“There comes a time when Its Majesty, ourselves, needs to go into the throne room with their courtiers, Mind and Heart, to decide upon the charter of their life. And that moment comes when we least expect it. Especially then”.

Tasos Athanassiadis, The Throne Room (quote in Greek; own translation in English)

On the night before the Turkish invasion of Cyprus (July 20th, 1974), an American archaeologist who was active on the island at the time was notified not to go to their excavation the next morning, and leave in secret, due to security issues. They indeed left, without notifying anyone. The next morning their Cypriot excavation workers, who, of course, knew nothing, went to the dig as usual: they were never seen again. Turkish invaders found them and arrested them on the spot. Now, 50 years on and with the Northern part of Cyprus still illegally occupied and continuously settled by Turks, these workers are counted among this day’s 1.619 “missing persons”.

I always think about what I would have done… and what any of us would have done in the American archaeologist’s position. Would I have tried to alert the workers that something was coming? Would I have had the guts to get to the dig in the morning and stand there with them? Or would I have left thinking of my people back home who needed me and the precious life I would have ahead of me? What would each of us do?

The above incident had been shared by one of my lecturers, during a class on Cypriot Archaeology when I was a student, back in 2001. Out of respect for the privacy of those involved, either as narrators or as protagonists, I am not sharing the names of either the lecturer or the American archaeologist. What I keep doing, however, is posting the story on my Facebook page every single year since 2021.

Still, the story is developing. Every yearly post comes with minor alterations, resulting from updates via friends’ comments under every single share. This is how I confirmed the story was true, as, the first time I shared it, I had doubts. Also, with this little, yet enormous, help from friends, I was eventually in the position to confirm the identity of the site, its director, its sponsorship, as well as its publication (pictured).

I also found out that the site director never received any kind of backlash. They lived a long and affluent life, never being “canceled”, cut off by colleagues, threatened, or fired by institutions. Little did it matter that, shortly after their abrupt leaving from Cyprus, they released a small-scale publication of the finds mentioning that “The economic and strategic value of the Morphou Bay region [where the site was] was clear to Cypriots from the Stone Age onwards, an importance underlined in its recent capture by the Republic of Turkey”. In an act of slappy “conscience-clearing”, the director was only reserved in dedicating their tiny book to the people from the nearby villages working on the site.

Friends also confirmed the director’s dilemma — to notify or not to notify? — may not have been exactly “Sophie’s choice”. Other foreign missions, one said, acted differently. The French mission exploring Salamis evacuated altogether upon a similar security alert, although its direction by a Cypriot (Vassos Karagheorgis) might have played its role. They kept notifying international associations and organizations (heritage-related or not) about the continuous looting in their former sites following the invasion and over the years, as well as trespassing for illegal digging by archaeologists of the occupying force. But the American archaeologist did nothing.

So, what do we do? As scholars, writers, global citizens?

It has been said countless times in different words “With the bees”, and “If you need help, come to me” (to share a couple of popular Greek quotes on the matter). And also “[any ethnicity] Lives Matter], “Me too”, “All eyes on [name any conflict area]”, “Je Suis…”, “Least We Forget”, “We Can’t Stop Sharing”, “Stand With …”.

But what do we actually do? What do we do when we don’t have much time to think about it but our life and the life of another are at stake? What do we end up doing if we have been made to believe it’s “either me or the other”?

Every year, on the anniversary of the Turkish invasion of Cyprus, I have promised to share this story on my personal Facebook page, in memory of those lost and those who allowed the loss. Regardless of everyone’s political/ global affiliations, this story speaks about global and personal responsibility. In the past, I have contemplated upon the responsibility towards a neighbor, whoever they may be, in extreme circumstances (an invasion, a fire, an earthquake, a displacement), but also something as simple as harassing a fellow human being on the street.

Today, I share this story in the name of those now perishing because of some other settlers who became invaders. Once more, just like in Cyprus, the world keeps staying silent, as the invasion took place under the pretext of the ‘right to self-defense’. Once more archaeological sites are illegally claimed. And once more, like that American archaeologist, scholars keep silent, run away, or carry on as if nothing happened. Only a handful speak up, act, and fight for their colleagues’ present and future, often at the potential cost of their well-being and careers.  Still, the responsibility is here: To choose between research for research, or research for people, and act accordingly.

Zeta Xekalaki

*A version of this text also appears on the author’s Medium page.