The Cypriot art of being shocked by what we already know 

Footage recorded by a hidden camera surfaces on X and spreads rapidly. It shows three Cypriot men discussing campaign financing and the alleged evasion of sanctions with apparent ease: a serving government official, a former one, and the CEO of a major construction and real estate group. Public shock follows, along with cries of scandal. 

Political parties rush to seek explanations and inquiries. The church, well acquainted with scandals of its own, opts for holy silence. 

Strategic in tone, the political parties deliver their most striking response. Criticism is swift, amplified by a rival’s downfall. So too is the awareness that they themselves could easily be next on camera. They appear surprised once again, much like a pyromaniac realising the house they torched is ablaze. It is unclear why. 

Is the concept of corruption and clientelism truly new to them? Scholars have long pointed out that clientelism, in particular, has deep historical roots, stretching from the Ottoman era through British colonial rule and continuing to shape political life today. 

The president’s 2023 pledge to prioritise the fight against corruption and favouritism may help explain the reaction. It was taken seriously. In retrospect, perhaps too seriously.  

Public response unfolds quickly. Social media fills with sarcasm, confrontation, jokes and disbelief. “Déjà vu comedy. Spare us the drama,” one comment reads. “They’re the reason shampoo comes with instructions,” reads another. Again? Did no one learn anything from the ‘golden passports’ investigation, many wonder. 

The aftermath is more revealing than the video itself. Despite the initial shock, the public remains spectators rather than participants, as outrage surges briefly and then fades. In the end, nothing happens. Another case joins a long queue, processed and forgotten. A quieter question returns. Not about the scandal itself, but about what comes next. 

Many people are more captivated by private political indiscretions than by abuses of power or conflicts of interest. Despite their differences, scandals yield the same outcome. Digital platforms amplify exposure and emotion, but fragment attention and responsibility, rarely translating outrage into collective action. 

As research in political sociology and psychology shows, frequent recurrence diminishes impact and no longer disrupts the political sphere. 

Over time, political misconduct loses its exceptional nature and becomes part of everyday political functioning. 

A recent Cypriot survey reflects this shift. Most respondents believe the case damaged the president’s image. But the real cost of corruption to the public remains unexamined. Image suffers. Life goes on. The dominant emotions recorded are disappointment, anger, shame and distrust. 

And then what? 

“Same story, different names,” many reply. This is not a failure to recognise wrongdoing, but resignation. Experience has taught many to expect little from a system that no longer appears to serve them. Apathy becomes self-preservation. 

Loyalty to a party hastens the erosion of trust. Filtered through political identity, scandals are dismissed on one side and weaponised on the other. In defending their camp, people end up defending a system they distrust. 

Anger without an outlet produces no reform. With few credible alternatives, frustration dissolves into noise and quiet withdrawal. The system endures not because it inspires confidence, but because it presents itself as inevitable. There is no alternative. Such systems persist not because they are stable, but because they are rarely challenged. 

Those in power rely on this logic. 

Elections seldom disrupt the cycle. Voters tend to punish scandals only when they hit their own pockets. 

None of this means corruption goes unnoticed. What has changed is the expectation that recognition will lead to consequences. Exposure on its own no longer threatens power. Predictability has drained transparency of its force.  

Our problem is not insufficient legislation. Cyprus has EU-compliant, meticulously footnoted laws. What is missing is not regulation, nor appeals to patriotism used to redirect attention, but enforcement. 

Instead, political power is routinely exercised through the redirection of attention towards external threats, enemies, and hybrid warfare, aliens included.  

This is how being shocked by what we already know becomes a stable feature of the system, unless it is treated as a starting point rather than an end.