...ιστορία της Σπιναλόγκας είναι η ιστορία ενός μαζικού ψεύδους ...

...το βραχώδες νησί που υπήρξε 
στρατιωτικό οχυρό κατά τη διάρκεια 
της βενετσιάνικης και αργότερα 
οθωμανικής κυριαρχίας.
Σήμερα είναι ευρέως γνωστή ως το νησί των λεπρών, αφού από το 1903 φιλοξένησε εκατοντάδες ασθενείς που έπασχαν από τη νόσο του Χάνσεν, προκειμένου να τους απομονώσουν από τον υγιή πληθυσμό.

Μετά τη διάγνωση της νόσου τα θύματα έχαναν τα περιουσιακά τους στοιχεία, 
τα δικαιώματά τους ως πολίτες όπως και την ταυτότητά τους. 
Στη συνέχεια, έπαιρναν το δρόμο για τη Σπιναλόγκα όπου δεν λάμβαναν καμία 
θεραπεία για τη νόσο τους. Ήταν απλά καταδικασμένοι κάποια στιγμή να πεθάνουν. 
Γιατρός στον τόπο εξορίας θα πήγαινε μονάχα εάν κάποιος από τους ασθενείς νοσούσε 
από κάποια άλλη ασθένεια. 
Παρόλο που θεραπεία για τη λέπρα είχε βρεθεί από τη δεκαετία του 1940, το ελληνικό κράτος δεν διέκοψε τη λειτουργία του λεπροκομείου μέχρι και το 1957, αναφέρει το δημοσίευμα. Η κυβέρνηση μάλιστα άρχισε να ασχολείται πιο σοβαρά με το θέμα 
της Σπιναλόγκας μόνο μετά την παρέμβαση ενός Βρετανού εμπειρογνώμονα, ο οποίος επισκέφθηκε το νησί και κατήγγειλε την ελλιπή ιατρική περίθαλψη και τις άσχημες 
συνθήκες διαβίωσης.
Λίγα ήταν γνωστά για το νησί επί δεκαετίες μετά το κλείσιμο του λεπροκομείου το 1957. 
Η κυβέρνηση, αγχωμένη για να σβήσει όλα τα ίχνη του νησιού, έκαψε όλα τα στοιχεία. 
Έτσι, για πολλά χρόνια όσοι άκουγαν γι' αυτό έκαναν σαν να μην υπήρξε ποτέ. 
Kάνοντας μια βόλτα στη Σπιναλόγκα θα δει κανείς έναν διατηρημένο οικισμό, 
με παραδοσιακά σπίτια και στενά καλντερίμια. 
Κάποτε οι συνθήκες διαβίωσης εκεί ήταν ιδιαίτερα δύσκολες, ενώ σύμφωνα με 
μαρτυρίες ο ιερέας δεν έβρισκε ανθρώπους για να βοηθήσουν στην ταφή των νεκρών.

Μετά τη δημιουργία της Αδελφότητας των Ασθενών της Σπιναλόγκας, οι συνθήκες βελτιώθηκαν σημαντικά, ενώ τα μέλη της πίεσαν την κυβέρνηση για το δικαίωμα 
του γάμου και της λειτουργίας επιχειρήσεων. Υπενθυμίζεται πως ένας από τους σημαντικότερους κανόνες της Αδελφότητας ήταν η απαγόρευση του καθρέφτη, 
καθώς κανείς δεν ήθελε να δει τον εαυτό του. 
Το 1938 οι κάτοικοι των αποικιών ζήτησαν την άδεια του κράτους προκειμένου 
να γκρεμίσουν ένα τμήμα του μεσαιωνικού τείχους και να καθαρίσουν το μονοπάτι περιμετρικά από το νησί, με σκοπό να μετακινούνται ευκολότερα αυτοί που είχαν 
μείνει ανάπηροι από την αρρώστια. Έτσι άρχισαν να διεκδικούν πράγματα που 
θα διευκόλυναν τις ζωές τους σε αυτή τη μικρή φυλακή που ζούσαν.

Οδοιπορικό στη Σπιναλόγκα πραγματοποίησε το BBC 

By Elizabeth Warkentin
22 September 2017

I caught my first glimpse of Spinalonga four years ago from a steep hilltop overlooking the sleepy village of Plaka in north-eastern Crete. The diminutive 8.5-hectare islet in the Gulf of Mirabello stood completely in shadow, dark and foreboding as if blackened by coal, while the butterscotch-hued Spinalonga Peninsula that curls around the island like a sleeping cat’s tail basked in the golden light of the setting sun.
A stone’s throw from Plaka, the arid, rocky islet once served as a military stronghold during Venetian (and later Ottoman) rule; a medieval citadel stands testament to that chapter in the island’s history. In 1904, after the Cretans evicted the Turks from Spinalonga, the islet was transformed into a leper colony, where, by 1913, after Crete became part of Greece, anyone afflicted with the disease was sent. At its peak, the colony comprised nearly 400 inhabitants. 



After Crete became part of Greece in 1913, 
anyone afflicted with leprosy was sent to Spinalonga 
(Credit: Elizabeth Warkentin)

Leprosy, which causes disfiguring skin sores and debilitating nerve damage, has long carried with it negative social stigmas. Those burdened with leprosy were shunned, stigmatised and mistreated by their families, communities and even medical professionals. In fact, stigmatisation was often so extreme that since ancient times leprosy has been called the ‘death before death’.

Once diagnosed, these victims had their property and financial assets seized, their citizenship rights revoked and their identity wiped clean. They were then deported to Spinalonga, where they never received treatment for their disease. The sole doctor assigned to the island only made the trip from Plaka if someone was struck by another illness. What’s more, even though treatment for leprosy was found as early as the 1940s, the Greek state kept the colony operational until 1957. Only after a British expert visited the island and compiled a damning report denouncing the island doctor and the state for failing to provide proper medical treatment and housing did the government officially close Spinalonga.
I wasn’t able to visit the island that day four years ago, but since reading Victoria Hislop’s bestselling novel The Island, a melodramatic telling of family secrets, betrayals and star-crossed love affairs set in the confines of the leper colony, I’ve returned to learn what life was truly like for those exiled on Spinalonga.



Despite the fact that leprosy treatment was discovered 
in the 1940s the colony remained operational until 1957 
(Credit: Elizabeth Warkentin)

Viewed from across the teal water of the Gulf of Mirabello on a windy summer afternoon, white speedboats zipping past, Spinalonga paints a pretty picture. But as our small ferry from Plaka approached the islet, the citadel loomed above us like a dark cloud.
I was accompanied by Maurice Born, ethnologist and co-author and translator of Vies et morts d’un Crétois lépreux (Lives and deaths of a Cretan leper), which he wrote with Epaminondas Remoundakis, a leprosy survivor who advocated for improved living conditions and fair treatment of those living on Spinalonga.

“You see,” Born said as we passed through a multi-arched tunnel in the fortress walls known as Dante’s Gate, “the story of Spinalonga is the story of a massive lie.”
For decades after the 1957 closure of the leper colony, little was known about the island. The government, anxious to erase any trace of the colony’s existence, burned all its files. And the surviving lepers refused to speak of their experiences. For years it was as if Spinalonga had never existed.



The afflicted lived in homes within the old citadel walls 
(Credit: Credit: Elizabeth Warkentin)

But Hislop’s 2005 novel – which spawned a hit television series – changed all that. Suddenly, people were talking; everyone was an expert. The government, thrilled at the author’s rose-tinted portrayal of the colony, let them talk, and a romanticised, erroneous story of life in the leper colony was born.
We emerged onto a sunny village street lined with the crumbling remains of Venetian and Turkish homes. Born paused to point out a frontless, roofless stone ruin that had once housed a bistro run by lepers. “The state, seeking to erase the stain on their reputation, wanted to destroy all evidence of the leper colony. But then, in the 1980s, they realised that the tourists were coming with the specific purpose of visiting the leper colony,” he explained, laughing at the irony. 
Another arch opened onto what was the commercial street, a shaded strip with shops (something the lepers were only authorised to have as of the 1930s), a cafe and a small school. One side of the strip has been restored for tourist purposes, with storefronts now sporting wooden shutters in a rainbow of colours. Not far away stands a cavernous stone building that still houses the incinerator used to burn infected clothing.

Victoria Hislop’s bestselling novel 
The Island romanticised Spinalonga’s history 
(Credit: Credit: Elizabeth Warkentin)

As we walked through the abandoned village, Born continued to reveal details of life in the colony. Before the 1930s, Spinalongians “lived in a frantic state of selfishness, thinking only of survival,” he explained. “No-one looked after one another, the priest had difficulty finding people to help bury the dead.” 
It wasn’t until Remoundakis arrived and formed the Brotherhood of the Sick of Spinalonga, a society dedicated to improving conditions on the island, that conditions began to improve. The group lobbied the Greek government for the right to marry and to operate businesses.
“Until the Brotherhood, all that counted was food, gambling and raki (a strong grape-based spirit popular in Crete),” Born said. But the Brotherhood worked to establish order and a better quality of life on the island. Sometimes concerts were held by musically-talented residents. Someone donated a record player, which was kept at one of the cafes, and patrons would listen to music.
One of the Brotherhood’s most important rules was a ban on mirrors; no-one wished to see themselves. But it was impossible not to observe the ravages of the disease in the other residents.
“They sought solitude in order to escape the face of the other,” Born said. 



The Greek government tried to destroy all traces 
of the colony after its closure in 1957 
(Credit: Credit: Elizabeth Warkentin)

And so, in 1938, colony residents received permission from the state to dynamite part of the medieval fortress wall and clear a path around the island’s perimeter, navigable even by those who had been handicapped by their illness. The new path provided those banished to the island some semblance of liberation.
We made our way past the pile of boulders left by the demolition. The suffocating feeling I felt in the village vanished as we followed the trail. Strong winds whipped off the Aegean Sea and across the path like a prisoner freed from handcuffs. I took in the spectacular view of the Bay of Mirabello and inhaled the salty scent of the sea. 
We passed the lonely Church of St George, built centuries ago by the Venetians, and arrived at a small cemetery. “When tourists began coming to the island in the 1980s, many of the visitors would desecrate the cemetery,” Born said. In 2013, the bones of the deceased were placed in a proper ossuary next to the cemetery and covered with new concrete plaques.



A small cemetery houses the remains of leprosy victims 
(Credit: Credit: Elizabeth Warkentin)

The island was silent save for the rustling of the wind moving through the grass and the faint whiz of passing motorboats. At the cemetery’s entrance, a small plaque urges respect for the poor souls buried on that rocky hillside overlooking the sea and the mountains of Crete.
It has taken several decades for their story to be told, but perhaps those who never escaped Spinalonga have found peace at last.