Migrant Heroes: Example of Cadmus
- KH
- Dec 16, 2024
- 7 min read
Updated: Jan 12
MYTH AS THE MODEL
Last update: 12 January 2025
What if the story of Cadmus is not a story about a single mythic hero, but rather the personification of the ancient Phoenician diaspora—a story about migrants and how they transformed Greece? The mythic model of Cadmus reminds us that migrants have positive, transformative potential. I'm going to explore why we should resist modern migrant narratives that focus on the negative.
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, I was part of a merger at work where two teams became one. The atmosphere surrounding it was rife for potential conflict and insecurities. In order to help us connect, I suggested a series of weekly morning teas where we would get to know each other a little better. We each took turns in hosting a session. When it was your turn, you brought a cake to share and filled us in on your backstory—family, hobbies, sports, whatever you felt like sharing. It was a great way to uncover interesting things about each other.
One of our team members was Nary (not her real name). Nary was quietly spoken, always smiling, and an incredibly competent and reliable colleague. When it was Nary's turn to host morning tea, well, forget about a Woolworths cake. She laid out a veritable smorgasbord of delicious Cambodian dishes, and then proceeded to tell us how the winds of fate blew her to Australia.
I am going to retell what I heard with as much accuracy as possible, however—full disclosure—the morning tea took place nearly 25 years ago.
ooooo
It was the late 1970s and the long-running war in Cambodia had spilled over into the village where Nary lived with her parents and extended family. One day, soldiers raided the village and every male person of military age was rounded up and taken away at gunpoint. Nary's father and older brother were among them.
In the hours that followed, many of the remaining villagers hastily packed up whatever possessions they could carry and started walking towards Cambodia's border with Thailand. Nary, two siblings, and their mother were part of the exodus.
When they eventually arrived at the Thai border, the situation was chaotic. The border was officially closed, yet hour by hour, hundreds of more people were massing at the crossing points. Nary's mother soon discovered that the only way out of Cambodia was to be smuggled. There were Thai soldiers who were taking bribes to sneak people into Thailand through the jungle. Without any guarantee, she paid a smuggler all the money she had. She was told to meet them at a rendezvous point later in the evening.
It turned out that the smugglers were genuine, but in order to evade patrols, they could only escort one small group at a time. Nary's family was sent away many nights in a row before eventually crossing the border under the cover of darkness. During the crossing, they were escorted, Nary said, by men armed with machetes and machine guns. There were long intervals where they were required to lie silently in the bushes while patrols went by and, at one point, Nary was separated from her mother and siblings for several terrifying hours.
When they eventually made it into Thailand, Nary and her family were processed into a refugee camp, where they lived for the next seven years.
"Seven years?" I clarified.
"Yeah," said Nary. "I finished primary school in the refugee camp."
The refugee camp, Nary told us, held tens of thousands of displaced people. Government and relief agencies provided some amounts of food, water and medical support. The camp was otherwise run like a big village, with farming and agriculture, schools, and cottage enterprises, such as basket weaving.
There was always an undercurrent of sadness and desperation, explained Nary. Many of the refugees were now single mothers with multiple children to raise on their own. Eventually, Nary and her family received permission to relocate to Australia. They applied to any and all countries that were accepting refugees, Nary explained, and accepted the first offer they received. As a consequence, some of Nary's extended family ended up in Canada and the United States. And her father and older brother? They were never found, presumed murdered.
I vividly remember that morning tea and the growing feeling that we had an unsung hero among us. What struck me most was that Nary’s story was harrowing and heroic, yet told with remarkable humility. How many millions of migrants walk a similar path and adopt the same pragmatic attitude? Displaced and disoriented, they land in unfamiliar places and bravely rebuild, not as victims but as quiet, unassuming victors.
It reminds me of the Greek hero Cadmus, who wasn't at Greek at all...
Myth of Cadmus, the migrant
If you would like to read the complete Myth of Cadmus, you can do so here. But if you're happy with the bonsai version, read on...
Cadmus was born a Phoenician prince, an heir to the mighty throne of Tyre. (In modern times, Lebanon makes up most of what used to be Phoenicia.) Yet Cadmus found himself suddenly an outcast. His sister Europa went missing, abducted by Zeus. Cadmus and his brothers were dispatched to find her. Their father, King Agenor, warned them to return with Europa or never return at all.
Cadmus, the good son, dutifully set off and eventually found himself in Greece at the famous Oracle of Delphi. The Delphic priestess of Apollo is supposed to know be all-knowing, so it made sense that Cadmus would consulted her in his search for Europa. Instead, completely out of left field, the oracle tells him to give up the search for his sister. Rather, Cadmus must follow a cow and build a city where it lies down.
Now, I think we can safely assume that this business of following a cow sounded as obtuse in ancient times as it does today. But once again, Cadmus dutifully obeyed and, what started out as a pedestrian mission, turns into a bloodbath.
As the adventure unfolds, Cadmus' companions are killed by a vile and veracious dragon. Cadmus singularly survives by his will and wit, but finds himself alone and bereft in the aftermath of the duel. Just as all seems lost, Cadmus receives divine guidance to plant the slain dragon's teeth in the ground and, before his very eyes, they grow into a crop of fearsome warriors. So fearsome, that they fight each other to the death until only a few remain standing.
The surviving five of these warriors become known as the Spartoi, which means "sown men" (not be confused with "Sparta" or "Spartan"). These warriors help Cadmus build the city of Thebes and become its first council. Thus, Thebes is one of those wonderful cities that has two origin stories—one based in history and the other in myth.
FURTHER READING:
Symbols of Risk and Opportunity
What we can see is that the Cadmus story is laden with migrant motifs. In fact, the image of Cadmus following the cow captures the very essence of migration. Many migrants are compelled to leave their homelands out of necessity. They “follow cows,” driven by hope and pragmatism. They seek economic or social prospects—or in many cases, safety—not knowing exactly where their journey will end up. They must surrender themselves to the invisible hands of fate and providence and, like Nary's mum paying the smugglers, to the promises of others.
To establish his city, Cadmus must slay a dragon that guards the area, a symbol of the dangers and obstacles migrants often face. Those who make the migrant journey are almost guaranteed to battle economic hardships, cultural barriers, physical threats to health and survival. Not to mention prejudice, which is a a monster of its own species.
Cadmus "grows" Thebes' first citizens from the resources he has at hand, the teeth of the slain dragon. He must begin from scratch, from the ground up, literally scratching furrows in the dirt of his new homeland with the metal of his spear. He must transmute his sorrows and challenges into seeds of opportunity and sprout a new society. He must cultivate a new identity by combining his skills and determination with whatever resources he can assemble.
Bringer of Gifts
Among the many achievements that the ancient Greeks attribute to Cadmus, his crowning contribution is the phonetical alphabet. In fact, the ancient Greeks called their adapted alphabet 'Cadmean Letters,' a way of symbolically acknowledging that the evolved Greek writing system originated from Phoenicia.
We're not just talking about a nifty writing concept where letters represent how they sound (phonetics). We're talking about a writing system that revolutionised Greek society by allowing knowledge and culture to flourish through the written word. Oral conventions were replaced by written conventions, which allowed information to be faithfully recorded and transmitted.
In short, the myth of Cadmus invites us to see migrants not just as folks in search of a better life, but as bringers of transformative possibilities. The positive migrant archetype embodies resilience, courage, and transformation—hero migrants who bring skills, knowledge, and cultural richness to their new homeland.
This, however, is an angle often missing from the modern migrant narrative.
Migrant Shadow Archetype
In the modern media-scape, fear drives attention. This is why the positive migrant archetype gets less media attention than its shadow. Basically, the migrant shadow pattern attracts more clicks, so migrants are more often framed as threats to society than contributors.
Archetypes, a concept from Carl Jung, describe universal themes or patterns. Each archetype has positive aspects, and a shadow side. For example, the Mother archetype includes positive aspects, such as selflessness and nurturing, while the shadow can include negative aspects, such as self-interest and smothering behaviour.
It pays to be alert that the migrant shadow archetype is easy to politicise. Impersonal abstractions—as in applying negative characteristics to a group or collective—tend to fly under our moral radar. We have much more empathy when it comes to individuals and specific situations.
Also, according to Jungian psychology, shadow patterns poke at our own psychological insecurities. That's why fear-based narratives are so effective at galvanising attention. Our hidden shortcomings latch onto them. Our base instincts tell us to mistrust, defend and protect, which can magnify into defensive and competitive social patterns. In politics, they call this fear tactics—the strategy of exaggerating threats to exploit an emotional response.
Is that the sort of society we want? Or would we benefit from a story that reminds us that migrants can be heroes? We might also discover the wealth of gifts migrants bring to their new homelands, if only we paused to hear their stories.
--ooOoo--
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