Even in death, she managed to remind us of what unites us—the human dimension of the Cypriot tragedy

If the spirit of peace and reconciliation remains alive to some extent in Cyprus, it is thanks to the efforts of individuals and organized groups outside the state apparatus. And Sevgül Uludag is one of those individuals who has done far more than anyone could imagine to promote peace among the people of the island and to heal our wounds. That is why her death has deeply shaken all those who knew her, whether personally or through her work.

Sevgül’s life, however, cannot be confined to the scope of a single article, and so I will not attempt to do so. After all, she did so much for this place. It is no exaggeration to say that she dedicated her life to Cyprus and to our collective trauma.

She was never afraid to speak out—whether against the occupation and the crimes of the Turkish army, or against those who exploited the pain of the missing persons for political gain. She opened our eyes to many things. After all, even though she linked her name to the tragedy of the missing, she was a woman who was not afraid to tackle the most sensitive issue of all: the rape of women in what we call the Cypriot tragedy.

I sincerely believe that it is difficult to grasp the magnitude of Sevgül’s loss to the country. Those of us who have done even the smallest part in the reunification movement know full well who paved the way. And Sevgul was one of them.

Sevgül never distinguished between whether the people being exhumed from wells or fields were Greek Cypriots or Turkish Cypriots. She never thought that any particular story would influence or validate the narrative of one side or the other. For her, the pain of the relatives of the missing transcended any narrative. The only justice she sought was for the families of those lost in our past, steeped in blood and hatred.

And this explains what we experienced after her death. This explains the countless online messages we saw posted by people who have no connection to what we call the “reunification movement.” Because Sevgül touched lives in a way that few have managed to do. Because she managed to bring closure to the unanswered questions in the lives of so many relatives of the missing. And so many are grateful to her for that. And she managed to earn the trust of even the most skeptical. Because she cared and approached every story she took on with unparalleled love and compassion.

This explains what we witnessed at her funeral. People from every community on the island—people from the right and the left, people you wouldn’t expect to see in the same place—honoring the same person. And yet, Sevgül managed to bring us all together. Even in her death, she managed to remind us of what unites us—the human dimension of the Cypriot tragedy.

Sevgül’s work is a legacy for Cyprus, and as such, I hope it will be put to good use. Her work captures the drama of this land with an unprecedented objectivity—one that deserved every honor and every recognition, both during her lifetime and after her death.

Like all those who worked so tirelessly for peace and reconciliation in the country, she faced the fury of nationalist hatred—from both sides. He faced the attacks with courage and knew exactly where he stood: on the side of truth, courage, and confrontation with whatever and whoever had led us to an occupied and divided homeland.

And in this way, Sevgül taught us not to give up. She taught us that we must always move forward and keep trying. A person who had seen the worst side of humanity—through the stories she herself unearthed—believed, at the same time, in the good in people. She believed that we can build a shared future—a future based on a full awareness of our past and a shared understanding of the need for a common future. With empathy, understanding, and care for our trauma.

On a personal level, I will remember Sevgül with that smile on her face. The smile of someone who knew she was fighting the good fight, the smile of someone who could find joy in the smallest things. Perhaps because she knew all too well what trauma means to people.

If Sevgül’s actions teach us anything, however, it is that the pain on the island has no nationality and cannot be weighed on a scale. And if anything, this pain and trauma could unite us. It could unite us in the pledge of “Never Again” and in the determination to chart a different course, to leave our children a better Cyprus than the one we inherited. Even now, it’s not too late.

Andromache Sophocleous is co-chair of Volt Cyprus