How much tear gas can a nation take? How many stones can it collect? To ask such questions of an EU member state that is supposed to be as sophisticated as it is modern might seem far-fetched, even silly.

To ask them four years after that country basked in the glory of staging one of the most successful Olympic Games might be considered absurd. But yesterday, as Greece entered a second week of pitched battles between rock-throwing protesters and riot police - with security forces turning to Israel and Germany to replenish depleted reserves of toxic gases to contain the angry crowds - such questions did not seem foolish. Or, I'm sad to say, remotely absurd.

Athens is in a mess and it's not just the rubble or burned-out buildings or charred cars and firebombed rubbish bins and smashed pavements that now stand as testimony to unrest not seen since the collapse of military rule in 1974. Twenty-two years after I moved to Greece I have looked into eyes full of anger and despair. At night, as marauding mobs of Molotov-cocktail wielding youths have run through the city's ancient streets, I have closed the shutters of the windows to my home. My friends have done the same.

Those of us who live here - who have seen how frayed the fabric of public order can become - now know, in no uncertain terms, that the orgy of violence that has gripped this beautiful land masks a deeper malaise. It is a sickness that starts not so much at the top but at the bottom of Greek society, in the ranks of its troubled youth. For many these are a lost generation, raised in an education system that is undeniably shambolic and hit by whopping levels of unemployment (70 per cent among the 18-25s) in a country where joblessness this month jumped to 7.4 per cent. If they can find work remuneration rarely rises above €700 (this is, after all, the self-styled €700 generation), never mind the number of qualifications it took to get the job. Often polyglot PhD holders will be serving tourists at tables in resorts. One in five Greeks lives beneath the poverty line. Exposed to the ills of Greek society as never before, they have also become increasingly frustrated witnesses of allegations of corruption implicating senior conservative government officials and a series of scandals that have so far cost four ministers their jobs.

With these grievances in mind, young people (who would not normally see themselves as revolutionaries and are a far-cry from the 'extremists' Prime Minister Costas Karamanlis says are behind the disturbances) have begun stockpiling stones, rocks and crushed marble slabs from Salonika in the north to the resort islands of Corfu and Crete in the south.

They have also started selling them on - at three stones a euro - to other protesters whose parents may live in Hollywood-style opulence, or indeed on the breadline, but who are bonded by a common desire to hurl them at that hated symbol of authority: the police.

The ferocity of the riots has numbed Greeks. Yet I write this knowing that the protests are not going to end soon. Greece's children have been startled by their own success - and by reports of copycat attacks across Europe - and almost unanimously they believe they are on a winner.

'It's like a smouldering fire,' says Yiannis Yiatrakis who preferred to leave his study of abstract mathematics to take to the streets of Athens last week. 'The flames may die down but the coals will simmer. One little thing, and you'll see it will ignite again. Ours is a future without work, without hope. Our grievances are so big, so many. Only a very strong government can stop the rot.'

So how did it come to this? How did a country more usually associated with sun-kissed beaches and the good life erupt into a spasm of destruction that has shaken it to the core? How could an entire generation - most of whom were not even born when I arrived here - go unnoticed and yet nurture such burning rage? And who is to blame? Greek society, the state, or a political system running on empty that no longer inspires confidence or trust?

Like so many, I was forced to ask all these questions last week as I walked through scarred streets that in more ways than one have become their battlefield. My hope is that those in power, the crooked politicians, the corrupt judiciary, the scandal-ridden church, will ultimately tour the same routes.

It began with one death, one bullet, fired in anger by a hot-headed policemen in the heart of Athens' edgy Exarchia district on last Saturday. At the time most Greeks - including those who are compelled financially to live with their parents into their late thirties - were sitting in front of their TV sets or were out at their local tavernas.

No one thought they would wake up to a revolt in the streets. But the death of Alexandros Grigoropoulos, a tousled-haired teenager from the rich northern suburbs was the match that lit the inferno. If the killing had happened in any of the capital's wealthy satellite suburbs, the reaction might well have been more subdued.

Exarchia, however, is Athens' answer to Harlem (without the racial component). It is here that anarchists, artists, addicts, radical leftists, students and their teachers rub shoulders in streets crammed with bars and cafes that are covered with the graffiti of dissent. It is Athens's hub of political ferment; a backdrop of tensions between anti-establishment groups and the police.

Within an hour of the boy's death thousands of protesters had gathered in Exarchia's lawless central square screaming, 'cops, pigs, murderers,' and wanting revenge. At first, it is true, the assortment of self-styled anarchists who have long colonised Exarchia piggy-backed on the tragedy, seeing it as the perfect opportunity to live out their nihilistic goals of wreaking havoc. But then middle-class kids - children had got good degrees at universities in Britain but back in Greece were unable to find work in a system that thrives on graft, cronyism and nepotism - joined the protests and very quickly it became glaringly clear that this was their moment, too. Theirs was a frustration not only born of pent-up anger but outrage at the way ministers in the scandal-tainted conservative government have also enriched themselves in their five short years in power.

Now the million-dollar question is whether protests that started so spontaneously can morph into a more organised movement of civil unrest. What is certain is that Karamanlis's handling of the disturbances will go down as a case study of what not to do in a crisis. Seemingly disoriented and removed, the government's popularity has dropped dramatically over the past week. Even diehard conservatives have called me to say they'll be jumping ship. So far, Karamanlis has roundly rejected demands that he call early elections which means Greece will be saddled with a lame-duck government (the New Democrats are anyway hampered by a razor-thin one-seat majority in the 300-member parliament) for several months yet.

With daily demonstrations planned in the weeks ahead Greek youth are not going to give in easily. Far from calming spirits, the tear gas that has been used so liberally against them has only stoked their ire.

A fragile democracy

From the bitter civil war that raged between 1946 and 1949 to the 1967-74 military dictatorship, Greece's postwar history has been more tumultuous than most. The defeat of the communist EAM party with the help of British and US forces in 1949 led to decades of authoritarian right-wing rule.

Thousands of leftwingers were imprisoned or sent to labour camps. The right-left divide was later reinforced on 21 April 1967 when in a coup a group of US-backed junior officers, known as the Colonels, seized power.

In a spontaneous uprising on 17 November 1973, students at Athens Polytechnic rebelled against the regime, leading to the Colonels' fall in July 1974. The restoration of democracy under the late Konstantinos Karamanlis laid the foundations for a reconciliation between left and right under Andreas Papandreou, who introduced socialist government to Greece in 1981.

• This article was amended on Sunday 21 December 2008. A slip of the finger last week reduced by 100 the membership of the Greek parliament; it has 300 members. This has been corrected.