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Future Suspended (english) from Ross Domoney on Vimeo.


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HELENA: EVERY DAY IS A MORNING AFTER : Photo story by J. A. Mortram


“I was 15 and he was 19, 20. We started to meet up for a while, and most of the time, four out of five days he was fine and then the next moment he’d just turn. He did tell me he was on very strong anti-depressant pills and they affected him big time, so he often did not like to take them.”

“One night when we were up in my room, he was just rocking forwards and backwards on the bed and he looked down for a minute or so, and when he looked back up at me he was just a completely different person. His whole way had just changed, he said to me ‘Are you OK?’ and that was it, I just had to get out of the room. So, I made my way to go to the toilet but he grabbed my wrist and pulled me down back on the bed. I tried to look into his eyes but all I could see was pure evil in them.

RIOTING IN GAZI- Photos by Dan Giannopoulos

Gazi Mahallesi, is an area approx 16km (10 miles) from Taksim Square and Gezi Park. It is a neighbourhood comprised of a predominantly lower-class Alevi and Kurdish population. during June and July 2013 the neighbourhood's youth were engaged in running street battles with Police, who they believe to be oppressing their right to peaceful protest by force of water cannons, rubber bullets and tear gas. Tensions and violence were amplified after a young protester was critically injured after a tear gas canister hit his head.

Gazi Mahallesi has a deep history of violence and ethnic/ social tension since the 1995 Gazi riots in which 23 people were killed and over 400 injured.


Sue started taking pills and drinking when she was just 11 years old, older kids giving out 'treats' to her at the school gates. By 13 she had her first hit of heroin and this carved out the path for the rest of her life. Mother of 5 children, she was unable to live a normal family life and left her home to come to London where she became homeless, leaving her children in the safe care of her mother. As Sue approached the end of her life, she spoke more and more frequently about wanting to move back to her family and renewed her resolve to go through rehab. But she was held by the fear of the emptiness she would face should she put down the bottle. Never having lived in adult society without dependency on drugs and alcohol, she was terrified at the idea of facing up to deep seated traumas that have partly come about because of her vulnerability due to her dependency.



Many years before the first clouds of the crisis would hover over the Greek skies, amidst Greek society's most glorious of moments and its most mundane of days, the lives and labour of migrants would be faced with their meticulous devaluation. For them, the crisis has by now come of age. Yet despite and against shallow journalistic interpretations, there is nothing humanitarian about it. This is because for them the crisis was from the upstart orchestrated politically, socially and militarily. In this way, the discourse about racism in crisis-ridden Greece merely obfuscates and comes in handy. For it obscures exactly how structural this devaluation had been for the development of the Greek state in itself, as well as for the self-perception of Greek society. Yet the crisis knows how to twist meanings too. Today, migrants are accused of the very decline of the Greek edifice. And within this twisted world, their devaluation takes on a more offensive and, at the same time, a more legitimate form. Impossible Biographies, as part of the research project The City at a Time of Crisis, bears witness to this offensive. Today, just like yesterday, the devalued lives of migrants shall remind us how it is to live and die within an enforced anonymity and invisibility. How it is to live a life whose biography is impossible.