton feels the stigma attached to chemsex is stopping people practising it safely, or being able to stop. He’s found a support network through gay community-led advice services, drop-ins and workshops. Not everyone has that access, or feels confident coming forward.

“This is the real consequence of Section 28,” says Wharton, who left school in 2003, the year this legislation against “promoting” homosexuality was repealed. “Who teaches gay men how to have sex? Because the birds and the bees chat your mum gives you is wholly irrelevant.”


Wharton was the first openly gay soldier to appear in the military in-house magazine. Photo courtesy of Biteback

Wharton only learned that condoms are needed in gay sex when he first went to a gay bar at 18. He was brought up in Wrexham, north Wales, by working-class parents, and described himself as a “somewhat geeky gay” prior to his chemsex days.

After four years together, he and his long-term partner had a civil partnership in 2010; they lived in a little cottage in Windsor with two dogs. Their break-up in 2014 launched him into London life as a single man.

As an openly gay soldier, Wharton was also an Army poster boy; he appeared in his uniform on the cover of gay magazine Attitude. He served in the Household Cavalry with Prince Harry, who once defended him from homophobic abuse, and spent seven months in Iraq.


In 2012, Wharton appeared with his then civil partner in Attitude magazine. Photo courtesy of Biteback

A large Union Jack shield tattoo covering his left bicep pokes out from his t-shirt – a physical reminder of his time at war on his now much leaner frame. He had it done the day he returned from Iraq.

Yet even including war, Wharton calls chemsex “the most traumatic chapter” of his life. “Iraq was absolutely Ronseal, it did exactly what it said on the tin,” he says. “It was going to be a bit shit, and then I was coming home. But with chemsex, you don’t know what’s going to happen next.

“When I did my divorce, I had support around me. When I did the Army, I had a lot of support. Chemsex was like a million miles an hour for 47 hours, then on the 48th hour it was me on my own, in the back of an Uber, thinking where did it all go wrong? And that’s traumatic.”

Something for the Weekend: Life in the Chemsex Underworld by James Wharton is published by Biteback.

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 29 March 2010 issue of the New Statesman, Hold on tight!