Struggle is what leads us to metamorphosis. Whether it’s the silkworm that twists in a figure-eight position 300,000 times to produce one kilometer of filament or the process of a caterpillar morphing into a beautiful butterfly, it is the process of the journey and who we become in the face of it that matters. I realize that the peace that I am searching for still eludes me, so I commit to taking time to look at why—and pray that I will have the courage to embrace whatever it is I discover. The first step is in recognizing that there is a problem. Up until now I have been busy defending myself, the icons, and surviving one battle after the next. I feel I must step out of the line of fire and into the light of reflection.
My husband and my children have provided fertile ground for me to grow in my roles as entrepreneur, consul, and icon hunter, but they have sacrificed their own desires in the process of supporting mine, allowing me wiggle room as a wife and mother to explore my ambitions. When I am with them I give them my all, but I am not with them as much as they would like me to be. I’m very lucky, in that the miscarriage has brought Michael and me closer, when it could have broken us. The news that I am able to get pregnant helps me overcome my fear of being unable to give Michael another child. This time I will take care of myself. I decide to stop the speeding locomotive train that I’ve been driving before it crashes and can’t get on the tracks again. Taking time out to acknowledge and celebrate my fortieth birthday seems like a good way to begin.
“What do you want?” asks Michael.
I think about it for a few days and decide that what would make me happiest is to celebrate with my parents and thank them for giving me life.
“You are sure this is what you want to do with your fortieth?” he asks again.
“Yes, Michael, and a special dinner with you and friends when I get back.” Just like that, my wish is granted. He will stay home with the children and the nannies so that I will have a complete break from worrying about my responsibilities, and I make arrangements to go to Greece and take my parents with me. This will be their first trip to Athens and an opportunity for me to figure out what I will do with the rest of my life.
The Dutch court, however, is about to hand down its ruling in the Lans case. When we last left off, the MPs posed questions to the Dutch Parliament regarding the selling of looted Cypriot artifacts in Holland, citing the Lans case as a specific example. The MPs questioned why Holland has not invoked the Hague Convention of 1954, being that it is a signatory of the treaty, as are Cyprus and Turkey. Minister Sorgdrager replies that although the Netherlands ratified the treaty, the Parliament has not yet implemented it.1
On February 4, the Rotterdam Court rules against the Church of Cyprus.2 The court rules that the Protocol, in order to be effective in the Netherlands, had to be implemented, which did not happen until 2007. The decision noted that the Church did not succeed in proving that Lans acted in bad faith at the time of acquisition because the price that Lans paid was substantial. Dergazarian was not known as an unreliable dealer at the time and it could not be concluded from the circumstances that Dergazarian collaborated with Van Rijn. The Court dismisses the claims of the Church.
It is devastating news. Polak, whose wife just delivered their daughter on February 2nd, is equally disappointed and shocked by the ruling. He pledges to reach out to a professor of law at Leiden University to get an opinion on whether or not to appeal the decision of the court of Rotterdam. For now, the four icons of the apostles Paul, Peter, Mark, and John looted from the monastery of Antiphonitis will not return to the Church of Cyprus, nor will they be welcomed by the thousands of people who long to pray with them again.3 Instead, they will return to the Lans family.
The Church and I also reach out for a second opinion on the Munich case to Oppenhoff & Radler. We inquire as to whether or not it is possible to provoke a formal decision of the Oberstaatsanwalt Alt regarding the return of the Church artifacts and want to know their opinion on whether or not to contest the decision in the German courts. We inquire as to the cost and length of a civil procedure and whether or not we will have a financial claim against Dikmen as a way to place pressure on him through litigation. Last, we needed to know if it would make sense to litigate against Dikmen in order to effectuate an attachment of the third-party artifacts.4
Arriving directly from the airport at the archbishop’s palace in Cyprus, I am anxious about what condition I will find him in. He appears to be in great health and spirits. The Lans decision was not in our favor but, working quietly behind the scenes, I did manage to cheer him up with the recovery of an icon from the Antiphonitis Church which was discovered in the collection of Ms. Marianna Latsi (daughter of the Greek shipping magnate) several weeks ago. Unknowingly, she had purchased a looted fresco from the Antiphonitis Church (as tipped off by Van Rijn) in Paris from the Greek dealer Dritsoulas. After informing Ms. Latsi, she graciously agreed to return the icon to the Church. The archbishop was very relieved to secure the fresco without a lawsuit.5
“The Lans case is not over yet,” I say. “Let Polak check into whether or not it will be worthwhile to appeal. It just doesn’t make sense how the Dutch court ruled on this.”
“How are you feeling?” he inquires. He is such a remarkable man. Here he is concerned for my well-being when he is faced with a possibly serious health challenge.
“I’m fine, actually, better than fine, and looking forward to taking my parents to Greece. Why don’t you join us?” I ask, half serious. The archbishop laughs and for just a few minutes he is free from worry.
“Your Beatitude, one of the general practioners of the Dutch royal house, a lovely man, has agreed to absolute discretion. We are arranging for you to come to the Netherlands. The details will be handled with the utmost delicacy. Give me a date and leave the rest to me.”
The archbishop is a man who doesn’t normally show his emotions. A man of his position, a leader of so many, cannot show vulnerability because he is the pillar for everyone else to turn to. Now I see the man behind the throne, and it makes me well up with tears to see how relieved he is to hear that he will be taken care of now.
This is a man who has placed his faith in me; now he places his life with me as well. He has come to me with his secret, and it is the greatest honor he could have given me. After everything he has done for me, I want to protect his good name as he has protected mine.
“Go to your parents,” he says. “They will be anxious to see you. And give them my love.”
My parents and I are having a wonderful time touring the Acropolis, built in the fifth century by the statesman Pericles and constructed in honor of the goddess Athena. The environment inspires us to delve further into our Hellenic identity. The sacred rock of the Parthenon built under the creative eye of sculptor Phidias tells the stories that past civilizations left behind for us to marvel at. Even as I stand among these great Greek sculptures while on vacation, I am reminded that the Parthenon Marbles were controversially removed from here and sit in the British Museum. One day I hope to see their return home.
This trip is all about spoiling my parents. I take them to port of Tourkolimano in Piraeus; I find the perfect open-air restaurant, built on a foundation that juts out from the pier into the water with a view of the mountains in the distance. The fishing boats are mixed in with the yachts and sailboats, and the activities of the boaters keep us entertained while we eat small plates of Greek delicacies like grilled calamari, red mullet, rock lobster, and grilled octopus. Sipping ouzo, my parents reminisce about growing up in the village of Mandres.
“She had her eye on me,” my father says. “I was younger and not quite ready to settle down,” he continues. “She was a seamstress and I was a tailor, and our families thought ‘perfect match,’ and here we are,” he says, oozing the natural charm that makes him the ladies man that he is. Even the young waitress flirts with him every time she brings us food. He has an irresistible smile and a character that is like catnip for women.
“You needed me to k
eep you in line,” she fires back. “I made my own wedding dress,” she tells me with pride. “The entire village celebrated with us for four days. There were several hundred people, Greek and Turkish Cypriots, and we danced for days,” she recalls, smiling. Listening to my parents speak about the traditions of my culture saddens me, in that my own children will not have the same experience when their father and I grow old. Michael was raised in London and I in Cyprus. Now that we have lived abroad for all these years, our customs and traditions have become more Dutch influenced. There is a sadness I feel about not being able to carry forth these traditions in the same homeland that my parents carried them forth, as their parents did before them. It is in the sharing of these stories that I realize they must also be documented and recorded with the same care that the ancient Greeks took when building the Acropolis. The human experience, the narratives that showcase our customs and traditions, must be passed down with equal importance. The people of Cyprus are its most valuable hidden treasures.
“The next day our parents came to look at our sheets to confirm the marriage was consummated,” my mother says, blushing. “That was the tradition,” she adds.
“Then I had to take a chicken and nail it to the front door so that all the men would know to stay away from my wife, also a tradition,” my father says, to the laughter of all three of us.
Sadly, there are no photographs to memorialize these events or our family life together in Cyprus. The war took everything from us, but thankfully we still have each other. As a bright red sun sets in the sky to close this unforgettable day, it appears to slip right into the sea as day turns into dusk. My parents have survived war and still stand, both individually and collectively. It is this example that reinforces the strength within me to finish what I set out to do.
It is our last night in Greece, and despite the fact that I have a queasy stomach, we must celebrate. I have fulfilled my dream to celebrate my birthday by paying tribute to my parents. I have also given myself a time-out to think about where I want to take the next forty years of my life. What I come away with is that I have been living to work and not working to live. There will always be another stolen icon to recover or court case to investigate. Art trafficking is big business, and there are many greedy people in the world who have no qualms about selling someone else’s cultural identity. I throw myself into these challenging situations with abandon, but lately I am under attack for it. You can’t put out a fire when you’re standing in the middle of one.
I wish the conflict with the few civil servants of Cyprus could have been avoided.
I was unable to see it at the time, but I was not willing to stand in Tassos’s or Stella’s shoes and view things from their prospective. When I am in a situation where I do not feel there is a leader present, I take charge. I did not trust in their strategy to bring the icons home to Munich. I had the support of the archbishop and I thought I had the support of the attorney general. Having the backing of both these influential men should have elevated the subject of repatriating our cultural heritage to be above politics, where it belongs.
In the end, the political aspirations of the attorney general and the reluctance of his office and the police to work in parallel with me impeded the return of the looted artifacts found in Dikmen’s possession. In retrospect, I think that being so driven was a mistake. The justice I sought was for my country. I wanted the Turks to pay for what they had done to Cyprus during the war and for their continued occupation. I’m devastated by the disrespect the Turkish military showed my Orthodox faith. To this day the Christians of Cyprus must seek permission to perform religious services in the occupied area. Our religious freedoms are violated daily.
I recognize that if we cannot show each other empathy, regardless of whether we agree with each other’s points of view, religion, culture, traditions or customs, there can be no opportunity for peace and reconciliation.
The Dutch, Greeks, British, Turks, Japanese, Cypriots, and Americans all profited from the destruction of our Cypriot cultural heritage because they fueled a demand for religious and cultural symbols. Greed does not discriminate. It crosses cultural lines and geographical boundaries; it impacts all faiths, nationalities, colors, and creeds. It is something innate in every human being. We can either choose to worship greed or choose to live by a moral code that treasures our cultural past. It is only fitting on my last night in Greece that I set myself completely free from all of these feelings in a way consistent with my culture and tradition.
Breaking plates is a Greek folkloric tradition dating back to medieval times having to do with mourning and loss as well as conspicuous consumption. You must pay for every plate you break and tonight I will do so with pleasure. If I let go of the past, let go of everything negative that has had a grip on me—all the hurt, betrayal and frustration—I will be free and will have a fresh canvas on which to create anew.
We arrive at Syratki Restaurant in Athens, where inside a dimly lit room there is a handful of tables, a stage where a singer backed by drums, guitar, bouzouki, and mandolin perform Rebetiko, a style of urban popular song of the Greeks, especially for the poor class.
“Tsifteteli,” I say, referencing a traditional Anatolian style. The leader acknowledges my request, and the music begins. As I take the center of the floor, people get up and push their tables away from me to give me space to dance. As a girl in Cyprus I danced all the time. I lift my arms up, throw my head back, and cross one leg over the other. I feel the rhythm of the music in every move I make. I dance the story, the story of my life. With each flick of my wrist, snap of my head, swaying of my back, I dance out the pain, anger, fear, disappointment, frustration, happiness, gratitude, and love. Some in the crowd clap and others throw flowers at my feet. With one quick pull I strip the table of its cloth, step onto the chair, then atop the table to dance some more.
My father rises from his chair and makes his way onto the dance floor, where he takes my hand. I step down from the table and join him on the dance floor. We dance together just as we used to around the campfire in Mandres when I was a little girl. Out of the corner of my eye I see my mother’s face, also recalling shared memories. We break plates, dance some more, break plates again, all to the delight of the crowd, which cheers, “Opa!”
Returning to Cyprus a new woman with a new vision, I learn that I am also pregnant. I take this as a gift, even as a sign of my own rebirth. I know that my passion lies in protecting cultural heritage. I want to take the lessons I learned from Cyprus and spread them to the rest of the world so that others may share in the knowledge I have uncovered in the process. However, I need to approach it from a different angle. What the specifics of that path will be, I have not yet imagined.
I am euphoric over the news that I am to give birth again.
“Everything is going to work out this time,” Michael says with the utmost confidence, and I believe him.
In mid-March, a scathing article is released in the Cyprus Weekly written by Attorney General Markides’s brother-in law, George Lanitis. His “journal” professes the attorney general’s innocence in the role he played in the Munich operation and refers to me as a “lone wolf” character that recklessly wasted the Church’s money in my pursuit to recover the stolen artifacts. Every statement is painted with negativity and misrepresents the events surrounding the Munich case as well as the relationship between Van Rijn and me. Lanitis managed to secure a copy of the contract between the Church and Van Rijn and quoted parts of it out of context.6 The archbishop wastes no time in responding to Mr. Lanitis.7 He defends the claims made against me and informs the readers that every move I made was indeed sanctioned by Church and state.
I realize that regardless of how much I forgive and try to move on, some will continue to try to hurt me. All of a sudden, I am right back in the thick of the chaos.
Arriving at the same hospital where I delivered my twins prematurely triggers the ghosts of births past. Because of my age, it is recommended that I get an am
niocentesis. I’m five months pregnant now, as Michael takes my arm in his, energetically signaling that he will not let anything happen to me.
“I don’t want you involved with icon hunting anymore.”
“Don’t worry, Michael, as you said, it will all be fine,” I say, trying to reassure him. As I lie on the table and the doctor begins, I realize I am back at the same hospital getting the same test that ultimately led to my delivering my twins prematurely. I hold my breath, begging God to let me have this baby with no complications. We are so anxious waiting for the results we spend a week in Korfu to try to calm ourselves. The test goes perfectly, and we are told that we are having a baby girl!
Arriving back to work is a breeze now that I know all is well with my little girl. The Munich case, however, is still tied up in a knot. The attorney general’s office is still refusing to let us review any of the evidence they put together, and now we have no legal representation in Germany, as David Hole resigns due to a conflict of interest representing both church and state. Markides’s office is also refusing to update us on the case. There is a serious risk of the Church losing control of the 350 artifacts currently in the hands of German police, because we have no idea what is happening with the case.
The attorney general’s office and the Department of Antiquities now claim that, according to “a new law,” the artifacts belong to the state and not to the Church.8 I speak to several experts who contradict this, and I inform the archbishop. I’m dumbfounded by their lack of awareness and fearful that their actions may cause 350 priceless sacred artifacts to be lost forever.9
The Icon Hunter Page 35