INSIDE THE TURKISH PSYCHE: TRAUMATIC ISSUES TROUBLE A NATION’S SENSE OF ITS IDENTITY
By Sabrina Tavernise And Sebnem Arsu
New York Times
Oct 12 2007
BAGHDAD, Oct. 11 – To an outsider, the Turkish position on the issue
of the Armenian genocide might seem confusing. If most of the rest
of world argues that the Ottoman government tried to exterminate its
Armenian population, why does Turkey disagree?
The answer is hidden deep inside the Turkish psyche, and to a large
extent, printed on the pages of Turkish history books.
But with the changes to promote democracy in Turkey in recent years,
opinions are slowly changing.
Turkey began as a nation just 84 years ago, assembled from the remains
of the Ottoman Empire. Western powers were poised to divide it. The
Treaty of Sèvres spelled that out in 1920. It was never ratified,
but the intent remains deeply embedded on the minds of Turks, many
of whom fear a repeat of that trauma.
To protect against encroaching powers, and to accomplish the Herculean
task of forging a new state, Turkey’s founders, led by Mustafa Kemal
Ataturk, set ethnic and religious textures aside to create a new
identity – the Turkish citizen.
The identity was needed to become something new but eclipsed the
region’s cultural richness.
"In many ways, Turkey today is comprised of the remnants of the
Ottomans," said Ali Bayramoglu, a writer in Istanbul. "It hasn’t
become a real society yet. It is not at peace with the diversity it
has inherited from the Ottoman era."
"The identity of a Turk was very much an engineered one in order to
form a unified nation," he added.
That identity was built on a painful foundation. Beyond the Armenian
genocide, in which 1.5 million Armenians in eastern Turkey were
killed, there were mass deportations of Greeks and executions of
Islamic leaders and Kurdish nationalists.
"The Turkish state and society both have traumatic pasts, and it’s
not easy to face them," said Ferhat Kentel, a sociologist at Bilgi
University in Istanbul.
Mr. Kentel compared Turkey’s beginnings to a tenant who realizes that
the house he has just rented is not new, but instead "has all kinds
of rubbish and dirt underneath."
"Would you shout it out loud at the risk of being shamed by your
neighbors," he asked "or try to hide it and deal with it as you keep
living in your only home?"
The highly centralized Turkish state has chosen the latter. To
do anything else would be to invite divisions and embolden
independence-minded minorities, the thinking went. Textbooks talk
little about the events that began in 1915, and they emphasize
defensive action taken against Armenian rebels sympathetic to Russia,
Turkey’s enemy at that time.
"The word ‘genocide,’ as cold as it is, causes a deep reaction in
the Turkish society," Mr. Kentel said. "Having been taught about its
glorious and spotless past by the state rhetoric for decades, people
feel that they could not have possibly done such a terrible thing."
Fethiye Cetin, a lawyer and the author of a book about her family’s
history, said it was not until she was 25 that she learned that her
grandmother was an Armenian adopted by a Muslim family after being
separated from her parents in 1915.
"We grew up, knowing nothing about our past," said Ms. Cetin, who now
helps represent the family of Hrant Dink, a Turkish newspaper editor
of Armenian descent who was shot dead in January, at the trial of
the teenager and suspected accomplices accused of the killing.
"It was not talked about in the family environment," Ms. Cetin said.
"It was not taught at schools and one day came when we suddenly faced
facts telling that there has been an Armenian genocide on this land."
But while the Turkish state has kept this history closed, a growing
number of intellectuals and writers are working hard to open it.
Changes carried out by the Turkish government to enter the European
Union have also helped open debate in society.
A further step was taken by the current government this year when
it called for a joint international commission to review the events,
including opening up long-closed state archives.
Mr. Kentel participated in a conference this year on the subject that
caused much tension and debate but brought the topic into the public
realm. The event drew a few noisy protesters but the broader reaction
was muted.
In a sign of just how far the Turkish state still has to go, in
Istanbul on Thursday, a court convicted Mr. Dink’s son, now the
editor of the newspaper Agos, and the paper’s publisher on charges
of insulting Turkish identity for reprinting Hrant Dink’s comments
about the genocide. Their sentences were suspended.
Measures like the genocide bill in the United States Congress serve
only to complicate the work of those trying to open society, Ms.
Cetin and Mr. Kentel said. It was not an honest attempt to heal,
as lawmakers who supported it argued, they said, but a political
statement issued to prove a point, which creates a highly charged,
unfriendly atmosphere.
Bills on the Armenian genocide in foreign countries "make it even
more difficult for people to simply talk," Mr. Kentel said.
Ms. Cetin’s book, "My Grandmother," was widely read, she said,
because it appealed as an intimate human story, not a political
statement. "Every change comes with its pain, and that’s what we’re
going through right now," she said.
Sabrina Tavernise reported from Baghdad, and Sebnem Arsu from Istanbul.
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