On this day, 58 years ago, Greece awoke to a nightmare that would cast a shadow over the nation for seven years.
In the early hours of April 21, 1967, a group of army colonels, led by Colonel Georgios Papadopoulos, staged a military coup that toppled democracy and ushered in a brutal dictatorship. For Greeks reflecting on this pivotal moment, the personal stories of those who lived through those first dramatic hours reveal the shock, fear, and confusion that gripped the nation.
A Quiet Morning Shattered
As dawn broke on that fateful Friday, most Greeks were still asleep, unaware that their country was about to change irrevocably. Tanks rolled into Athens, and the radio, after playing a series of military marches, announced the suspension of key constitutional articles protecting fundamental rights. The Colonels’ Junta had seized power, catching the nation off guard.
Alexandros Georgiou, only seven years old at the time, vividly recalled the eerie stillness of the morning in Athens’ Pangrati neighbourhood. Standing with his mother and brother, waiting for the school bus, he noticed the absence of cars and trolleys. “Suddenly, we heard a loud noise—a mix of an engine and clanging metal,” he recounted in a 1999 interview with To Vima. A massive M-48 tank emerged through the morning haze.
While his mother wept, fearing war over Cyprus, young Alexandros was mesmerised by the sight of the “real tank.” School was cancelled, and the family sought refuge at his grandmother’s house, where the radio’s military tunes played in the background, overshadowed by the adults’ anxious whispers.
Political Figures Caught in the Crosshairs
For those in the political sphere, the coup was a violent wake-up call. Georgios Mylonas, a former deputy minister under Prime Minister Georgios Papandreou, was jolted awake at 4:30 a.m. by a call from a To Vima journalist. “The newspaper’s building is surrounded by troops and tanks,” the journalist reported before the line went dead. Mylonas’ phone soon stopped working, part of a deliberate move to sever communication and prevent resistance. By 6 a.m., the radio confirmed the imposition of martial law, falsely claiming the decree was signed by King Constantine and the government. Later, it became clear the colonels had acted alone.
Mylonas ventured outside in Psychiko, where he saw the king’s car pass by, driven by the monarch himself, accompanied by five officers. “He looked pale, his face clouded with gloom,” Mylonas noted, suspecting the king had been taken hostage. His fears were confirmed as the day unfolded.
A Family Under Siege
The home of Andreas Papandreou, a prominent political figure, became a battleground. Margarita Papandreou, his American wife, recounted the terror of 2:30 a.m., when a gunshot and shattering glass woke the household. Armed men stormed their home, forcing their way in. As their guard, Manolis, shouted in panic, Andreas grabbed a gun and fled with their son, Georgios, to the third-floor office. Margarita tried to call Georgios Papandreou, Andreas’ father and former prime minister, only to learn he had already been arrested.
In a desperate bid to buy time, Margarita confronted the intruders, claiming Andreas was at his father’s house. Meanwhile, Andreas hid on the roof, but when soldiers threatened Georgios at gunpoint, he surrendered to protect his son. “He looked like a giant in his white underwear,” Margarita recalled, her heart racing as Andreas jumped from the roof, injuring his knee. The soldiers shoved him out, barefoot, refusing to let him wear shoes.
The Press Silenced
At To Vima’s offices, journalist Giorgos Romaíos witnessed the coup’s impact on the free press. As tanks appeared and news of arrests trickled in, the newspaper attempted an emergency edition, but soldiers shut down the offices, banning publication. “Censorship began the next day, lasting seven years,” Romaíos wrote in 2002. He managed to alert several MPs by phone, including Stavros Kostopoulos, who erupted in disbelief: “Have they gone mad? What do these bastards want?”
The King’s Defiance
King Constantine, then 26, found himself powerless as the colonels tightened their grip. At Tatoi Palace, he ordered his small guard to prepare for a possible confrontation, but the arrival of Papadopoulos, Brigadier Stylianos Pattakos, and Colonel Nikolaos Makarezos made his captivity clear. “It was obvious I was their prisoner,” he wrote in his 2015 memoirs, published by To Vima. Refusing to legitimise the coup, he rejected their demands to issue a statement, sign a constitutional suspension, or swear in a new government. “You are oath-breakers. You’re leading our country into great peril!” he told them.
Determined to find loyal officers, Constantine drove to the Pentagon, only to realise the coup had already succeeded. Officers mistakenly cheered him, believing he supported the junta. Inside, he demanded to see Prime Minister Panagiotis Kanellopoulos, who was being held in a basement. “Arrest them all!” Kanellopoulos urged, but Constantine, surrounded by junta-controlled troops, admitted he had no power to act.
A Nation in Chains
The coup succeeded without bloodshed, but its cost was immense. For seven years, the junta crushed democracy, imprisoning, torturing, and exiling thousands.
As Greeks worldwide commemorate this dark chapter, the voices of those that lived through the period remind us of the fragility of freedom and the resilience of those who endured.
(Source: To Vima)