In the Wake of Resolution 106
[December 17, 2007]
I found out as soon as I got to Istanbul that the name Seda was quite common in Turkey. I first heard about it at the airport, where the immigration officer smiled wryly and said that my name was purely Turkish.
This fact started to get to me after a while, as each Turk I was introduced to expressed surprise at an Armenian bearing a "Turkish" name (in reality, the name Seda - which I inherited from my grandmother - is Arabic in origin, according to books on the origins of names), but little did I know that greater tests awaited me.
During the seminar, I had the chance to go to a Turkish village, Zeytindag, which was one of the main centers of olive production in that part of the country. In that village of 4,000, I witnessed many familiar scenes - women baking lavash in a tonir, unemployed men gathered around a backgammon board on a street corner, a group of children running after foreigners and so on. It would be difficult for me to say how a ten-year old Armenian would greet a Turk entering his village, but I could sense the hate with which one Turkish boy reacted to my presence. The boy, about ten years old, quickly gathered his friends around me when he read the word "Armenia" written on my badge. "Ermeni, Ermeni…" he said and loudly started explaining something to his friends (now I understand how important it is to know your "enemy's" language). One of my Turkish acquaintances approached the children and tried to silence them. I did not ask him what the problem was, because it was obvious from the boys' faces and body language that they were not happy to see the "enemy" in their village.
The next day in Turkey was one of the most important holidays of the year - Republic Day (I felt that it was probably best not to wear my badge at all on that day). On that occasion, flags bearing the portrait of the Turkish national idol and cult figure Kemal Ataturk were raised everywhere next to the flags of the country itself. In general, Ataturk, as the founder of the Turkish identity, was everywhere, always. Statues, busts, and sculptures of him in all sorts of different poses were placed even in villages; any place which had had a role of any sort in his life housed a museum. This, of course, was very strange to me. One can give the flag, as a national symbol, cult status of some sort, especially when it helps unify the people and promote their national consciousness. But it seemed unusual in these times to do that through an individual, a cult figure. The Republic Day celebrations in the small Turkish city of Yeni Shakran brought back recollections of cult figures from Soviet times, corroborated by the Estonians and Georgians who had experienced Soviet life as well, and even by the Finns with their European past.
Ataturk's stern eyes looked down upon us not just from the walls of buildings, but also from the clothes of adults and even children. The schoolchildren taking part in the celebrations had proudly pinned photographs of the founder of the Turkish republic to their uniforms. I could not help but recall my history teacher, who said that in the days of her youth they were often forced to pin photographs of Stalin to their chest on important occasions, and that while that was an obligation at first, it slowly grew into a habit, and then even into a desire.
The Turkish children believed that Ataturk because of his deeds was truly worthy of awe and worship. This was clear even without any knowledge of Turkish. The schoolchildren recited poems dedicated to their country's founder, sang songs, and staged a play especially written for the occasion, all with indescribable pathos and conviction. That pathos was so impressive that, at least to me, it rung out like a threat - it is possible to recite a poem or sing a song with faked emotions, but the feelings and conviction they were expressing could not have been false. The Turkish boys and girls were not rejoicing on the occasion of Republic Day, but rather expressing their determination to resist any force that threatened them. It is difficult to imagine children raised in these conditions conducting open discussions about "disputed" issues of any sort in the future.
The "disputed" issues between the Turks and us were the subject of only a few private discussions during the seminar. The Finns, for example, who were not well aware of the past, noted that they also felt a threat of some sort from the performance and from the children's upbringing in general.
I had a few discussions with the Turkish young people participating in the seminar as well. Although they mostly avoided the issue, one of them nevertheless explained that he felt the way events were unfolding was quite "absurd". He studied international affairs and was well aware of the details of those events, but insisted that the international community often took advantage of such things to put pressure on Turkey. He personally felt that "what happened", irrespective of the accuracy of the numbers and other information, was not his fault, because he could not be blamed for the actions of his ancestors. Now, as a young citizen of Turkey, he was ready to initiate dialogue and look for solutions to the "question".
Another Turkish youth confessed that he did not see dialogue starting anytime soon. According to him, both Turkey and Armenia were young republics which were still building a national identity and because they had "common obstacles" on that path, the ice would not be broken anytime soon.
Seda Papoyan
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