Paris Demetriades
It’s both disheartening and a little absurd, but the only place I have personally encountered nearly all the languages spoken in Cyprus is… IKEA in Nicosia. During a recent visit to the well-known furniture store, I found myself hearing Greek, Russian, Ukrainian, Turkish, Arabic, and Hebrew among the aisles and spacious halls. The only major ethnic groups on the island seemingly absent from this linguistic mix were those from Africa and Southeast Asia. The reasons for this are fairly obvious: as affordable and accessible as it may be, IKEA still primarily caters to the middle class of our diverse society.
A department store, then, as the one place on the entire island where nearly all the different communities that call Cyprus home cross paths. Turkish and Turkish Cypriots from the geographically distinct northern part of the island; Russian, Ukrainian, Israeli, and Arab residents from the southern coastal areas; and, of course, Greek Cypriots. Isn’t it a shame that such an encounter happens only by coincidence? Isn’t it unfortunate that the multilingualism and demographic diversity that have long defined our island, and still do, rarely interact, socialize, or collaborate?
This points to a broader issue: a troubling isolationism, where each ethnic community exists within its own social bubble. Even in a country as small as Cyprus, both in population and geography, where, in theory, interactions should be natural and frequent, they remain limited.
I often think that the artistic community could serve as a catalyst for change. Historically, it has been at the forefront of breaking down barriers, and a few bold and well-structured initiatives could go a long way in bringing people together. Some promising steps in this direction can already be seen in Limassol’s Karnagio area, where the old coastal wine factories have been repurposed into cultural and entertainment hubs. These spaces, despite valid criticisms about their ownership status and the creeping gentrification they bring, have become rare meeting points for both the island’s traditional population and its newer residents. On a purely human level, that is a victory. Similar victories occur wherever natural, unforced interactions happen between people from both sides of the island’s division.
It’s often said that the island’s partition has become deeply ingrained in Cypriot society. But the same can be said for the various distinct communities living within “our” side of Cyprus. The lack of interaction isn’t just due to barbed wire; it’s also a product of social and cultural silos that keep people apart.
The current government, like many others worldwide, seems content to frame migration and asylum issues in terms of management “successes,” treating them as the new global bogeyman rather than an opportunity for meaningful integration. So, this issue will likely be dismissed as mere rhetoric.
But from a personal perspective, one thing remains clear: Cyprus is beautiful because it is multicolored.
This article has been translated from its original Greek.
