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Golden Dawn’s Reservoir Of Greek Nationalism

Someone is yelling. Behind the microphone is a squat man standing in front of a banner. His voice moves between the vociferations of an angry, tired lecturer, and the squeal of a jet turbine. He stands in front of a snaking insignia, a design clearly interested in evoking the swastika. People are clapping at every interval. The speaker waddles like an upside-down pendulum, taking secretly heavy breaths.