The Choate News, CT
Feb 16 2007
Death of an Editor Offers Glimpse into the Armenian Genocide
By Loren Olson `08
News Staff Reporter
Twenty-five days ago, a seventeen-year-old halfway around the globe
was arrested and charged with murder. This event might have been
another unremarkable act of violence – unfortunate but commonplace – had
the target of the teen’s crime not been the editor Hrant Dink. His
paper, Agos, was the sole Armenian-Turkish newspaper printed in
Turkey. At this point, I am sure that you have already dismissed – or
are about to dismiss – these words and put down the paper. Perhaps you
are thinking (quite jadedly) `That’s the Middle East for you.’ That
blanket statement, however, diverts our attentions from exploring
what lies beneath one editor’s story. Hrant Dink’s assassination
affords us a rare window into Turkey’s cultural and political
workings, and a chance to better understand the perpetuation of
genocide.
It is too easy to attribute Mr. Dink’s murder to simple terrorism;
perpetrated, perhaps, with the specific goal of destabilizing
Turkey’s already-problematic journey towards European Union
membership. It is important to note, however, that Armenian-born
Hrant Dink, apart from remaining under close nationalist supervision,
was serving a suspended six-month sentence for having repeatedly
criticized the Turkish government’s official (but as Dink argued,
deliberately inaccurate) recounting of the Armenian Genocide.
Although international interest in his assassination brings Mr.
Dink’s story to Choate, he is not the only Turk worthy of widespread
attention; another courageous Turkish intellectual, Orhan Pamuk, has
also recently brought the Turkish version of the genocide into
question. Pamuk, winner of the 2006 Nobel Prize for literature, finds
acclaim and popularity everywhere but in his own country. And in
light of the Hrant Dink slaying, Pamuk’s plight has begun to gain the
press attention and political significance that it deserves.
Though Pamuk has only recently come into the media’s eye, his rocky
relationship with the government of Turkey is surprisingly
deep-rooted; indeed, it has been developing for over a decade,
beginning in 1995 when he gave public and outspoken support for
Kurdish political rights. During that time, the Partiya Karkerên
Kurdistan – which has been identified by the EU and UN as a
secessionist terrorist organization – was engaged in a civil war with
Turkey in the hopes of creating an independent Kurdish state. In the
midst of the open warfare, Turkish forces often evacuated and
destroyed Kurdish villages in the countryside, displacing some
378,000 people.
Because he identified with Turkey’s political enemies, Pamuk was
tried among a group of authors who had also written essays
criticizing the Turkish treatment of the Kurds – an event that, though
surprising to us, was hardly out of the ordinary in a country where
freedom of the press is not guaranteed. Not only are Turks unable to
write and print freely, as we do; they are even prohibited to make
honest comments about their government. Indeed, a new penal code
introduced June of 2005 included the following:
`A person who, being a Turk, explicitly insults the Republic of
Turkish Grand National Assembly, shall be imposed to [sic] a penalty
of imprisonment for a term of six months to three years.’
Though he was despised by his government, Orhan Pamuk enjoyed
moderate support from his countrymen – that is, until his fatal
interview with the Swiss publication Das Magazin in February of 2005.
In his statement, Pamuk stated that `Thirty thousand Kurds and a
million Armenians were killed in these lands and nobody dares to talk
about it.’
Following the interview’s publication, Pamuk was summoned on criminal
charges by two Turkish professional associations and subjected to a
hate campaign so virulent that he was forced to flee Turkey. While
the private charges were dropped, the Turkish government
retroactively charged Pamuk with having violated the penal code
mentioned above. The situation was hardly ameliorated when, after the
prosecution had begun, Pamuk reiterated the taboo statement that had
already provoked severe public and government scrutiny: `I repeat, I
said loud and clear that one million Armenians and 30,000 Kurds were
killed in Turkey.’
This speech, made at an award ceremony in Germany, only further
inflamed his government and many Turkish citizens. Pamuk’s books,
though not as politically controversial as their author, were
stripped from shelves and burned. Only following international
outcry, including a reassessment of Turkey’s proposed entry into the
European Union, were the charges dropped on a technicality.
It may come as surprising to us that a mere statement like the one
made by Pamuk can result in such national uproar and evoke the same
level of government wrath as Pamuk’s did. But considering the lengths
in recent years that the Turkish government has gone to suppress
recognition of the Armenian genocide, Pamuk’s persecution was no less
than guaranteed. The UN defines genocide as `acts committed with
intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial
or religious group.’ During World War I, the Young Turk government of
Ottoman Turkey organized and carried out the forced deportation of
the Armenian people to Syria, where they were starved, tortured, and
even massacred. Between 1915 and 1923, the bulk of the Armenian
population was completely decimated. Although many countries
recognized the atrocities as genocide and there still remai many
living witnesses, the Republic of Turkey has adamantly denied the
charge and dismisses all evidence as mere allegation. Rather, the
government claims that sectional fighting and starvation – and not
government-organized mass execution – were the culprits. Failure to
recognize the genocide not only denies the pain of the survivors’
descendents; it also hurts the world audience.
At our school, we have the privilege of reading history textbooks
that criticize our government. Jackson’s organized massacre of the
Indians who hindered his planned westward expansion is neither denied
nor glamorized. However, many countries do not have that privilege.
In Japan, for example, recent `revisionist history’ has removed the
rape of Nanjing from student’s textbooks. `Interesting,’ many will
say, `but how does this concern us here at Choate?’ Most governments,
in an attempt to conceal their worst acts, will hide genocide and
diminish its horrors. The atrocities are made almost unreal to the
people; and the longer a country is denied the truth, the easier it
becomes to deny past genocide – and increasingly difficult to loathe in
the same way that victims would. Once it is out of sight and out of
popular awareness, genocide is allowed to perpetuate elsewhere. Only
in full disclosure may the detestable cycle of genocide be ended.
Clearly, we have not learned from the past, for the events in Darfur
have been unfolding unabated for years. So what can we do here at
Choate, thousands of miles away and consumed by our own problems? By
keeping updated on news as ephemeral as Orhan Pamuk’s Nobel Prize or
Hrant Dink’s assassination, we can recognize the direness of ongoing
genocides and increase our awareness of the suffering of others.
While we loudly complain about how hard it is to be a teenager or a
student at Choate, there are others suffering in silence. As future
leaders, it is our duty to stay informed, so that we may one day have
the knowledge to prevent history from repeating itself.
h_of_an_Editor_Offers_.php
http://thenews.choate.edu/2007/02/16/Opinion/Deat