PRESIDENT OF THE INTERNATIONAL JUDO FEDERATION TO VISIT ARMENIA
armradio.am
24.10.2007 12:18
Mr. Marius L. Viser, the President of the International Judo
Federation, will visit Armenia in November to be present at the Grand
Prix Tournament due in Yerevan on November 10.
Mr. Viser wil be accompanied by the President of the European Judo
Federation Sergey Soloveychik of Russia.
DATA OF RA OMBUDSMAN AND OPPOSITIONAL DEPUTIES ABOUT PEOPLE SUFFERED DURING INCIDENT WITH POLICE SUFFICIENTLY DIFFER
arminfo
2007-10-23 23:30:00
ArmInfo. RA ombudsman Armen Harutyunyan told journalists that several
policemen suffered during the incident among the Police employees and
the oppositional activists. He added that unlike the policemen, no
one of the oppositionists suffered. He said that conflicting parties
present a different picture of the occurrence: "The Law machinery
employees demanded from the activists to stop violating the public
order, expressed in partial blocking of the motor transport. A skirmish
occurred as the oppositionists afforded indecent expressions to the
policemen. Meanwhile, the opposite party claims that it realized its
constitutional rights, that is, informed the population about holding
an authorized meeting on October 26", A. Harutyunyan said. Responding
to journalists’ questions, he said that the attempt of the policemen
to withdraw the megaphone from the oppositionists is illegal. At
the same time, the oppositional deputies, having come out from the
Police building, in particular, attorney and member of the "Heritage"
party faction Zaruhi Postanjyan emphsized that three oppositionists,
at least, got bodily injuries. The fist ombudswoman of Armenia,
deputy from the "Heritage"party Larisa Alaverdyan demonstrated the
journalists the photo of one of the detained persons, made by a cell
phone, with hurts on the face.
By the data of 12:30 AM, October 23, the first President of Armenia
Levon Ter-Petrosyan is still in the Police building. It has also
succeeded to clarify that not 12 but 9 activists from the opposition
have been detained.
DRAM VALUATION GROWS DEEPER
Vasak Tarposhyan
Hayots Ashkharh Daily
Oct 23 2007
Armenia
After the stabilization recorded in summer, during the last month
the process of the valuation of dram resumed.
Though it deteriorated for a while, when it was 342 against dollar,
nevertheless it lasted for some days, immediately after which the
strengthening of dram resumed. This tendency grew deeper particularly
during the recent week and at present the exchange rate of dram against
dollar fluctuates between 320-325. That is to say in one week national
currency became stronger by 13 drams. For a long period of time it
was stable (337-338 drams).
We should underscore that such an exchange rate of dollar has been
recorded in Armenia in 1994, 10 months after putting the national
currency into circulation.
Besides dollar, dram has been valuated against other currencies as
well. This means the process of strengthening the national currency
is on.
The regular stage of the valuation of dram started after the abrupt
growth of the prices of certain goods.
Similar manifestations created serious risks in terms of the provision
of the anticipated level of the growth of prices. Moreover because the
growth of price coming from external factors are still preserved. And
there are very little chances to stop this tendency in Armenia. The
law on the protection of economic competition doesn’t work and this
consequently creates serious problems in the provision of stability
of prices.
Perhaps it was not accidental that in October Central Bank had to
increase the refinancing interest rate to alleviate the existing
risks of the growth of prices. After adopting the policy of planning
the growth of prices, the change of refinancing interest rate is a
so-called influencing factor on the financial market. By this the
Central Bank gives certain signals to the participants of the market.
In this case the increase of the refinancing interest rate means
increase of the price of dram.
In parallel with this shares were released two times, last week.
Thus as we know the Central Bank involved additional sum of dram. The
reduction of the sum of dram, particularly in the condition of the
increase of currency means, naturally leads to the strengthening of
the national currency. Whereas unlike the refinancing interest rate,
the influence of releasing shares, on the currency market is expressed
in a very short period of time.
On the other hand, but for the tendencies of the strengthening of dram
during the recent days, the situation in the foreign exchange market is
rather quiet. Usually in such cases the deals in the foreign exchange
market liven up. Whereas from October 15-21 only 4,4 million dollars’
sale – purchase was realized here. During some bargaining processes the
deals made up 300 – 350 thousand dollars, a very low index. Similar
passiveness is a very rare phenomenon in this market. During those
days the average deals in the foreign exchange market made up 600
thousand dollars.
The deals of the foreign exchange market become active particularly
when the central Bank partakes in the bargaining process. That is
to say, during the pervious days Central Bank manifested a neutral
stance towards the market. What was it that led to the strengthening of
dram? It is not a secret that in the condition of a big flow of dollar
and a certain sum of dram time after time Central Bank involves dollar
from the market, not to allow further strengthening of dram. Though
during the recent days dram became stronger with 9-10 units Central
Bank preferred not to interfere in the market processes.
The foreign exchange market became active on October 22. That day the
volume of sale and purchase was almost two times more (8 million 150
thousand drams).
Of course even this abrupt interference didn’t lead to stopping the
valuation of dram, it continued on October 23.
Anyway the activeness of the foreign exchange market will preserve
during the coming two three days, after which the exchange rate of
dram will become stable.
EJ Press
Iran’s Ahmadinejad visits Armenia, seeking to boost ties
AFP
Updated: 23/Oct/2007 07:42
YEREVAN (AFP)—Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad arrived in the
Armenian capital Monday for a two-day visit aimed at boosting growing
economic and political ties between the neighbouring countries.
Ahmadinejad’s plane touched down at Yerevan’s Zvartnots International
Airport, the Armenian presidential office told AFP.
Ahmadinejad and Armenian President Robert Kocharian were expected to
sign a series of bilateral agreements Monday, focusing in particular
on energy cooperation. He was also to address the Armenian parliament
and meet students and professors at Yerevan University.
"Both nations have long historical ties and much in common.
Fortunately Tehran and Yerevan have common perceptions on regional
issues and we want to boost this," Ahmadinejad said before his
arrival.
Ahmadinejad, who has caused outrage by saying the Holocaust is a
"myth," was scheduled on Tuesday to visit a memorial to victims of the
Ottoman massacres of Armenians between 1915 and 1917.
Armenians say up to 1.5 million of their kinsmen died in orchestrated
killings during the final years of the Ottoman Empire.
A pending US Congressional vote on a resolution labelling the
massacres as genocide has angered Turkey, which says 250,000 to
500,000 Armenians were killed during civil strife and rejects the
notion that it was genocide.
Landlocked Armenia has sought closer links with Iran because of an
economic blockade imposed by neighbours Azerbaijan and Turkey over the
disputed Nagorny Karabakh region, as well as Armenia’s efforts to gain
international recognition of the Ottoman massacres as genocide.
In March, Kocharian and Ahmadinejad inaugurated a 150-kilometre
(93-mile) pipeline that will deliver 36 billion cubic metres (1.27
trillion cubic feet) of gas from Iran to Armenia over 20 years.
Armenia will pay for the gas with electricity it produces at a
Soviet-era nuclear plant. The two countries have also signed an
agreement to jointly develop a hydroelectric power plant on the Arax
river that runs along their shared border.
The United States has raised concerns about Armenia’s growing ties
with Iran, with the top US diplomat in Yerevan saying in June that the
country should participate in international sanctions aimed at
convincing Iran to halt its nuclear programme.
Source:
AHMADINEJAD ON GENOCIDE: ANY NATION SHOULD REMEMBER ITS HISTORY IT AND FACE THE FUTURE
PanARMENIAN.Net
22.10.2007 20:00 GMT+04:00
/PanARMENIAN.Net/ "Iran’s stand on the events of early 20th century
in the Ottoman Empire bases on two principles," Iranian President
Mahmoud Ahmadinejad said at a meeting with students and teaching
staff of Yerevan State University.
"The first principle is that each nation should remember its history
but face the future and this must not lead to repetition of the
past. Second, Iran will always be by Armenia’s side," he said.
Mr Ahmadinejad added that every year the Armenian community in Iran
commemorates the events.
He said Iran condemns infringement of human rights but did not use
the term ‘genocide’.
Jerusalem Post
Turkey blames US Jews for genocide bill
Yigal Schleifer/JTA , THE JERUSALEM POST
Oct. 23, 2007
When a US Congressional committee approved a resolution recognizing
the World War I-era massacre of Armenians by the Ottoman Empire as
genocide, Turkey’s reaction was swift and harsh: Blame the Jews.
In an interview with the liberal Islamic Zaman newspaper on the eve of
the resolution’s approval October 10 by the US House Committee on
Foreign Affairs, Turkish Foreign Minister Ali Babacan said he had told
American Jewish leaders that a genocide bill would strengthen the
public perception in Turkey that "Armenian and Jewish lobbies unite
forces against Turks." Babacan added, "We have told them that we
cannot explain it to the public in Turkey if a road accident happens.
We have told them that we cannot keep the Jewish people out of this."
The Turkish public seems to have absorbed that message.
An on-line survey by Zaman’s English-language edition asking why Turks
believed the bill succeeded showed that 22 percent of respondents
chose "Jews’ having legitimized the genocide claims" – second only to
"Turkey’s negligence."
US Jewish community leaders reject that argument and privately say
Ankara has only itself to blame for its failure to muster the support
necessary to derail the resolution, which is seen in Turkey as
anti-Turkish.
Resentment lingers in Washington over the Turkish Parliament’s failure
to approve a March 2003 motion to allow US troops to use Turkish soil
as a staging ground for an invasion of Iraq.
And an official visit to Ankara in early 2006 by Hamas leader Khaled
Mashaal angered many of Israel’s supporters on Capitol Hill, who have
been among Turkey’s most vocal proponents as part of a strategy of
developing strong ties between Turkey and Israel.
"The Hamas thing was really serious," said an official from a large
Jewish organization. "There is less sympathy for Turkey because of
what some see as an anti-American, anti-Israel, anti-Jewish policy
that is there."
The official added, "I think there’s a sense on the Hill that Turkey
is less of an ally. There is a sense that it’s a different Turkey."
Soner Cagaptay, coordinator of the Turkish research program at the
Washington Institute for Near East Policy, echoed that thinking.
"The lingering effects of 2003 resonate," Cagaptay said. "Some people
are still angry with Turkey."
Malcolm Hoenlein, executive vice chairman of the Conference of
Presidents of Major American Jewish Organizations, said the Jews
should not be blamed for the Armenia genocide bill, particularly not
by Turkish officialdom.
"We regret that some officials there are trying to lay the onus of
what’s happened on the Jewish community," Hoenlein told JTA. "They
shouldn’t allow some people to manipulate this initiative in Congress
to the detriment of this relationship, which is beneficial for both
sides."
Hoenlein, who met with Turkish Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdogan
during last month’s UN General Assembly, said, "There is the same
commitment on the part of the organized community to support Turkey."
Observers in Turkey say the public perception of the Jews’ outsized
role in the resolution’s passage is based on an element of fact mixed
with a greater amount of fiction.
In August, the Jewish-run Anti-Defamation League, facing pressure from
grassroots activists, reversed its long-held policy of not recognizing
the Armenian genocide when ADL National Director Abraham Foxman
declared that what happened to the Armenians was "indeed tantamount to
genocide."
But Foxman maintained the ADL’s position, opposing a congressional
resolution on the matter. Such a resolution would strain US-Turkey
ties and jeopardize ties between Israel and Turkey, Israel’s main
Middle Eastern ally.
Nevertheless, the ADL’s reversal was seen in Turkey as a major blow to
the country’s diplomatic and public-relations campaign against
Armenian efforts to get a genocide resolution passed in Washington.
"Obviously the ADL’s switch was not good news," said Suat Kiniklioglu,
a member of the ruling Justice and Development Party and spokesman for
the Turkish Parliament’s foreign affairs committee.
Mustafa Akyol, an Istanbul-based political commentator who frequently
writes about religious issues, said the strong reaction to the ADL’s
policy switch and the perception that it somehow legitimized the
Armenians’ claims were based on an "inflated sense" of American Jewish
power among the Turkish public.
"There is a belief that [the resolution] couldn’t have happened
without Jewish support," Akyol said.
The House bill passed the committee by a 27-21 vote, with seven of the
committee’s eight Jewish members voting in favor of Resolution 106.
The full House of Representatives has yet to vote on the resolution.
Yet despite the vote, US Jewish groups said they lobbied against the
bill – just as they have done in the past.
"Behind-the-scenes support [from US Jewish groups] has been quite
powerful" in persuading congressmen to oppose the bill, said Cagaptay.
It may yet help prevent the bill from being brought to a vote in the
full House.
Turkish Jewish community leaders declined to be interviewed for this
story, but Turkey’s Jewish leaders published a full-page advertisement
in the Washington Times on the day of the vote voicing their
opposition to the House bill.
"We believe this issue should be decided first and foremost on the
basis of evidence adduced by historians, not on the basis of judgments
by parliamentarians or Congressmen, who naturally (and understandably)
may be influenced by concerns other than historical facts," the
statement said. "There have been insinuations that our security and
well-being in Turkey is linked to the fate of Resolution 106. We are
deeply perturbed by any such allegations."
According to Cagaptay, "there is a trilateral relationship, which is
Turkey, Israel and the American Jews. The relationship is about good
ties between Turkey and Israel, and good ties between Turkey and the
American Jewish community, which makes up for the fact that Turkey has
not had, historically, a strong presence on the Hill."
This time, however, it seems Jewish opposition to the bill was not
enough to overcome support by House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-Calif.), a
longtime supporter of Armenian-American issues, who has vowed to bring
the bill to a full House vote.
Source: 634864&pagename=JPost%2FJPArticle%2FShowFull
The Armenian Weekly On-Line
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The Armenian Weekly; Volume 73, No. 42; Oct. 20, 2007
Literature and Arts:
1. New Documentary Portrays Grief of 1988 Earthquake as Never Before
By Andy Turpin
2. Poetry Reading in New York
3. The Search: From Tigran Mets to Sayat Nova (Part VIII)
By Knarik O. Meneshian
***
New Documentary Portrays Grief of 1988 Earthquake as Never Before
By Andy Turpin
CAMBRIDGE, Mass. (A.W.) – On Oct. 3, at Harvard’s Carpenter Center within
the Harvard Film Archive, Czech filmmaker Jana Sevèíková previewed a rough
cut of her newly finished documentary, "Gyumri."
The film concerns the 1988 earthquake and children who were born afterwards
to parents, specifically, who had lost a child in the event.
Sevcíková has distinguished herself as a proponent of the "poetic
documentary." A graduate of the Prague Film Academy, her thesis film,
"Piemule" (1984), offers a frank examination of Czech émigrés in Romania
during the final years of Ceausescu’s totalitarian regime. She has produced
films independently, such as "Jakub" (1992), and received state funding from
the Czech Ministry of Culture. Her films have been shown at festivals in
Berlin, Strasbourg, Karlovy Vary and Krakow. Praised throughout Europe,
Sevèíková’s works often seek to challenge the distance conventions of
ethnographic filmmaking.
"Gyumri" is about grief, loss, remembrance, parenting-and a caustic national
event in Armenia that many Armenian-Americans are aware of, though they’ve
rarely been viscerally exposed.
Sevcíková pulls no punches in depicting how the pain from the quake still
resonates in the daily lives of the people in Gyumri. At one point, a
haggard father, who was prevented from identifying the remains of his child
because of Soviet-era bureaucracy, holds a signet ring to Sevcíková’s
camera, and speaking to his lost son, says, "My child, you are my saint, my
most precious of things. I have your name engraved on my ring."
Other moments in the film may not make total sense to the average viewer,
but will hit home hard to fellow Armenians. Those moments show Armenian
mothers coping with child loss while regaining a lost bond with their
Armenian Christianity (disrupted due to Soviet-domination).
One mother stands with her child beside the grave of his dead brother. The
child was conceived as a replacement of him. The mother says, "Do you know
how much responsibility you have to bear? You must make your dreams come
true and his. You are his continuity."
Confronted with such strong yet bleak emotions for the roughly three years
it took to complete the documentary, Sevcíková said of the filmmaking
experience, "It is still very fresh in my mind and difficult to talk about
after the screenings."
She explained, "When I first came to Armenia, I had no idea I’d be making
this film. I only knew there had been an earthquake. My original idea was to
make a movie about artists in Gyumri, people who do incredible work with no
money."
"I took my backpack and by myself, as I always do, went for a couple of
months to collect materials," she said. While traveling, she encountered
child after child who had lost a sibling or had been named after a sibling
lost in the quake. "For me, this was the moment when things changed. I won’t
use big words, but it was very profound."
"After that I went back to Prague. In the spring, I went back to Armenia to
work on this version of the film. It was very hard. I wanted to run away and
go back home."
During her countless emotionally despondent hours working on the film,
Sevcíková recounted that "Many of the mothers would comfort me and say, ‘You
were chosen by the souls of the children to make this film.’"
In later segments of the film, she interviews subjects who put forth the
adamantly adhered to local belief in Gyumri-that the quake may have been the
result of Soviet seismic weapons testing or storage in the region.
One subject states, "It was all staged. It wasn’t a natural quake. There
were weapons under the ground."
Sevcíková addressed this view, stating, "Nobody knows what really happened.
It’s not something the people will talk about openly, but [that belief] is
very present. It’s part of their grief."
She explained, "I didn’t want to make a conspiracy film." Twenty years from
the event, the archives will be open for scholarly and journalistic perusal,
but she stated, "I have no priority to see these materials. When they open,
maybe we’ll know I have no proof or facts. But I wanted to put in the
question so that people like you may want to find an answer."
"Gyumri" is set for limited theatrical release in the U.S. following
completed editing in 2008.
——————————————– ———————————————-
Po etry Reading in New York
On Oct. 5, eight contemporary authors read their poems surrounded by
artworks by Armenian artists at the Village Quill gallery in TriBeCa, New
York.
The poets, born in Armenia and the diaspora, included two Armenophiles who
have written much about Armenians. Nancy Agabian, Zepure Arman, Nora Armani,
Lola Koundakjian, Narine Karamyan, Dean Kostos, Sharon Olinka and Alan
Semerdjian each read for 15 minutes to a standing room-only audience of
about 80 people.
Koundakjian, a resident of New York City since 1979, was invited by the
curators of the art exhibit to organize the evening of Contemporary Armenian
Poetry. Lola started the Dead Armenian Poets Society while at Columbia
University and has produced the Armenian Poetry Project on the Web and
iTunes since April 2006. In 1995, Leo Hamalian invited her to join the
Editorial Board of Ararat Quarterly, a quarterly published in New York.
"I am very happy to have had this opportunity to organize this reading, and
would like to thank the poets and the curators of exhibit, Anet Abnous and
Tamar Gasparyan-Chester, who worked very hard to bring this exhibit into
fruition," she said.
Have The Dead Washed One Hand?
Sparrows rinse their wings in pools of dust.
Do the dead begin like good children-
Meaning to wash their hands?
Is it slower for some, the ones
Who chafe on satin shirrs?
Do the dead-in their battle with soil-
Lave from flesh and memory
All that once clung, all that said I have?
Some dead wash invisible wings
In muddy thaws of March
Before their flesh flakes-
Gold leaf from an icon.
Some dead bathe only one hand
Before entering the cathedral of bones.
By Dean Kostos
***
Good-bye.
To say good bye is constant loss
Juggling with words behind
Dying of longing to see
And longing to get a reply
To messages, mails and letters,
And thoughts sent to outer space
And dreams as diverse as distance
And wait-ing. nights and days
For those cherished, much desired,
So dear, loved, God-granted,
In that eternal dance entangled
Tear to tear, hand in hand.
To death with crosses interwoven
Laughing, in ecstasy inspired,
We soar, in joy, above the planet
With feet on earth – to burning heat,
With heads in skies – to endless world.
To say good-bye is constant loss
To say good-bye is constant angst
A hope to meet, as days go by,
A prayer for our ways to cross:
May God keep safe, keep them unharmed
May He protect and bring them back.
By Narine Karamyan
Translated from Russian by Christine Bessalyan
***
Dissident
I am a dissident
of this torrid entanglement
in quest, for my own stance and
how I became who I have become.
the sloth rises all around me
submerging me into silence
quiet! just keep walking
with eyes frozen to the river
I am a disregard of this contemptuous
land full of box turtles
where the burden
bears hard on the spoken.
…and
then
the
river
runs
dry……….. ……………………
By Zepure Arman
***
Soup
The girls at the university
told me that if you eat the salty cake,
you will marry the person in your dream
who brings you a glass of water.
But what if someone you despise brings you the water?
What if a girl brings it to you?
What if your mother father brother sister
(or other assorted relative) brings it? they giggled and
I asked, what if you wake up and get the glass of water
yourself?
But now I wonder what would happen if you dream of
a different
person every year or a whole mob delivers the water or
what if
you’re already married/don’t believe in marriage/
wished marriage never existed?
What if you tell a Jungian psychologist about your
dream and
he replies that you are incredibly boring?
What if the person fetching you the water represents
some aspect of yourself? The part of you that actually
loves the 90% of yourself that is composed water?
What if your lover like lightning regularly appears with
sweet juice mixed
with water the way you like it
when you wake in the night,
mouth dry, half sighing?
What if on February 3rd you refuse the salty cake the
mother of your betrothed has baked but she
feeds you peanuts and popcorn instead and you dream
of tornadoes whipping through Manhattan,
two of the twisters combining and you cannot think of a
place to hide so instead you must watch the destruc
tion from across the wide East
River in Brooklyn,
your home.
By Nancy Agabian
***
Old Schoolbook
Old schoolbooks
prompt us notes
taken in class
while daydreaming
of another time;
another place
to come.
I found one such of mine
where I had jotted down
a thought or two;
a heart with an arrow
piercing it in two,
initials of names.
Really quite banal.
Then in a margin further down,
I read another line:
‘We have to go away,
in order to come back’.
It said.
I must have been
seventeen
when I made that
imprint there.
Quite prophetic now,
when I look back.
After many ‘goings away’
I am back where I started.
Yet, not quite,
for the place is no more there.
But now I understand why
I had to go away.
By Nora Armani
***
How To Read A Fortune In A Cup Of Turkish Coffee
I haven’t gone to places most people visit / mosques churches temples
synagogues sorcerers / but I’ve had my coffee ground read.
(Nazim Hikmet)
She studied fate on Sundays. It wasn’t every Sunday, but it felt like it,
mostly because of the way she held the handle, read the insides like
fantastic scriptures or subway maps. It was easy for her. In ten minutes of
work, she’d find two birds carrying white beaded necklaces, a baby in the
trees, and the curse of an eye exploding out of a volcano. The young in the
family couldn’t wait to grow up, their tongues hanging out for coffee and a
lick of the old country. In the Semerdjian family room, the women sang
stories like gypsies while I marked my height against the hall closet door.
They read each other’s minds.
I once saw my mother begin her spin of the cup on a blue afternoon. I
remember how she swirled its insides, loosening the essential fibers at the
bottom, then turned it over. The tiny layer of thick mud poured into the
saucer’s curves. Its descent was slow and complete; the handle of the cup,
upside down now, looked like an Armenian nose.
She, too, gave her cup to my grandmother. She, who washed her clothes,
translated her mail, took the same address and never made a sound to wake
her at night across the hall. She asked for her fate as well. What could my
grandmother tell her? What could she read in the bottom of that cup of
coffee that she didn’t help write? What could she unpack that wasn’t already
put away? They tried at it for hours. Hours turned to days, days turned to
weeks and weeks turned the conversations into graffiti you almost forget is
there.
I knew then that I would ask for the same treatment. Over time, I would
finish my cup in a dimly lit middle eastern café on the lower east side and
tell the waiter to keep the change. My grandmother would be long passed
away. My mother would not be around, perhaps in the old family home worrying
about the length of my coat for the season. I knew then that when the night
came, I would put my pen and notebook away, turn the cup over, and imagine
what he’d see.
By Alan Semerdjian
***
You Said They Didn’t Exist
in memoriam, Hrant Dink
Birds circled our ferry
going to Karsiyaka.
The air chilled. I loaned
you my sweater. We were
two women, no longer young.
You taught Faulkner and
Hawthorne at your college, its twenty foot high
photo of Ataturk in the lobby.
And dust kicked up by
tires, narrowing steep roads,
crumbling rows of houses when I asked
Did Armenians live here?
Hatred lit your eyes.
No, you said. Not here.
Never. Outside. They lived
outside. I persisted.
Not one in this city?
Outside. It was outside.
You chose
which stores to label.
Stones to forget.
Land to steal. Children’s
eyes to bury.
Or warm embraces.
Or solace of
wine, its crimson
burst on the tongue.
Or tang of kasar cheese.
Empty hospitality.
For everyone. For me.
I saw residue
of ghosts in
bone-flecked ruins.
How easily all countries
could become
one country of
denial.
By Sharon Olinka
(Previously published in Nimrod, from the University of Tulsa)
***
Three cups of Heaven
It was John who mentioned it first:
"I’ve discovered Saffron Tea", he said.
And was quite determined that it should be "subtle".
"Tea is black", he added, "just as wine is red."
I couldn’t agree more.
Patty came in with a care package with IRAN stamped
all over it:
bags of prepared Saffron tea, 250 grams of Isfahani
Mirzapore exported
directly from EEEERAAAAN, green cardamom barely dried,
and a package of Saffron
you can’t buy this side of the Atlantic.
Saffron, the other gold.
I poured the water in the pot, added the tea, the pods
and the magic powder,
and drank three heavenly cups.
By Lola Koundakjian
————————————– ————————————-
The Search: From Tigran Mets to Sayat Nova (Part VIII)
By Knarik O. Meneshian
As we settled into our bedroom home, from the play area outside we could
hear the younger children playing and giggling. Their sounds were inviting.
A little later we would have to go outside for a while and watch them play.
As I finished putting away our belongings in and on top of the wardrobe, I
stepped over to the window, looked out at the wall and flowers, and thought
of our old apartment and my special window to the world of daily life in
Gyumri. Already, I missed the sights and sounds of that place and the people
there. I could only imagine what the people of this city-the whole
country-felt and endured on that fateful day in 1988 when they lost so much,
and then just a few years later lost even more when their identity as a
nation and way of life-their world-collapsed overnight. There was a knock at
the door. "Jashuh badrasd eh. (Dinner is ready.)!" announced Sister Dalita
with a big warm smile as we opened our bedroom door. Murad and I followed
her down the long hallway to the dining room, a cheerful and sunny place
with rows of large and small tables and chairs. From the open doors of the
kitchen we could see the cooks busy chopping, slicing and stirring, and the
children who were on duty performing their chores. Not only did the two
women in the kitchen prepare the center’s meals, but they also offered the
children individual attention, affection, encouragement, even a scolding or
two-whatever the need of the (younger or older) child was at the moment.
"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen. Hayr Mer.
Jashagestsook khaghaghootyamp usgeragoorus. Amen (Our Father. In peace let
us eat this food. Amen.)," the children, the Sisters, Murad and I prayed
together before each meal. Each morning we heard the children and the
Sisters praying and singing hymns in the chapel, and each night we heard
them praying and singing there again. On Sunday mornings, it was off the
Soorp Astvatsatsin (Holy Mother of God) Armenian Catholic Church, a couple
of blocks from the square, for services. As one day unfolded into the next
and then the next, we slowly grew accustomed to life at the center-to its
sights and sounds, and to the people not only at the center but also in the
area. Although we could not see much beyond the walls of the center other
than the tops of the mountain ranges and surrounding apartment buildings,
which had been built after the earthquake, we could still hear the barking
of the street dogs and the occasional calling out from one apartment window
or balcony to another.
It was Saturday again, and time for weekly household chores-now we only had
the cleaning of a bedroom and bathroom to do. Here at the center, clothes
were washed in the basement and hung there to dry. While we did our chores,
the children and the Sisters did theirs. With dusters and rags in hand, the
younger ones, like ducklings, marched behind Sister Dalita who, with a
twinkle in her eye, a smile on her face and a feather duster held high above
her head, would call out in drill-sergeant fashion, "Yala, yala
(Arabic-indicating let’s go)!" as together they dusted and cleaned their
dormitory-style bedrooms and parts of the center and chapel. Once in a while
some of the youngsters would giggle as they worked, playfully repeating
"Yala, yala!" to each other. The older girls and boys, and the novices too,
cleaned the rest with the supervision of Sisters Rebecca and Datevik, while
Sister Arousiag tended to the countless things required in the smooth
running of the convent and orphanage/center.
Finished with our chores, it was time for us to explore the streets of our
new neighborhood-the Ani District-located in the northern part of the city.
If one continued north by car from the Ani District, the Georgian border was
just 45-minutes away, and not far from there Javakhk. Up and down the
streets of Section 58, as the area was also known, we strolled. We stopped
to visit the district’s shuga (a small one), some of the shops, an internet
cafe, and the newly (2002) constructed Soorp (Saint) Hakop Church. Though
the area was fairly new (about twelve years old), the buildings and
neighborhoods appeared old and run down. There was rubbish and neglect
everywhere. Before the earthquake, the residential district was a farming
area and remnants of its past were still evident where grazing fields met
city streets. Around seven every morning and seven every evening, shepherds
and their flock lumbered across Shiragatsi Street to and from the nearby
fields where crumbling, unfinished apartment buildings stood along with
rusted cranes and silos-stark reminders of construction projects zealously
begun soon after the earthquake and then quickly abandoned. As we looked out
into the open area where the unfinished projects stood, we saw laundry
hanging from a few of the balconies. Even there people somehow lived, just
like in the rusted metal domeeks scattered throughout the city.
"Barev dzez!" said the young man leaning against the side of a building next
to where the small shuga started. Nearby, in an open area, a rat was
scurrying past mounds of trash. "Would you like to come to my house for a
cup of kofe?" At first we wondered who he was, then realized he was one of
the guards at the center. Without waiting for our reply, he said, "Egek, it
is not far from here," and motioned for us to follow him. We walked past one
rundown building after another until we came to an area with a common
courtyard surrounded by three buildings. In the center of the courtyard
overrun with tall grass and weeds and litter were the broken, rusted
remnants of a play area. "See that over there," said the guard as he pointed
to the eyesore. "Flowers even grew there, but when the man who built and
maintained the play area for the enjoyment of not only his children but all
the other children in the area left for Russia, never to return again,
people did not take care of the pretty play area. So now it looks just like
the rest of this place." We continued talking and walking when suddenly he
stopped, pointed to a nearby building and announced, "That is where we
live!" Unlike most of the unkempt and neglected patches of land in front of
the apartment buildings we had seen, this one had a small flower garden-a
simple yet delightful garden. How wonderful it was to see Nature’s gift to
all appreciated and so carefully and lovingly tended. The simple patch of
beauty reminded me of the humble and neat yet picturesque Molokan village
Murad and I had once passed on the road to the 10th century churches Haghbat
and Sanahin. In the 1800s, the Czar had exiled the Molokans, a religious
Russian group (whose beliefs and ways of life are similar to that of the
Amish), to the Caucasus, including Armenia and Kars, for their "heretic"
religious beliefs.
"Come, this way!" said the man as we followed him into the dimness and up
the stairs of the apartment building. In places the concrete steps were
crumbled. He opened the door. As we stepped out of the dimness, we entered
into even more. But, the tiny austere apartment was neat and clean, and the
windows glistened. Two small beds, covered with carpets, were lined against
the wall in the living room along with a couple of other pieces of
furniture. Out of the bedroom came his pretty young wife holding their
sleeping newborn in her arms followed by the dadeek (grandmother) and babeek
(grandfather). The baby was wrapped in swaddling clothes. After all these
years, this custom was still observed, as was the custom of the hars (bride
or daughter-in-law) speaking just above a whisper in front of her in-laws.
We sat at the kitchen table and chatted with the grandfather and the young
father, who was now holding his child, while the grandmother set the table
and the young mother made Armenian coffee. Together we drank kofe and ate
biscuits. As we said our goodbyes to the family, we hoped that the life
ahead of them would be brighter. "Just go left down this street, turn right
and continue until you get to the center," explained the young father as he
walked us out of the building to the sidewalk.
"It’s still early. Shall we go to the museum?" I asked Murad. We walked past
the center to the bus stop on the corner. Within a few minutes, the
marshutka (mini bus) came rumbling down the dusty street, and we were off to
the Museum of National Architecture and Urban Life at the corner of Teryan
and Haghtanaki Streets. The museum, a red brick two-story building, was
built in 1872 by Petros Dzitoghtsian, one of four brothers who had
immigrated from Western Armenia to Gyumri. The brothers had been the city’s
prominent merchants and benefactors. Among the things we saw at the museum
were artifacts, craftwork, household items, furniture and paintings. The
recreation of a prominent 19th-century Gyumri family’s residence (the entire
building was once a residence) was one of the highlights of the visit. As we
admired the beautifully crafted pieces of furniture and tastefully arranged
rooms of the period, my attention veered towards the woven handwork hanging
on the wall. It reminded me of this city and the craftsmen, benefactors and
all the other people who together created this rich and colorful tapestry
called Gyumri.
Across the street from the museum was the eastern end of the shuga, and was
as usual bustling with people. It was windy; dust was blowing everywhere.
With the coming of the dusty winds came ailments, among them lung and eye
infections. On our return ride back to the Ani District, the marshutka had
only two other passengers. After a while, they got off and it was just the
marshutka driver and us. Suddenly, he began speeding down the street. At one
point, in order to miss some large pot holes, which were numerous in the
city, he swerved across the opposite lane and, skillfully dodging traffic,
bounced onto the sidewalk where he nearly hit a post before coming to a
jolting halt in a patch of dirt and weeds. He momentarily leaned over the
steering wheel, took a deep breath, swerved back onto the street and
continued on his way up north. Calling out our street, we rose and waited
for our stop. As the marshutka door creakily opened, I turned to the driver
and said, "Ay mart, (Oh man), why did you drive so fast? Meekeech mnats
vakheets beedee merneheenk (We were almost going to die of fright)!"
He grinned mischievously and said, "I thought you were in a rush!"
I threw my hands up in the air, slowly shook my head and then grinned back
at him as we descended the marshutka. We waved to him and he to us as we
made our way across the street. Strolling down Charents Street to the
center, Murad chuckled and said, "Remember the marshutka ride to Yerevan?"
Oh, the ride on that winter day! By the time we had arrived at the bus
station at the far end of the shuga, only two seats had remained on the
marshutka to Yerevan. It soon became obvious to us as to why no one wanted
to sit in them. As the marshutka sped along the road, at times stopping to
let off and pick up passengers, we quietly sat, just like everyone else,
staring out the window. Every time the marshutka came to a jolting halt,
which was not infrequent, Murad’s head would hit the door track and I, with
my feet dangling in the stairwell and having nothing to hold on to, would
almost fall forward out of my seat. As we waited for the marchutka to move
again, I looked around at the passengers sitting stoically and silently in
their seats and at the two passengers sitting on short, small pull-out
stools in the isle, and shouted out to the driver, a big, burley fellow,
"Tell your boss that these two seats should not be here. They are dangerous
and unsafe! Just look at my husband, his head is bleeding!" The passengers
turned their heads as one, and with eyes wide and mouths slightly open,
stared at me, and then turned around again. The driver turned around, glared
at me and shouted back, "This is not America, you tell him!" and began
driving. The passengers sat motionless as he drove down the road. The
marshutka stopped several more times to let off and pick up passengers.
During one stop, the driver turned around and called out, "You two, come
here!" and motioned for us to sit in the front row with him. Two male
passengers in black leather jackets and dark glasses had just gotten off. I
sat next to the driver and Murad sat next to me. The driver turned on the
radio, pulled out a cigarette, and began smoking and chatting with us. At
last, we had arrived in Yerevan. Just as Murad reached to open the door, the
driver grabbed and kissed me, and said, "Seeroom em kez (I like you)!"
Shocked and frightened at first, I then thought, Only in Armenia! "Now tell
me, where are the two of you going?" After we gave him the name of the
street, he said, "No, do not get off! I am going to drive you there!" and
before we could move or say anything we were off down one narrow side street
after another. At our destination, he smiled waved to us, and said goodbye
as he drove off.
"Only in Armenia!" said Murad, and then whispered, "Let’s make sure on our
way back to catch a bus with a different driver!"
I nodded vigorously and said, "For sure!" as we walked into the courtyard
and up the stairs into the building. "Remember our bus ride with the
students and teachers into the mountains to visit some churches?"
Murad shook his head and replied, "Unbelievable!" We shuddered as we thought
about that day: The bus was speeding down the open road. The faster the
vehicle went, the more frightened everyone grew, especially the children.
Even as the bus began snaking higher and higher into mountainous terrain,
the driver continued driving fast. Finally, unable to bear the fear any
longer, I got up from my seat and said to him, "Baron (Mister), please,
drive slower, the children are so scared that some of them are beginning to
cry."
He snickered and said, "Ah! You are just not accustomed to the way we drive
on our roads here!"
"But I am, and have seen some bloody accidents. Please, slow down."
He continued driving fast. The children-all of us-were tense with fear. Some
of the children, sobbing and clinging to each other, got down on the bus
floor. As the bus continued climbing higher and higher at a speed too fast
for narrow and curving terrain, the driver suddenly slowed down and then
came to a stop. Before us was a mangle of steel and bones drenched in blood.
The driver turned and looked at me. His face was white. For the remainder of
our trip he drove with great care.
Engrossed in our conversation as we walked down the street to the center, we
were surprised when we realized that we had already arrived at its gates.
The guard buzzed us in, and inside the center we exchanged greetings with
the Sisters, who then informed us, "Dinner will be ready soon."
"We will be in the dining room in just a few minutes," we replied, and
quickly walked down the hallway to our room. Near the chapel, one of the
teenage girls, an orphan, stopped us and said excitedly, "Deegeen Knarik,
Baron Murad, these are for the both of you!" and handed me some wildflowers.
"I have been waiting here to tell you that I decided to continue with school
after all. I really did listen and remember what you told me all those times
you talked to me, and I started to work harder. We got back our test scores
this morning, and I got 5s!"
Thrilled by her decision, we hugged her and said, "Desar anoosheek (See
sweetie), we knew you could do it! You are one of the brightest students we
know." Trembling with excitement, she smiled a huge smile, and with her eyes
sparkling she nodded and said, "I will see you at dinner!" and waved to us
as she walked down the hall.
It was shortly after dinner, and the center was quiet. The children and the
novices were busy upstairs with their studies. The cooks were finishing up
their chores. And the Sisters, leaving us in charge, were out running some
errands. One of the mothers, a single mother whose husband had left her for
someone else, had come to pick up her children. She brought them early every
morning and picked them up every evening. We had just finished speaking to
her and were walking towards the chapel when suddenly she called out from
down the hall, "Deegeen Knarik, Baron Murad, something is wrong with my
son!" The boy was crying as he stood near the door with his mother. "He
says he has a bad stomach ache and I do not know what to do!" We rushed
towards them. By the time we got to them, the child was on his knees buckled
over with pain and crying harder while his mother tried desperately to
comfort him.
"Let us go to the nearby clinic," said Murad. "I will carry the boy there."
"No, please let me carry him," said the mother with fear in her eyes. (A few
years earlier, she had lost a little girl to cancer.) The boy, still buckled
over with pain, began shivering and crying even harder.
"Let me go and see if I can bring some help," I said and ran down the street
to the clinic. Within a few minutes I was back. The facility was closed for
the evening.
"Do you think we can get hold of Karine?" Murad asked.
"Let me try," I said, and ran to the office to phone her.
"Karine, there is a little boy at the center who is complaining of a very
bad stomach ache. His complexion is sallow and he is shivering. What should
we do? The clinic down the street is closed for the evening."
"Take the child immediately to the Austrian Children’s Hospital!" said the
doctor. The hospital was built by the Austrians after the earthquake.
Murad ran out of the building and up the street to the main thoroughfare in
search of a cab. Within a little while he returned with one and we all got
into it. In about 15 minutes, the cabby, driving fast because of the boy’s
condition, let us off in front of the hospital. Inside, we thought someone
would come to help the ailing child, but instead we were directed to a woman
down the hall sitting behind a glass window. "You must pay before the child
can be seen!" she said matter-of-factly. Murad and I tried to pay for the
service, but the mother refused our offer.
"Please, no, I cannot thank you enough for bringing us all the way here in a
cab. I will pay." She opened her purse and carefully counted 5,000 drams
($9.00). For her, the amount was huge.
Finally, after sitting in the dim waiting area for what seemed to us to be
forever, the child and his mother were called into the treatment room. Murad
and I waited for them in the waiting area, all the while listening to the
shrill cries of the child and wondering what was wrong with him and whether
or not he would be all right. As we sat and waited and listened to his
cries, I remembered what my cousin in Yerevan had told me about an
experience she had had with her young son in a Yerevan hospital during the
Soviet days. Even after all the years had passed and her son was now an
adult, with her eyes welling with tears she had described the incident with
intense emotion and anger. She had trembled as she said, "My husband was out
of town and had forgotten to leave me some money. In the meantime, our
little boy had fallen outside… His lacerated arm needed many stitches. At
the hospital I was callously told, ‘If you want anesthesia for the boy you
will have to pay!’ I had no choice but to listen to my little boy, my baby,
scream and scream as they stitched him up and then handed him over to me.
And all because I had no money!"
A couple of hours later, the mother walked into the waiting room with her
child, and said, "They gave him an enema and told us we can go home, but
that he has to come back for tests."
Murad and I looked at each other, then at the little boy, so pale and still
shivering, and then at his gaunt, worried mother. "Wait here, I will go and
find a cab," said Murad in a low tone, and rushed out the door.
Sunday, after church, as Murad and I were taking a walk around the
neighborhood, we bumped into the mother and two daughters of the family we
had stayed with briefly when we first arrived in Gyumri. "Barev! Barev!" we
greeted one another, and then they said, "We are going to visit our friends
just down that street there. Come, join us! We know that they will be happy
to meet you." We accepted their invitation and joined them. "Their entrance
is in the back," said the mother as she pointed to the building. We followed
her and the daughters to a littered, graffiti-marred, crumbling courtyard.
Up one flight of crumbling stairs we climbed, and then another and another.
The debris, it seemed, was the accepted decor on the stairs, landings and
hallways. Dimness was everywhere. "Barev dzez! Barev dzez! Please, come in,"
said the lady of the house and graciously showed us in. We stepped out of
dimness, debris and destruction into brightness, cleanliness and pride. ".We
are the owners of the bakery around the corner. You will have to visit our
shop before you go home," said the lady as we sat on the sofa, drank
Armenian coffee, and ate cake and dried fruit meticulously arranged on
plates placed on the small table covered with a carefully ironed tablecloth.
It was Monday morning, and time again for our classes at the
orphanage/center. Murad went to his computer class, and I to my English
class. In the afternoon, it would be off to the Armenian Missionary
Association (AMA) Center for our classes there. Only a few more days
remained at the AMA Center before classes ended for the summer, as they
already had at the public school.
"Good afternoon students! How are you today?"
"Fine thanks, Teacher. How are you?"
"Very well, thank you! What will you be doing this summer?"
A male university student raised his hand and said in a disheartened manner,
"Mrs. Knarik, my friends and I will be spending another summer doing
nothing. There are no jobs; there is nothing for us to do here in the
summer."
"I am going to AMA summer camp!" said a grade-school student excitedly.
"I also will be doing nothing this summer. That is why I wish this class
would not end," said a female university student wistfully.
One by one the students described their plans for the summer. As they spoke,
some haltingly, some not, it was evident that all of them had become more
fluent in English.
"Students, since our lessons will be coming to an end in a few days, I have
a special assignment for you and hope you will have fun doing it." The
students looked sad when I said that our lessons were coming to an end, and
I felt sad, very sad. "Today you are going to write a story!" They looked at
each other. "But, you must use one of the two beginnings I am going to write
on the chalk board," and began writing:
1.) A chicken was walking on Rishkov Street. Suddenly.
2.) It is winter. The snow is falling slowly and softly. In the distance.
The students giggled when they read the first sentence, and some said, "I am
going to do that one!" Others said, "Oh, I am going to do the second one!"
They all began to write. And what wonderful stories they wrote!
It was evening, and we were back at the center. The children were studying
upstairs, and Murad and I were in our bedroom preparing lesson plans for the
summer. We were going to Tzaghgadzor with the children and Sisters, where
the Sisters ran a summer jambar (camp) for underprivileged children from all
over Armenia and Javakh. "Let’s take a break and go and have some tea?" I
said. In the dining room, Sister Arousiag and the other Sisters were sitting
and chatting with one another over tea. We joined them. As we discussed the
children-their lives, their hardships, their future-Sister Arousiag said,
"We can feed, cloth and educate the children, but we cannot give them what
they most need-parental love." After the Sisters left for evening prayers in
the chapel, Murad and I lingered over another cup of tea, at times
discussing the various children: the little boy with poor vision; the little
girl who had been raped; the teenage girl who had been sold; the child who
was abandoned; the budding young girl who had barely escaped the hands of a
"Mama Rosa"; the boys and girls who had no parents or only one parent; and
the ones whose parents could not afford to take care of them. Those were the
ones who came to the center during the day and returned home in the evening.
I thought about the little girl who came to the center with the rest of her
siblings every morning for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and returned home
every evening. The family was extremely poor, and the parents had great
difficulty feeding, clothing and educating their children. Despite their
poverty, it was obvious that the children-polite, clean, caring, bright and
industrious-were well loved at home. One day, while I was outside watching
the younger children at play, I heard someone weeping in the garden and went
to see who it was. There, on the bench, surrounded by flowers and a
fountain, sat the little girl who came to the center every morning with her
siblings. "Anoosheek, what is it? Why are you crying?" She would not answer
and I sat down next to her. She leaned against me and wept even harder. I
put my arm around her and whispered, "Tell me, why are you crying?"
"I do not want to be Armenian anymore!" she said. "When we lived in Russia,
the boys and girls there were never mean to us. But here, because my mother
is Russian, they are not nice to us. Sometimes they are very cruel. I want
to live in Russia again where I was happy." The little girl wept and wept.
I dried her tears, swept her dark, shiny hair out of her dark, melancholy
eyes and said, "Bayts, anoosheek aghcheek (But, sweet girl), you are
Armenian!" and told her how, as an immigrant child growing up in Chicago,
"the kids at school ridiculed me because I was not a local and had a ‘funny’
name, and even some of the teachers wanted to change my name to Karen, but I
always said no!"
Surprised, she looked at me and asked, "And you still wanted to be
Armenian?"
"Always! Even though, like you, I am half Armenian," I said, and took hold
of her hand as we walked around the garden.
Summer was over and the Sisters, the children, the center staff, and Murad
and I were back from Tsaghgadzor. Soon, it would be September 1, the
beginning of fall or voske ashoon (golden autumn) in Armenia, where each new
season officially begins on the first of the month of the particular season.
On this day, ornate and colorful signs that read "Baree Galoust (Welcome
Back)" would once again decorate school doors and windows to welcome back
students. And, in a few weeks, it would be time for us to move again-this
time back home.
The remaining days and weeks at the center were flying by and although we
were both looking forward to returning home, we were also feeling a little
sad leaving this city. Finally, it was the evening before our departure. I
walked over to our bedroom window, pulled back the curtains and opened the
window. A gust of cool mountain air rushed into the room along with the
familiar street sounds. I took a deep breath as I looked up at the moon and
the stars. Oh, what a beautiful sky! I thought about all the changes that
were taking place in Gyumri since our arrival. Although they were slow in
coming, they were taking place. New buildings were being erected and streets
were being paved-projects funded by the Lincy Foundation; a new school and
apartment buildings were nearing completion-projects funded by the Mormons;
the main shuga had gained several more shops; and a few more families had
moved into our old apartment building on Sayat Nova Street. These things
were only a start. There was still so much more work to be done-work that
did not require money.
After saying our goodbyes to the Sisters, the children and staff, we were on
our way back home. As we rode down Sayat Nova Street past Tigran Mets for
the last time, I took a lingering look at this city that had become a part
of us. Over there, down that street lived Melkon and his family; the
grandmother was still not feeling well. Up ahead, in that apartment building
lived Dr. Amatuni and her family; they were so happy these days because
their son Hayk, who had been studying in the U.S., had recently returned
home to be of service to his country. And over there, up on the third floor,
was our old apartment, and down below-tucked away in the back-were the
domeeks where people still lived, including the lady who’d bring our mail
sometimes, the old lady with the cats. And there, across the street just a
little past the park was the public bathhouse. Down that narrow, meandering
street lived Rusanna and her parents; they were longing for the rest of
their family who had no choice but to move to Russia where there was work.
Way down that street lived Vartush and her children; she was still waiting
for her husband, and the children were still waiting for their father to
return home from Russia where he worked to support them. Way down there,
around the corner, lived Gamo and his family, and across the street from
them lived Marina. Straight down Rishkov Street past the grocery store,
pharmacy, floral shop, antique shop, toy store, music shop and bank was the
Dak Lamajo eatery. Just to the right, in the square, was Yot Verk Church and
to the left was the shuga-the heartbeat of the city-with its countless
stories yet to be told.
As we continued on our way, we stopped for a few minutes to gaze at a large
monument standing off of Karekin Nejdeh Square. Surrounded by litter and
weeds, the Hammer and Sickle-the emblem of Soviet utopia, greatness and
power-was now a rusted epitaph. A few yards away was another monument.
Standing victorious, and looking down at the rusted epitaph, was the man the
communists had driven out of Armenia-Karekin Nejdeh.
I looked back towards the city one more time, and whispered, "Goodbye,
Gyumri! Goodbye, Mountain Flower!"
LA CHRONIQUE DE CHRISTIAN MAKARIAN;
L’Express
18 Octobre 2007
France
L’Amerique des principes
ENCART: En reconnaissant le genocide armenien, les democrates entament
une reconquete morale
" Inacceptable ! " tonne le president turc, Abdullah Gul. En adoptant
une resolution reconnaissant le genocide des Armeniens de l’Empire
ottoman, qui causa la mort de 1,5 million d’innocents au debut du
xxe siècle, la commission des Affaires etrangères de la Chambre des
representants des Etats-Unis a provoque une secousse tellurique. Le
texte devrait etre prochainement mis au vote devant la Chambre reunie
en assemblee plenière. Sa presidente, la democrate Nancy Pelosi, sûre
d’agir au nom des principes fondamentaux, ne se soucie guère de l’onde
de choc. Or la Turquie, qui nie aveuglement toute forme de genocide,
brandit une fois de plus la menace. Ankara rappelle son ambassadeur
a Washington. La presse turque traite les elus du peuple americain
d’" imbeciles ". Le vice-president du parti islamiste au pouvoir,
l’AKP, estime que son pays ne devrait plus mettre a la disposition
des Americains la base militaire d’Incirlik, par où transitent 70 %
du ravitaillement aerien destine a l’Irak, un tiers des carburants
et 95 % des engins blindes.
Catastrophe, George W. Bush considère que l’adoption de ce texte "
causerait un tort considerable avec un allie crucial au sein de l’Otan
et dans la guerre mondiale contre le terrorisme ". Un " allie crucial
" ? Certes, mais comment oublier qu’en 2003, sans qu’il ait une minute
ete question du genocide armenien, la Turquie avait refuse d’autoriser
le passage des unites americaines sur son sol dans le cadre du plan
d’invasion du nord de l’Irak ? Comment ignorer que, depuis des annees,
l’armee turque, aux prises avec la guerilla kurde dans l’est du pays,
envisage ouvertement de se livrer a des incursions punitives dans
le nord de l’Irak, majoritairement peuple de Kurdes, seule zone de
relative stabilite depuis l’occupation americaine ?
La verite est que George W. Bush vient d’essuyer un affront personnel
d’envergure. En qualifiant dûment de " genocide " l’extermination des
Armeniens, après 23 pays (dont la France), les democrates americains
entament une reconquete morale contre un president disqualifie. En
appelant ses pairs a un vote de " conscience ", le president de la
commission des Affaires etrangères de la Chambre des representants, Tom
Lantos, a remis l’Amerique sur le chemin de ses valeurs. Tom Lantos est
le seul survivant de l’Holocauste a avoir jamais ete elu au Congrès.
–Boundary_(ID_MlYXsNIcEflUiTahzEAs wA)–
AN UGLY TRUTH
by Jay Tolson
U.S. News & World Report
October 29, 2007 Monday
HIGHLIGHT: The challenges of confronting the Armenian genocide
Call it a tragic episode, a massacre, even a crime against humanity.
But don’t–at least officially–call the death and forced displacement
of up to 1.5 million Armenians at the end of the Ottoman Empire a
genocide. That is what the government of Turkey has long insisted,
though seldom more strenuously than in the wake of the most recent
attempt in the U.S. Congress to pass a nonbinding resolution that
would do just that. Were it to pass, the United States would be on
record as seeing the events of 1915-1919 as, in the words of the 1948
U.N. Convention on Genocide, acts "committed with intent to destroy,
in whole or in part, a national, ethnic, racial or religious group."
At the moment, however, it looks as though Turkey and an impressive
array of supporters–from the White House to K Street and beyond–will
prevail in blocking the attempt. Twenty earlier backers of the bill
have already defected in response to a tsunami of pressure that
includes millions of lobbying dollars, eight former secretaries of
state, three former secretaries of defense, Gen. David Petraeus, the
patriarch of the Armenian church in Turkey, and even The Daily Show.
The case put forward against the bill is powerful: Its passage would
alienate Turkey, America’s strongest ally among Middle Eastern Muslim
nations and a crucial geostrategic partner. Not only might Ankara shut
down the American-run Incirlik air base (through which 74 percent of
Iraq-bound U.S. air cargo transits), it would feel even less reluctant
to send troops into northern Iraq to crush the Kurdish separatists
who have found a haven there. In return for an entirely symbolic
resolution, the voices of realism declare, an already colossal mess
in Iraq would grow even worse.
Despite the dwindling number of supporters, House Speaker Nancy
Pelosi insists that the bill will still go before the full House. But
even if the measure meets the fate of earlier ones, the forces that
repeatedly bring the issue up will not go away. Foremost among these
are the some 1.4 million Armenian-Americans who are part of a larger
world diaspora that dwarfs the number of Armenians now living in
Armenia itself. To them, this is not ancient history but something
that lives on painfully in their present lives, a crucial fact of
"our narrative," as Ross Vartian, executive director of the U.S.
Armenian Public Affairs Committee, calls it. "This is about the U.S.
being on the record about the Armenian genocide," he says, "and it’s
about confronting genocide in general, even when it’s hard."
Denials. But just as much a force, in a perverse way, is the obstinate
refusal of the modern Turkish republic to acknowledge a historical
episode for which it was not itself responsible.
Ironically, the vehemence of persistent denials–including a 2003 law
requiring schools to deny the massacre and a provision added to the
penal code that made "insults to Turkishness" jailable offenses–has
made this sad historical chapter loom even larger in the Turkish
present. The assassination of Hrat Dink, an Armenian-Turkish journalist
who had been charged under the new law for writing about the massacre;
the near imprisonment of Nobel-winning novelist Orhan Pamuk, who
had mentioned the killing of a million Armenians in an interview;
the death threats that hang over Taner Akcam, who has written an
unflinching history of the genocide–all of these have been cited by
the larger global community as proof that Turkey has done nothing to
set its own record straight.
Yet repeatedly, Turkish officials say that the events of 1915-19
are questions that historians and scholars should adjudicate, not
ones on which governments should pass laws or pronouncements. (When
France proposed a law in 2006 criminalizing the denial of the Armenian
genocide, Ankara responded by cutting off military relations and some
commerce.) Even many self-critical Turks say that political pressure
from the outside will suppress nascent efforts to confront the history
and even create a backlash. "This resolution will just block the way
to dialogue," says writer Mustafa Akyol, deputy editor of the Turkish
Daily News. But the response of UCLA historian Richard Hovannisian
is pointed: "I don’t think the resolution will stifle investigation
in Turkey. They’ve had over 90 years to study this."
The question is whether Turkey will ever enter a debate in which the
consensus of scholars holds that the killings and mass deportations
of Armenians did indeed constitute a genocide. According to the
International Association of Genocide Scholars, the historical record
on the Armenian genocide is "unambiguous": In the years approaching
World War I, a new breed of Ottoman officials, the Young Turks, heirs
to two centuries of imperial decline, saw themselves as the defenders
of the Turkish remnant state in the Anatolian core of the empire.
Embracing an ultranationalist and supposedly secular ideology, Young
Turk leaders of the Committee of Union and Progress pointedly excluded
non-Muslim minorities, particularly Armenians, from their vision of
Turkish purity. The outbreak of war allowed these leaders to paint
all Armenians as pro-Russian fifth columnists (which only a small
number were) and undertake organized and widespread massacres and
deportations that led to further deaths from starvation and disease.
Most historians conclude that the massacre was carefully planned
and executed. They base their evaluation on American diplomatic
cables, some Ottoman documents, and Austrian and German archives,
as well as accounts of the Turkish courts-martial of 1919-20 which,
under Allied pressure, tried and convicted many of the Young Turks
for the atrocities.
By contrast, the populist Turkish take on this history emphasizes
the war conditions and the threat of Armenian disloyalty to discredit
allegations of an intentional policy of extermination. As Akyol says,
almost every Turk today has heard a grandparent’s tale of treacherous
Armenians. The Turkish view has found at least partial support from
a small number of scholars abroad.
"Nonnegotiable." If a consensus exists, then, there are at least
grounds for discussion. So why is it unlikely that truly open
conferences will occur within Turkey? To some degree, both Armenians
and Turks are at fault. The former insist that Turks embrace the
"G" word even at the outset of discussion. Akcam says that what
Armenians expect is "an acknowledgment of moral wrong, and most are
not worried about what exact word is used." But Vartian, speaking
for many activists, says, "The ‘G’ word is nonnegotiable."
That hard stance doesn’t bode well as an opening move. But neither does
the overly defensive outlook of many Turks–an attitude reminiscent
of the late Ottoman mentality. Seeing fifth columnists everywhere
(now mainly among Kurds rather than Armenians) and overly suspicious
of foreign intentions (the proposed resolution is denounced as
proof of "American imperialism"), the Turks view any concessions
on the Armenian question not only as an affront to national pride
but as something Armenians will use to extort reparations or even
restoration of property. The fact that the International Criminal
Court has imposed strict limitations on the retroactive use of the
genocide charge to recover damages does little to assuage Ankara.
But what about the broader meaning of the resolution, and even
implications for the prosecution of genocide cases? Michael Scharf,
a professor of law at Case Western Reserve University and a frequent
adviser to genocide tribunals, doubts that the resolution would be
of any practical prosecutorial value. And he adds that because there
was no scholarly debate in Congress, the measure appears to Turks to
be nothing but pure politics. Yet, like many, he wonders at Turkey’s
inability to put the matter to rest: "Why doesn’t Turkey do a mea culpa
and move on? There just doesn’t seem to be a downside to doing that."
American Chronicle, CA
Oct 20 2007
Obama’s Right: Politicians Must Justify their Values
Rodney Smith
October 20, 2007
I read that Barack Obama started a novel idea. Instead of demagogues
just chanting mantras while the other side covers its ear and says
"la la la", debate should be moved back to open discussion. Freedom
of speech should again be allowed, including tolerance and open
listening. The nation has been successfully split by people making
issues and condemning those that don’t agree with the new
protagonists. Even if Senator Obama did not say so, it’s a good idea
to go back to letting people speak and promote ideas even if they are
not popular with socially dominant judges, education managers and
mainstream media.
It would be great to hear the Democrats explain why it is good to
have foreign dictators speak at our universities while American
spokesmen and students are banned. Why should radio hosts be censored
while Democrats reap money from Hollywood? It would be wonderful if
the Democrats could explain why the first right in the constitution
was cancelled for an article of faith called "privacy", so that
abortion is promoted by the government. How can they be proponents
for open ideas when their beliefs in evolution and human caused
global warming cannot be questioned?
Can they please explain why people that come to this country
illegally should have rights and privileges that people that were
born here and have paid taxes do not have? Why would they cancel the
constitutional guarantee that the government can not confiscate
private property for the creation of federal wildlife preserves?
How can the Democrats be the party for the underdog when they force
people to pay for their party as a fee for working as a teacher? How
can they consider themselves the heroes of the working class when
they work so hard to close mines and stop industries from expanding?
How can they now call themselves the champions of Social Security
after decades of Democratic congresses spent the social security
funds?
Why should terrorists be able to move and communicate freely to plan
attacks to take our lives? Why do Democrats travel around this nation
and other nations promoting hatred and disgust for America? How can
they call themselves more qualified for Muslim international politics
when they are ready to deliberately insult an emerging democracy like
Turkey with the Armenian resolution?
American voters deserve to know what the Democrats values are that
underlie these beliefs that undercut personal expression, freedom,
dignity, national sovereignty and even life?
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