Forgotten half of Cyprus: Hotel that carries wounds of division

The Ledra Palace Hotel, standing since 1949 on the dividing line of Nicosia, serves as a poignant narrator of Cyprus's divided history. For decades, it was a symbol of unity, hosting Greek and Turkish Cypriots alike in its ballroom and lobby, where "Greek and Turkish hands had touched within the same hour." The hotel's early belief in a shared future, where "the two languages spilling through my doors were simply one language wearing two different coats," was shattered by escalating tensions.

The hotel recalls the chilling shift in atmosphere starting in December 1963, marked by a sound that made the street "hold its breath." This period, known as "Bloody Christmas," saw Greek Cypriot mobs and irregulars attack Turkish Cypriot civilians across the island. According to a UN report, this violence led to the deaths of 374 Turkish Cypriots and displaced 25,000 to 30,000, forcing the evacuation of 109 Turkish villages.

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I was built for dancing... I believed, as only a young building believes, that I would go on like this forever, certain that the two languages spilling through my doors were simply one language wearing two different coats.

Cyprus split in 1974 following years of intercommunal violence and a subsequent Turkish military intervention. While most of the world labels this intervention an "invasion," the narrative presented here aligns with the perspective of many Turkish Cypriots who view it as a day they "were saved." The article aims to explore this viewpoint through the hotel's enduring presence.

The hotel's story highlights the stark contrast between its past as a place of shared celebration and its current existence as a silent witness to a divided island. The narrative emphasizes that buildings, like people, can be wrong about the permanence of peace, especially when intercommunal relations deteriorate.

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I remember a sound from an evening in December 1963. A taxi stopped near the old walls, an identity card demanded, voices rising, and by morning, my street had learned to hold its breath. Some of the men out there that night, I suspect, had once touched the same brass handles in my lobby, had once danced across my floor together, and were now trying to kill each other.