TRUTH AND CONSEQUENCES
By David A. Harris
The Jewish Journal of greater L.A, CA
d=18119
Aug 30 2007
>From 2000 to 2002, I led a graduate seminar titled, "Post-Holocaust
Ethical and Political Issues," at Johns Hopkins University’s School
of Advanced International Studies. Among the topics covered was the
politics of memory.
One of the case studies we explored was the controversy surrounding
language and its power. We looked in depth at the massacre of Armenians
and how its depiction had become a subject of fierce debate, primarily
between Armenians, who insisted on calling the events of 1915 a
genocide, and Turks, who adamantly refused to countenance the "G"word.
Essentially, this was a zero-sum game. Either one supported the
Armenian or the Turkish position, whether for historical or political
reasons, but neither side allowed room for compromise.
The basic Armenian argument was that up to 1.5 million Armenians were
deliberately targeted and massacred by the Ottoman Empire, eight years
before the modern Turkish republic came into being. At the time, the
word genocide didn’t exist. It was Raphael Lemkin, a Polish-born Jew,
who coined the term.
The Holocaust was the most immediate frame of reference for him, but he
was also haunted by the slaughter of the Armenians – and by the need to
prevent a repeat of any such occurrences – throughout his career. But
had the word been in use, it no doubt would have been invoked by
Ambassador Henry Morgenthau, the U.S. envoy to Turkey at the time
and one of the primary sources on the tragedy cited by the Armenians.
No, replied the Turks. This was a time of war. The Armenians sided
with Russia, the enemy. Many people, both Turks and Armenians, were
killed, but that was the regrettable, if inevitable, consequence of
conflict and not a deliberate campaign to wipe the Armenians off the
face of the earth, as the Nazis later sought to do to the Jews.
In recent years, of course, the survivors and eyewitnesses have
disappeared. But each side has marshaled as much documentary evidence
as it can to buttress its assertion. Yet neither side has been talking
to the other. Instead, both have been appealing to the rest of the
world, seeking supporters.
Not surprisingly, each has sought to draw the Jews to its ranks. The
Jews’ moral voice, they reckoned, far exceeds actual numbers. The
people of the Shoah are best positioned to tip the scales in one
direction or the other.
The Armenian position has been straightforward. As victims of the
Holocaust, who can better understand the Armenian ordeal and anguish
than the Jews? Fearful of the danger of Holocaust denial, aren’t the
Jews most aware of the slippery slope of distorting historical truth?
And wasn’t it Adolf Hitler who reportedly asked, "Who still talks
nowadays of the extermination of the Armenians?" – in effect, paving
the way for the Final Solution?
Meanwhile, the Turkish stance has been that Jews shouldn’t simply
accept the Armenian version of history lock, stock and barrel, as
it’s fraught with distortion and deceit, but rather bear in mind the
traditional Turkish welcome of minority communities, especially the
embrace of dispersed Jews from Spain by the Ottoman Empire at the
end of the 15th century.
Moreover, Turkish leaders have also at times taken a tougher line,
suggesting, in barely veiled language, that a Jewish acceptance of
the Armenian version of history could have negative consequences for
other Jewish interests, whether in Turkey or beyond.
And it is in this vise that many Jews have lived for years, essentially
pitting principle against pragmatism. For armchair observers, that may
look like an easy choice, but in the world of policy, where actions
can have real-life consequences, it’s anything but.
Look at successive governments of the United States, whether under
Democratic or Republican leaders. All have reached the same conclusion:
Turkey is of vital importance to U.S. geo-strategic interests,
straddling as it does two continents, Europe and Asia, bordering key
countries – from the former Soviet Union to Iran, Iraq and Syria –
and serving as the southeastern flank of NATO. Each administration has
essentially punted when asked about the Armenian question, seeking to
discourage Congress from recognizing the events of 1915 as genocide,
while arguing that a third-party parliamentary body isn’t the right
venue to settle a heated historical dispute.
And now I come back full circle to my Johns Hopkins classroom. I
had four or five Turkish students in the course. All but one proudly
defended Turkey’s historical record, stubbornly refusing to consider
any competing narrative.
But there was one young woman who, on reading the assigned material and
much more, came to me and said that for the first time, she doubted
the official Turkish version of events. There were simply too many
compelling accounts of the suffering of Armenians to swallow whole
the Turkish line.
She then went a step further and shared her thinking with our class.
Regrettably, the other Turkish students distanced themselves from her,
but the other students admired her for her courage. They instinctively
understood that it wasn’t easy for her to express her sorrow and
confusion, but that, under the circumstances, it seemed the right
thing to do. I, too, admired her.
I have a strong connection to Turkey, a country I have visited on
numerous occasions and to which I feel very close. Few countries
have a more critically important role to play in the sphere of
international relations.
I remain grateful to this day for the refuge that the Ottoman Empire
gave to Jews fleeing the Inquisition. I am intimately connected to
the Turkish Jewish community and admire its patriotism and enormous
contribution to its homeland.
I deeply appreciate the link between Turkey and Israel, which serves
the best interests of both democratic nations in a tough region. And
I value Turkey’s role as an anchor of NATO and friend of the United
States.
At the same time, I cannot escape the events of 1915 and the
conclusions reached by credible voices, from Ambassador Morgenthau to
Harvard professor Samantha Power, the Pulitzer Prize-winning author of
"A Problem From Hell: America and the Age of Genocide," to the United
States Holocaust Memorial Museum about the nature of what took place:
It was a genocide, they determined, albeit one that occurred more
than 30 years before the term was coined.
>From my experience in tackling difficult relationships, I believe that
engagement, not avoidance, is the best strategy. In a perfect world,
Armenian and Turkish historians would sit together and review the
archival material, debate differences and seek a common understanding
of the past.
To date, that hasn’t happened in any meaningful way. I continue to
hope that it will. It should. We at the American Jewish Committee
have offered our services, if needed, to help facilitate such an
encounter. Ninety years of distance ought to allow for the creation
of a safe space to consider contested issues.
Meanwhile, as the issue once again heats up in the United States,
it’s important to be clear. In a book titled, "Holocaust Denial,"
published by the American Jewish Committee in 1993, the author,
Kenneth Stern, an AJC staff expert on the subject, noted: "That
the Armenian genocide is now considered a topic for debate or as
something to be discounted as old history does not bode well for
those who would oppose Holocaust denial."
He was right. Picture a day when a muscle-flexing Iran or Saudi Arabia
seeks to make denial of the Holocaust a condition of doing business
with other countries. Sound far-fetched? It shouldn’t.
We have many interests as a Jewish people. Protecting historical
truth ought to be right up there near the top of the list.
David A. Harris is executive director of the American Jewish Committee.