Life and time move ever forward, and, like the rapid flow of sands in an hourglass, my search for the stolen artifacts approaches the decade mark. The location of the Saint Andreas mosaic continues to elude me. Van Rijn and I circle each other like two boxers in a ring waiting to land the punch that will declare one of us the winner. Knowing that the Saint Andreas holds personal value for me is exactly why he will never reveal its location, and thus our twisted “dance” continues. As long as he holds the key to its whereabouts, he believes he has the upper hand. The more proficient I become at repatriation, the more he tries to lure me with the promise that he is the only one who can deliver this particular artifact to me. We are becoming psychologically entwined.
Van Rijn believes he is a reformed man because he is helping the government repatriate artifacts that he had a hand in profiting from. There is a desperate need in him to be acknowledged as a wrongdoer who turned his life around. I see a man whose established image of himself does not match up to his current actions. What drives his insatiable need for recognition I do not know, as Van Rijn and I never engage in personal discussion. I do see the person he aspires to be struggling to break free of the clever manipulator that he is, and I hold on to the hope that he will one day become the hero that he longs to be. He wants to turn me into a dealer like himself, and I wish him to be a completely reformed citizen.
In facing off against Van Rijn I recognize a similar drive that lies within me. Living abroad as a foreign refugee, it is so important to feel that I fit in. I am considered different and not acknowledged as one of the Dutch. Going home to Cyprus, where I no longer have a vote, I am viewed as a foreigner. I’m longing to be one of the Dutch or one of the Cypriots, but I’m a little bit of both, which leaves me always on the outside of both places looking in for acceptance.
Over the years I have managed to impress upon Van Rijn the impact that losing one’s cultural heritage has on a person, especially when that person is also a refugee. It’s important to me that everyone understands the value that cultural heritage holds and the role it plays in keeping communities together. As a child who experienced conflict and trauma, I choose to hold on to my happy memories of Cyprus. I believe that politics and religion tend to divide us. If we take the view that every archeological discovery or religious monument holds different, and important, memories for each one of us, it can serve as a neutral platform to discuss our different perspectives of history and faith. Cultural heritage holds shared memories and stories of civilizations that came before us. No one has a right to destroy these items, because they belong to humanity. The monuments serve as the silent witnesses of our shared history. Nicolas Roerich, the Russian archeologist and social activist, said, “Where there is peace, there is culture and where there is culture, there is peace.”
My soul is immersed in the subject of cultural heritage, but time is running out for me. Michael wants to have another child, as he believes it unfair that Andreas has only Sophia as a sibling. Sophia’s mental challenges impose a great responsibility on Andreas, and Michael feels it would be unfair to deprive him of the experience of having a healthy sibling. As I approach the end of my thirties, Michael urges me to rise above my fears that something could go wrong during pregnancy again.
“Leave the repatriation in the hands of your government,” he says. “You’ve done enough. Let the paid diplomats do the job.”
The government will not put their full efforts behind repatriation so I cannot, in good conscience, abandon my mission at this time. I feel that I am the right person, at the right time, in the right place to do this job. Michael knows me better than anyone, and he sees me losing myself in this process, sacrificing the bits and pieces of my life that bring me into balance in order to grab the bits and pieces of information that lead me to recover stolen artifacts.
Like Van Rijn, I also recognize that there is a sense of desperation within me. War has traumatized me, turned me into a refugee, and as I struggle to integrate into the social fabric of the Netherlands my repatriation efforts address my inner identity conflicts.
Michael understands that my need to deal with my past has taken over, and he is doing everything in his power to prevent me from drifting further. The more he tries to exert control over me, the more I pull away. What is not apparent on the surface is that I believe the return of the artifacts to be a key to my own healing. My desire to rid myself of the betrayal I experienced due to war overrides everything else.
The legal fees in Japan, Greece, Holland, and the U.K. are placing additional strain on the archbishop, which adds to the pressure I feel. Our witnesses are aging, and the court cases are long, with uncertain outcomes, given the weak laws in Europe regarding stolen art. The magnitude of the looting makes pursuing every case prohibitive. I search for more situations where we can work with alternative solutions instead of becoming mired in legal battles.
Within the archbishop’s circles there are some who disapprove of using the Church’s resources for repatriation and of the trust he places in me. Anxiety brings sleepless nights and infiltrates my waking moments. At times I feel as if I am on the brink of collapse, but the adrenaline rush becomes my life preserver, keeping me afloat and intensely focused on winning this war at all costs.
1997
The first week of the New Year brings the witness hearings in the Lans case. This gives the defendants an opportunity to refute the Church’s claim that the sixteenth-century icons were stolen after the 1974 invasion. The Lanses’ attorney subpoenas Jan Fred van Wijnen, the Dutch journalist, to reveal the whereabouts of the Armenian dealer, Dergazarian, but the reporter refuses to do so. Van Wijnen’s article supports the Church’s claim that the stolen icons were purchased by the Lans couple after the war.
Protecting the journalist’s right to protect his sources becomes the headline story across Dutch and other European newspapers. Everyone is following the Lans case now, especially other journalists who are vested in how the judge will rule in the matter. Instead of celebrating the wide attention the case is receiving, I find myself wondering how Ambassador Zenon will react. The judge and the Church’s attorney, Polak, each question the witnesses. Afterward, the judge’s findings are read aloud in court, and lawyers for each side respond to the judge’s comments.1
My front-row seat to the legal process gives me insight into how much the laws differ from country to country in regard to art trafficking and how the lack of international unity creates loopholes for the criminals to slip through. I pray that the Dutch will respond as the Americans did in the Kanakaria case, in which Judge Noland ruled that the Kanakaria mosaics be returned to Cyprus. But the international laws are terribly flawed, and at the present time there is no one rallying to change them. I store that idea in my subconscious, knowing that my heart is committed to take on that challenge in the near future. Right now I must fight one battle at a time.
I tell Michael that another trip to Cyprus is needed to discuss with the archbishop several issues that were raised during the Lanses’ questioning of witnesses.2 Caught up in arguing, we are unaware that Andreas has wandered into the kitchen.
“What is it going to take for you to stop, Tasoula? Now you are off to Cyprus again when I am scheduled to go to Moscow!”
“Michael, I’ll change plans and go next week. Is that fair?”
“Tasoula, life is passing us by,” he says, increasing my anxiety. “There will never be anyone good enough, in your eyes, to take over your icon hunting.”
Andreas looks at my hands, which are clenched into tight fists at this point. If only Michael could realize the full extent of what I do. I am juggling the responsibilities of three people, and his home runs without a glitch. Yet it never seems to be enough.
“Mommy,” Andreas says in his sweet child’s voice, which startles me, as I didn’t realize he was present.
“Yes, my darling,” I reply. As I take a seat next to him at the kitchen table, he brings his tiny fists up to my face and makes an angry face.
“Stop.”
It literally takes my breath away as I realize that he is imitating me. My young child teaches me a valuable lesson. Michael continues to be angry, so I tiptoe around him in preparation for my trip to Cyprus. His dissatisfaction forces me to do everything out of earshot as he now looks for evidence to prove his point. I’m actually looking forward to getting away to Cyprus to escape the pressure, and I compensate by filling the house with his favorite English sweets, biscuits, and cakes from Marks & Spencer.
CYPRUS
The month of February marks the end of the rainy season for the country of my birth, and we are just three weeks away from the start of the Great Lent. Throughout the Mediterranean island of Cyprus, Greek Cypriots will soon begin their five-week cleanse in preparation for the Orthodox Easter celebration. Knowing that my stay in Cyprus is booked solid with appointments, I arrive the day before my meetings begin to visit my beloved parents, whom I find in the process of cleaning the house.
“I will hire someone to do this for you,” I say, not wanting them to work so hard.
“We are preparing for Easter; this is not work, it’s our duty as Christians,” my mother says. Every Greek household, in addition to fasting, cleans out their home to create a pure environment in which their recommitted souls can dwell. The celebration of Easter is a time of tradition and rituals, reflection and recommitment to our faith.
“Please, bring the children to Cyprus for Easter,” my father says.
“They must learn our traditions,” my mother adds while my father whispers to me, “It will be good for your mother.” His comment lets me know that her spirit needs lifting.
In truth, my children have been raised in the Netherlands with other traditions and rituals, quite different from their Greek Cypriot ancestors. As much as I would like to return with my family so that they may experience Orthodox Easter, it is not feasible to do so this year. The Dutch school holiday schedule extends through the Greek Orthodox Easter, which makes it very complicated for us to celebrate it in Cyprus.
I long to be able to walk my children through neighborhoods of my childhood so that they may know the rich traditions of my own upbringing. The border is closed to the occupied area. We can’t return to the Saint Barnabas Monastery near Salamis or drive to the village of Mandres nestled in the foothills near Mount Pentadaktylos where my extended family lived and where we spent many weekends and held Easter celebrations.
The Saint Barnabas Monastery was taken over by the Turks during the war and turned into a museum in 1992 that remains off-limits to Greek Cypriots. I have heard from Turkish Cypriot friends that the monastery of Panagia Tochniou in Mandres has been completely desecrated and turned into a stable for animals by the Turkish military.
My children are unable to walk in the footsteps of their mother’s memories. They will never experience the unity of a small village like Mandres celebrating the resurrection of Christ, or be able to witness the locations where I practiced the traditions I was raised to follow throughout Holy Week. War and continued occupation prevent me from sharing with the new generation all that molded me into who I am.
Watching my parents prepare the house for Easter reminds me that what we have lost will never come again. I can tell my mother is troubled, so I lure my father into the yard under false pretenses.
“Is everything okay with Mom?”
“Every Greek is talking about the icons now. We are very proud but we also fear for you.”
“You know how everything is politicized in Cyprus. There is nothing to worry about. The archbishop stands with me.”
“Tasoula,” my father says in a concerned fatherly tone, “be careful.”
I dial the archbishop’s number.
“Your Beatitude, good evening to you. May I bring my parents along to our lunch? It would mean the world to them to meet you.” The archbishop graciously agrees and invites us to come to the palace. This is a lifelong dream for my mother, who is devoutly religious. To be able to dine with the leader of the Church, whom they normally see only on television, is a great honor for my parents.
As the archbishop welcomes us into the palace and my parents enter his world, they are drawn away from the past and into the present. The archbishop invites them to join him at services on Holy Saturday, the Day of Resurrection. To watch my parents find joy in this moment is a gift to me.
Back in Nicosia, meetings with Kyprianou, Papageorgiou, and Polak are long but very productive working hours.
“The records document the four icons before they are restored,” says Polak.
“We need to find who restored the icons so that we can explain to the court why the four icons look different than they did before the war,” says Papageorgiou. He shows photographs of the icons, front and back, to establish that they are signed and also to show what the natural wood pigment looks like.
Part of the information I must gather involves UNESCO between 1974 and 1978 having to do with Jacques Dalibard, the Canadian scholar who was sent to investigate claims by the Greek Cypriot government that cultural properties in the Turkish-controlled areas were being systematically destroyed. These documents establish the conditions of the island at the time, so the Dutch court can have a clear picture of the circumstances the Cypriot government was facing.
THE HAGUE
On a tip from Van Rijn, I telephone a restorer in London. Van Rijn had sent the four icons from the church of Antiphonitis to be restored before Dergazarian sold them to the Lans couple in 1978, which is where they were cleaned. I reinforce to the restorer that any information he can provide me will help us in gaining possession of the icons and that my government is not interested in prosecuting anyone. The Lanses argue that there is a difference in the condition of the icons in the photographs presented by the Church from their current status. Their attorney argues that the icons in the photographs are not identical to the ones in their possession.3 Once Brown confirms the condition in which he received them, it will be clear that they are indeed the same artifacts. Our witness hearing is postponed until the beginning of May.
Moving back and forth between two cases from two different countries has my head spinning. I ask a Japanese friend to speak to the college in lieu of an attorney in the hope of steering the situation away from the courts. For a moment there is a ray of hope when, through the facilitator, the college conveys their willingness to return the Royal Doors without compensation if they receive a direct request from the archbishop. I send a letter from the archbishop along with one from the president of Cyprus, but the university goes back on its word.
I then reach out to Asahi Broadcasting, which is in the process of producing a television special on the Royal Doors, to see if they are willing to help me find a sponsor, a company or individual who might be interested in receiving good publicity in return for funding the college’s return of the doors.4 If these events are not enough to liken this situation to a three-ring circus, the “Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus,” which is only recognized by Turkey that continues to occupy Cyprus, has the audacity to put a claim on the Royal Doors as their property just as they did with the Kanakaria mosaics. However, the onset of spring fills me with hope that these legal setbacks will be temporary.5
May marks festival season in The Hague. The city streets become alive with outdoor entertainment while Polak presents witnesses for the Church in the Lans case inside the courtroom. Mr. Papageorgiou, the director of antiquities for Cyprus, takes the stand. His quiet, unassuming demeanor and his compact size do not reflect the power of his stature. He makes a brilliant presentation about the icons from the church of Antiphonitis. From their historical significance to the meaning they hold for the people of Cyprus, everyone in the room is riveted. He closes by describing how he visited the church just weeks before the invasion in 1974, and demonstrates how he personally examined the icons and marked them with pieces of cotton wool to show where they needed to be restored. At the closing of our witness hearing in the Lans case, the court rules that Jan Fred van Wijnen does not have to reveal his journalistic sources to the Lanses’ attorney, and international journalists everywhere celebrate.
The Church’s case, in summary, is that the Hague Protocol says that any cultural property illegally removed from an occupied area and found in a territory that is party to the convention must be returned to the country of origin. If the court does not accept this argument, the Church will invoke the laws of Cyprus, which require that a registered dealer be involved in the sale and that an export license be issued for the artifact in question. The fact that neither requirement has been satisfied plays into our claim that the Lanses made a bad-faith purchase of the icons. If the court does not accept this, then Mr. Polak will call upon Dutch law, which states that the Church has twenty years to claim the icons if they were purchased in bad faith. The Lanses receive an extension until mid September to respond to the “nadere conclusie” (further claim), which, thankfully, helps relieve some pressure on me at home.6
In the interim, we consider initiating a lawsuit against Dutch dealer Robert Roozemond; selling the doors to the Kanazawa College of Arts in Japan interferes in the Church’s ability to reclaim their ownership. Mr. Papageorgiou informed Roozemond way back in 1990 that the Royal Doors in his possession were stolen from the church of Ayios Anastasios in Cyprus. Roozemond, according to our records, ignored that information.7
June roses are in bloom, a reminder that summer is approaching. I sip my morning coffee flipping through the pages of the De Volkskrant newspaper and come across an article written about Van Rijn calling himself “Robin Hood.” The writer phoned me a few days ago asking for a comment.8
“If Mr. Van Rijn is a real Robin Hood, he would just tell the Church of Cyprus where our cultural treasures are, particularly the mosaic of Apostolos Andreas,” I say.
In the photograph of Van Rijn, he is dressed to the nines, wearing a Panama hat. He reminds me of a proud peacock in the act of displaying its feathers. Minutes later he makes a surprise appearance at my office. This is highly unusual and probably means he wants something. Van Rijn is wearing the same Panama hat he wore when he was photographed for the article.
“You won! I will lead you to Andreas and the rest of the Cypriot treasures.”
“You are so full of it,” I say.
“Seriously,” he replies as he invites himself to sit down in a chair facing my desk. “Your treasures are hidden in Germany and they’re going to be sold any minute now. If I don’t step in, someone else will. I need a million and a half dollars to purchase them.”
“Is Dikmen the supplier?” I ask.
“He might be one of them.” As I eye him closely to see if he is lying or not, he adds, “I can’t say.”
“I need to know if you are planning to buy from Dikmen,” I say, shaking my head adamantly. All I know about him is what Van Rijn tells me. I dream of the day when I can sit face-to-face with Dikmen and ask him why he did what he did. I respect his culture and I want him to respect mine.
“Listen, Tazulaah, Dikmen has a piece of practically everything that came out of Cyprus but, as you now know, multiple dealers could also own percentages of it. There is a rumor that a large inventory of artifacts is about to be moved from Munich to Turkey.9 If this is true, someone may be looking to unload what they have quickly.”
“I’m not interested in buying anything from Dikmen.”
“I don’t know who is selling what! This is your last chance to get the Andreas and to score a large quantity of your stolen artifacts.” His tone softens suddenly. “I need this just as much as you do. I don’t want to be portrayed as a suspected criminal. I want to do something good in the eyes of my father,” he says. “Get back to me quickly,” he says as he makes his exit.
“Nice hat,” I comment, holding a slight smile. “I think its more Indiana Jones than Robin Hood, though.”10
Van Rijn’s proposal might be the perfect way to get off the repatriation treadmill I find myself on, trying to recover one sacred artifact at a time. It could be an opportunity to turn the tables on the dealers and have Andreas within my grasp. All of these possibilities call me to view Van Rijn’s proposal seriously. The problem is that, in order for me to act upon this information, a deal must be struck with a devil.