Suppressed Spaces - The Intricacies of Cypriot Language and Culture
Image courtesy of Ilaeira Leto Agrotou Georgiou’s father
Perhaps you have come across Cyprus as a tourist destination, or in your geopolitics class.
Perhaps you have heard of the intercommunal violence of 1963, which disproportionately affected Turkish-speaking Cypriots, or of the Greek Junta-backed coup led by EOKA B, which prompted the Turkish invasion of 1974, which disproportionately affected Greek-speaking Cypriots.
Perhaps then, you know that the island has a divided capital, and lies somewhere between Turkey and Greece.
Cyprus remains relatively unknown to most beyond the scope of travelogues and late-night HSPS essays and despite being colonised for the majority of the 20th century. Local voices have long gone unheard – and how can they be heard when even the ‘languages’ we speak in are unknown? Max Weinreich paradigm that ‘a language is a dialect with an army and a navy’, while cliche, stands true here. The dialects Cypriots speak, and the very identities of Cypriots, are suffocated under the geopolitical ploys of greater powers. For a misunderstanding of Cypriot modes of communication pardons a mistranslation of the intricacies of our experience.
A quick Google search on Cyprus will reveal that there are two official languages – Greek and Turkish. These are the languages spoken by our politicians, our news reporters, our lawyers – the languages of the professional world. They are also the languages of partition, for who speaks in them if not the “ethnic” Greeks and Turks of Cyprus, living in their respective “ethnostates?”. Pro-unification and left-wing grassroots organisations have placed language as the sole frontier of division, using the terms ‘Greek-speaking’ and ‘Turkish- speaking’ Cypriot to emphasise a single identity. While not unproblematic, I will be using these terms in this article. However, in all of this lies the fallacy that Modern Greek and Turkish are not the everyday languages of the people, as they might be in Athens and Ankara.
Mainland Greek and Turkish are themselves not two binary opposites, as we would like to believe, but two languages with many similarities. Cypriot Greek and Turkish are closer to one another, having been created out of centuries of intercommunal history. It stands to reason that as dialects, they vary greatly from Standard Greek and Turkish. Cypriot Greek is almost unintelligible to the mainland variant, with its syntax resembling Classical Greek. Its vocabulary borrows not only from Turkish but also from Levantine Arabic and Italian. Cypriot Turkish also poses a challenge for mainland Turkish speakers, being a blend of OttomanTurkish and the Yörük dialect, with Greek and Italian influence. Both dialects are testimonies to Cyprus’s unique history - dramatic blends of its many conquerors.
The Cypriot language and Cypriot culture have been created in suppressed spaces, under the pressure of foreign powers. It is in these spaces that one can witness the similarities between the two dialects, such as phonetic borrowings. For example, Cypriot Greek varies from standard Greek in its use of a ‘j’ sound, instead of a ‘k’ which resembles the Turkish ‘c.’ Instead of saying και (phonetically ‘ke’), Greek-speaking Cypriots would say τζαι (phonetically ‘je’). Religious terms have also transgressed the perceived binaries of the two communities. Greek-speaking Cypriots will say inshallah when wishing and mashallah when paying a compliment. Likewise, Turkish-speaking Cypriots will say ubanayamu, which comes from the Cypriot Greek expression ου παναγια μου (oh my Virgin Mary), when shocked. The two communities are often shocked when they hear each other speak, for instance, when ordering food:
μακαρονια του φουρνου (makaronia tou fournou) / makarina fırında.
– Or when they swear:
πεζεβενκις (pezevenkis) / Pezevenk.
- from the Farsi pazhvand (pimp)
This shock is an expression of the uncomfortable truth that the history of the two communities goes deeper than the bloodshed of the late 20th century. Interlocked in our dialects is proof of a Cyprus that has been shaped by the intermingling of cultures. Yet, they are not standardized, and through the years, they have eroded. Partially, this has to do with the effects of colonialism. In British colonial propaganda, the Cypriot was a rural, infantile figure - an Oriental hybrid with no greater sense of belonging. Today, the Cypriot dialects are often seen as ‘rural’ and ‘unsophisticated’, and, especially in Cypriot Greek, their perceived ‘non-European’ elements are frowned upon. The nuances of how we speak and who we are are slowly being erased. With this erasure comes an even greater unimaginable loss. Armenian, Romani and Maronite Cypriots also inhabit the island and their experiences and languages are often overlooked. Armenian Cypriots continue to proudly learn and speak Western Armenian, which was declared by UNESCO as an endangered language in 2010. Romani Cypriots speak a creole of Cypriot Turkish, Kurbetcha, which is in danger of becoming extinct, while Sanna, or Cypriot Arabic, spoken by the Cypriot Maronite community is similarly under threat.
Sanna is one of the oldest languages to emerge from the island - a unique mixture of Levantine Arabic and Abrahamic, it was brought over by Maronites from Lebanon and Syria as early as the 7th century. It has been heavily influenced by Cypriot Greek, in its syntax amongst others, however, this should not be taken as a “dominant” dialect influencing a minority dialect, but rather as two dialects borrowing from one another.
While in the past, Maronite Cypriots had schools specifically dedicated to learning Sanna, post-division Cyprus has not provided the community with the conditions necessary to nurture the language’s usage. In 1974 many Maronite Cypriots, alongside Greek-speaking Cypriots were displaced to the South of Cyprus, while many Turkish-speaking Cypriots were displaced to the North of Cyprus. Due to the pressure of ‘picking a side’ in the perceived ‘Greco-Turkish’ Cypriot conflict, many forcibly displaced Maronites assimilated by speaking Cypriot Greek. While all of these communities have lived together for centuries, intermarried, and spoken each other’s languages, it is only when the sowing of the seeds of partition in the 1960s that assimilation and erasure began to seep in.
The beating heart of Sanna is the village of Kurmajit inhabited by Maronite Cypriots who avoided displacement in 1974. While they live in the North, politically, their welfare is the responsibility of the Republic of Cyprus. And though much of the younger population have emigrated in search of employment, Kurmajit has led the fight for the preservation of Sanna. They have built schools where Maronite Cypriots have been able to learn their mother tongue and, for the first time ever, they have created an alphabet for a language that has been passed down orally. They have also launched initiatives, such as the NGO ‘XKI. FI. SANNA’ (Speak Our Language), aimed at revitalising the language. But this immense responsibility cannot fall on the shoulders of one community. It was only after international pressure that the Republic of Cyprus recognized Sanna as a minority language, but it has since failed to provide necessary educational infrastructure. According to Mihalis Hadjiroussos, by 2018 only 1,000 people spoke Sanna, most of them aged over forty and fifty. If it is lost, a part of Cyprus that has thrived for centuries is lost alongside it. A part of Cyprus we can never get back.
My mother always says that with each year, more of the Cyprus she knew slips away. It is too painful for me to admit that the Cyprus my grandmother knew has been long gone, surviving only through memories and stories. Cypriot culture, the cornerstone of which is language, has never thrived and can never thrive in binaries. I don’t even want to call it multicultural, because it is more than just an amalgam of pre-existing cultures. Just like its dialects, Cyprus is a mixture of cultures interacting and changing with one another. Just like its dialects, if one goes, they all do.