Apostolos Kouroupakis
Last week I visited Lapithos. Among our small group was a Turkish Cypriot, originally from Paphos. As we walked through the town’s historic centre, before heading up into the hills, he spoke with visible anger about how quickly Lapithos is losing its character and how voracious and unrestrained the property developers have become.
It is not hard to see what he meant. In idyllic corners across Cyprus, occupied and free alike, natural beauty has steadily given way to concrete and graceless construction. The old lyric by Nikos Gatsos, set to music by Manos Hadjidakis, “...where pennyroyal and wild mint once grew, where the earth brought forth its first cyclamen, now peasants haggle over cement,” no longer feels poetic. It feels documentary. Only today it is not peasants bargaining over cement, but suited businessmen.
In occupied Cyprus, the situation is often even more troubling. Many Turkish Cypriots openly complain that oversight mechanisms are weak and enforcement inconsistent. And yet there is something deeply encouraging in the fact that so many people continue to resist the excesses of unchecked development that seems intent on flattening everything in its path.
Just days ago, news broke that on Saturday night, under cover of darkness, the mansion of Grigorios Hatzilambrou, a former mayor of Karavas who served from 1908 to 1926, was demolished at 43 Praxandrou Street. Built in 1901, the house had long been a landmark in the area. Political analyst and author Mete Hatay, having learned of the impending demolition, tried to intervene and save it. He failed.
The reaction was immediate and intense. Residents did not remain indifferent and that, in itself, is a measure of hope. The Turkish Cypriot press covered the issue extensively, with pointed editorials and courageous reporting. In private conversations and in print alike, the demolition and the authorities’ inertia were sharply criticised. So too was the broader pattern of chaotic planning and runaway residential development that benefits a narrow few at the expense of the many.
These reactions matter. They are signs of civic health. As long as there are people on this island who genuinely care about its shared heritage, there is hope, if not always to save every building, then at least to safeguard memory itself.
In this effort, the bicommunal Technical Committee on Cultural Heritage plays a crucial role. It has recently begun preparing a study for the preservation of one of the most significant surviving Ottoman-era houses in Kythrea. The study is funded by the European Union and carried out by a bicommunal team of architects, engineers and conservation specialists. Restoration work is also nearing completion on a traditional house in Limnia, in the Famagusta district, known as the Dimitris Pantelis Hatziloukas House, which is listed on the official Register of Ancient Monuments. These are only two among hundreds of projects the Committee has undertaken. Its guiding principle is disarmingly simple: not “yours” and “mine,” but “let us preserve what we can.”
The unresolved Cyprus problem continues to cast a long shadow, not only over politics, but over culture and history as well. The members of the Technical Committee have no magic wand. They cannot protect everything that previous generations have left behind. What they do have is commitment: a shared love for the island’s cultural heritage, and the determination of Greek Cypriots and Turkish Cypriots working side by side, often against considerable odds, to preserve what remains.
That determination may yet prove stronger than concrete.
