Meline Toumani, the Armenian Genocide and the Politics of Appeasement
Posted: 01/28/2015 5:34 pm EST Updated: 01/28/2015 5:59 pm EST
Huff Post Books
Christopher Atamian
Writer/Producer/Director
Meline Toumani’s puzzling and sometimes maddening first book *There Was and
There Was Not: A Journey Through Hate and Possibility in Turkey, Armenia
and Beyond* purports to analyze the hatred still separating Armenians and
Turks on the eve of the one hundredth commemoration of the Armenian
Gencocide. The biggest problem with the expos©e lies perhaps in Toumani’s
underlying assumptions, i.e. that Armenians and Turks all hate each other
and in equating victim and perpetrator. Toumani is usually a fluid writer,
but here she gets lost in an often muddled and contradictory analysis.
The author has a point when it comes to Genocide obsession among certain
Armenians, though by this late date, it is no longer a particularly
original one. Armenians as a group do spend a lot of time talking about and
trying to convince the world of the terrors they experienced from 1915 to
1923 when the Ottoman Turks massacred some 1.5 million Armenians along with
another 1.5 million Christian Assyrian and Pontic Greeks. For over a
decade, others have made the same point that Toumani makes and more
eloquently. Curator Neery Melkonian, for one, has said time and again that
the Armenian obsession with genocide hinders their ability to move forward
as a progressive people and reach their true, brilliant potential. And
theorist Marc Nichanian has argued that it is demeaning to keep begging the
world for recognition: everyone, including those Turks who really want to
know, are aware of what really happened from 1915 to 1923 — the Armenian
Genocide was amply documented and written about when it happened and
afterwards for the last century.
At times, Toumani’s book seems to be more of an expos©e of her own
insecurities and shame. She reproduces often demeaning stereotypes about
Armenian physical appearance, cultural traditions and all manner of details
that she would be taken to harsh task for were she writing about another
ethnic group. And after all, why shouldn’t Armenians in the far-flung
diaspora obsess about the Armenian genocide, one may justifiably ask?
Unlike the Jews and the terrifying Holocaust of WWII for example, the
Armenian Genocide has never been properly acknowledged and lost property,
money and trauma never compensated by its perpetrator, the Turkish
government. The glowing reception that her book has received in the press
seems to buttress those who argue that the publishing world sometimes works
in lockstep with mainstream elites and governmental structures who have
tried their best to get Armenians to lay down their claims to reparations
and thus appease the often aggressively denialist governments of the
modern-day Republic of Turkey.
After recounting how embarrassed she was growing up by all manner of things
Armenian, Toumani recounts her four-year stay in Turkey where she meets
Turks who — what do you know — seem human after all. They are not
grotesque aliens, Klingons dead-set on devouring Christian children. But
who ever thought they were? Toumani spends time in Armenia as well. Upon
arriving with a friend in Yerevan, the country’s capital, she writes: “I
was embarrassed. I had lured Gretchen along by telling her that Yerevan was
a beautiful city. But the city I saw now looked shabby and grim on that
first glance into the haze.” (p199) Yerevan is a fact a pleasant mid-sized
city of pink tuff stone increasingly dotted with modern western-style
constructions. In what parallel cultural universe, one wonders, did Toumani
ever expect Yerevan, a city built by half-starved and tubercular genocide
survivors, to equal Istanbul the former capital of Byzantium, a city of
twelve million lining the Bosphorus?
Early on in her book, the author describes some perhaps lamentable scenes
at an Armenian summer camp in Massachusetts run by the nationalist Tashnag
party. At one point, a howling room of swarthy teenagers scream at each
other in support of or against the Lisbon Five, a group of Armenian
terrorists who, in a botched 1983 attempt to blow up the Turkish Ambassador
to Portugal, blew themselves up instead — along with the Ambassador’s wife
and a Portuguese police officer: “-An eye for an eye! -The ends justify the
means!…I noticed a young camper, Julie, weeping quietly while her friend
rubbed her back — but then Julie was always crying about something…As
the debate continued, things grew chaotic. A folded-up metal chair slid to
the ground with a clatter…The glass in the sliding doors fogged up.
Younger kids squirmed as the older campers and counselors argued on. Some
said the men were martyrs and that Turkish denial of the genocide was too
powerful for softer measures.” (p17-18) These people, Meline contends, are
somehow emblematic of the average Armenian viewpoint. But who in their
right mind would ever defend blowing up innocent people in the name of any
cause?
Had Toumani instead attended St Gregory’s, another summer camp in Cape Cod
run by Mekhitarist priests, she would have found the emphasis was on
religion. At Camp Nubar, a wildly popular camp in the Catskills run by the
somewhat bourgeois*parekordzagan* or Ramgavar-affiliated AGBU, the emphasis
was on togetherness and fun. (For the record, I attended all three). It is
not my intention here to argue which “version” of Armenian life or identity
is preferable or even which one I subscribe to, if any. I am perfectly able
to think for myself as are most of my Armenian friends and colleagues. I
have always had Turkish friends and as a Harvard undergrad, I dated a
Turkish girl who later became a career denialist and Turkish diplomat.
Frustration at the Turkish Government’s refusal to do the right thing, I
have always felt. Hope that one day the two people would reconcile, I have
always wished for. Hate, however, was never part of the equation.
Another example of journalistic bad faith. Toumani grew speaking Eastern
Armenian as opposed to Western Armenian like most Armenian-Americans: one
dialect’s “t” is another’s “d” for example, so that when she heard the term
“Hai Tad” (“Armenian Cause”) at camp she didn’t at first understand that it
meant “Hai Dat,” as Iranian-Armenians pronounce it. Do Hai Tad and Hai Dat
really sound so different?: “Thus the words Hai Tahd did not communicate
anything to me. I sometimes imagined my elementary school classmate, Todd
Twersky, showing up unannounced at the perimeter of the campground. Hi,
Tod.” (p16) I didn’t speak a word of Armenian when I attended Camp
Haiastan, but I never once confused Hai Tad with any boy named Tod, and I
find it hard to believe anyone else ever did either.
Though I staunchly believe in the need for an apology from Turkey and
proper reparations, the Armenian Genocide is not something that keeps me up
at night. I suspect most Armenians are more similar to me than the
caricatured nationalists Toumani describes in her book. Her apparent
inability to comprehend the feelings of Istanbul Armenians who are trapped
between a cultural rock and a hard place — neither Turkish enough for
Turks nor Armenian enough for Armenians — also begs credulity for someone
so bright and well-educated as she. And when she doesn’t get the
acknowledgment from ethnic Turks that she was hoping in Turkey, Toumani
admits to being more confused than before she left.
In the end Toumani’s book would have been more honest and effective had she
titled it: “Ultra-Nationalism and its Discontents” and simply studied some
of the Armenian community’s more right-wing members. That her book was
published in 2015 seems particularly insensitive, as if she were trying to
rub salt in the wounds of collective Armenian memory. The ultimate irony of
course is that of all the thousands of topics Armenian and non-Armenian
that Toumani could have chosen to dedicate her first book to, she chose
what else, but the very one she claims to be trying to distance herself
from.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/christopher-atamian/meline-toumani-the-armeni_b_6548486.html