Finding a humanitarian way to treat the traumas…

Finding a humanitarian way to treat the traumas…

Sevgul Uludag

caramel_cy@yahoo.com

Tel: 00 357 99 966518
00 90 542 853 8436

On the 21st of December 1963, which is considered a `Black Day` for Turkish Cypriots, that is the beginning of the inter-communal conflict of '63, a Greek Cypriot foundation organizes a `dance` in the northern part of Nicosia, at the Buyuk Han…
When I find out, I try to contact the organizers to try to tell them that this is a very bad choice as a date – that perhaps they should think of postponing it to another date… On that day and the following days until May 1964, many Turkish Cypriots were killed or went `missing`… It is an important date in our recent history as an island… Not only Turkish Cypriots but Greek Cypriots too had been killed or went `missing` around those dates… It was the beginning of the next phase of the conflict that would carry us to the partition in 1974… The conflict, brewing had already started in the late 50s but '63 was a turning point… We all know that…
A friend from Limassol calls me to invite me to this event and I tell her it is a very bad choice as a date… `If I call you to come and dance in Ledra Street on the 20th of July, would you like that? We should show a little bit of respect to the pain of the relatives whose loved ones have been killed or went `missing` on that date…` I tell her.
One of the Greek Cypriot organizers is shocked to find out that this is a very sensitive date for Turkish Cypriots, he is very sorry that none of the Turkish Cypriots in their group had noticed it and immediately he tries to speak with everyone and calls everyone and arranges a meeting but because so much effort has been put to this dancing event he says, finally they decide not to postpone it.
So on the 21st of December 2013, Saturday, some Turkish Cypriots and Greek Cypriots gather at the Buyuk Han and dance…
I feel sad… Call it a `mistake` or `lack of care` - the `pretext` doesn't matter really – it simply brings sadness to my heart… Was it so difficult to shift this date and to show some respect to the pain of the relatives of those `missing` on that date?
I feel sad a lot these days when I sit down and listen to the impact of the 50 year old conflict on this island on the relatives of `missing persons`…
I feel sad to hear that one old Greek Cypriot woman, after the return of the remains of her husband, whom I had helped to find, has lost her attachment towards life and that her health has deteriorated… For many long years, she had been at the Ledra Palace checkpoint with a photograph of her husband in her hands, she was wearing black… After her husband had gone `missing` in 1974, it had been her life's aim to find out what had happened to him, she had found details and I had helped the relatives to find more details and to confirm that he had been killed and despite threats we had managed to find the burial site… After the exhumation of his remains together with others, I would also attend his funeral, bringing with me seashells I had collected from the beach in Karpasia, from the village where he came from, to bury with him…
But when she gets the remains and buries her husband, after some time, she realizes that she has lost the aim of her life and her health starts deteriorating… I am afraid to ask her son how she is but one of her cousins tells me about her… I wanted to visit her but I was advised by her relatives not to go since she might not recognize me… I feel sad because I know what a strong woman she had been and what sort of struggles she had to give to survive and to find out the truth… Her untreated traumas in the end open the gates to this new situation: She has lost her aim in life… I feel sad not only for her but for all those in similar situations – no one ever treated their traumas and now she lays down to die…
Another woman, a Turkish Cypriot whose father went `missing` in 1963 from Larnaka calls me every 15 days…
`What happened? Did they start digging? Did they find my father? It has been exactly 50 years since he went `missing` - my mother died waiting for any news… I am growing old now, shall I be able to take his remains and bury him before I die?`
She has been struggling alone to take care of her sick mother who had been bedridden – each time there was a funeral of a `missing person`, her mother would get excited and she would ask if she too would be able to take the remains of her husband and bury him… This year she passes away… I feel shame that we could not even give her the remains of her husband and now her daughter is waiting impatiently for this well to be dug or for that well to be dug to see if her father's remains would be finally found… 50 years… She had been a child and now she is a middle aged woman… She had baby teeth and now her teeth have fallen out… She had beautiful, shiny hair and now her hair has turned grey… Just imagine the time she has been waiting – 50 long, long, long years… And yet, still there are no results…
I go to visit two young women in their house… One of them was six years old when her father went `missing` in 1974… As a six year old girl, she would never leave the house, she didn't want to get out of the house just in case her father came back and did not find anyone at home… Again, no one ever treated her traumas… Who will compensate for this huge loss and huge pain and this trauma? Who will give her back the childhood that she lost? Just imagine being a six year old girl and never wanting to go out to play in the street or wanting to go to a neighbour's house or outside your village since your father might come and might not find anyone at home…
Can you imagine what she has been living throughout her life? Can you imagine her fear of getting out of the house? Can you imagine how this fear must have affected her soul?
How did all these relatives of `missing persons` cope all these years with all these traumas?
Cyprus is a place where thousands of people have been living with traumas throughout their lives with no treatment or understanding or care… Politicians in both sides would only use these traumas for their own agenda but no one would actually show some human care…
These traumas are not just the traumas of individuals; they are the traumas of our communities…
Ignoring these wounds and traumas will not make them go away…
They are still bleeding and we need to find humanitarian ways to cure these traumas… Otherwise our country will never heal…

21.12.2013


Photo: The first Turkish Cypriot victim Cemaliye Huseyin who was killed in december 1963... She left behind a daughter. Kyriacos Djambazis is currently writing a novel about her...

(*) Article published in the POLITIS newspaper on the 29th of December 2013, Sunday.

The magical violin that saved the lives of the Bedelian family…

The magical violin that saved the lives of the Bedelian family…

Sevgul Uludag

caramel_cy@yahoo.com

Tel: 00 357 99 966518

The little place was called Markneukirchen in Germany, on the border with the Czech Republic. In the 17th century, some Protestants who were being persecuted in Bohemia had fled and came to this tiny village where they would settle down. Among them were those with skills of making violins and brass instruments… For the next four centuries this tiny village would be producing these musical instruments – according to the information on Wikipedia, in 1900, 80 per cent of all violins and brass musical instruments were being produced in Markneukirchen, Germany.
The young Vahan Bedelian, son of Haroutioun and Rebecca Bedelian from Adana had put an order to produce a violin for himself, a copy of Joseph Guarnerius violins to this town. Vahan Bedelian got this violin from Markneukirchen, delivered to him in Adana in 1913. This violin would accompany him throughout his life, would save him and his family's lives. It was like a magical violin and he would keep it and play it and tell the story of this magical violin to his grandchildren… He would teach his violin lessons with this violin…
In 1909 when troubles began in Adana, Vahan Bedelian and his family would flee to Cyprus, would settle in Larnaka, and would stay for 15 months. Bedelian would go to the Larnaka American Academy and when things seemed to settle down, in 1911 they would return to their home in Adana, Turkey. But things would continue to brew and in 1913 the First World War would begin… In 1915 the Armenian population of Adana and Cilicia in general would be deported to Der Zor, Syria – Syria was still part of the Ottoman Empire and on their way there, the Bedelian family would stop at Aleppo… There, one of Vahan Bedelian's friends would arrange a job as music and violin teacher for him at the Aleppo School of Art… Bedelian's grandson Vahan Aynedjian, tells me the story of what happened in Aleppo:
`During the deportations of the Armenian population of Cilicia, my grandfather's family, which came from Adana, was deported to Syria, which was then, part of the Ottoman Empire.
They arrived in Aleppo and due to the fact that my grandfather, Vahan Bedelian, was a music and violin teacher, a friend of his, Mr. Akoyan, who had arrived earlier than him, had arranged a job for him at the Aleppo School of Art, as a music and violin teacher.
With this job, Vahan Bedelian managed, after considerable difficulty, to obtain a permit from the Chief of Police of Aleppo (Police Mudur), to stay in Aleppo with his whole family, which was comprised of 11 members.
There was a luxurious hotel in Aleppo, the Baron Hotel (which still operates), owned by two wealthy Armenian brothers, Onnig and Krikor Mazloumian, built in 1909, where all the government officials and rich merchants used to stay. There was a Pasha, Shukru Pasha, who stayed at the hotel on his way from Constantinople to Der-El-Zor, where he had been appointed as the next Governor.
The owners of the hotel had the idea of organizing a reception for the Pasha, with the objective of entertaining him, in order that he would have a good impression about the Armenians and their culture, and that he would treat them accordingly when he took charge as Governor of Der-El-Zor.
They had the idea of inviting Vahan Bedelian to play the violin during the reception. He played with so much sensitivity, the "A la Turka" pieces, that the Pasha was moved and he asked that Bedelian would come near him.
He asked: "Who is this young man", and when he found out that he was a young Armenian refugee from Adana, he immediately proposed that he would take him with him to Der-El-Zor, to teach this art there.
As soon as Bedelian's friends heard this, they said that this is not possible as he had a job in the local Art School and that the local community needed him. Another friend realized that if Bedelian left, all the members of his family would have to leave Aleppo with him, as they were staying there with the permit obtained by him.
Fortunately, they managed to convince the Pasha to leave Bedelian in Aleppo, thus he and his family stayed there until the end of the First World War in 1918 and returned to Adana, when French forces were stationed in Cilicia.
Meanwhile, all others who left Aleppo towards the Syrian Desert, in the direction of Der-El-Zor, became victims of killings and of death from hunger and diseases.
That violin has made a very long journey. It started from Germany, where it was specially manufactured for Vahan Bedelian in 1913. That makes that violin, 100 years old this year. It was then imported to Adana and travelled with him during the deportation to Aleppo and after the end of the First World War, it returned to Adana and stayed there for 3 years until 1921, when they decided to flee to Cyprus and has since been in Cyprus.
In 1976, he gave the violin to me as a gift. I was 15 years old then.
He said to me: "This violin saved my life and also the lives of our family members.
If it was not for this violin, we would have all been deported to Der-El-Zor and only God knows where we would now be.
Because I knew how to play the violin, I got a job in the Art School of Aleppo and remained there until the end of the war.
The hands of the Pasha, who was going to Der-El-Zor as Governor, have touched this violin.
I want you to keep it, play on it and make sure that you hand it down from generation to generation, making sure that you tell them this story…` I have this violin now…`
Vahan Bedelian would teach music and particularly violin in Cyprus for more than half a century to Turkish Cypriots, Greek Cypriots, Armenian Cypriots and all others. He would teach at four different schools, would set up bands and orchestras that would play on different occasions… He would have students of all ethnicities and would believe that music would bring people closer… His grandson Vahan Bedelian describes him so well:
`My grandfather Vahan Bedelian was a very patient person… He was a workaholic. He was a very religious person. He was a very kind and gentle person. He was a person with principles… He believed in music… He believed that music made people more human, it would make them approach life in a different way. Even if people were enemies, he believed that they would be able to communicate in the language of music. This was his philosophy and he would tell this philosophy to Turkish Cypriots and Greek Cypriots… `Music tells people what other people think… You can bring people together through music… Even if they don't speak a common language, music brings them together… Music can be their common language and this can happen in Cyprus` he used to say and always he gave music lessons in Cyprus to Turkish Cypriots, Greek Cypriots, Armenians and to people from all other ethnic groups…`
According to his grandson Vahan Aynedjian, a normal day for Vahan Bedelian would start at 05.30 in the morning… He would get up and make gymnastics, in front of the open windows of his bedroom. Then he would go out to his garden, look at his flowers… He loved roses and he would pick a rose and put it on the breakfast table so he would enjoy the rose while having his breakfast. His first students for private violin lessons would start coming at 06.30 in the morning! At 07.00 he would go to the school he was teaching but it was not one school – he was teaching at the Armenian Elementary School and Melkonian and he would share his time amongst these two. On some days with his bicycle he would ride to go to the Turkish Cypriot Lyceum and to the English School to teach, his violin under his arm… His mornings would flow like this, sharing his time among four schools. He would have lunch between 1.30-2.00 and then chorus and orchestra practices would
begin – there were three other music schools where he taught as well as the private lessons in his house… He would continue until 6 or 7 at night… He took very good care of his health and he never smoked and never took alcoholic drinks… He would continue to work and give violin lessons until the age of 93! He would die at the age of 96 and would be buried in the Armenian Cemetery on the Green Line…
Bedelian did not belong to one community but belonged to all so what a coincidence that he would rest eternally in a space on the buffer zone… He had wonderful students from all communities, my brother was amongst his students of violin and my dream is to have some of his Turkish Cypriot, Greek Cypriot, Armenian Cypriot students to give a concert together to commemorate him… Perhaps in this concert, Vahan Aynedjian, the grandson of Vahan Bedelian who has the magical violin now, can also play with that violin that his grandfather gave him as a gift… This year, the violin is exactly 100 years old… So perhaps, with those interested in commemorating this great master of music Vahan Bedelian who has given so much to all Cypriots for more than half a century, we can work towards a day of commemoration for all the communities of Cyprus – as he had suggested, perhaps music can bring us all together to create a better understanding on this little,
tormented island…

7.12.2013


Photo: Vahan Bedelian with his `magical violin` in 1925

(*) Article published in POLITIS newspaper on the 22nd of December, 2013 Sunday.

Learning to love the earth…

Learning to love the earth…

Sevgul Uludag

caramel_cy@yahoo.com

Tel: 00 357 99 966518
00 90 542 853 8436

We bring nothing with us when we come to this earth – we get out of our mother's womb and we are naked… We leave the same way, when it's our time to leave, not possible at all to take anything with us…
We come to this earth crying and we leave crying… Calling out to our mothers, the very first connection with our earth…
It is our mother who teaches us everything for the first years of our lives. She teaches us to smile, she teaches us to love, she teaches us to talk and to take our very first steps on this earth… She teaches us not to fear, she teaches us the loving care when we are sick, being by the side of our bed, caressing our head, soothing us, telling us that everything will be all right. She is our only and primary connection with the earth; all other relationships come after that…
She teaches us to eat and drink, she cooks for us, nurtures us… She gives her milk and then when we are old enough, she cooks wonderful things for us to eat… I remember how my mother used to cook eggs for me – the melada style – and feed me with a spoon, telling me to open my mouth wide since the plane was coming to land in it! She would put a little salt on each spoonful of egg and my mouth would fill with the pleasure of eggs… She would dip bread in the egg and would feed me, telling me stories and fairy tales so I would not notice that I was eating and all of a sudden, both eggs would be finished! As a child she would tell me years later, she had only seen eggs in books – they had been such a poor family that she didn't know what eggs tasted like. Only when she was grown up, she would discover eggs… Perhaps that's why from a very early age, she would try to feed me eggs for breakfast…
During times of deep poverty when my father had died and had left debts of the house owned when it was being built, my mother would hide the egg shells from the previous day and in the morning when I would ask her why she was not having an egg with me, she would show me the empty shell and say `I already had it before you woke up…` A white lie, I would discover years later because there weren't enough eggs for both of us…
She would make soups for me when I was a child, lentil soup with chicken stock, rice soup with carrots and celery and pieces of chicken – she would always put the liver of the chicken in the soup and would reserve this for me. She would feed me the liver of the chicken with a little salt on it and I would be all smiles…
Whenever I would feel sick with flu or would have a headache, my mother would make me `mother's soup`, putting carrots, celery, fresh tomatoes, chicken, rice and red lentils to make me strong. She would tell me stories about lentil soup, how good it is for our bodies, how it contains iron and how she had met a very old guy who came as an inspector to her school when she had been a young teacher… The old guy had rosy cheeks and he looked very fit despite his age. They would ask him his secret and he would tell them that `Every morning he would eat lentil soup!`
She would show me the lizards and tell me how great they were, eating all the flies… She would show me the spider webs in our garden and tell me that they were here on this earth and that they served a very good cause by eating the flies! She would tell me stories about snakes and how snakes ate rats and helped the farmers… She would tell me about black snakes that Cypriots used to cherish like pets, once upon a time in Cyprus… In their old house in Tahtakala, they would put milk for the black snake, who would come to drink it… She would tell me stories of the cuckoos perched on the date trees who would come at night to sing to us: `The owls are very good, they eat the mice!` she would tell me…
She would teach me that the ants were hard workers and show me their nests, she would tell me stories of the cricket and the ant, finding books in colour from the library where she was working and telling me the tales of La Fontaine… I would be amazed with the ants and the laziness of the crickets singing all day long in August, making a big noise, flying and perching on our almond tree… She would show me how ants would follow each other and tell me that `They have a wedding and that's where they are all going!` From the age of six, she would start teaching me English since she had been an English teacher at the Shakespeare School and she would use the books from 1930s and 40s, giving me homework, making me listen and repeat, every night watching television together – the series in English like Avengers or Peyton Place on RIK – and she would be translating to Turkish from English for me to understand…
She would always sing when in the kitchen – I would grow up with beautiful songs she would sing to me… She would sing children's songs, songs she had learnt from our auntie from Switzerland about macaroni – whenever she would cook macaroni, she would sing songs about macaroni from Swiss Italians…
She would teach me to appreciate milk, cheese and halloumi, rice and macaroni, chicken and meat… She would show me how fruit grew on the trees, how the lemons became lemons starting from flowers… We would smell the lemon flowers and tangerine flowers and smile… Together we would collect lots of tangerines and she would give me a wooden spoon to stir the juice with sugar in order to make lemonade… We would be hard working and happy in the kitchen, making lemonade for hot summer days, to offer to guests and to drink ourselves. No Coca Cola in our house in those times, only lemonade made with tangerines and lemons from our garden…
These are the things I cherish about life, the things I learnt from my mother, the things that helped me to stay strong despite poverty, despite threats, despite unemployment, despite dark days of political repression for many years… These are the things that I also taught my son, showing him the moon and the stars and the flowers and to be happy that we are on this earth, that we are lucky to have each other and love each other, that no matter how harsh the conditions might get, we would still survive with the love we have…
From a very early age, my mother would teach me to always give gifts, that it would not matter if it was small or big, that we needed to share what we had because the earth will always send us more if we shared.
The biggest gift she gave me was to learn to love this earth and to understand that each creature had a life of its' own, serving a purpose, a bigger good… That we should always think about them, take care of them, not hurt them because we belonged to the same earth, same planet… That we were all connected, that we should appreciate all the flowers and all the trees and all the ants and spiders and birds and all other living creatures… She would teach me compassion and to be gentle with all living creatures, to communicate with them, to touch them, to learn from them, to be one with them…
In today's chaotic world, how many mothers actually create time to teach these values to their children? Children nowadays are given electronic toys to play with, they spend more time indoors in front of TV or a computer or an Ipad, rather than being out in the open… Their parents make them run from one private lesson to another, not even run but the kids are taken with cars so they don't even actually walk… Children are more lonely today, than in the past… Children are less connected with the earth and learn less from the earth… Sure, you can learn a lot from the internet but could it be the same thing to watch the lemon tree blossom and actually see how a flower turns into a lemon? Can it ever give the same feeling, these images on screens, while the actual life passes by without being too much noticed?
I thank the earth for giving such a mother to me who taught me how to love the earth and to appreciate all living things… Perhaps everyone should create more time with their children in order to show them how wonderful life is and not everything takes place in the virtual world of internet…

18.11.2013

Picture: The Japanese painter Tetsuya Ishida felt the loneliness and the ugliness of consumer societies and painted those...

(*) Article published in POLITIS newspaper on the 15th of December, 2013 Sunday.

From Myrtou to Lapithos…

From Myrtou to Lapithos…

Sevgul Uludag

caramel_cy@yahoo.com

Tel: 99 966518

The witness is old, has spent time in Arab countries working after 1974 for many years so he can speak English… He is calm and a happy person, which is rare to find nowadays… He is one of my readers and with him and the officials of the Cyprus Missing Persons' Committee, I have arranged to go to Myrtou so that he can show us a possible burial site of one `missing person`.
He tells me stories about Myrtou, how Myrtou was a place that would take workers since there was the monastery Agios Panteleimonas that had a lot of land in the area… Once upon a time in this area they would plant cotton and workers would work in the cotton fields… They would get tobacco from Yialousa and roll into cigarettes here and export to England… They would grow tangerines, oranges, carobs, olives… They would collect mushrooms and asparagus and also make gypsum from stones of the area in gaminis… Myrtou was famous for its honey, it had wild flowers, particularly Tulipa Cypria… The monastery had cows and sheep…
Once upon a time, there had been life in the monastery but nowadays, it is falling apart, that beautiful building, decayed and with lack of care, it shows the destruction of a culture, the destruction of a way of life, lonely, just standing there as if proof that terrible things have been happening on this island and that nobody cares… Because if there had been care for life and culture, the monastery would not be in this shape… Agios Panteleimonas was in the old days the hope for people with serious illnesses like losing the eye sight, not being able to walk and many came to pray here, with the hope for protection. According to the villagers, many Greek Cypriots, as well as Turkish Cypriots with such serious illnesses came to pray at the monastery… Now we would only hear stories about this while the monastery itself awaits renovation…
Once upon a time, this monastery had been one of the richest monasteries and had a lot of land around Pendaya, Ashera, Kato Moni, Agia Irini, Panagra… The Metropolitis of Kyrenia would make an agreement with the Grand Vizier in Constantinopolis in 1754 and this monastery too, would pay taxes to the Ottomans… The villagers would name a big pine tree after the metropolitis was killed in 1821 by the Ottomans in Nicosia… Villagers would go to rest under this big pine tree for a few hours every day…
The witness tells me that right after Assomato village, the weather would be different… Even if Assomato would be hot in the summer, Myrtou would be cooler… In fact, even in this season when we have had no rain, Myrtou is greener than the other villages we passed through… It stands 1000 feet above sea level so perhaps that explains this greenery and the good weather even in summertime…
The witness tells me that years and years ago many people came to work in Myrtou, because of the monastery… They would work only for their daily bread, without any sort of payment. They would stay and settle here, get married, have children, build houses so that's how Myrtou would develop… Myrtou, nowadays is called `Chamlibel` by Turkish Cypriots. Yes, there are people living here, people get married, have children, build houses and in this village life still continues… If you do not know anything of its past, it's just another village… Only if you know people connected with memories of Myrtou, then you would start realizing what sort of loss it has been for our country…
We go inside the village, at a place called `Vrisi`… There used to be lots of water in the area once upon a time… At the place called `Vrisi`, one `missing` person had been buried… The witness shows us this place and we take photos and coordinates, together with the officials of the Cyprus Missing Persons' Committee…
Further up stands a beautiful stone house, the stones built like dantella (lace)… In old times, in this area, stones were free, not expensive as today therefore they were building their houses of stones, they explain to me. The ones who live in this house now only come once a week, we find out – the beautiful stone house belonged to Nikos Samuel family, a rich family whose relatives had a school in Nicosia.
In the village we come across an old man, a refugee from Fasli village… He had become a refugee twice – in 1963 he fled from Fasli in Paphos to Antrolikou and then to Myrtou in 1974… Has he been back to his village? `Yes` he says, `but it is so far and I am so old, it is very difficult to go again…`
The Turkish Cypriot investigators will take our witness back to Nicosia and we will continue to Lapithos to meet another reader of mine… I thank him from the heart for doing this…
Last week this reader had called me to tell me of a possible burial site by the seaside in Lapithos. Now we meet him and he tells us his story:
`Back in 1977 I used to come to fish here, by the seaside` he says… `One day I found a military helmet, with a hole – apparently that person who wore the helmet had been shot from his head… I took the helmet home as a memento of those days and later on, in the same field, I saw a skull, it had no chin… Right after the war in 1974, this whole area was full of dead bodies of soldiers and they buried them randomly and that's why I had found the skull…`
We are at an area I had written a lot about just by the sea – we are between Rita on the Rocks and the Incirli Plaj - further up is a fenced area which is a military area where witnesses had told me they had seen human remains while working during the fencing of the area… Just across the road was a tomato field where remains of 40 `missing persons` had been found during exhumations of the Cyprus Missing Persons' Committee. They had also dug in this field where we are standing now, a small area but did not find anything.
Some years ago, this field had been turned into an area for 4x4 jeeps so a lot of soil had been taken and the land was turned upside down… Xenophon Kallis starts investigating and finds some bones, some of them animal, one of them that might be human or animal. They will send this bone to the laboratory for analysis because it looks like a human bone…
These had been the killing fields – my reader tells me that during the war, a small team of Greeks and Greek Cypriots had tried to come through the sea to this area. According to my reader, `The Turkish soldiers did not touch them and allowed them to land from the sea and then surrounded them and there was a fierce fight here… There were many bodies scattered around and later on they would bury them randomly…`
A Turkish Cypriot couple come to take a look at what we are doing in this field… She is from Stavrokonnou, her cousin also `missing`, killed by some Turkish Cypriots due to internal strife among the TMT of the village back in 1966… She points out that there had been an open well in this field and when her goat fell, she herself closed its mouth… She and her husband had helped the Missing Persons' Committee, pointing out various possible burial sites… About the tomato field where the remains of 40 `missing` persons had been found, she points out that perhaps there might be more under the road that was built in 1975 to go up to Lapithos… Her husband says that `We used to plant that field and there were women clothes, we used to encounter those women clothes…`
The road was built after refugees came to settle in Lapithos in 1975…
She says that they had also shown some other burial sites in the area to the Cyprus Missing Persons' Committee and invites me to visit her… I promise to go and see her and sit down and talk about what else she might know about this whole area… I like her a lot since she is straight, playing no games, not mincing words but simply doing what has to be done: Helping out in the search for the `missing persons`, whether they are Turkish Cypriots or Greek Cypriots and she has a huge heart full of understanding and humanity.
We say goodbye to her and her husband and to my reader, thanking him for showing us this area and head back to Nicosia…

30.11.2013

Photo: At the Agios Panteleimonas Monastery at Myrtou...

(*) Article published in the POLITIS newspaper on the 8th of December, 2013 Sunday.

From Ebicho to Assia and Aphania…

From Ebicho to Assia and Aphania…

Sevgul Uludag

caramel_cy@yahoo.com

Τel: 00 357 99 966518

On the 12th of November 2013 Tuesday morning, together with the officials of the Cyprus Missing Persons' Committee, Xenophon Kallis and Murat Soysal, as well as the Coordinator of Exhumations Anthropologist Okan Oktay, we go together to investigate various possible burial sites I would like to show them.
Our first stop is the rubbish dump area of Ebicho (Abohor – Cihangir as the Turkish Cypriots call it). I want to show the fenced area of the rubbish dump of Ebicho to the Committee since I have found a Turkish Cypriot eye witness from 1974 who had seen some Greek Cypriot `missing persons` while they were being buried here. He had told me back in August this year that from the British times, there had been a huge hole where the British had taken soil for building the road back in the 40s or 50s. He said:
`When you go to the rubbish dump of Ebicho, on the right hand side at the entrance, there is a fenced area. In this area there used to be a big hole. This whole was 20 meters by 30 meters and its depth went as far as 3-4 meters at some points. The British had taken from this place soil while building a road passing next to the rubbish dump. We were even using this hole for shooting practice as young kids since bullets could not get out accidentally…
In 1974, when they were burying some `missing persons` in this hole, I was there. I was a young kid then… It was after the war. The bulldozer operator of the village – he died many years ago – had collected from around Palekythro and Ebicho, the ones killed in the war. I remember that he had buried here at least 8-10 `missing` Greek Cypriots.
These `missing` Greek Cypriots had remained out in the open for many days so their colour had turned dark. As a young boy, I had thought `Were they all black? I didn't know that Greek Cypriots had black people…And their hair had fallen out…` not realizing that their skin had turned darker, due to staying out in the open, in the sun…
In this havara hole, the bulldozer operator of the village had buried `missing` Greek Cypriots that he had gathered from around Ebicho and nearby villages. After some time, this hole had become a rubbish dump. Whoever had a dead animal would throw over this hole or whoever had a construction, the remains he would take here and dump it. But if there are excavations here, you would find the remains of at least 8-10 `missing` Greek Cypriots at the bottom of the pit. This hole has never been touched, has never been excavated. The only thing done was dumping rubbish over it. And finally, in order to stop people from dumping more rubbish, the municipality put fences around it.
Each time I pass from this area, I feel bad because I remember those people buried here… Please try to help and inform the Committee so that this place can be excavated and the remains returned to their families to be buried…`
Now we come to the rubbish dump and take photos. From the description of my Turkish Cypriot reader, we roughly find where the hole might have been. I thank this reader for his humanity…
Then we go to Assia to meet a Turkish Cypriot relative of a `missing person` from 1964. His father had been `missing` from Assia and recently a Greek Cypriot had come and shown two possible burial sites and he wants to show us these. We go to the first possible burial site, a well and on our way back we stop at the Panagia Church dating from 11th century. The Panagia Church is below the level of the road so according to my readers, it is sometimes submerged in water when there are heavy rains. There had been information that some burials might have taken place in 1974 in the yard of the church so we investigate the yard… There are two big cavities that look as if they were dug with a bulldozer. Some say that around 30-40 `missing` persons were buried here.
Then we go to the other possible burial site outside Assia and the relative of the `missing` Turkish Cypriot shows us this place – it is another well…
Then we say goodbye to him and go back to Aphania…
We pass by the burial site of the Englezou family, the youngest was barely 11 years old, little Georgakis Englezou… On the 16th of October 2013, I had gone to his funeral in Limassol. His other brother, Christakis, 14 years old is still `missing`…
Then we go to the site where back in mid-90s, Americans had done some exhumations in order to find the remains of a `missing` Greek Cypriot American citizen, Kasapis… Together with him was one more, young Greek Cypriot so his remains might be in this area…
When we reach the burial site, I feel shocked – there are many aloe vera plants, in Turkish we call them `Sabir Aghaci`, meaning `Trees of Patience…` - they look like from the ages of dinosaurs and they surround a water well…
It brings back bad memories of a story I had heard in this village… A Greek Cypriot woman from Assia or Aphania was taken by two Turkish Cypriots from Aphania, raped and killed and buried next to some aloe vera trees… We had been looking for these aloe vera trees… Could this be a simple coincidence or are these the trees we had been looking for?
No one knew about the story of the woman buried next to the aloe vera until these two Turkish Cypriots, years later had a big argument about something else in the coffee shop and they started shouting at each other and accusing each other of killing that woman… All those in the coffee shop heard and found out the details then…
Further down, Kallis shows us another well…
The whole area is silent, eucalyptus trees standing and showing their beauty… Messaoria has its own quiet beauty – I had missed that, I realize now since I have not come to this area for a long time now…
I go back to Nicosia with a heavy heart – there is no cure to pain except enduring it… Sadness is everywhere, as well as the happiness of the sunshine and the birds and the trees and the bees… Our happiness is always shaded with the sadness of all these true life stories of what we have done to each other… And yet, we survive and whether our heart is heavy or light, we try to move on, to create something better than our past… Perhaps the only way to endure this pain is to move on and keep on doing things that will bring more happiness to this country in order to overcome the sadness of the past…

16.11.2013

Photo: The rubbish damp outside Ebicho...

(*) Article published in POLITIS newspaper on the 1st of December 2013, Sunday.

A little church in the area of old Grammar School…

A little church in the area of old Grammar School…

 

Sevgul Uludag

 

caramel_cy@yahoo.com

 

Tel: 00 357 99 966518

00 90 542 853 8436

 

Early one morning my phone rings: A Turkish Cypriot reader is calling. I do not know him but he has some very interesting information to tell me…

According to his information, there are four or five `missing persons` buried around the area of the old Grammar School, where there had been a fierce battle – this had been the area where ELDIK (The Greek Army stationed in Cyprus) and TURDIK (The Turkish Army stationed in Cyprus) had their camps next to each other…

`There is a little church there` he says…

`The entrance to the little church faces north… And if you would stand at the entrance, 15 steps from there are buried four or five soldiers…`

These soldiers were probably Greek soldiers since it was their camp…

Now it is not possible to go and see this church since this is a military area but perhaps there are some spots where we can see the little church? If we find such an area, would my reader be willing to come with us to show us this place?

`Sure` he says…

Immediately I inform the Turkish Cypriot and Greek Cypriot officials of the Cyprus Missing Persons' Committee, Murat Soysal and Xenophon Kallis about this new possible burial site.

We agree one day to go and check from an area in the southern part of Nicosia where this little church might be visible. I speak to my reader and we agree on a date and time…

We go together, my reader, myself, Murat Soysal and Kallis as well as Turgut Vehbi from the Committee to the southern part of Nicosia and we find a high spot around the Agios Dometios area where there is a magnificent view of the whole of Nicosia.

From this high spot, my reader points out the little church – it is the only church in that area and no one can miss it… He explains to us the exact location of the possible burial site.

Then we go back…

Kallis thanks my reader:

`What you have done is very humanitarian` he says.

Occasionally the military would give permission for excavations in the military zones in the northern part of Cyprus. If permission would be given to this spot that my reader has just shown us, perhaps we may find the four or five `missing persons` in the possible burial site he has described to us.

I had written a lot about this area years ago, about the fierce battle that took place and had investigated about what had happened to the people killed in this place. I had even found the medical civilian doctors who had served there and they had described to me what they had seen. According to one of the civilian doctors who had been sent to this area to treat the wounded, some Greek soldiers were lined up and they would be returned to the Greek Cypriot authorities at that time. He remembers quite clearly from their uniforms – he had explained to me that Greek soldiers or Turkish soldiers, therefore, if they were caught alive they would be returned to their respective side or if they were killed, the same would apply. That might have been some sort of principle. In fact, I have heard of stories of Turkish officers or Greek officers being returned alive to their respective sides but this was war and in war drastic things happen and things might happen out of control so all those captured were not returned – some Turkish officers were tortured by some Greek Cypriots and perhaps similar things might have happened to Greek officers

So the civilian doctor had seen bodies lined up, ready to be returned to the Greek Cypriot authorities. In fact some who had been killed had been returned and some of these ended up being buried in the Lakatamia cemetery – I think among those returned were also some Greek Cypriot `missing persons` but they were taken from a different area - their story would be discovered by our friend, journalist Andreas Paraschos in the 1990s who would go looking at the grave stones that said `unknown soldier` and discovering that these were among the `missing persons`…

These `missing persons` - Greek soldiers killed in this area - who would later be buried in the Lakatamia cemetery would be taken by Alekos Markides who had been an officer in the army at that time, according to one of my Greek Cypriot friends. And the Greek Cypriot `missing` who were returned who were killed in another area closer to this place were taken by the military music band soldiers and later buried in Lakatamia.

Was there any agreed principle about Greek and Turkish soldiers, about their return, dead or alive? After all, higher up, they belonged to the same military organization, that is NATO. In Izmir (Smyrni) or Brussels or Napoli or Germany, Turkish and Greek officers worked together in NATO military camps, together with officers from other nationalities. So was there an agreement for their return? I asked this question to the retired Staff Colonel Halil Sadrazam, a Turkish Cypriot writer who wrote four volumes of books entitled `The History of War in Cyprus` (three of them published recently, the fourth will be published soon) giving elaborate details about our recent history and the war of 1974. He said the following:

-          ELDIK and TURDIK were in Cyprus according to the 1960 Republic of Cyprus Constitution.

-          Some officials from TURDIK in those times were acting as commanders of TMT and they were moving quite freely after the inter-communal conflict of 1963, passing through Greek Cypriot areas – they were travelling freely and they knew that Greek Cypriots would not touch them and even if they were `caught` they would be returned to their own country.

-          For instance the Turkish military commander of Larnaka was kept as a prisoner of war together with Turkish Cypriots between 20th of July 1974 and 14th of August 1974 – Sometime between those dates a Greek officer went together with the UNFICYP and saluted him. They had been working in the same NATO camp so they knew each other. He took the Turkish commander with him and returned him to the Turkish side, accompanied by the UN. The Turkish Cypriot prisoners of war of course remained where they were. In a similar way, I know of Greeks being returned to the Greek Cypriot side. The Turkish soldiers being returned were not always from TURDIK. In summary, both prisoners of war (Turkish and Greek) as well as those Turkish or Greek soldiers killed in the war were being returned.

-          For instance after the war in September 1974, nine Turkish soldiers, among them officers were in a bus with their guns and lost their way around Mia Milia. Immediately the Turkish army in Cyprus asked for their return and in two days, they were returned. They were not touched.

-          I also read about 19 Turkish soldiers being returned on the 13th of August 1974, in the book of Kemal Yamak.

I asked one of my Greek Cypriot friends, why Turks and Greeks were being returned when Turkish Cypriots and Greek Cypriots were being kept as prisoners of war. According to my friend, the reason behind the return of Turkish soldiers might have been fear of retaliation from Turkey. `They were being questioned but later returned. Of course, there were some Turkish or Greek soldiers who were never returned, killed, `missing`… The whole thing I believe was random, not according to set agreements but according to the initiatives of whoever was there on either side…`

The little church stands still, a witness to what had happened in the area of the old Grammar School… Grammar School had been bombed and it still stands there, like a reminder to all of us, like a landmark to show that there had been a fierce battle here…

While going to the anthropological laboratory of the Cyprus Missing Persons' Committee, some years ago, I had passed from this area in a car with the relative of a `missing person` - her relative's remains had been found and she had asked me to go with her to the viewing of the remains… We had passed through this area as though passing through old times – vast, empty spaces, some old buildings, lots of trees… Lots of empty fields… It had been winter so we could see the green and the flowers – crows would laugh at us while we were passing, laughing at the Cypriots for being such fools of turning their own country into a big mess… For the crows, there would be no borders, no passports, no checkpoints, no property, no identity… For the crows, life would be a struggle to survive, to feed, to sleep, to have baby crows, to feed and help them to learn to fly… For the crows, this was simply a geography where they survived and they would not kill for pleasure, they would not torture for pleasure, it would only be a struggle for survival… Contrary to the Cypriots whether they spoke Turkish or Greek – crows would speak a universal language of the earth, they would move with the earth, they would be connected with the earth, they would live together with so many other different species of animals and would not necessarily hurt each other… Crows would find the best of the dates, the best of the walnuts and would go on with their own life, without necessarily hurting anyone or anything. But us, humans of this land have inflicted so much pain on each other that it is difficult to patch it up… We have a short life on this earth – let's just think about the crows and the swallows and the cats and the dogs and the moufflons and all the other beautiful creatures of our earth – if they can survive together, why can't we?

 

2-16.11.2013

 

Photo: According to one of my readers, there is a possible burial site near this little church...

 

(*) Article published in POLITIS newspaper on the 24^th of November 2013, Sunday.

On the `Hill with Ears` in Pileri…

On the `Hill with Ears` in Pileri…

 

Sevgul Uludag

 

caramel_cy@yahoo.com

 

Tel: 00 357 99 966518

00 90 542 853 8436

 

If it wasn't for the insistence of Michalis Giangou Savva, the five `missing` from Pileri, as well as others `missing` from the area would not have been found… Michalis Giangou Savva whose brother Costas had been `missing` from Pileri since the battle on the `Kulakli Tepe` (`The Hill With Ears` as the Turkish Cypriots call it) or `Kalampaki` as the Greek Cypriots call it since 1974… The brother of Michalis Giangou Savva, Costas had been stationed here together with four other Greek Cypriots… I had interviewed Michalis in 2007 and we had gone to the `Kalampaki` or `Kulakli Tepe` in 2009 together with the Turkish Cypriot mukhtar of Pileri (Bilelle – Gocheri village) on a tractor. The mukhtar, a kind hearted old man had told Michalis and me that we could not go there with our cars and he had taken us with a tractor to point out where he had seen up on top of the hill five `missing persons` and had told us that they had never been buried. We had shown this area to the Cyprus Missing Persons' Committee and they had sent a team of archaeologists to go up the hill – there had been no road to go up the hill so they had had to climb like mountain climbers until they got permission from the villagers to build a road to go up the hill… So the bulldozer of the Cyprus Missing Persons' Committee, with the instructions of Okan Oktay, the Coordinator of Exhumations, had built a road to go up the `Kalampaki`… This had been four years ago…

Michalis and his `missing` brother was coming from a poor working class family. His father Giangos had come to Nicosia from Kinoussa from Paphos when he had lost his father at the age of eight, to work as a child worker with his two sisters and a brother. He had ended up as a shoe maker, joining PEO and having very good relations with Turkish Cypriot shoe makers. He had married Christalla from Giallousa who was also a working class woman who had come to Nicosia to work… They would live in Tahtakala and later on in Tanti's mahalla where the poorest Turkish Cypriot and Greek Cypriot workers rented small houses from Tanti. Giangos and Christalla would have five kids, all boys…

`Poverty united people in those times` Michalis had told me, `They did not see each other as Turkish Cypriot or Greek Cypriot… They were telling us that poor people were good people. We were a family of the left; we were members of AKEL… For many years, my father would take me to the commemoration of Dervish Ali Kavazoghlou and Costas Mishaoulis in the village Dali. We would go on his bicycle. Imagine, he was going with his bicycle from Nicosia to Dali, to attend the commemoration ceremony of Kavazoghlou. When Kavazoghlou had been killed, I remember my father crying a lot… I finished elementary school and started the secondary school but when my father got sick, I had to leave school – we had no money to pay to the school so at the age of 13 I began working. I was working in a workshop repairing televisions and I had learnt to install antenna. I was working as a technician in the company Dikran Ouzounian-Barot Sultanian. And I was also crossing to the Turkish Cypriot area of Nicosia – there was this guy called Mouhyi who was selling Phillips TVs and I was going there to install the antenna until 1974.

After the checkpoints opened I took my mother to the Tanti mahalla and she would remember the house she lived in… When we knocked on the door an old woman opened the door and my mother and she looked at each other and started remembering, without speaking… They sat down and cried together… The last time they had seen each other was 46-47 years ago! This was the neighbourhood of poor people… In this mahalla, some Turkish Cypriots would kill some Greek Cypriots and some Greek Cypriots would kill some Turkish Cypriots so we would move away from here in 1958 to Agios Pavlos, building a small house there… After my brother went `missing` in 1974, my father got very sick and could not take what happened to my brother. He died in 1976… And my mother, while waiting for the remains of my brother to be returned, died in 2011 at the age of 89…

My mother waited for any news from my brother Costas. As soon as the news began every night on TV, she would be all ears, waiting for any news from her `missing` son… She died waiting for the remains to be returned to her…`

Once again we go on the 8^th of October 2013 with Michalis and with the officials of the Cyprus Missing Persons' Committee – new excavations began on the `Kalampaki` hill – there had been some information that on the `Kalampaki` hill, there might be not five but six `missing` persons so Michalis would explain this and the archaeologists would continue to search the hill and the slopes and the area for any other remains…

After I write the story of `Kulakli Tepe` (`Kalampaki`) in YENIDUZEN, one of my Turkish Cypriot readers calls me to tell me that his father had been on that hill and had been arrested by Greek Cypriot soldiers in July 1974… He had escaped after some time and later on, when the battle was over, he had gone up that hill again. I ask him to convince his father to come with us and tell us what he saw, since new excavations are continuing.

So we go up the `Kulakli Tepe` again, on the 25^th of October, 2013 Friday – he comes with his father and the officials of the Cyprus Missing Persons' Committee, Murat Soysal, Okan Oktay, Xenophon Kallis also come with us.

The old man is emotional as we travel through Pileri… We stop to get some water for him and at some point he stops the car to tell us what he saw down below…

One of his friends had taken him on the main road of Pileri-Agios Ermolaos and had stopped the car and they had walked into a field.

His friend had said to him:

`Look at these two Greek Cypriots… Were they the ones who had arrested you?`

He had seen two Greek Cypriot soldiers whose uniforms had been taken and they were left there in the field in their underwear, with no boots or clothes…

Then they had gone up the hill and he had seen one Greek Cypriot on the `Kalampaki` and his friend had told him that there had been one more Greek Cypriot in a military position up the hill who had been heavily wounded. He did not see this second one but his friend had told him. He did not know whether they took him down to take him to a hospital or whether he died in the military position because of his wounds. He would tell us the name of his friend who had taken him there and while still there, I would start enquiring whether his friend is alive – I would find out that he is in fact alive but sick and not living in his own house but taken to his son's house because of his illness. We would go visit him to find out more details about `Kalampaki` and the whole area… I thank my reader and his father, the old man, who had come and climbed all the way up, just to help the investigations of the Cyprus Missing Persons' Committee. My reader has been helping us a lot from the heart – he has a human heart – he has helped us to find the remains of seven other `missing` Greek Cypriots in the area of Agios Demetios-Geunyeli where he had seen the remains of some `missing persons` when he was playing in the area as a child… And now through his father, he is helping us again to find out what exactly happened in the area of Pileri…

In the evening I call Michalis Giangou Savva to tell him about our day at Pileri… We have more work to do in this area in order to find the remains of all those `missing`, as well as searching for the `truth` of what actually happened… I am very grateful to the efforts of Michalis Giangou Savva, as well as my reader and his father and all the others from the area who have helped us… The Turkish Cypriot mukhtar passed away but he too had helped us… Another reader had shown us another burial site in Pileri up on another hill called `The Daughter of the King` (`Kral Kizi`) where the remains of one other `missing person` was found – he too had never been buried and just lay there in the military position where he had been shot on that hill… He had shown us another spot down that hill where some shoes were found dating from 1974… I am also grateful to the officials of the Cyprus Missing Persons' Committee for enabling us to show them these possible burial sites for further investigations… When all efforts come together, we can get more results in order to at least ease the pain of the relatives of `missing persons` from this area called Pileri…

 

27.10.2013

 

Photo: Michalis Giangou Savva at Pileri with the officials of the Missing Persons' Committee...

 

(*) Article published in the POLITIS newspaper on the 17th of November 2013.

`Cyprus is a broken mirror…`

`Cyprus is a broken mirror…`

 

Sevgul Uludag

 

caramel_cy@yahoo.com

 

Tel: 00 357 99 966518

00 90 542 853 8436

 

Cyprus lost Vartan Malian, an Armenian Cypriot, an activist, a researcher, a humanist, someone who worked throughout his life for human rights… He had been in many continents and spoke many languages. Born in the Kokkinia refugee camp in Greece in 1925, he had emigrated to Cyprus with his family in 1931 and they had settled in Nicosia and lived until 1963 in the Victoria Street mixed with Turkish Cypriots. At home, his auntie Mariam only spoke Turkish so at home he learnt to speak Turkish – Vartan Malian was a man of languages – Turkish, Greek, Armenian, Italian but he was much more than that: He used the languages he spoke to solve conflicts, to bring people together and to struggle for human rights throughout his life.

I had known him since 2001 and had interviews with him twice – about Cyprus he had told me that `Cyprus is like a broken mirror, it is difficult to put it together…` He was part of the peace struggle in Cyprus, helping with his multi-lingual knowledge – many times he would try to build bridges among Turkish Cypriots and Greek Cypriots… All of this was voluntary, from the heart, trying to bring together the broken pieces of the mirror called Cyprus.

When I first met him, he had an office behind the Ledra Street, later on he would move somewhere near Regina Street… He would always be there to help anyone who knocked on his door – Turkish Cypriots, asylum seekers, refugees from all over the world…

When Hrant Dink, an Armenian origin journalist from Turkey had been killed, I had asked Vartan Malian to come and make a speech, not only to commemorate Hrant Dink but also to talk about life in Victoria Street when Armenian Cypriots used to live there. We held the activity at the Arabahmet Cultural Centre that was once an Armenian Culture Club. Up on the stage he went to tell us stories of how Armenians lived together with Turkish Cypriots, what sort of theatre plays they put on the stage he was on now, showing photos from another era… Everyone was touched – everyone knew Vartan Malian, everyone was friends with Vartan Malian…

He died on the 16^th of October 2013 at the age of 88… He was buried in Larnaka on the 19^th of October 2013… Cyprus lost someone precious and the best words to describe him were said at the funeral by his daughter Sarah Malian… Sarah, at her speech in the funeral said:

`When I tried to write these few words about my father, it occurred to me that whatever I could say about him as my own father wasn't appropriate for an occasion such as this. Of course I have my own personal memories of him as do we all, and they are ours to keep. But really, my father, or 'O Malian' as he was affectionately known, seemed to belong to everyone.

On one occasion I came back from London for a visit and went to his office in Nicosia, the Armenian Research Centre, where he introduced me to a Kurdish asylum seeker who was sitting in a chair, using the words he would use whenever I met one of his friends or acquaintances 'Afti einai I kori mou – this is my daughter'. And the young Kurdish man said 'well that's not possible because Mr Malian is like a father to me and I've never seen you before.'

That wasn't uncommon. I would often hear 'Malian is like an uncle to me, Malian is like a father to me, Malian is more than my best friend, he's my koumbaro.'

But he was also our father. He wasn't your typical father, it's true. He didn't teach me to ride a bike or kick a ball or organise birthday parties. But he did teach me many, many other things. Things that I have carried with me into adulthood.

He taught me about history, about photography, about the Middle East, about Cyprus, about understanding there are always different sides to every story. He taught me about the thirst for truth, the respect for human rights, the struggle for recognition of the Armenian Genocide, that justice doesn't come before truth. He taught me about the need for compassion and mutual understanding, about the futility of conflict, the importance of bridging cultures.

My father had an innate ability to be comfortable among all sorts of people from all walks of life. He himself was born in a Red Cross refugee tent, and felt closest to those who had suffered in their lives, who had really lived. He wasn't interested in high society, and accumulating wealth or enjoying his retirement. In fact until just three years ago, he was still running his office in Nicosia, as dynamic, passionate, hardworking and stubbornly interested in making a difference as ever. Helping anyone suffering human rights abuses, without expecting anything in return. Purely because people had rights enshrined in law and those rights should be protected.

Anyone who knows him will know how much he loved writing letters – "bodji botha" he used to call it. If there was anything unjust or unfair he would write a lengthy letter. If authorities were not providing their services, if a woman was being trafficked and she'd come to his office for help, if a domestic worker was being abused or threatened with deportation on unfair grounds, if a refugee was being discriminated against. They all found a natural home at my dad's office. We have folders and folders of his correspondence, tirelessly seeking justice on behalf of others.

My father would often use one word to describe himself. Curious. He once told me the story of how he came to work in the British army. He had started out as a translator when an officer took him aside and said 'A person like you shouldn't just be translating what other people are saying. It's easy to find people who know languages. But it's not easy to find people who know things…'

And he did know things. A great deal of things. He was a great observer, who always tried to understand what was behind people's behaviour. Why they acted the way they did.

Who else do we know who was in Jerusalem when the King David Hotel was bombed in 1946, and in Kenya during its struggle for independence in the 1950s, who spent three years as a welfare officer for Cypriot labourers in the Suez Canal Zone in 1955, who was there for the drawing of the Green Line in Cyprus in 1964, who met Moshe Dayan and ate stuffed tomatoes with him, who helped in the camps in Cyprus for Jewish survivors of the Holocaust. Who met Gaddafi in Bengazi, Libya when Gaddafi was in the British army. Who was in Swaziland in 1964, and in Belize, Gan, Hong Kong, Singapore, Bahrain, and his beloved Yemen. He was also one of the first to initiate talks between Greek and Turkish Cypriots in Pyla in the early 1990s.

Having seen and done so much, been to so many parts of the world and at critical historical moments, it's easy to see why people were drawn to him. He was a great storyteller, full of fantastic anecdotes and memories that he shared with us. He wasn't just an Armenian. He was equally comfortable with Turkish-speaking Cypriots, Greek-speaking Cypriots, Kurds, Sri Lankans, Maronites, Palestinians, Jewish people, Europeans, Lebanese, Egyptians.

He was an activist till the very end, an advocate for the oppressed, until the very end. Even in his ill health, his mind was constantly on his work, on the news, on developments in Cyprus, and yes, continuing to write letters, offering his unique perspective based on years of experience. He never gave up. He refused to give up hope that he would get back to work – that he would continue his dream of creating a Memorial Museum for the Armenian Genocide as a lasting legacy of the suffering of 1.5 million people.

It was very difficult for a man such as my father to be struck down by illness. To have to leave his work and his friends and life to spend endless hours, days in hospitals. A challenge he faced with great patience and dignity. And I, along with my brothers Arto and Hugo would like to acknowledge the incredible efforts my mother made to care for him and to ensure he was able to stay at home.

I could go on for hours about my father's life but today is not the right time. Perhaps later down the line with his close friends we can organise a proper memorial for him.

The best way to pay tribute to my father is to try to live our lives to the fullest, to take chances, to take risks, to not be afraid, to be stubborn about what's right. To always remember you can never understand someone until you've walked in their boots. To be tenacious. To have no regrets. And above all, to be free. And if there is any small comfort to be taken from this merciless time, it is that finally, my father, o Malian, is free.

When someone was departing, my father's common expression was 'güle güle', a phrase in Turkish used by the person staying behind, which literally means 'go with a smile, go laughing'. Today we are here, not to say goodbye, but to say 'güle güle' Papa. Go with a smile. Because now, after a long and difficult fight, you are at peace…`

 

26.10.2013

 

Photo: Vartan Malian

 

(*) Article published in the POLITIS newspaper on the 10^th of November 2013, Sunday.