Hand-Me-Down Genocide: Live in Technicolor
By Lucine Kasbarian
On October 5, 2012
Lucine Kasbarian is a NJ and MA-based children’s book author and book
publicist on extended leave. She is also a syndicated
journalist/political cartoonist whose works often address exile,
displacement and réalpolitik. An earlier version of this essay first
appeared in the April 2007 Armenian Genocide insert of The Armenian
Weekly newspaper. View her archive.
(photo credit: David Boyajian)
The opening scene is always the same: someone is trying to kill me. It
happens in dark alleys, police raids, in mobs, or on my doorstep.
Sometimes the assailants stalk me on foot, other times on horseback. They
surround my house or break into it. They wield daggers, switchblades or
just bare hands. But no matter what the setting, one thing is constant: the
predators are Turks, and I am their prey.
Welcome to the dream world of `Hand-me-down Genocide,’ where an Armenian
provokes Turks just for being who she is.
When my mother was a girl, Medzmairig1 knew no fairy tales. So at
bedtime, Medzmairig would repeat to my mother the only story she could
tell: how she survived the Massacres2. What a way to put a child to
sleep. I, too, learned early on about the history that haunts my
people. So why should my own nightmares now surprise me?
Perhaps it isn’t so much surprise that I feel. It’s agony and
distress. Some nights I dread falling asleep for fear of what will
unfold. Then, there’s the special dream variety I call the `Home Box
Office’ version. These particular dreams occur in Western Armenia3,
and there, the visions feel most life-like of all.
It doesn’t seem a coincidence that in 1999, just prior to Kurdish
rebel leader Abdullah Ocalan’s capture in Kenya by Turkish commandos,
I dreamt of a wedding in the Van region, on the island of Akhtamar4.
After all, today, our Tushpa5 is a hotly contested outpost set among
Turks and Kurds. In the dream, the azure waters of Lake Van6 were
transparent. The islands’ bullet-riddled, still majestic Armenian
Church was colored bright apricot. The tangy flavor of Prunus
Armeniaca7 lingered on my tongue. I was viscerally experiencing the
Armenian proverb, `Van in this world, paradise in the next.’ The groom
stepped out of the pages of Roupen Ter Minasian’s memoirs8, with
bandoliers strapped across his chest. I looked down, saw that I was
wearing an Armenian folkloric costume, and discovered that I was the
bride. Even though I’d only seen photos of Akhtamar, our celebrated
island in this dream seemed especially real. The solemn ceremony was
a tremendous moment. It seemed as if every person our family had ever
shaken hands with were present and hyper-aware that we had not only
returned to our natural habitat, but to our ancient capital – if only
to celebrate a wedding.
And then, just as the folk musicians were about to commence the
festivities with their davul and zurna9, hordes of Turkish gendarmes
trampled over the hills, drew their scimitars, and massacred every
last Armenian. Butchery and bloodshed appeared all around.
Destruction ruled in our Garden of Eden. Time stood still, followed by
haunting, excruciating silence.
I awoke in a cold sweat, trembling and terrified. As the wedding had
proved fatal, my guilt was immense. I thought, `Here, America adopted
Armenian Genocide survivor-refugees as her own. And yet, two
generations later, my and the Diasporan wedding guests’ instinctive
urge to re-attach to the bosom of our natural mother Massis10 had led
to our destruction once again.’
Thirteen years have passed since that dream, and I’m still not over
it. To say in retrospect today that the dream was precognitive – that
the good intentions of some Armenians to see our Akhtamar reborn would
be met with disaster – would seem accurate. Even so, no clairvoyance
was necessary to predict how, in 2010, the Turkish government would
conduct the much-ballyhooed renovation of Akhtamar11.
Five years ago, another Abdullah – this time, Gul12 – was making the
news. As Turkey’s tactic to prevent passage of the Genocide
Resolution13 unraveled on the world stage, we saw cunning lurking
beneath simulated courtesy. And as Gul laid down Turkey’s terms to
Condi14, the absurdist theater played out under my eyelids. The dream
scene was Pamukkale15. My parents and I were with a tour group. Our
guide encouraged us to climb atop the caves and mounds, and pick
talismans. Our feats reminded me of how tourists in present-day
Armenia are invited to pause near mountains of obsidian on the road to
Lake Sevan16, and gather shards as mementos. In the Pamukkale dream,
however, our harvesting caused a stir among a Turkish hunting party
nearby. Smartly dressed in lambs-wool caps, the Turks turned their
rifles on us and opened fire. We lay flat on the ground dodging
bullets until there was quiet. Our conspicuously-absent tour guide
eventually returned. She pointed an accusing finger at me, and
admonished, `Don’t you know not to take what doesn’t belong to you?’ I
froze, pondered our actions, and sheepishly encouraged the others to
return our gathered amulets, only to stop again in my tracks. I turned
back and said: `Weren’t you the one who encouraged us? Who are you to
tell me what belongs to whom? You don’t belong to these lands!’
In the morning, this dream didn’t exactly endear me to `Come Home to
Turkey,’ as new tourism commercials beckon us to do. But, it did
remind me of the necessity to challenge hypocrisy. Perhaps the best
thing of all in that dream was that I refused to play an Armenian
victim.
Things have improved since the Native American `dream catcher’ from
St. Joseph’s Indian School appeared in my mailbox. But how long will
the greater burden we carry persist? Is it better to keep silent and
spare our children this agony, or to boldly expose them to our
treasured and tragic history – which when taken in totality, is a form
of a birthright?
At best, these dreams highlight that which is unresolved. System of a
Down 17 calls it `recognition, reparation, restoration.’ The spirits
of our ancestors and the need to reclaim our rightful inheritance
continue to hover over us despite any wishes to live untroubled lives
in the present. Unfortunately – or fortunately – our destiny will
follow us wherever we go.
The considerable task of rehabilitating interrupted Western Armenian
life, culture and customs – on or off our historic lands, is the
legacy left to us. And anyway, it could always be worse: For captive
communities struggling to persist as Armenians on these very lands18,
their nightmares occur when they are awake.
——————————
1Armenian
word for `grandmother.’
2A
term that was once widely used, before the word `genocide’ was coined
in the 1940s by Rafael Lemkin, to* *describe the Armenian, Assyrian
and Greek Genocides perpetrated by the Ottoman Turkish Empire.
3Part
of the ancestral homeland of the Armenian people, now within the
borders of Turkey.
4Aghtamar
Island, with the 10th century Church of the Holy Cross, which is in
the Van region of present-day Turkey. Van was once the capital city of
Armenia.
5An
earlier name for Van and an ancient capital city of Armenia.
6The
salt water lake which surrounds Akhtamar Island.
7The
botanical nomenclature for apricot.
8Author
of the autobiography, `Armenian Freedom Fighters’ (Hairenik Press).
9A
bass drum and a double-reeded wind instrument often played in unison
at celebrations by Near Eastern peoples.
10An
alternate name for Mount Ararat in Western Armenia. Massis/Mount
Ararat is an ancient symbol of Armenia to all Armenians.
11In
2010, Holy Cross church was renovated and converted to a museum by the
Turkish government presumably to show tolerance for religious
minorities within Turkey.
12Current
President of the Republic of Turkey.
13A
proposed Armenian Genocide resolution is a measure currently under
consideration in the U.S. Congress that would recognize the 1915-1923
Genocide.
14Former
U.S. Secretary of State, Condoleeza Rice.
15The
site of the ancient Greco-Roman and Byzantine city, Hierapolis, now in
southwestern Turkey, which contains hot springs and travertines.
16The
largest lake in present-day Armenia.
17Taken
from the lyrics of P.L.U.C.K., a song by the Armenian-American rock
group, System of a Down.
18 Minorities in present-day Turkey, including the Armenians, still
endure persecution.
*Note from Editor: this piece may contain views on political issues that
are not black or white, however this is about the experience of Lucine and
her contribution to the word `Victim’*
http://kalyanimagazine.com/hand-me-down-genocide-live-in-technicolor/
http://www.armeniapedia.org/index.php?title=No_Self-Respecting_Armenian_Should_Accept_Turkey%27s_Invitation_to_Akhtamar
http://www.catholicherald.co.uk/commentandblogs/2011/07/27/despite-the-eu%E2%80%99s-demands-on-human-rights-turkey%E2%80%99s-persecution-of-christians-is-escalating/