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“An irreversible momentum exists now,” George was telling me, “and it’s only a matter of time before everybody formally acknowledges that it was a ‘shoah’ [he was deliberately using the Hebrew term for ‘holocaust’] that the Turks committed against us. Germany, Canada, Argentina – many governments have already passed resolutions to the effect, even though Turkey stubbornly insists that the deaths were merely a consequence of war. They won’t even admit to more than 300,000 fatalities.”
We were squeezed into a miniscule Old City café right by the Jaffa Gate. George, a leading lay figure in the tiny Israeli Armenian community, was briefing me on the recent achievements of the long campaign to gain worldwide affirmation of the genocidal nature of the systematic massacres of some 1.5 million ethnic Armenians carried out by the Turkish regime in 1915 .
I took a sip from my strong Turkish coffee, nodded, and said, “So 90 years of persistence have, at long last, paid off.”
“And the irony,” George continued, “is that we are the indirect beneficiaries of the internal dilemmas of Europe. The European Union is conditioning Turkish admission on a full confession of responsibility for the crimes. Their hope, believe it or not, is that the Turks will actually refuse to do so.” He laughed.
“You see, that way they, the European nations will have cleansed their own consciences while at the same time furnishing a perfectly legitimate excuse for keeping a large Muslim country out of their cozy club.”
“It’s looking good,” I said.
George hesitated a moment, planning what he wanted to say and how he would say it.
“Yes and no. What about Israel? It’s only reasonable to assume that of all the countries, the Jewish state would have been out front on this issue. Right?”
He studied my face for a reaction.
“Who, if not you, can know what our nation suffered? We both lost a third of our populations. Are you aware, for instance, that the Armenian genocide doesn’t get mentioned in Israeli school textbooks, and that the Israeli government has caved into Turkish pressure by failing to come out with a formal acknowledgement of the crime?”
I was uneasy. “Realpolitik,” I mumbled diffidently. “Turkey is our ally, the only Muslim country that we enjoy truly warm and cordial relations with. It’s purely and simply a matter of a little country’s survival in a cruel world.”
“I guess so,” George said compliantly, not wanting press the matter further.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he went on. “Plenty of individual Jews have been among our greatest champions. By the way, Mein Kampf is a hot bestseller in Turkey these days. Wonderful friends you pick!”
I squirmed out of the tight corner. “So what’s the prevailing mood among the local Armenian community in light of recent successes?”
His reply stunned me. “A great emptiness, a vacuum. In a way, you see, our struggle had become synonymous with our identity. Only now are we taking time to reassess, to fully appreciate the extent of the tragedy, the dimensions of the loss. I’m even wondering how we go about preserving our sense of peoplehood in the future.”
“Why don’t you just take a lesson from us?” I asked. “Work to keep the sense of tragedy alive – museums, academic courses, a literature, visits to the killing fields, memorial days, movies, websites, institutions, you name it – a whole culture of reminiscence and despair.”
He was listening attentively, saying nothing. “And then,” I added, “there is Israel, our homeland, another centre of national gravity. The Holocaust, of course, gives it added constructive meaning and poignancy. You now have your own Israel, an independent Armenia.”
“Except that in our case,” he lamented, “we’ve lost control over most of what was our patrimony. It’s part of Turkish sovereign territory.”
He shook his head. “We’ll never get it back. The lion’s portion of our ancient kingdom, scene of our greatness is gone forever. All that’s left us is a sliver of rocky landscape on the margins of our history.”
“Welcome to the club of drastically shrinking homelands,” I joked.
“Yes,” George grinned, “the tribulations of little peoples.”
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We were squeezed into a miniscule Old City café right by the Jaffa Gate. George, a leading lay figure in the tiny Israeli Armenian community, was briefing me on the recent achievements of the long campaign to gain worldwide affirmation of the genocidal nature of the systematic massacres of some 1.5 million ethnic Armenians carried out by the Turkish regime in 1915 .
I took a sip from my strong Turkish coffee, nodded, and said, “So 90 years of persistence have, at long last, paid off.”
“And the irony,” George continued, “is that we are the indirect beneficiaries of the internal dilemmas of Europe. The European Union is conditioning Turkish admission on a full confession of responsibility for the crimes. Their hope, believe it or not, is that the Turks will actually refuse to do so.” He laughed.
“You see, that way they, the European nations will have cleansed their own consciences while at the same time furnishing a perfectly legitimate excuse for keeping a large Muslim country out of their cozy club.”
“It’s looking good,” I said.
George hesitated a moment, planning what he wanted to say and how he would say it.
“Yes and no. What about Israel? It’s only reasonable to assume that of all the countries, the Jewish state would have been out front on this issue. Right?”
He studied my face for a reaction.
“Who, if not you, can know what our nation suffered? We both lost a third of our populations. Are you aware, for instance, that the Armenian genocide doesn’t get mentioned in Israeli school textbooks, and that the Israeli government has caved into Turkish pressure by failing to come out with a formal acknowledgement of the crime?”
I was uneasy. “Realpolitik,” I mumbled diffidently. “Turkey is our ally, the only Muslim country that we enjoy truly warm and cordial relations with. It’s purely and simply a matter of a little country’s survival in a cruel world.”
“I guess so,” George said compliantly, not wanting press the matter further.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he went on. “Plenty of individual Jews have been among our greatest champions. By the way, Mein Kampf is a hot bestseller in Turkey these days. Wonderful friends you pick!”
I squirmed out of the tight corner. “So what’s the prevailing mood among the local Armenian community in light of recent successes?”
His reply stunned me. “A great emptiness, a vacuum. In a way, you see, our struggle had become synonymous with our identity. Only now are we taking time to reassess, to fully appreciate the extent of the tragedy, the dimensions of the loss. I’m even wondering how we go about preserving our sense of peoplehood in the future.”
“Why don’t you just take a lesson from us?” I asked. “Work to keep the sense of tragedy alive – museums, academic courses, a literature, visits to the killing fields, memorial days, movies, websites, institutions, you name it – a whole culture of reminiscence and despair.”
He was listening attentively, saying nothing. “And then,” I added, “there is Israel, our homeland, another centre of national gravity. The Holocaust, of course, gives it added constructive meaning and poignancy. You now have your own Israel, an independent Armenia.”
“Except that in our case,” he lamented, “we’ve lost control over most of what was our patrimony. It’s part of Turkish sovereign territory.”
He shook his head. “We’ll never get it back. The lion’s portion of our ancient kingdom, scene of our greatness is gone forever. All that’s left us is a sliver of rocky landscape on the margins of our history.”
“Welcome to the club of drastically shrinking homelands,” I joked.
“Yes,” George grinned, “the tribulations of little peoples.”
[email protected]
