Unshared Pairs Across the Divide

The blogging experience. . .what does it mean? Six months ago, as I contemplated my Fulbright “assignment” in Cyprus, I explored on this blogspace the concerns I had about “putting myself out there” to an unknown audience. I mused how difficult it was for me, as a teacher of writing, to craft a piece without knowing who would read it. I also realized that there would be sensitivity issues to face: I would be writing about two different cultures in a shared, divided country. This would be an international experience, and I was representing not just myself and the United States, but the Fulbright Commission, my university, my family, and my friends—old and new.

As I near the end of my stay in Cyprus, I am saddened by the thought that I’ve had little impact towards any form of real change. Who am I—a citizen of my country which has its own international issues—to face the “Cyprus Problem” and to offer solutions?

To say the least, keeping this blog has been both a joy and a struggle. Each posting is a process of self-censoring, rewriting, deleting, selecting, and approving. It has been challenging even to touch upon the political complexities which exist in Cyprus. I have made good friends on both sides of the Green Zone and would be mortified if I offended any of them. However, what I do know is this: In another time and place—away from here—my friends on both sides would like each other, too; they could share family histories, they could admire and respect each other’s perseverance, patriotism, and pride. I can see us all at a huge party, celebrating the joys of life.

Bringing friends together: it seems so simple, and yet the patterns of history work against naive solutions. At this time, Antonis will not speak to Abdul. Hatiçe can't share her teaching skills with Georgia. Nikos won't play his guitar in Çan’s rock band. Mehmet and Stephanos will forever look toward opposing resolutions. Yet, in another time and place—away from here, perhaps—all could be friends. Ah, if it were only that easy to make lasting peace.

And, so, I will leave Cyprus with compartmentalized memories—the north and the south, the Turkish Cypriots and the Greek Cypriots, Karpas beaches and Troodos Mountains, Orthodox churches and Muslim mosques, Kyrenia and Kourion. Just like conflict—active and implied—this list is endless. Unshared pairs.

But I have also been blessed on both sides of the Divide with memories of gracious hosts, exquisite moments, laughter, joys in family, friendship, and a shared love for this beautiful island. The Green Zone might exist as a fact of facts, but it has forever disappeared in my heart of hearts.