As the European Union debates new measures and sanctions in response to conflicts abroad—particularly in the Middle East—a quieter, unresolved question lingers much closer to home. For more than half a century, the Republic of Cyprus, a full member of the European Union, has lived divided. The northern part of the island has remained under Turkish military control since 1974, when Turkey invaded following a coup supported by the Greek junta. That invasion resulted in the continuing occupation of the northern part of the Republic of Cyprus, a situation that has endured for fifty years on European soil.
In recent months, several voices within Europe have called for sanctions against Israel over its military operations in Gaza, citing international law and humanitarian concerns. Whether one supports those calls or not, the debate itself demonstrates the Union’s readiness to contemplate punitive action against a third country for what it deems violations of international law. Yet when the same logic would apply to Turkey’s occupation of Cyprus, a fellow EU member state, the political will to act evaporates.
Since 1974, the island of Cyprus has remained partitioned. Tens of thousands of Turkish troops are still stationed in the north, and a self-declared ‘Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus’ persists without international recognition. Successive rounds of United Nations–sponsored negotiations have failed to deliver reunification. The result is a de facto occupation that has lasted longer than the Cold War itself on European territory, under UN supervision, and within a Union that prides itself on upholding law and justice.
Yet this reality rarely features in European debates about international law or foreign policy. When Europe speaks of Russia’s war in Ukraine, or of Belarus’s repression, or of Israel’s military actions, it does so in moral and legal terms: respect for sovereignty, rejection of occupation, defence of human rights. But when it comes to Cyprus, a member state living under the shadow of occupation, that moral clarity fades into the language of ‘dialogue’ and ‘confidence-building measures.’
To speak plainly of ‘occupation’ in the Eastern Mediterranean has become politically uncomfortable. Brussels avoids the term altogether, preferring to describe the island’s division as a ‘situation’ to be resolved through negotiation. Diplomatically, such caution may be understandable. Politically and morally, it is indefensible.
Principles in practice or in name only?
The European project was built on the premise that power must be restrained by law, that borders cannot be changed by force, and that small states enjoy the same protection as large ones. These are the principles the EU invokes when defending Ukraine’s sovereignty and imposing sanctions on Russia. They are the principles it cites in condemning electoral manipulation and repression in Belarus. They underpin its calls for proportionality and humanitarian access in Gaza.
But when those very principles would oblige the Union to confront a NATO ally and candidate country over its occupation of EU territory, the rhetoric of principle yields to the calculus of interest.
The inconsistency is more than symbolic. It erodes Europe’s credibility as a moral and geopolitical actor. If the EU’s defence of international law is selective, if it depends on the political convenience of the moment, then its claim to represent a “community of values” becomes fragile indeed. Other actors notice. Moscow, Beijing, and Ankara all see a Europe willing to wield moral arguments when they cost little, and to abandon them when they might prove inconvenient.
To be sure, there are reasons for the EU’s cautious approach. Turkey remains a strategic actor: a NATO ally, a key partner in migration management, and an energy corridor linking Europe to the Caucasus and the Middle East. It is also a candidate for EU membership, bound to the Union through a customs union and a dense network of trade, migration, and security arrangements.
Turkey’s economic ties with major member states—from Germany and Italy to Spain and the Netherlands—create strong commercial incentives to preserve a stable relationship. This interdependence, and Europe’s dependence on Turkey’s cooperation in containing migration flows, has given rise to what diplomats call ‘strategic pragmatism.’
In practice, however, that pragmatism often means paralysis. When the interests of a powerful partner collide with the rights of a small member state, principle tends to yield to expedience. Cyprus thus becomes, in effect, a ‘special case,’ one that elicits sympathy, but little concrete action.
The cost of inconsistency
Yet selective application of principles carries its own strategic and moral costs. When Europe defends sovereignty and territorial integrity abroad but remains muted about violations within its own territory, it weakens its moral coherence. The EU’s influence in world affairs depends less on its military power than on the integrity of its voice on the perception that it stands for a consistent set of values.
The Union itself has often declared that it must be “present and consistent whenever democratic principles, the rule of law, human rights, and international law are violated.” But consistency is precisely what has been lacking in the case of Cyprus.
The EU has repeatedly expressed solidarity with the Republic of Cyprus and reaffirmed its support for the island’s sovereignty and territorial integrity. Council conclusions, European Parliament resolutions, and statements by the High Representative all echo that line. Yet this rhetorical solidarity has rarely translated into effective policy. When Nicosia raised the prospect of sanctions against Turkey for its continued military presence and illegal drilling activities within Cyprus’s Exclusive Economic Zone, the proposal failed, blocked by hesitation and competing national interests.
The message such failures send is corrosive: that violations of a small member state’s sovereignty are tolerable if the violator is large enough, powerful enough, or strategically useful enough. That message, in turn, undermines the very foundation of the European project.
The Cyprus question may appear peripheral to the great strategic debates of our time, but it is in fact central to them. The Union cannot convincingly condemn Russia’s annexation of Ukrainian territory while ignoring Turkey’s continued occupation of European soil. Nor can it claim to champion the rule of law abroad while allowing a violation of that law to persist within its own borders.
To act consistently does not require moral absolutism or geopolitical recklessness. It requires honesty, proportion, and a willingness to uphold the same standards everywhere. The EU could begin by clearly acknowledging that the division of Cyprus is incompatible with its own founding vision: a Europe whole, free, and governed by law.
It could provide stronger political backing for UN-led reunification efforts, greater protection of cultural and religious heritage in the occupied areas, and sustained attention to property rights and the plight of displaced persons. It could make clear, through words and deeds, that the occupation of EU territory, however politically sensitive, is not a matter that can be indefinitely ignored.
Memory, principle, and the European idea
Part of the challenge is one of memory. The Cyprus issue has receded from Europe’s collective consciousness, overshadowed by newer crises in Ukraine, the Middle East, the Sahel and by the convenient belief that “strategic pragmatism” must always take precedence. Yet memory matters. The European Union defines itself as a project born of memory of the determination that law should triumph over power, and that injustice, once recognized, should not be forgotten.
Forgotten occupations, however, do not cease to exist simply because they are inconvenient to recall. Their persistence quietly undermines the Union’s claim to moral seriousness.
Europe’s moral authority and its ability to persuade rather than coerce depends on its willingness to apply its own principles evenly, whether in Kyiv, Minsk, Gaza, or Nicosia. Selective sanctions and selective silence alike erode that authority.
The division of Cyprus is not merely a regional anomaly; it is a European contradiction. Half a century after the invasion, the time has come for the Union to confront that contradiction with clarity, determination and resolve.
To restore coherence to its foreign policy, Europe must recover the memory of its own unfinished business. It must understand that the moral authority it claims abroad will endure only if it is exercised consistently at home. A Union that tolerates occupation within its own borders cannot credibly demand that others respect international law.
If the European Union truly believes that peace depends on justice, then it must apply that justice equally, not only in the conflicts that dominate headlines, but also in the ones it has allowed to fade into silence.
Forgotten Occupation, Selective Sanctions
Nicosiaphotoinform, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons
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As the European Union debates new measures and sanctions in response to conflicts abroad—particularly in the Middle East—a quieter, unresolved question lingers much closer to home. For more than half a century, the Republic of Cyprus, a full member of the European Union, has lived divided. The northern part of the island has remained under Turkish military control since 1974, when Turkey invaded following a coup supported by the Greek junta. That invasion resulted in the continuing occupation of the northern part of the Republic of Cyprus, a situation that has endured for fifty years on European soil.
In recent months, several voices within Europe have called for sanctions against Israel over its military operations in Gaza, citing international law and humanitarian concerns. Whether one supports those calls or not, the debate itself demonstrates the Union’s readiness to contemplate punitive action against a third country for what it deems violations of international law. Yet when the same logic would apply to Turkey’s occupation of Cyprus, a fellow EU member state, the political will to act evaporates.
Since 1974, the island of Cyprus has remained partitioned. Tens of thousands of Turkish troops are still stationed in the north, and a self-declared ‘Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus’ persists without international recognition. Successive rounds of United Nations–sponsored negotiations have failed to deliver reunification. The result is a de facto occupation that has lasted longer than the Cold War itself on European territory, under UN supervision, and within a Union that prides itself on upholding law and justice.
Yet this reality rarely features in European debates about international law or foreign policy. When Europe speaks of Russia’s war in Ukraine, or of Belarus’s repression, or of Israel’s military actions, it does so in moral and legal terms: respect for sovereignty, rejection of occupation, defence of human rights. But when it comes to Cyprus, a member state living under the shadow of occupation, that moral clarity fades into the language of ‘dialogue’ and ‘confidence-building measures.’
To speak plainly of ‘occupation’ in the Eastern Mediterranean has become politically uncomfortable. Brussels avoids the term altogether, preferring to describe the island’s division as a ‘situation’ to be resolved through negotiation. Diplomatically, such caution may be understandable. Politically and morally, it is indefensible.
Principles in practice or in name only?
The European project was built on the premise that power must be restrained by law, that borders cannot be changed by force, and that small states enjoy the same protection as large ones. These are the principles the EU invokes when defending Ukraine’s sovereignty and imposing sanctions on Russia. They are the principles it cites in condemning electoral manipulation and repression in Belarus. They underpin its calls for proportionality and humanitarian access in Gaza.
But when those very principles would oblige the Union to confront a NATO ally and candidate country over its occupation of EU territory, the rhetoric of principle yields to the calculus of interest.
The inconsistency is more than symbolic. It erodes Europe’s credibility as a moral and geopolitical actor. If the EU’s defence of international law is selective, if it depends on the political convenience of the moment, then its claim to represent a “community of values” becomes fragile indeed. Other actors notice. Moscow, Beijing, and Ankara all see a Europe willing to wield moral arguments when they cost little, and to abandon them when they might prove inconvenient.
To be sure, there are reasons for the EU’s cautious approach. Turkey remains a strategic actor: a NATO ally, a key partner in migration management, and an energy corridor linking Europe to the Caucasus and the Middle East. It is also a candidate for EU membership, bound to the Union through a customs union and a dense network of trade, migration, and security arrangements.
Turkey’s economic ties with major member states—from Germany and Italy to Spain and the Netherlands—create strong commercial incentives to preserve a stable relationship. This interdependence, and Europe’s dependence on Turkey’s cooperation in containing migration flows, has given rise to what diplomats call ‘strategic pragmatism.’
In practice, however, that pragmatism often means paralysis. When the interests of a powerful partner collide with the rights of a small member state, principle tends to yield to expedience. Cyprus thus becomes, in effect, a ‘special case,’ one that elicits sympathy, but little concrete action.
The cost of inconsistency
Yet selective application of principles carries its own strategic and moral costs. When Europe defends sovereignty and territorial integrity abroad but remains muted about violations within its own territory, it weakens its moral coherence. The EU’s influence in world affairs depends less on its military power than on the integrity of its voice on the perception that it stands for a consistent set of values.
The Union itself has often declared that it must be “present and consistent whenever democratic principles, the rule of law, human rights, and international law are violated.” But consistency is precisely what has been lacking in the case of Cyprus.
The EU has repeatedly expressed solidarity with the Republic of Cyprus and reaffirmed its support for the island’s sovereignty and territorial integrity. Council conclusions, European Parliament resolutions, and statements by the High Representative all echo that line. Yet this rhetorical solidarity has rarely translated into effective policy. When Nicosia raised the prospect of sanctions against Turkey for its continued military presence and illegal drilling activities within Cyprus’s Exclusive Economic Zone, the proposal failed, blocked by hesitation and competing national interests.
The message such failures send is corrosive: that violations of a small member state’s sovereignty are tolerable if the violator is large enough, powerful enough, or strategically useful enough. That message, in turn, undermines the very foundation of the European project.
The Cyprus question may appear peripheral to the great strategic debates of our time, but it is in fact central to them. The Union cannot convincingly condemn Russia’s annexation of Ukrainian territory while ignoring Turkey’s continued occupation of European soil. Nor can it claim to champion the rule of law abroad while allowing a violation of that law to persist within its own borders.
To act consistently does not require moral absolutism or geopolitical recklessness. It requires honesty, proportion, and a willingness to uphold the same standards everywhere. The EU could begin by clearly acknowledging that the division of Cyprus is incompatible with its own founding vision: a Europe whole, free, and governed by law.
It could provide stronger political backing for UN-led reunification efforts, greater protection of cultural and religious heritage in the occupied areas, and sustained attention to property rights and the plight of displaced persons. It could make clear, through words and deeds, that the occupation of EU territory, however politically sensitive, is not a matter that can be indefinitely ignored.
Memory, principle, and the European idea
Part of the challenge is one of memory. The Cyprus issue has receded from Europe’s collective consciousness, overshadowed by newer crises in Ukraine, the Middle East, the Sahel and by the convenient belief that “strategic pragmatism” must always take precedence. Yet memory matters. The European Union defines itself as a project born of memory of the determination that law should triumph over power, and that injustice, once recognized, should not be forgotten.
Forgotten occupations, however, do not cease to exist simply because they are inconvenient to recall. Their persistence quietly undermines the Union’s claim to moral seriousness.
Europe’s moral authority and its ability to persuade rather than coerce depends on its willingness to apply its own principles evenly, whether in Kyiv, Minsk, Gaza, or Nicosia. Selective sanctions and selective silence alike erode that authority.
The division of Cyprus is not merely a regional anomaly; it is a European contradiction. Half a century after the invasion, the time has come for the Union to confront that contradiction with clarity, determination and resolve.
To restore coherence to its foreign policy, Europe must recover the memory of its own unfinished business. It must understand that the moral authority it claims abroad will endure only if it is exercised consistently at home. A Union that tolerates occupation within its own borders cannot credibly demand that others respect international law.
If the European Union truly believes that peace depends on justice, then it must apply that justice equally, not only in the conflicts that dominate headlines, but also in the ones it has allowed to fade into silence.
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