Paris Demetriades
Shivers of excitement and delight were sent through lovers of the military industry by the two Greek fighter jets that crossed the blue sky of Nicosia last Wednesday, October 1, on the occasion of the anniversary of Cypriot independence. “Approaching Nicosia counterclockwise from the Larnaca area, the pair of Greek F-16s performed two passes over the military parade, adding a different note to the celebrations,” the day’s news reported, itself contributing with an equally enthusiastic and spirited note to the narrative style of the coverage.
Although I struggle to share the joy and excitement of military enthusiasts, I respect it as an interest and as a hobby different from my own. What I think justifiably, and not unrelated to the above incident, causes me a strong dose of discomfort is the fact that across Europe we are living in a time when military spending is constantly increasing, replacing social provisions. It does not seem unreasonable to prefer living in a world where a state’s taxes are allocated to citizens’ welfare in times of peace, nor do I consider it unfair or inappropriate to feel uneasy about the rise in defense expenditures while war, for the first time since World War II, has returned to Europe.
Back on Cyprus’s October 1, I cannot help but recall how repeatedly truncated this independence has proven to be. By no means do I renounce our cultural ties with Greece, yet the fact that once again we “celebrated” with a display of fighter jets from another country confirms this reality. And this is only the tip of the iceberg in the failed, as it has proven, attempt to establish an independent Cypriot state.
Time, the great revealer that tames and conquers all, has shown it clearly: sixty-five years after the Zurich-London Agreements, there are countless and ongoing examples that, at times strikingly and at times behind the scenes, highlight the absence of independence. The tragedy of 1974, which split the island in two, with the northern part de facto occupied by Turkey for half a century and quite possibly, at some not-so-distant point, to be recognized de jure, remains undoubtedly the darkest moment in this history.
But there are many other events, large and small, that demonstrate that as traditional inhabitants of this island, we continue to operate under an informal colonial subservience, even if institutionally we were supposedly made independent. A simple look at the “areas controlled by the Republic of Cyprus” is enough, I think, to perceive this peculiar subservience. First, a significant portion of real estate, especially in coastal cities, has already passed into foreign hands. I in no way believe that this small strip of land in the eastern Mediterranean must necessarily belong to or be inhabited exclusively by a single ethnic group. What happens in Cyprus, however, is something different and clearly reminiscent of old-style colonial structures: it is the paradox of wealthy foreigners having first claim, marginalizing poorer natives, turning them into second-class citizens. A morbid situation, in which, of course, we “poor natives” are by no means innocent bystanders.
A dysfunctional anomaly becomes visible even in everyday life, through street signs, the language used in restaurant menus, and among workers in hospitality and entertainment, for whom learning the local language is almost never considered a job requirement.
The geography fate has given us has certainly been decisive in the whole matter of Cyprus’s half-baked independence. From the outcome, it has become clear that control of the island is by no means ours alone, and perhaps it never will be.
