George Kakouris
Until the Cyprus problem is resolved—if and when that ever happens—in a future where President Fidan and his federal co-presidents, Christodoulides and Erhürman, have built a tunnel connecting Cyprus directly to the rest of Europe via Turkey, leaders, advisors, and journalists will continue to crowd onto planes—private, chartered, or otherwise—to attend yet another round of Cyprus talks.
So far, my journey has taken me to Geneva twice—once in January 2017, the year of good night and good luck wishes, and again in April 2021, when we learned firsthand that "the past is a foreign country; they do things differently there" (L.P. Hartley, The Go-Between).
Today, the circumstances are both better and worse. Worse, because Turkey holds a stronger negotiating position, having become an indispensable partner for many European leaders and governments on Ukraine and the evolving crisis in Syria, while also commanding the second-largest military in an increasingly fragile NATO.
Better, because while the EU has every reason to be anxious about this new era of international instability, Turkey has even more. It now has a vested interest—not necessarily in solving the Cyprus issue, but at least in appearing to take it seriously. That means it may be willing to move beyond the temporarily convenient Tatar and approve something that nudges us closer to a solution. And ultimately, no matter how much we debate the semantics of federation and its components, a solution means one state instead of two.
At this moment, however tempting it may be for the Greek Cypriot leadership—especially the President—to indulge in heroic, mournful rhetoric about EU-Turkey relations for the sake of domestic audiences, the more useful approach is the one unofficially communicated to Ankara from Nicosia: Cooperate on Cyprus, and we will gladly facilitate improved EU-Turkey relations to the extent we can.
The surreal part, of course, is that we've said all this before. We've talked about the carrot and the stick, about gradual and reversible processes, about picking up where we left off. And everything that will be discussed—from Tatar’s dream of two states to President Christodoulides' willingness to revisit the Guterres Framework (potentially reopening closed chapters while closing others)—has all been said before.
In a blog post on March 7, my fellow Phileleftheros (and local) journalist Andreas Pibisiis shared newspaper headlines from his birthday. One in particular stood out: a 1967 commentary from Eleftheria, questioning whether there had ever been a coherent strategy for achieving the then-collective goal—Union with Greece.
"Until recently, the Cypriot struggle lacked the proper tactics that had long been demanded to achieve the nationwide goal of Union," it read. The article criticized how the slogan was endlessly repeated yet never accompanied by a strategy to turn it into action.
"There was never any realistic planning in light of Greek, international, and Cypriot developments," it continued, noting how British colonialism was constantly decried, yet the Turkish factor was either ignored or underestimated—until it became impossible to ignore.
The article expressed optimism about recent coordination between Athens and Nicosia but raised many other points of interest—a month before April 21, 1967. Comparisons between then and now could go on forever.
But one thing remains timeless, no matter how the goals evolve: Slogans are easier than strategy.
In 1967, when newspapers still spoke of Union, it was already a dead issue—perhaps viable in earlier decades but completely detached from reality after independence. Its attempted resurrection only led us to where we are today.
In 2025, by contrast, reunification remains both desirable and necessary if we hope to secure our future in an increasingly uncertain world. Some may argue for a two-state solution instead, but no serious politician dares to fully embrace that view—however misguided it may be.
So what is the Greek Cypriot strategy heading into another Geneva?
We’ll soon find out.
