May 28, 2026
We have no polls or statistics indicating how many Turkish Cypriots, -who are constantly waiting in border lines to cross to the other side of the island- took an interest in the parliamentary elections held in the Republic of Cyprus on May 24.
By a modest estimate, I assume the number was not very high.
After all, why should Turkish Cypriots care about this election, right?
On both sides of the island, many Cypriots have given up on closely following the daily politics of the “other” side long ago. They have no political say there, no political figure representing them, and no meaningful participation in the decisions shaping the Greek Cypriot community…
But in the end, whether we care or not doesn’t really change much. Because every political development on this island, every election result, every nationalist speech, every failed negotiation, every economic crisis, every diplomatic shift -no matter which side of the division we wake up on each morning- ultimately affects everyone living here.
And perhaps the fact that we continue to lead separate political lives despite being trapped within the same political fate is one of the strangest contradictions in Cyprus.
And the recent parliamentary elections in the Republic of Cyprus reminded us of this unsettling reality once again.
The rise of the far-right ELAM party drew attention not only outside the southern part of the island but also among many Turkish Cypriots in the north. For some, this deepened concerns about reunification and coexistence, while for others, it reaffirmed what they have long believed -the reality that the island is drifting further away from a federal future.
However, the elections also brought to light something deeper than nationalism.
Distrust…
Distrust of traditional political parties. Distrust of institutions. Mistrust of corruption scandals, economic pressures, and a political system perceived as increasingly detached from ordinary citizens. In this sense, Cyprus is not all that far removed from the broader political climate currently shaping Europe and many parts of the world.
And perhaps at this point, many Cypriots on both sides of the island resemble one another more than they realize. Because despite living under nearly opposite conditions -one a state recognized internationally as a member of the European Union, the other an unrecognized administration economically dependent on Turkey- both communities are increasingly converging on the same sentiments: political fatigue, economic uncertainty, demographic anxiety, and the gradual loss of faith in long-promised solutions.
Cyprus’s tragedy now stems not only from the island’s division on the map but also from the normalization of the divide between the two communities… In fact, the normalization of this divide may be the primary factor in the perpetuation of the unsolved status on the map.
The seats reserved for Turkish Cypriots in the Republic of Cyprus’s parliament have remained empty for decades… Yet today, these seats symbolize far more than just a constitutional paralysis; they represent a community suspended between existence and nonexistence.
Turkish Cypriots are citizens of the Republic of Cyprus on paper; many hold a Republic of Cyprus passport and, consequently, European Union citizenship. Yet for many living in the north, this citizenship is experienced from a distance- disconnected from direct political participation, removed from state institutions, and increasingly detached from the daily civilian life in the south of the island.
They live in Cyprus, yet they often remain outside the political reality of the Republic of Cyprus.
Isn’t one of Cyprus’s most painful realities that the sense of belonging -which is already lacking beyond the divided territories- is slowly normalizing over time?
April 27, 2026
THE FIRST DAY OF GOODNESS
A short story by
Elvan Levent
On the very first day he decided to do everything right, he went to church and lit a candle. If he had found the priest, he would have confessed his sins, but he couldn’t find him. After all, from now on he was going to be a good man. He wouldn’t steal, he wouldn’t kill, he wouldn’t even lie. He would sit there and wait for the priest for a while, just to say those things.
While waiting, he became so absorbed in the ceiling, adorned with paintings of angels, that he didn’t even notice his neck going numb. But it was a pleasant numbness. His heart was filled with peace. He was amazed that for all these years, he had deprived himself of such peace. He would certainly come back to this church. He would light a candle, confess his sins, and ask God to forgive him for all the wrongs he had done. Nevertheless, the most important thing was to take that first step.
Now, as he stepped back out onto the street, he felt just like a newborn baby. He took a deep breath, looked around, and, thinking that every step he would take from now on would be like words never before written on a clean page, turned right and walked on. He turned right because the left side of this street held memories he didn’t want to recall. But now wasn’t the time to think about those. Now he would board the bus number 43 and head straight for the city’s only mental hospital. There, he would find his mother, and after telling her everything, he would take her wrinkled, trembling little hands in his own and apologize to her.
He felt something catch in his throat and coughed. He coughed again. Maybe he shouldn’t say anything at all-he should just apologize. He stopped walking and coughed until tears streamed from his eyes. A warmth washed over him. Feeling the tiny beads of sweat gathering on his forehead and nose, he rubbed his face with his hand.
He was standing in front of the huge window of a huge store. On the huge TV in the window, a beautiful woman was sunbathing on a sunny beach. He stared blankly at the woman on the screen for a while. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to bring his mother a small gift. Maybe a flower, maybe a box of chocolates… His mother loved chocolate. He smiled faintly to himself. Just then, he sensed a pair of eyes staring intently at him and turned his head.
It was a young woman standing in the corner of the store, holding a small child in her arms. When he looked at her, she lowered her eyes as if embarrassed. He had no doubt that this woman was begging for money here. He approached her. He could tell from her breathing that she was nervous. He tilted his head slightly, trying to look at her face. She swallowed hard but didn’t lift her eyes to meet his. Maybe she was afraid to look. He wanted to take out some money and give it to her, but he didn’t know how to do it. Because he had never given money to a beggar in his entire life. He stepped back a bit and looked at the store window again. The beautiful woman on the TV was still sunbathing on the beach. Suddenly, he noticed his own reflection in the window’s glass. He pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows slightly. With his white shirt, black jacket, and the thick gold ring glinting on his pinky finger, he didn’t look half bad, to be honest. He took a deep breath and approached the woman again. The child in her arms was still asleep. He thought the child resembled the angels painted on the church ceiling. He pulled his wallet from his pocket and glanced at the money inside. But just as he was about to pull out a few bills, a punch he didn’t see coming knocked him off balance, and he collapsed to the ground.
A few seconds later, when he got back to his feet, neither his wallet nor the beggar woman was in sight. He gently touched his cheek with his hand and moved his jaw. “Maybe I should have gone to see my mother before the church,” he thought to himself.
Photograph: Xinhua/Alamy
March 10, 2026
Two shades of death:
Who the World Mourns - and Who It Forgets
In an article questioning justice or the hypocrisy of justice on behalf of the unnamed victims whose deaths are glossed over, the least fashionable name I would quote would probably be Noam Chomsky. And perhaps no additional reference was needed to see how the victims who died/were killed in someone else's war, for someone else's interests, were divided into ‘valuable’ and ‘worthless’ – it was enough to look at the coffins lined up in rows and the framed photo of a little girl placed in front of each coffin.
After the US and Israel attacked Iran on February 28, a primary school in the city of Minab was bombed. Approximately 165 people were killed in this attack, the vast majority of them children. A few days later, thousands of Iranians marched behind the coffins at a mass funeral.
The first reports of this attack in international news bulletins were full of uncertain information; it was stated that a school in Iran had been hit, but the initial reports did not confirm whether there had been an attack, whether there had been casualties, or who had hit the school. The day after the attack, as the news of the school being hit was confirmed, photos and videos began to emerge. The images showed parents clutching their children's belongings and weeping amid the ruins of the destroyed building. It was a heartbreaking, horrific scene. Who would be held accountable for such a tragedy on the first day of the attack? Who could be held accountable?
Today, more than ten days after this attack, no one has taken responsibility for it, let alone been held accountable. And in the face of this massacre of children, no voice has been raised anywhere. In no city in any country have crowds filled the streets shouting, “We are all Iranian children!” Yes, you remember correctly, about 11 years ago, 11 people were killed and the same number were injured in an attack on the Paris office of Charlie Hebdo. Immediately after this attack, many protests were held in all of France's major cities, attended by tens of thousands of people. Not only in France, but also in the United States, Canada, Australia, and many European capitals... Thousands of people took to the streets in London, Berlin, Barcelona, and Amsterdam with “Je Suis Charlie” banners, and social media profile pictures of people from all nations were covered in the colors of the French flag. The repercussions of the Charlie Hebdo attack in Paris lasted for months.
The demonstrations did not stop. The international media scrutinized this event in all its dimensions, examined it from every possible angle, wrote and drew about it, and asked every possible question. This is just one of the first examples that comes to mind, but there are many other incidents similar to the reactions to the Charlie Hebdo attack that we could list.
In 2020, when George Floyd was shot by police in Minneapolis, we witnessed days of unrelenting global outrage and large demonstrations involving thousands of people.
Yes, this murder reeked of racism and, in essence, sparked a powerful uprising against the injustice brought about by unresolved racial discrimination. And this was a justified uprising. Just like the reactions to the Charlie Hebdo attack...
But while such strong and mass reactions were shown against a terrorist attack and a racist murder committed by the police, how is it that the bombing and killing of dozens of young children is of no concern to anyone anywhere in the world?
The day we can answer this question without resorting to excuses, we may be able to look children in the face without shame.
Undoubtedly, the media—all of it—plays a major role in this silence.
First of all, news coming out of Iran, where this incident took place—especially since the attack began—is quite limited and difficult to verify, due to both the country's internet being cut off and the censorship imposed. Nevertheless, it is known that Al Jazeera, Reuters, and CNN reporters were allowed to remain in Iran and continue their work. However, the scale of the massacre and the fact that it was carried out by a country rather than an individual or organization placed a great responsibility on the media outlets reporting the news, so the reports were conveyed without definitively assigning responsibility to any party. The failure to definitively identify the perpetrator prevented a widespread public response.
On the other hand, after the joint attack by the US and Israel on Iran, Iran's retaliatory counterattack quickly created a ring of fire in the region, and everyone became preoccupied with their own problems. From the tourists held hostage to the sectors suffering economic damage, the focus of this war changed by the hour. And then we saw that the state of world markets and rising oil prices, the possibility of an oil crisis, all these news stories overshadowed the fact that dozens of children had been killed by a bomb dropped on the first day of the attack.
When asked about the school attack, some Israeli officials responded without hesitation, saying, “These things happen in war, no need to make a big deal out of it.” Whether the school was hit intentionally or by mistake, it doesn't change the horrific reality it created or the international community's silence in the face of this massacre. However, it seems that the fact that this attack, which targeted children, did not provoke any serious reaction has cooled the spirits of those who are passing the blame around like a volleyball. Trump explicitly stated that Iran carried out this attack because Iran often misses its targets, a claim Trump made without citing any evidence or sources, while other American officials continue to repeat that the investigation into the matter is ongoing. However, all the data received so far regarding this attack points to America as the responsible party.
Moreover, when Israel attacked Iran in June last year, killing six nuclear physicists, didn't they boast that they knew every square kilometer of Iran like the back of their hand? How could they not know that the building they targeted was a school, in a geography they know so well and in an attack they had been preparing for years?
Therefore, the claim that the school was located right next to an Iranian Revolutionary Guard base and may have been targeted by mistake does not sound very convincing from this perspective.
All of this leads us to believe that this attack was deliberate. According to some sources, the school in Minab was specifically targeted because a female teacher who was a relative of Khamenei taught there.
After all these assessments, the point we arrive at leads us back, again and again, to the same dark alley:
The geography where a crime takes place, where a massacre occurs, determines the value assigned to the victims.
If we weren't constantly informed about crimes committed anywhere in the world today...
If we didn't have all the technological capabilities that allow us to access almost any news we want right now, we might have an excuse for how we react or don't react. But we don't have such an excuse.
Worse still, our unprecedented access to information has not moved a single stone toward changing the unjust global order shaped by the world’s unequal balance of power.
And until those stones are moved, we will continue to imagine that we are ascending, our faces turned toward the rising steps of a downward-moving escalator.
December 4, 2025
The Sad Truth of a Comedy Night
by Elvan Levent
It is not very common to write negative reviews in Cyprus—especially when it comes to books, films, theatre productions or exhibitions. No matter how bad something is, the reviews are either positive, or there are no reviews at all. In a way, it is shocking. There is even something quite pathetic about it.
On the other hand, Russians always had the opposite attitude: why would anyone open their mouth if it wasn’t for the sake of criticism?
And the truth is, in the absence of 'honest' criticism, expectations are quite low—and vice versa.
I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about all this while sitting at a stand-up comedy show last weekend at Shamrock Live Bar in Famagusta. Some women were laughing so often and so loudly that I had to turn around to make sure it wasn’t canned laughter. No—it was real.
To be honest, I was quite surprised when I first heard about the show:
Yan Zubkov—a Russian stand-up comedian in North Cyprus?
Although there is a considerable amount of Russian-speaking community on both sides of the island, Russian entertainment is mostly concentrated in the South. I had never heard of Yan Zubkov (to my shame—as Stanislav Belkovsky always points out), but that hardly mattered. I was curious to soak up the atmosphere and to write something nice about it—something nice. Like a true Cypriot.
The organisers were Russian-speaking people from something called Legend Event Agency—another name I had never heard before, which only made me more curious. A young woman told me on the phone that tickets for the first floor were €20, and for the second floor, €35. She added that if I wanted to watch the show without interruptions, I should sit on the second floor. Of course.
When I arrived with a friend, the same young woman was at the door selling tickets. She immediately told us the price would be €70 for both of us and added that she hoped we would pay the exact amount so that she wouldn’t have to give change.
It wasn’t so much what she said as the way she said it.
It had been so long since I was last reminded of the salesgirls in Moscow shops in the early 2000s. They would hate you the moment you walked in, and for the entire time you spent inside, they would make sure you bought nothing—answering every question with an immediate “No,” in a tone that suggested you somehow owed them your very existence.
If you think that after paying €35 each we ended up seated on the second floor, you are clearly lost in that big Russian world, I must say.
We were placed on the first floor, at a table already occupied by a Russian man without any explanation. And although three large skinheads in tracksuits were sitting in front of us (the kind you might once have associated with the Saint Petersburg underworld), the view was surprisingly clear.
First, a very young girl walked onto the stage, with the air of someone freshly woken from sleep, and announced that she was there to “warm up” the audience. Trying to do so, she asked the three skinheads, “What do you do?” And she quickly added, “Or is it a secret?”
The main skinhead replied: “The answer to your question is in the question itself.”
I do not remember the sleepy girl’s name. And it is a shame, because although she wasn’t funny, she was at least bearable. At some point she announced that her jokes were finished and asked whether the “guest” was ready.
So when Yan Zubkov finally appeared on stage, most of the audience was warmed up and ready to laugh at almost any idiocy.
What do you think he told us?
Exactly. He told us his life story, constructed from various criminal episodes from his youth in the United States, delivered in a torrent of slang and profanity and absolutely in an unskilled manner of speaking that could only produce a massive headache. Yes, that ‘beautiful’ russkiy mat (Russian street slang) Russians are so proud of was completely trashed in the mouth of this young man who behaved as if merely opening his mouth and saying something—automatically made it funny.
I mean, being a comedian is difficult enough as it is. But performing on stage while carrying the weight of a war in which your country attacking and killing innocent people—and the knowledge of repression of those who disagree—makes the task even heavier. So either don't talk about the “good life” in your country, or tell better jokes. That is after he had finally finished talking about his criminal past in the US.
Earlier, he asked whether anyone had seen him on YouTube. Oh no—I hadn’t watched him on YouTube, so as not to spoil the show. Perhaps I should have. Because I have never seen anything worse on stage than Yan Zubkov show. And trust me, I have seen a lot.
Later, of course, I tracked down one of his shows online—and went straight to the comments.
And yes, there is a considerable amount of Russian-speaking audience that is crazy about Yan Zubkov.
And so, here was the reality I had to face:
I was born in the USSR—which I never knew. And I loved Russia that no longer exists.
Essay
FEELING FEAR AND LOATHING IN MOSCOW
November 11, 2025
One Friday evening I got a message from a friend. It has contained five names of people who were declared «foreign agents» by the Ministry of Justice. The term is obscure and vague and if the state wants to create problems for you or to force you to emigrate, it can name you the one.
Some of the names sound familiar, one of them is mine. I understand that it is a bad joke, but I still check the ministry's official site. My name is not there and I take a deep brief. I am not angry. I understand that it is just kind of black humour, but it is not good day for me in any case.
I know that deep inside me, I have a feeling of fear. I joke, I even do stand-up comedy occasionally, I talk to my friends and loved ones, but I still feel fear.
“The shells are landing nearby,” said another friend as we talked about “foreign agents.” By “bullets,” he didn’t mean the real ones flying in the war between Russia and Ukraine, but rather the fact that some people we both knew had been labeled as “foreign agents.” While the authorities claim that the Russian law is modelled on a U.S. World War II–era law, that is not the case. With that label, you cannot work or live normally — and if you are a known figure, the media will be reluctant to speak to you at all.
In the past, we used to crack jokes about the Comrade Major who was listening in on our phone calls. However, reality bites. Yes, it is possible to access Youtube videos through the VPN devices, but the authorities are deliberately jamming popular messages like WhatsApp or Telegram. You can text, but it is almost impossible to make calls. They say that they do it to protect people from unwanted calls by scammers, but we all know the truth. They want us to communicate less.
A Western friend who still resides in Moscow has recently sent me a Zoom link to talk about harmless subject. «I don’t trust anyone and I feel fear», he confessed to me.
All of this is done to give way to the new state messenger called Max, advertised by government officials and even patriotic celebrities. A school girl told her mother that in her class Max messenger was advertised even during the class. However, after her fellow classmate said jokingly that he would never give up his Telegram the teacher looked angrily and promised to bring him to a school principle.
Of course, in Moscow you can still live the way you want. Or pretend to do so, even the drones sometimes reach the city.
On a nice sunny day, everything looks bright. Workers in orange uniforms fix the road; a police officer directs traffic; a couple kisses on a park bench. The headline of the local paper shows a giant watermelon — the landmark of the local festival.
“The Russian economy is showing resilience,” a visiting professor from one of the BRICS countries tells me as we stroll around the city. Yes, «resilience» is a good word and while inflation is increasing, construction is slowing and people have stopped buying new cars and fridges, trying to make ends meet while the rich Russians become even richer.
A recent visit to one of Moscow’s cemeteries revealed a sea of national flags and military insignias. Many of the tombstones bear the faces of young men. I notice a crying woman in her mid-forties standing by her son’s grave. She begins to talk to me about him — “eager to defend his motherland,” yet “thrown into battle without ammunition.” I could have told her that this war is criminal and unjustified but what can I tell to crying young woman?
Travelling to the Eastern Siberia this summer for a research I see the same posters advertising military service like in Moscow, although the payment is lower. A female taxi driver who gives me a ride talks about local news: bad roads, corruption in the local government and how hard it is to make money now. She mentions the war in passing. A 28-year-old son of her friend wakes up at night with panic attacks. Although in a way he is lucky — he was wounded and cannot return to the front.
Many will never return, and if the war continues for another year, its spirit will be comparable to that of the Great Patriotic War — a different battle in which both Ukrainians and Russians fought against Nazi Germany. But the old war is now being used to justify the new one. I feel this especially as I attend a concert organized by the Belarusian and Russian authorities in Moscow.
The concert begins with the Russian state official talking about «Kiev junta» and all the propaganda garbage, but I do not pay attention. I listen to the World War II songs, while watching the images of children in the Minsk ghetto. Those images are unbearable to watch. «Children shouldn’t die in someone else's war, » sings the chorus.
I leave the hall in the middle of the concert, feeling devastated. “History repeats itself,” someone once said. But maybe it is our fault — that we repeat history just to prove to someone that we are still a great power. A power that cares little about its own people. “People are the new oil,” a political commentator said cynically.
«We have changed during those three years. People began to treat each other more indifferently», said a priest of my local church. I agree, because indifference is worse than evil.
In the meantime, I watch an interview with the legendary Soviet and Russian pop diva Alla Pugacheva, who was forced to leave the country after her husband, the popular comedian Maxim Galkin, was declared a “foreign agent.”
A woman who once performed for the rescue workers and firefighters in Chernobyl after the nuclear disaster now “sees no evil”. She speaks calmly about both friends and enemies — and about the country she loves. “Patriotism is telling your country when it’s wrong”, she says..
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Editorial note: AVFRI has chosen to protect the author’s identity due to safety concerns.