Does it become easier? Dealing with something so sensitive?

Does the pain ever go away?

Do you want it to go away?

Toughen up! Is it a good thing?

Can anyone really judge?

Do you have a choice?

Do we have a choice?

                                 Do I?

Are the memories a good thing?

That we are so attached?

If you are not part of it, why would you become part of it?

Anna Maria, Student, University of Nicosia, 11^th November 2016.

Ana Souto, Senior Lecturer, Nottingham Trent University, 23^rd November 2016.

I have to be part of it, I do not have a choice. I actually do not want to even have that choice, it feels like a responsibility, even though it is not.

Memories are such a terrible thing, they are crude, they can be overwhelming, and at the same time, without them, we cannot be ourselves anymore. We either manipulate memories to make them more palatable, to be able to survive, or simply dismiss them, send them to oblivion.

But those memories, narrative, histories, are ever present, you just need to be prepared to see them, engage with them, feel with them. They might be tangible or intangible, “official” or emotional, they are simply there.

I should not be here

It is not my country, my language, my conflict nor my trauma. But I do not feel like a tourist, just enjoying the sun and the food, and the company. It is my first trip to Cyprus, looking for Erasmus agreements with the universities here. And I want to know more, and see more, and understand more. Even if it is not my ‘place’, even if I am in the buffer zone and I am not allowed in here, and I am not supposed to take a picture and ultimately share it with you… here I am.

A sense of normality. It is warm, there is a nice terrace, why not have a coffee under the shade. Next to the Ledra crossing, by the buffer zone, with a tangible remain of the conflict as a background. A sense of normality, a familiar feature: the wall, the divided city. 

A wall is an angry piece of construction. A wall possesses no beauty or aesthetic sense. It divides rather than unifies. Why is there in the first place? Who is trying to keep whom out or who is trying to defeat whom? Almost from the moment of its birth, a wall is an insult to human freedom, a challenge to those whom it excludes. It was somehow calling out the ‘unbuilt’.

Birthler, Marianne, Lars Krukenberg, Wolfram Putz and Thomas Willemeit. Unbuilding Walls. From Death Strip to Freespace, Basel: Birkhauser, 2018, 49.

A frontier is not a wall, but a threshold. [...] So our ideal ought not to be a world without frontiers, but one where all frontiers are recognised, respected and permeable; a world, in fact, where respect for differences would start with the equality of all individuals, independent of their origin or gender.

Augé, Marc. Non-places: Introduction to an Anthropology of Supermodernity, London:  Verso Books, 2009, 15.

The Ethics of Fly-fishing

There are so many things I don't know about. Even when I learn about them, I still don't fully understand them. I didn't know anything about Agios Sozomenos in Cyprus nor the "Traffic of the North" in Norway, and its "Telavåg tragedy ", the so called memocide. I was not aware that something as brutal as a buffer zone could be invisible in the landscape of Agios Sozomenos. When tangible and intangible heritage entangled on visible and invisible memories, is it fair to bring those events back to the present? What is the ethics behind memory and remembrance?

Over two days we, the Creative Centre for Fluid Territories, occupied the deserted, remote, ruined village of Agios Sozomenos. We invaded it with installations, Russian whispers, strings from other lands; quiet dialogues with the landscape, rituals of some sort. And food, and songs, and walks, and talks, and memories. Other memories from afar and from not so far and yet a different land, a different language, a different other that makes me reflect on myself. Does that count as co-othering?

We come and go, nomads when we walk, when we talk and when we think and remember.

Over two days we occupied the idyllic, somehow remote village of Telavåg, in the periphery of Bergen, in the middle of Norway, the North Way, straight from the south, covered by the Saharan dust. Over two days we drove slowly, we listened, we talked, we drank nice cups of tea and ate comforting pancakes. We walked up and down the hilly landscape that always takes you to the water, those temporary paths or permanent creeks (or was it the other way around?), that always facilitate the access to the sea (or the Atlantic Ocean? We couldn't find a clear boundary on the map). Walks that remind you (or make you remember) that the sea was the way to freedom, the pathway of resistance. Retaliation.

These attempted memocides to erase Agios Sozomenos and Telavåg from history by destroying their built environment have promoted another form of memocide, a narrative that adds a constant tragedy to these remote villages in the periphery. They are forced to remember their tragedies, and this makes it rather difficult to move on, to enjoy, to live, to collect happy memories. Is it ethical to make happy memories in a village of tragedy?

What is the ethics of remembrance? "All wars are fought twice, the first time on the battlefield, the second time in memory"[1]. What should be remembered? How and by whom? Who owns memory?

Mi case es su casa, they usually say in Mexico. I always wondered what the right translation is: my home is your home, my house is your house, or is it my home is your house? If I visit Cyprus with an Erasmus agreement, or Norway with a research grant, and I get a warm welcome, coffee and chats with friends, are you sharing your house or your home with me? Can I take part in your remembrance and support the narrative of victimhood and resilience, punishment and defiance? Am I disturbing your home with my presence, tracing back those walks that led the people to death, displacement, non-places? How do you feel when I visit, and then I go, not leaving a trace behind, just taking quite a few pictures, new friendships and ideas which will influence my teaching, research and approach to my own traumas?

The Fly Fishers’ International Code of Angling Ethics explains the importance of ethical behaviour. The catch and release philosophy is the hallmark of this federation. Catch and release. Is that the ethics behind Nomadic Dialogues? Do we catch, or even anchor for a while, certain memories, and then release? Are we demonstrating some sort of skills or techniques which can be applied to different locations, topographies, contexts? In certain lands people catch with artificial flies, but they do not release the fish afterwards. It would be cruel to let go of that damaged fish. It is more ethical to eat it for dinner.

Kant explained as part of the Categorical Imperative[2]: do the right thing for the right reason, because it is the right thing to do. Duty based ethics. Deontological. It is our duty:

Artists are voices, the voices are a kind of freedom, with freedom comes responsibility.    

Ana Souto, Bergen, 2018, Nottingham 2019.

Peace2Peace is a bicommunal project of open-air crochet installations. The installations are created with the collaboration of Turkish-Cypriot and Greek-Cypriot women to celebrate creative interaction, break stereotypes, degrade prejudices and build friendships. All who wish are welcome to join us!! CONTACT Elena Daniel elenad313@gmail.com