Polak advises the archbishop and me that Turkey can try to confiscate Cyprus’s artifacts if they are exhibited in the Netherlands. He recommends that we take preventive measures by submitting an application to the Hague District Court that will guarantee the Church a hearing before any potential seizure can take place.1 In the final week before the opening of the exhibition, Michael and I are editing the press clippings from the press conference that we are using in lieu of original text and organizing photographs that will go into a catalogue that we designed for the exhibition.
Wall-to-wall posters and banners are plastered everywhere the eye can see in The Hague, advertising “The Lost Treasures of Cyprus” exhibit. Being able to produce this event with our Dutch and Cypriot friends is particularly meaningful. From the day I left Cyprus, I carried guilt about having dual citizenship. Although a luxury for some people, it places me in constant inner turmoil over where my loyalties lie. Watching my Dutch and Cypriot friends blend together seamlessly as we work as volunteers on the exhibition allows me to realize that I can live in both worlds without losing my identity.
Outside my kitchen window I watch the bird feeder attract the abundant wildlife in my yard. Sophia and I witness a red squirrel battle a blackbird for the food mixture. As I prepare for a speech that I will deliver to the Organization For Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) in Warsaw tomorrow, Ralph van Hessen calls with the first of many challenges I will face this day.
“The Turkish ambassador is demanding that we shut down the exhibit,” he says.
“What is the ambassador’s problem?” I ask, trying not to panic.
“He says that Cyprus is shamelessly using the exhibition as a political ploy, which is a big problem for the Gemeentemuseum, since it’s state run and can’t be used for political propaganda.”
“I don’t understand; the museum is city run, so that’s not true. We wrote no text for the exhibition. We are only using existing press clippings,” I say.
My other line is ringing so I place Ralph on hold and pick up a phone call from an agitated director general of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Cyprus.
“Ambassador Zenon says you are causing an international incident with the exhibition! What is going on there, Tasoula?” the director general asks in a worried tone.
“The Turks are trying to politicize the exhibition. I will turn it into an incident between the Dutch and the Turks and remove Cyprus from the equation,” I say.2 “The best option for our government is to stay out of it, so please trust me to handle this.” I add, trying to secure his confidence.
His tone softens. “You don’t have Ambassador Zenon’s support, so you’d better be right about this,” says the director. “I’m counting on you.”
My call with Ralph van Hessen has been disconnected, so I get him back on the line only to hear the panic in his voice escalating.
“Ralph, there is no rule prohibiting the museum from exhibiting political propaganda—not that our exhibit is about that, it is anything else!” I say.
“The Dutch can’t risk damaging relations with Turkey. The Turkish ambassador knows it, and he’s pushing to shut the exhibition down. He wants us to pull the press clippings off the wall,” says van Hessen.
The international newspaper articles we display on the walls are either about the Munich Operation or about the press conference we held.
“What exactly in the text of the articles is he objecting to?” I ask.
“The words ‘refugee,’ ‘invasion,’ and ‘occupation,’” says van Hessen.
“The Turks have not been reprimanded for what they did to Cyprus but Cyprus must be chastised for speaking up about it? So, in other words, he wants to censor us.”
“If you take the articles down and just display the artifacts, that will be enough to satisfy him,” says van Hessen.
“Ask the Turkish ambassador if he will accept us leaving the articles up but placing red tape over the words that offend him. If he agrees, our problem is solved.”3
The ambassador from Turkey accepts the compromise and the director of the museum instructs the staff to place the red tape over the offending words in all text, including the posters and programs. The visual effect of this censorship becomes an exhibit in and of itself.
At Schiphol airport, as I wait for my plane to depart for Warsaw, I telephone Dutch journalist Jan Fred van Wijnen to share details about my recent experience with the Turkish ambassador.
“The Turkish ambassador threatened to shut the exhibition down unless we cooperated. This is out of my hands. I’m leaving the country for a day to deliver a speech. I have to tell you, this says more about the power that Turkey holds over your government than it does mine,” I say as I board the plane.
The reporter is outraged over the fact that freedom of speech is being suppressed. There is a history between the two nations. During a labor shortage in the Netherlands in the 1960s, the Dutch entered into a “recruitment agreement” with Turkey. The Dutch accelerated the migration of Turkish immigrants into the Netherlands, which lessened the Dutch labor shortage while improving Turkey’s unemployment issues. The fact that the ambassador was able to impose the kind of pressure he did speaks volumes about the voting power of the Turkish population in Holland.
Jan Fred van Wijnen from the Vrij Nederland writes an article that inspires the rest of the Dutch media to campaign against the Turkish ambassador’s censorship. The story picks up momentum in the international press and draws publicity for the event.4
The OSCE offices in Warsaw are located near the old town, badly damaged in World War II but now restored to its original character. This event marks my debut as a speaker on the international stage. I learn that there is global interest regarding the repatriation of stolen artifacts and understand how it links to security issues. Despite all the good work of organizations like UNESCO and other similar cultural institutions, there is no non-governmental organization to engage the public. The Cyprus issue has only been told via politicians and religious leaders, but my speech sheds light on what the artifacts mean to ordinary people as told through the journey of a refugee. Relating the impact that war has had on my cultural identity enables me to engage further in cultural diplomacy. Speaking as an activist about the importance of protecting cultural heritage feels like a natural next step for me. I want to take the lessons learned from Cyprus and share them so no country will have to go through what Cyprus did.
When I return to The Hague, I discover that I averted what could have been an international incident for Cyprus. By merely exposing the situation, the act of censorship backfired on the Turkish ambassador’s attempt to suppress our freedom of speech.5 I pray that the press and notoriety of the exhibition and the events surrounding it will encourage the Lans couple to have a change of heart and drop the litigation.6 Our best hope is that they will voluntarily return the icons to Cyprus in time for Christmas.
The hallway leading to “The Lost Treasures of Cyprus” exhibition is lined with people waiting to gain entry. Some people come with flowers, others bring letters of encouragement. I am not alone in this fight as dignitaries, press, invited guests, and the public crowd the room.7 Bishop Vasilios, dressed in his formal robe, opens the exhibition with a ceremonial blessing of the artifacts.
The Bishop dips his hand into the chalice and delicately sprinkles the Holy Water around the area where the artifacts are displayed. My attention is drawn to the mixture of cultures, races, and religions in the room as they demonstrate perfectly what is possible when we respectfully honor each other’s differences.
Bishop Vasilios finishes the blessing, makes the sign of the cross: “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen.” The Orthodox faithful in the room bless themselves from right to left three times; the Catholics make the sign of the cross from left to right. Other religious faiths in the room bow their heads and worship in their own ways. We witness a moment of unification and diversity as the ceremony states that the value of these ancient pieces of art runs far deeper than their appearance. Their significance and the spiritual importance they carry is felt by all.
My Andreas, dressed in a suit, looks adorable while waiting in line to examine the frescoes. He taps the woman standing next to him.8
“My mommy found these,” he says, quite happy to sing my praises.
I step in between the two and take my son’s hand.
“Mommy, I am going to find the Andreas mosaic for you when I’m a detective,” he says, as he stretches to make his seven-year-old body appear taller than it is.
Hearing the words spoken by my young son reminds me of how my mission preoccupies the entire family. The last thing I want to do is drag my precious son into my unfinished business. The stories printed in the Bible about Saint Andreas are manifold, and some are passed orally from generation to generation. These stories were a part of our early development, which helped to build our cultural identity along with the rituals we perform in the Orthodox faith. And looking at my son and saying his name, I know there is one piece of the puzzle still waiting to fall into place.
How can I explain to the world the importance that this lost Saint Andreas artifact holds for my mother, for my family and to the Orthodox? It’s impossible for me to abandon my search for it, despite my promise to Michael. I must find it.