First of all I have to say that I am not a follower of the polytonic system, but—funnily enough—I go on using it. Why don’t I fully defend the polytonic system, although I know and use it?
First of all, the polytonic system has been connected in my conscience with sciolist elements which have rather harmed than improved the political and cultural life of Greece. Even today I consider factitious the interest of a looser and very conservative ex-president of the Republic and the one of a very ambitious and malicious archbishop, who said that in difficult times he was studying and therefore ignored the cast in which the country has been placed.
Secondly, the polytonic system is simply a writing system, which indeed requires mechanical memorization of many rules. If some publishers still use the polytonic system, this doesn’t mean that subsequent generations will not create literary masterpieces in the monotonic system. And if many people of my generation have hated the polytonic system it is because they hated the many rules they had to learn by force.
Nevertheless, in spite of my doubts, I still go on writing in the polytonic system. Why not render myself to the monotonic one?
Maybe because besides fascist polytonic sciolism, there is also the “progressive” sciolism of facility. Most young people, snug in the logic of the least effort, demand to enter in University while they can hardly spell their name... in the monotonic system. And their teachers care more about their salary than about providing them with some basic knowledge and forge their characters. Hence, my resistance to the monotonic system is an act of protest against the miserable condition of Greek education.
Another reason why I still write polytonically is the fact that I cannot accept neither the way the monotonic system has been instaured (the vote of a sleeping “progressive” parliament in 1982) nor the subsequent logic of equalization of everything. When we read classical authors typeset monotonically in the columns of respected Athenian newspapers, they give the impression of being written in a foreign language. The state publisher of schoolbooks has striped off the accents from texts of Papadiamantis while a well-known publisher has considered that Kavafis’ poems are better read in the monotonic system. (I don’t know whether ancient authors would have supported polytonism or monotonism. They were writing in capital letters without accents and without even punctuation. But concerning Papadiamantis and Kavafis I can safely guess that if they knew that their works Phonissa and Poseidoniatai would end up some day in the hands of monotonists, they would crumple their texts, chew them and swallow them rather than send them to the printer.) Writing polytonically is an act of respect to the olders, to all those whose writings have arrived to me in the polytonic system.
A third reason for writing polytonically is resistance to prevalence of casualness. Monotonism and simplified spelling often turn us into wanderers in the dark (ἐν σκοτίᾳ) while we think we are in... Scottland (ἐν Σκωτίᾳ). Didot, the typeface designed two centuries ago for the polytonic system is now used by typesetters for the monotonic one. And if you dare to complain they reply that there is no difference. Most craftmaster typographers have left, and I still write polytonically as an act of memory—a requiem—for lost elegance.
I know that 25 years after its clumsy instauration the monotonic system has become a fact. I know that the monotonic system is not responsible for all the evel things people are accusing it. Honestly I don’t really believe in the re-introduction of the polytonic system. But I use it as an act of resistance to laziness and ignorance of our times, as a last “thank you!” for the texts we heritated from older generations, as a small attempt of overthrowing casualness and bad taste which tend to become the rule in our lifes.