A View From the 'Yes' Camp

Marina Christophides, in an article available here, gives a view from the possition of being part of the minority pro-Annan faction in the Greek Cypriot community:

EVER since the opinion polls first came out showing that an alarming number of you would ‘no’ at the forthcoming referendum, those of us in the ‘yes’ camp (yes, we do exist) have taken it upon ourselves to try and do our bit in an effort to sway public opinion. Convincing one a day has been our strategy, and we each follow our own tactics in order to achieve this. Some of us do it stridently, others calmly, others insistently. We keep our eyes and ears open, and, as soon as we spot a likely candidate, we zero in on him or her. Some of us don't even bother with niceties: as soon as we see a friend, acquaintance or meet someone new, we cut straight to the chase and ask: "Yes or no?".

We argue our case until the other person runs out of arguments or gives up, or is persuaded, and we move on, convinced we've done our duty and go home, or ring each other up, smug in the knowledge that we’ve managed to convince yet another person to come to their senses and see that there really is only one possible choice. To our horror and surprise, however, we have recently been coming across individuals who we had ticked off as being firmly in the ‘yes’ camp, but who we now find have switched to ‘no’. Suddenly, our efforts feel like an uphill struggle, a Sisyphean task.

When this happened to two of my best friends, both of who even have property on the other side, which they would be regaining, it suddenly hit me. Everyone is turning into a rhinoceros, and I remembered Romanian playwright Eugene Ionesco’s play of the same name.

Rhinoceros opens with two people sitting in a café in a small provincial town, when suddenly they hear the approaching noise of a powerful, heavy animal galloping at great speed, which tears past them. “Oh a rhinoceros!” says first one, then another of the bystanders in surprise. “Oh, a no voter,” I thought bemused, when I first encountered one.

Written as an allegory on the rise of fascism in Germany, the play touches on how easily people can be swayed by whatever their leaders tell them. It doesn’t even have to make sense. “All cats die,” argues one character, “Socrates is dead. Therefore, Socrates is a cat”. The solution will cost £16 billion. We can’t afford £16 billion. Therefore we don’t want a solution. It’s all gibberish, utter lunacy!

I could barely believe my ears when I first heard this kind of syllogism from yet another of my friends, who has a beautiful house on the beach in Famagusta. Instead of being delighted at the prospect of getting it back, she looked totally downcast, complaining that it was probably derelict and would require fixing, something she wouldn’t be able to afford. Not only that but she wouldn’t be getting it straight away. But, you’ve waited 30 years, what are a few months more? And if you don’t want it, you can sell it. What is the matter with people?

Or the argument against the settlers. The Annan plan allows for a certain number of settlers to stay. We don’t want any settlers therefore we say ‘no’ to the plan. This totally ignores the fact that the plan safeguards against the arrival of any more settlers whereas with a ‘no’ vote, settlers will continue to come to the north unhindered for ever. The whole thing is absurd.

As the play progresses, more and more people start to turn into rhinoceroses. A woman recognises her husband has turned into one, so dutifully joins him, and one by one all the characters follow suit, until by the end of it, only Berenger, the main character, is left.

Rhinoceritis is contagious. Berenger worries that he will catch it too. He tosses and turns in bed gripped by a nightmare that he’s turning into one, and is reassured by a friend that, no, his voice hasn’t become harsher.

I must admit that I too, in a moment of weakness, felt myself turning. “We shall be economically destroyed,” warned my doctor one day when I wasn’t feeling very well, and proceeded to outline all the reasons why doom and destruction were guaranteed if we went down the road towards reunification. I could almost feel myself growing a thick skin and a horn, only managing to shake it off thanks to more sensible financial arguments that take into account the land we will be getting back, the fact that the market will increase and that in the long term it can only be to our advantage.

It’s an epidemic, like influenza, says one of the characters in the play. It is here, too. The other day I was invited to tea at another friend’s house. When I asked her why she was a ‘no’, the reason she gave me was because everyone else was. “You’re the only one I know who is a yes,” she said looking at me as if I were the pachyderm.

I wonder if, like Berenger, I will reach a point where I dread to go out. His friend assures him: “They don’t attack you. If you leave them alone, they just ignore you. You can’t say they’re spiteful. They’ve even got a certain natural innocence, a sort of frankness.”

“Just the sight of them upsets me,” replies Berenger. “I don’t get angry – no, it doesn’t pay to get angry, you never know where it’ll lead to. I watch out for that. But it does something to me, here! (He points to his heart). I get a tight feeling inside.”

“I think you’re right to a certain extent to have some reaction,” says his friend. “But you go too far. You’ve no sense of humour, that’s your trouble, none at all. You must learn to be more detached, and try and see the funny side of things.” You get used to it, you know, he adds, and eventually he too turns into a rhinoceros.

I simply can’t get used to it, and, like Berenger, I feel a sense of responsibility. I feel involved, I just can’t be indifferent. So I speak out and am flabbergasted to find I am accused of being a fanatic, of selling out. Me, selling out? Can’t they see that by saying no they are selling out?

Yet despite everything, despite the numbers, I’m still optimistic. I do still occasionally hear sensible words coming from people at the helm. Although I fear that the one person whose opinion will count is himself secretly the arch rhinoceros, I am convinced that at the end of the day those sensible voices will prevail. If that happens, I have no doubt that the process will be reversed and the herd will vote ‘yes’.

Until then, like Berenger, I wave my fist at all you rhinoceroses out there and shout “I’ll never join up with you! Never! Not me!”