The Icon Hunter

by Tasoula Georgiou Hadjitofi

  Aristotle said it best: “Our judgments when we are pleased and friendly are not the same as when we are pained and hostile.” I want justice for the cultural cleansing of the northern part of Cyprus. There is an unrelenting need for me to expose the unprecedented looting that took place under Turkish military occupation and to understand why the rest of the world does nothing while Turkey continues to occupy our homeland. The invasion traumatized me, and as I struggle to integrate into the social fabric of the Netherlands, my repatriation efforts address my inner identity conflicts.

  I want to expose the dealers who traded in our looted cultural heritage. I was so lost in the details of wanting revenge that I didn’t realize my focus had changed. I’m not James Bond; I’m just a girl from Famagusta. Through prayer I gain clarity and abandon the idea of confronting Roozemond. There is enough negative energy circulating, and I will not generate any more of it. It is time for me to take stock of myself and get back to my real mission, which is to bring the artifacts home to Cyprus.

  Several months later, in mid-July, Van Rijn’s attorney faxes a letter to the British Museum, referring to a stolen Saint Peter icon currently in their possession. Van Rijn claims that he personally smuggled the icon out of Cyprus in 1982 and placed it in the hands of restorer Stavros Mihalareas, yet another Greek, who later sold it to the British Museum when he was unable to contact Van Rijn for several months.22

  I follow up with a letter to the British Museum stating that we are in a receipt of Mr. Van Rijn’s correspondence and are not in a position to comment on whether or not his statement is factual, but we inform the British Museum that the legal owner of the icon is the Church of Cyprus. As a representative of the Church, I ask to be kept abreast of the investigation.23 Phoning the director of the British Museum, I introduce myself as representing the Church in the matter of the Saint Peter icon and request an opportunity to meet with them in person.24

  Van Rijn appears suddenly, asking that I join him for lunch at the Bodega de Posthoorn, the place we first met.

  “Did you like my fax to the British Museum? They might not return the Parthenon Marbles to the Greeks, but they will give them to you, I’m sure,” he says, quite pleased with his actions. “I took the liberty to order some Dutch delicacies before you arrived.”

  With my knife I cut a hole in the croquette to release some of the steam, and say, “You presume everything is yours for the taking, don’t you?”

  He gives me one of his wounded little boy looks.

  “Where is your gratitude, woman? I expose the museum and myself, all for the love of you and your icons, and you still treat me as if I were a criminal.”

  “Do you think your confession justifies your actions?”

  My eyes are fixed on his, neither one of us willing to budge from our beliefs. Van Rijn shakes his head disappointedly.

  “God forgives, so why can’t you, Tazulaah? I thought you were a Christian!” he says with a hurt undertone.

  “Redemption happens when you come clean. You can’t have one leg in the criminal world and with the other pose as a hero.”

  “Whether it be avenging the Turks for what they did to your Cyprus or a desire for something else, you also operate according to your own agenda.”

  “I earn no salary, I volunteer to do this work, and I pay my own expenses. I live by my own moral code and ideology, neither of which is corruptible by people like you.”

  He’s right, there is resistance on my part to see him as the hero he sees himself to be. Granted, he is trying to help Cyprus, but Dikmen’s fingerprints are not the only ones all over our missing artifacts. Van Rijn is enmeshed in many of these deals and it aids my refusal to sing his praises.

  “I’m waiting for you to give me information without getting something back.”

  “You say I give you nothing without gaining. Look to a case in Greece. That’s all I am willing to say.”

  Jotting down his words on the back of a napkin, I wonder if this is another wild chase that leads to nowhere. There is a part of Van Rijn that is looking for redemption but he could be feeding me information to use as weaponry against the person he mentioned.

  Meanwhile, the Lanses’ lawyer disputes that the four icons are from the church of Antiphonitis. The Lanses maintain that we misidentified their icons. These assertions require me to contact Papageorgiou to obtain additional proof.25 Polak and I make a side-by-side comparison of photographs sent by Papageorgiou with those presented by the Lanses legal counsel. Pointing to both images that show the back side of the icons, Polak says, “In both photos, the signatures and the grain patterns in the wood are an exact match.” The case is again postponed until end of October. The Lanses receive another court extension until September, a reprieve that actually comes in the nick of time for me, too.26 I crave spending time with my family. When I am together with Michael and the children they are my world and there is nothing else in it. The quality of love and attention that I shower them with compensates for the times I cannot be with them. This is our normal way of life and together we thrive.

  Waiting in Schiphol airport for Ambassador Zenon to arrive, I can’t help but to wonder how our responsibilities will be divided. It could be quite useful to have his assistance in expediting government approvals, as cracking the government bureaucracy has proved near impossible thus far. The passengers deplane. The ambassador’s nickname among diplomats is “The Prince,” and I see why, as he walks with the step of a man who carries a great deal of importance. I give him the same warm greeting I give to everyone.

  “Welcome to the Netherlands.”

  Michael and I have him to our home for dinner almost every night. His laundry is even done by our domestic help. We want him to feel comfortable in his new home in The Hague while he waits for his wife and daughter to join him.

  It is common for Ambassadors to invite their staff and honorary consuls to attend the ceremony where they present their credentials to Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands. I’m not invited by the Ambassador, but I volunteer my staff to organize his celebration party.

  With the holiday season before us, I decide to view the situation in the best possible light and look forward to having a small break, if only to catch my breath. But this break is short lived when I realize that my company needs dire attention. In my compulsion to recover the artifacts, I leave Octagon in the hands of several different managers. My company’s bottom line has been affected adversely, and Michael is terribly upset with me for letting it get to that state.

  “If you continue to chase icons instead of looking after your company, you will soon be bankrupt. How can you do this! Do you realize we are personally liable for the credit line you took out?” He is right. I focus my energies on Octagon and pump some life back into it, and then turn my attention back to icon hunting.

  I can’t justify my obsession. What takes me away from my family and other responsibilities reflects a need to stop any “merchants of God” and the upper echelons of society that trade Cyprus’s cultural heritage out of greed.

  The ambassador summons me. I walk from my office to the Archipel neighborhood, one of the most prestigious areas of The Hague, and arrive at the new embassy at Surinamestraat 15. The Cypriot flag flies in front of the building.

  “Did you buy a bicycle yet?” I inquire. “Everyone in Holland has one, including our queen and prime minister.”

  Wearing a serious expression, he says, “Everywhere I go, people are talking about the honorary consul!”

  I assume he is teasing me until I realize he’s quite serious. I am liked in these diplomatic circles.

  “I pick up the newspapers and your picture is everywhere. You overshadow my position as ambassador. How can an embassy survive in this confusion?” he asks.

  “Alecos, I’m sorry, I don’t understand what the issue is. I’ve lived and worked in Holland for over fifteen years. I speak their language.”

  “Your work is eclipsing mine. Forget your direct contacts with the Ministry of
Foreign Affairs in Cyprus. You now report to them through me. Going forward I am to be copied on all of your correspondence,” he says.

  “Ambassador . . .” I begin, but he interrupts.

  “Very importantly, you are not to use your consular stationery on any correspondence having to do with the recovery of stolen artifacts.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say. “I’m an honorary consul.”

  Shaking his head to the contrary, he says, “You work for the Church. When it comes to repatriation, use their stationery. As the ambassador, I must be in control of what is happening in my territory, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Of course,” I respond.

  “We have two separate roles. I am government and you are the Church representative. The only government duties you have are to issue visas and renew passports. Even then, you will seek authorization from Cyprus via my embassy.”

  “This makes my situation more complicated,” I say. “The fact that I can utilize both Church and government positions sends a clear signal to the art traffickers that we work together. I need to lobby politicians—like now in the Lans case it is essential that I am able to use my title as consul. The Dutch government will not invoke the Hague Protocol until the Lans civil case is decided. Polak is advising me to go back to the Dutch government and ask the new minister of foreign affairs whether they will reconsider invoking the Protocol if the Church drops the civil case. This is why I need to utilize my consul position and work with you.”

  “Let me make this clear. You report to me. I report directly to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. My office briefs the media. Lastly, I will not do as you ask and risk the support of the Dutch for our entry into the EU, to help you recover four icons. That will be all,” he says.

  Wanting Zenon’s decision on record, I send a letter confirming his refusal to take action in the Lans case. The Church is now left to continue the civil case. This meeting with the ambassador creates problems for me. Being able to speak as both a consul of Cyprus and representative of the Church in repatriation efforts gives me leveraging power. Now that the ambassador has clipped those wings, I must figure a way to work around it.

  As a Church representative, I lobby two Dutch MPs who pose questions to the House of Parliament to Prime Minister Kok to implement the Hague Protocol so that the Netherlands may comply with their international obligations. The motion is done, and the reply from Minister of Justice Mr. Sorgdrager will be in October 1997.27, 28 My actions could worsen the situation between the ambassador and me, but it is the right step to take to recover the stolen artifacts Cyprus.

  Seventeen

  THE ROAD TO MUNICH

  Life and time move ever forward, and, like the rapid flow of sands in an hourglass, my search for the stolen artifacts approaches the decade mark. The location of the Saint Andreas mosaic continues to elude me. Van Rijn and I circle each other like two boxers in a ring waiting to land the punch that will declare one of us the winner. Knowing that the Saint Andreas holds personal value for me is exactly why he will never reveal its location, and thus our twisted “dance” continues. As long as he holds the key to its whereabouts, he believes he has the upper hand. The more proficient I become at repatriation, the more he tries to lure me with the promise that he is the only one who can deliver this particular artifact to me. We are becoming psychologically entwined.

  Van Rijn believes he is a reformed man because he is helping the government repatriate artifacts that he had a hand in profiting from. There is a desperate need in him to be acknowledged as a wrongdoer who turned his life around. I see a man whose established image of himself does not match up to his current actions. What drives his insatiable need for recognition I do not know, as Van Rijn and I never engage in personal discussion. I do see the person he aspires to be struggling to break free of the clever manipulator that he is, and I hold on to the hope that he will one day become the hero that he longs to be. He wants to turn me into a dealer like himself, and I wish him to be a completely reformed citizen.

  In facing off against Van Rijn I recognize a similar drive that lies within me. Living abroad as a foreign refugee, it is so important to feel that I fit in. I am considered different and not acknowledged as one of the Dutch. Going home to Cyprus, where I no longer have a vote, I am viewed as a foreigner. I’m longing to be one of the Dutch or one of the Cypriots, but I’m a little bit of both, which leaves me always on the outside of both places looking in for acceptance.

  Over the years I have managed to impress upon Van Rijn the impact that losing one’s cultural heritage has on a person, especially when that person is also a refugee. It’s important to me that everyone understands the value that cultural heritage holds and the role it plays in keeping communities together. As a child who experienced conflict and trauma, I choose to hold on to my happy memories of Cyprus. I believe that politics and religion tend to divide us. If we take the view that every archeological discovery or religious monument holds different, and important, memories for each one of us, it can serve as a neutral platform to discuss our different perspectives of history and faith. Cultural heritage holds shared memories and stories of civilizations that came before us. No one has a right to destroy these items, because they belong to humanity. The monuments serve as the silent witnesses of our shared history. Nicolas Roerich, the Russian archeologist and social activist, said, “Where there is peace, there is culture and where there is culture, there is peace.”

  My soul is immersed in the subject of cultural heritage, but time is running out for me. Michael wants to have another child, as he believes it unfair that Andreas has only Sophia as a sibling. Sophia’s mental challenges impose a great responsibility on Andreas, and Michael feels it would be unfair to deprive him of the experience of having a healthy sibling. As I approach the end of my thirties, Michael urges me to rise above my fears that something could go wrong during pregnancy again.

  “Leave the repatriation in the hands of your government,” he says. “You’ve done enough. Let the paid diplomats do the job.”

  The government will not put their full efforts behind repatriation so I cannot, in good conscience, abandon my mission at this time. I feel that I am the right person, at the right time, in the right place to do this job. Michael knows me better than anyone, and he sees me losing myself in this process, sacrificing the bits and pieces of my life that bring me into balance in order to grab the bits and pieces of information that lead me to recover stolen artifacts.

  Like Van Rijn, I also recognize that there is a sense of desperation within me. War has traumatized me, turned me into a refugee, and as I struggle to integrate into the social fabric of the Netherlands my repatriation efforts address my inner identity conflicts.

  Michael understands that my need to deal with my past has taken over, and he is doing everything in his power to prevent me from drifting further. The more he tries to exert control over me, the more I pull away. What is not apparent on the surface is that I believe the return of the artifacts to be a key to my own healing. My desire to rid myself of the betrayal I experienced due to war overrides everything else.

  The legal fees in Japan, Greece, Holland, and the U.K. are placing additional strain on the archbishop, which adds to the pressure I feel. Our witnesses are aging, and the court cases are long, with uncertain outcomes, given the weak laws in Europe regarding stolen art. The magnitude of the looting makes pursuing every case prohibitive. I search for more situations where we can work with alternative solutions instead of becoming mired in legal battles.

  Within the archbishop’s circles there are some who disapprove of using the Church’s resources for repatriation and of the trust he places in me. Anxiety brings sleepless nights and infiltrates my waking moments. At times I feel as if I am on the brink of collapse, but the adrenaline rush becomes my life preserver, keeping me afloat and intensely focused on winning this war at all costs.

  1997

  The first week of the New Year brings the witness hearing
s in the Lans case. This gives the defendants an opportunity to refute the Church’s claim that the sixteenth-century icons were stolen after the 1974 invasion. The Lanses’ attorney subpoenas Jan Fred van Wijnen, the Dutch journalist, to reveal the whereabouts of the Armenian dealer, Dergazarian, but the reporter refuses to do so. Van Wijnen’s article supports the Church’s claim that the stolen icons were purchased by the Lans couple after the war.

  Protecting the journalist’s right to protect his sources becomes the headline story across Dutch and other European newspapers. Everyone is following the Lans case now, especially other journalists who are vested in how the judge will rule in the matter. Instead of celebrating the wide attention the case is receiving, I find myself wondering how Ambassador Zenon will react. The judge and the Church’s attorney, Polak, each question the witnesses. Afterward, the judge’s findings are read aloud in court, and lawyers for each side respond to the judge’s comments.1

  My front-row seat to the legal process gives me insight into how much the laws differ from country to country in regard to art trafficking and how the lack of international unity creates loopholes for the criminals to slip through. I pray that the Dutch will respond as the Americans did in the Kanakaria case, in which Judge Noland ruled that the Kanakaria mosaics be returned to Cyprus. But the international laws are terribly flawed, and at the present time there is no one rallying to change them. I store that idea in my subconscious, knowing that my heart is committed to take on that challenge in the near future. Right now I must fight one battle at a time.

  I tell Michael that another trip to Cyprus is needed to discuss with the archbishop several issues that were raised during the Lanses’ questioning of witnesses.2 Caught up in arguing, we are unaware that Andreas has wandered into the kitchen.

  “What is it going to take for you to stop, Tasoula? Now you are off to Cyprus again when I am scheduled to go to Moscow!”