Telling the truth about The Armenian Genocide is the best way to serve America's interests

In the hundred years that Armenians have mourned the Genocide’s martyrs and marched for justice, Turkey has exerted extraordinary effort to fabricate an alternate reality.

In the hallucinatory history taught in Turkish schools and peddled to the world by Turkey’s academic toadies, the Ottoman government evacuated Armenians from the path of war in 1915 for their own safety.

The resulting deaths are described as unfortunate—tragic, even—but unintended.

"As President, I will recognize
the Armenian Genocide" -- Obama 2008

There are two problems with this denialist fantasy. That it isn’t true is actually the lesser problem. The greater problem for Turkey is that even if it were true, it wouldn’t matter.

As Geoffrey Robertson points out in An Inconvenient Genocide, the very facts admitted by denialist scholars and Turkish officials would provide sufficient basis for prosecution of genocide under international law.

I cite Robertson’s book because he makes the case exceptionally well, focusing on facts rather than on the outcome. He avoids sensational but questionable assertions and sticks to clearly admissible evidence, which is fitting for one of the world’s most prominent and vocal human rights attorneys. 

The evidence he presents makes clear that the word “relocation” used in Ottoman directives was a euphemism for extermination. The brutal circumstances of the relocation of Armenians from their homes in Eastern Turkey is well documented in accounts by non-Armenian sources, including Germans working with the Turks.

Hundreds of thousands of people were marched without sufficient food, water or shelter into the uninhabitable Syrian desert. These haggard marchers were repeatedly attacked by thieves, rapists and murderers. Those who survived the journey were left to die in the sun, or burned alive in caves.

None of this is compatible with the fable that the evacuations were temporary. Even before these poor people were reduced to bones, their homes were seized and turned over to Turks or Kurds.

One of the most egregious fallacies repeated by denialists is that genocide cannot be proven without evidence that the government ordered the extermination of all Armenians. But as Robertson explains, forcing even part of a population into circumstances where most could be expected to die is genocide, and it cannot be legally (or morally) excused by the exigencies of war.

With that alone, the prosecution could rest its case except that there is no prosecution and there won’t be.

Armenia’s suffering gave birth to the very term genocide as well as to the international convention aimed at eradicating this most inhuman of human crimes, but it all happened too late to bring justice to Armenians.

Why is that?

In the wake of the First World War, Britain took the lead among the victorious powers in urging prosecution of war criminals. The worst offenders took off running. Turkish thugs sought refuge in Germany, while Germany’s Kaiser fled to the Netherlands.

As disappearing acts go, this hardly rivaled Houdini but it didn’t have to. Post-war politics and the nascent state of international law made extradition difficult even in the case of Turks who were convicted in absentia of involvement in the Genocide. Delay after delay ensured that all such efforts petered out within a few years of the armistice.

What makes this not only relevant but important so many years later is that America helped the bad guys get away with murder.

President Woodrow Wilson opposed creation of an international justice tribunal because it would violate the “sovereignty principle” that governments were responsible for punishing crimes against the people they ruled.

As related by Robertson, Wilson reasoned that Armenians “were Ottoman subjects, and their suffering at the hands of their own government would have to be punished by their own government – present or future – if they were to be punished at all.”

We know how that’s worked out—at least, so far.

Despite a century of disappointment and insults, Armenians are making real gains in achieving international recognition of the Genocide. Response to this year’s centennial commemoration has been overwhelming.

Turkey’s churlish attempts to draw attention away from the Genocide memorial in April fell flat while Armenia’s pleas for recognition generated a wave of support from around the world.

The European Union adopted a resolution recognizing the Genocide while urging Turkey to do the same. Pope Francis also called on Turkey to tell the truth, and he celebrated a mass in memory of the Genocide’s victims. The president of Germany, Turkey’s war-time ally, called the Genocide by its rightful name and admitted German complicity.

It is very nearly possible now to declare that no civilized nation tolerates Turkey’s lies and evasions. Unfortunately, there are two notable exceptions: The United Kingdom and the United States.

Both continue to avoid using the words genocide and Armenian in the same sentence. Contrast the courage of Germany’s president with our own President Obama, who broke his pledge to recognize the Genocide and turned down an invitation to attend this year’s Genocide commemoration at the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C.

Vice President Biden did attend. Like Obama, he was once a vigorous advocate for Armenians and for truth about the Genocide. But he sat in silence throughout the memorial ceremony and left immediately after. He declined to speak to the gathering or to exchange more than polite greetings with the president of Armenia.

This is very much in line with the Administration’s insistence on not offending a vital ally. American presidents have followed this crooked path to disappointment for  decades. Not long ago, for example, Obama thought he’d persuaded Turkey to join the fight against ISIS. Instead, it attacked the Kurds who were fighting ISIS.

Obama’s abandonment has been so disappointing that some Armenians have suggested there’s little point pressing this year’s presidential candidates for their position on the Genocide. I think it’s more important than ever given the momentum at work.

As an American, I certainly don’t want my country to become an outlier as the world evolves toward zero-tolerance for genocide. What’s at stake is much more than embarrassment.

If President Wilson had shown more gumption, the Armenian Genocide could have been a powerful and far-reaching force for international justice and human rights in the wake of World War One. Instead, Hitler was encouraged by the world’s passivity. Robertson reminds us of this with the cover quote: “Who now remembers the Armenians?”

He also reminds us that the truth of this quote is so powerful that Turkey and its denialist clients insist Hitler never said it. He did. You could look it up.

Unless, of course, you’re in Turkey.

As young men, we dreamed of going to Armenia. We finally made it, just a few years later than we'd planned.

 “I knew we’d get to Armenia together. But I didn’t think we’d be old men when we got here. How did this happen?” – Aram Aslanian in Yerevan, April 22, 2015. 

There was no magic moment, at least that I recall, but Aram and I must have been nine or 10 years old when we first started talking about going to Armenia together. 

We grew up in suburban New Jersey, but Armenia was a powerful and constant presence in our lives – the idea and ideal of Armenia, at least, if not the country itself.  We learned its history and myths at Armenian school on Saturdays, and we chanted its hymns in church on Sundays.  

Our parents took turns driving us to Camp Haiastan in Massachusetts each summer so we could sing songs of national liberation as we hiked across woods and fields we imagined to be the Armenian Highlands 

As we grew, so did our circle of Armenian friends and our involvement in Armenian activities. When we were old enough to drive, we’d cruise up and down the East Coast from New York to Boston to Philadelphia to Washington or wherever there was an Armenian dance or a basketball game – any excuse to be with Armenians. 

So of course we wanted to go to Armenia, to be in Armenia. It was perfectly natural. It just wasn’t practical. 

There really was no country called Armenia back then. The name appeared on maps only in the descriptive introduction to a Soviet “republic” that appeared as cold and grim as the rest.  The Armenia we sang our camp songs about was separate but equally uninviting, still under Turkish dominion and bereft of the people and culture our grandparents knew. 

Of course, we could have gone to either place, as many Armenians from around the world did. Our checks and Visa cards would have been welcomed by hotels and tour guides on either side of the Soviet-Turkish border. We'd be standing on the land of our ancestors, regardless of the current tenants. 

In truth, reality was less appealing than our childhood fantasy, as reality usually is.  We continued to talk about going to Armenia as we got older, but there were always other realities to deal with: work, home, family. Aram became Dr. Aslanian, professor of psychology. I became a reporter, editor and author. It’s not that we didn’t notice the fall of Soviet communism and the rebirth of independent Armenia in 1991—but, well, we were busy.

We retired about the same time a few years back, but even then we weren’t quite ready to fly across the world. I really didn’t want to walk across the street to the pool. My ideal retirement here in Florida involved nothing more strenuous than opening the patio door. Aram was only a bit more energetic: He retired to Maine, so he kept in shape by shivering all winter. 

When he finally warmed up in the spring of 2014, Aram phoned. “I’m going to Armenia and I’m not going without you,” he said. I asked for time to think about it but Aram has always insisted on being spontaneous. “We’re going in the fall, so get ready.” 

Aram spent the next couple of months planning, but he didn’t plan on being sidelined by a bum foot. It’s the sort of thing us old guys are learning to deal with but not exactly getting used to.  So the trip was delayed, which turned out to be a very good thing because Aram also didn’t plan on a sudden detour to have a stent inserted in his heart. 

I put the trip out of mind until my interest was sparked by another unexpected turn of events two month ago. An opportunity to attend the London Book Fair with other Armenian authors was too interesting to pass up. We had only a few weeks to decide and make plans, but Robyn and I were both struck by the same thought: If we’re on the far side of the Atlantic anyway, why not continue on to Armenia? 

With the timing of the fair in mid-April, we could be in Yerevan for the 100-year commemoration of the Armenian Genocide. I called Aram, who didn’t hesitate. We were very lucky to get flights and book rooms in short order. 

 

Robyn and I got there first. Aram arrived hours later. We found each other in the lobby of our hotel, a couple of old men who got to be kids again for a little while. And this is how we came to celebrate Aram’s 63rd birthday in Yerevan after a half century of dawdling.

 

I’ll have much more to say about our experience in Armenia, but what’s important for now is that we finally had one.

My father was born in a house I've never seen. Will it ever be mine?

I want my house back.

Forget that I’ve never seen it and have no idea what the address is, much less what it looks like. It’s my house, damn it, and I want it.

This is not a snap decision. I started thinking about this over 40 years ago, when my father told me he was sure Turkey would never acknowledge the Armenian Genocide. I asked how he could be so certain.

“Because they’d have to give me my house back,” he said. “They would have to give all the Armenians their houses back.”

Until that moment, I hadn’t thought of my father owning any house except the one where we lived in New Jersey. I understood immediately he was talking about his father’s house in Diyarbakir. It had most likely been in the family for generations.

My father was three years old when his family was forced out of their home and his mother murdered. He was probably 60 when we had that conversation, but the house most likely still stood somewhere within the city’s ancient walls and it most definitely belonged to his parents’ only child by any civilized code of law.

I’d put all this aside until a few years ago when my friend Art Heise shared his own experience with a lost family home in a far-off place that had been wracked by war and genocide.

He and his family were evicted by the Red Army at the end of World War II when Art was barely school age. They were lucky to escape East Germany, but his parents were never able to return to their house.

When the Communists finally cleared out nearly a half century later, Art returned to claim the family home only to discover it had been home to another family before the war – a Jewish family.

Art’s research confirmed that the previous owners were murdered by the Nazis. It also revealed something even more shocking to him: His father had been a member of the Nazi Party. He could not proceed with his claim without delving even deeper to find out if his father had used his influence to force this helpless family out of their home.

The result was a fascinating, difficult and even painful journey of family discovery that became all the more challenging and meaningful when Art tracked down the other family’s heir and persuaded her to join his quest.

At its core was a daunting reality: Art would lose all claim to the home if he uncovered evidence of his father’s complicity. Worse, he would live with the knowledge. I know Art, so I know the courage he showed in going forward.  

J. Arthur Heise and Melanie Kuhr both overcame suspicion, distrust and history to make a successful joint claim to the house, and then shared the profit when they sold it. They also wrote a book about their unlikely partnership, Das Haus.

From Art’s perspective, the circumstances of his house odyssey are a strange reversal of the Armenian predicament. But his decency and his determination are heartening to anyone who hopes for the best in human behavior.

I wonder if I’d discover the same qualities in the Turks or Kurds who most likely live in my father’s house?

I want to believe it is possible, just as I want to believe my father was wrong. 

Dad is gone now so his house is just as surely mine. I will make my claim if the day ever comes when justice extends to Armenians. 

Another Armenian tragedy is unfolding in Syria

The scene in Aleppo as reported by The Armenian Weekly

I’m an average American in my knowledge of the political, social and economic forces animating the current turmoil in Syria.

In other words, I know very little.

I’m more interested than most, however, in part because so many Armenians are in the line of fire.

Armenians have a long history in Syria, particularly in the north.  

During the Genocide of 1915, vast numbers of Armenians were driven into the Syrian desert to die. But with the end of Ottoman rule after the First World War, Syria became a haven for thousands of Armenian refugees.

Like most predominantly Arab countries, Syria has a Muslim majority but it also has a significant Christian population and a historic practice of tolerance. Feeling both thankful and secure, Armenians turned their temporary settlements into permanent homes by building villages and churches in their own traditions.

At the population’s peak, there were was many as 150,000 Syrians of Armenian descent. That number has probably been reduced by a third in recent years for all the expected reasons, including the region’s conflicts.

Now the Armenians who remain are caught in the back-and-forth between government forces of President Bashar-al-Assad and anti-government rebels. Among the hardest hit are the Armenians of Aleppo, where many of my father’s relatives settled after being displaced from Turkey in 1922.

Some Armenian villages have come under direct attack. The long-standing Armenian community of Kessab was left deserted after assaults by fighters who crossed the border from Turkey. Government forces have since retaken the town.

The death toll in Kessab remains unclear, as does the extent of Turkey’s involvement in the broader Syrian conflict—but the parallel to 1915 is eerie and infuriating to Armenians everywhere.

Armenians throughout the world are responding to urgent calls for donations while also pressing for international intervention.

Whether the United States or any other outside power will do much to help is beyond me. But here’s what I do know: Much of what we’ve read and heard about the Syrian conflict is wrong.

It was initially portrayed as the latest iteration of the Arab Spring, a phrase that assaults both language and logic. This is not a simple good guy/bad guy battle between a despotic regime and idealistic democrats.

As in all the Middle East, there are more than two sides vying for domination and it’s hard to tell whether there’s much good in any of them.

What is clear is that Armenians are suffering once again for the very reason that has threatened our existence so many times: We are simply in the way.

Armenians should learn from the success of efforts to educate the world about the Holocaust

Why is there no  major film
 about the Armenian Genocide?

In my experience, Jewish people respond more strongly and with greater empathy to stories of our tragic history than any other non-Armenians. Many are well aware that Hitler was emboldened by the world's refusal to punish the perpetrators of the Armenian Genocide.

Then why do some Armenians bristle at any mention of the Holocaust?

Their complaint boils down to this: We were slaughtered first, so why do they get all the attention? Implicit in this thinking is a fallacy: recognition of the Holocaust and recognition of the Armenian Genocide are not mutually exclusive.

The impression of an imbalance exists for a number of reasons, among them Israel's stubborn and shameful refusal to acknowledge the Armenian Genocide. But the most obvious reason is the volume and frequency of Holocaust references in the media. Armenians notice this more than most because we're so sensitive to the Genocide's relative lack of recognition.

Many of us, however, don't realize that today's Holocaust consciousness is the result of a long and sometimes complicated effort.

Like Armenians after the Genocide, many Jewish refugees focused on rebuilding their own lives after World War II rather than reliving their nightmare. Even many American Jews, conscious of antisemitism here at home, shied away from talking publicly about the tragic events in Europe.

Several developments after the war encouraged survivors to speak about what they'd experienced: The Nuremberg prosecution of war criminals documented and exposed the Nazis' crimes. Faced with the world's judgment, Germany renounced its past and began making reparations.

Finally, the creation of Israel lent survivors a sense of hope as well as purpose. Giving testimony about the death camps and other atrocities became a way to help ensure that the world would not allow a recurrence.

Even so, public consciousness was slow to awaken while much of the conversation remained muted. The Holocaust as an upper-case term didn't begin to come into popular use until the 1960s. Schindler's List, the first major Hollywood film to deal with the Holocaust graphically and at length, wasn't released until 1993.

Armenians have had more time to find their voice but they've had a much harder time making it heard.

The Western powers abandoned the Armenians after the Great War and quickly withdrew their attention and sympathy. Absent the sort of international pressure Germany experienced, Turkey has continued to deny history while continuing to receive military and economic support from America and its allies.

As a result of these disparate circumstances, Holocaust deniers are rightly dismissed as kooks while Genocide deniers receive cover from an American government that will not acknowledge the history documented in its own records.

These are undeniably serious obstacles, but they're not insurmountable—and that is the crucial point.

I understand why my father spoke so seldom and quietly about the horrors he experienced as a child, but I'm under no such compulsion. I'm blessed to live in a country where I can't be prosecuted for speaking the truth about the Armenian experience before, during and after the Genocide.

The hoodlums who committed that horror tried to erase me before I was born but they failed. No one stopped me from writing a book about my struggle to learn my history and embrace my identity. It may be too late to hear the stories of our parents and grandparents, but we can tell their stories as well as our own.

It's worth noting that the screenplay for Schindler's List was written by Steve Zaillian, an Armenian-American who won an Oscar for his efforts. So why has there been no such ambitious portrayal of the Armenian Genocide?

I know about the efforts over the years to keep Hollywood from making such a movie, but Hollywood is an anachronism. Today there are more ways then ever to tell a story visually and deliver it to an audience anywhere in the world.

Who could stop us if we were truly committed?

To me it's clear that we Armenians simply haven't told our story loudly enough or well enough or insistently enough to command the world's attention. Instead of resenting the effectiveness of writers, film producers and survivors who keep the Holocaust in view, we should admire and emulate them.