BERLIN, Germany (A.W.)—On May 10, a conference on “The 1915 Genocide: Collective Responsibility and Roles; Kurdish, Armenian, Assyrian Relations” was held in Berlin. It brought together two generations of Kurdish intellectuals to discuss inter-communal relations before and after the genocide and the responsibilities of Kurds in the process and conciliation and making amends.
Armenian Weekly Editor Khatchig Mouradian delivered the following speech, in Turkish, calling on Kurdish opinion-makers and politicians to expand and deepen their role in bringing justice to the victims of the Armenian Genocide.
For the Turkish version of the speech, click here.
***
I pass through Diyarbakir on all my trips to Turkey.
In January 2013, I was scheduled to speak at a conference in Ankara dedicated to Hrant Dink, and once again I decided to first make a stop in Diyarbakir.
It was Jan. 17 when I landed in Diyarbakir. Some of you here will remember that day. Hundreds of thousands had gathered for the funeral of activist Sakine Cansiz and her comrades.
As I stood in the crowd listening to the speeches, my mind wandered from Dersim to Diyarbakir to Ankara…
Two days later, in Ankara, I delivered my first speech in Turkish.
I started like this:
How did Turkish come to me?
I did not learn it to add one more foreign language to my CV.
Turkish came to me the day I was born. I had not asked for it, yet I could not reject it, either.
It came to me in the voice of my grandmother.
For you, Turkish is the mother tongue. For me it’s my grandmother’s language.
My grandparents survived the genocide and
ended up in Lebanon with practically nothing. They rebuilt their lives
from scratch, and gave my parents the gift of life.
And when I was born, they gave me one of
the few things they were, in fact, able to bring with them from Kilikia:
the Turkish language.
For you, Turkish is the language of parental love.
For me, it is the burden of death and dispossession.
My Turkish has memories of death and
dispossession from Adana, Kilis, Konya Eregli, and Hasanbeyli. The
villages and towns of my grandparents.
And today, for the first time, I speak that language from a podium.
Today, for the first time, I return that gift of death and dispossession to the lands it came from…
At the end of the speech, I said:
But asking others to open their eyes and acknowledge the suffering of Armenians can never be enough.
What is necessary is justice.
So today, I return the language of death and dispossession to you.
And instead, in the name of my
grandparents, Khachadour and Meline Mouradian, Ardashes and Aghavni
Gharibian, I demand a language of justice.
Today, as we discuss “The 1915 Genocide: Collective Responsibility
and Roles,” I once again think about the funeral and my speech. And my
mind wanders from Dersim to Diyarbakir to Ankara. Because I believe the
road to justice passes through Diyarbakir.I can hear the sound of justice, albeit faint, in the ringing of the Sourp Giragos Church bell, in the voices of Islamized Armenians learning the Armenian language, and—sometimes—in the statements of Kurdish leaders.
And that sound must be amplified, so that it reaches Van, Hakkari, Şırnak, Dersim, Batman, Bitlis, and Ağrı.
And eventually Ankara.
Let us not talk about brotherhood and peace. I am tired of the incessant use, misuse, and abuse of these words in Turkey.
Let us not talk about shared dolma, shared pain, an Anatolian diaspora, Turkish passports, lobbies, condolences, and other absurdities.
The road to conciliation passes through justice. There are no shortcuts.
Ankara keeps the border with Armenia shut, but Diyarbakir can open another border: The border with the diaspora.
And that border can only open with justice.
As we approach the centennial of the Armenian Genocide, let our minds, together, wander from Dersim, to Diyarbakir, to Ankara.
Many of you here know that Sakine Cansiz was from Dersim, and that her nom de guerre, Sara, was her Armenian grandmother’s name.
Hundreds of thousands gathered to pay their respect to Sakine Cansiz in January last year. But that respect has not been paid to Sakine’s grandmother, and the million and a half who perished during the genocide.
That respect has not been paid to my grandparents.
So let hundreds of thousands gather in Diyarbakir on April 24, 2015, to commemorate the genocide of the Armenians, Assyrians, and Pontic Greeks.
And to make the voice of justice stronger.
according to the Turkish media a truck transporting papers flying all over the road and a closer examination by a reporter proved that the archives are being sanitized.
Unless, however, Turkey takes responsibility for the history of the genocides against various peoples, there will be no reconciliation.
One other reason I can think of was because, unlike these days with all the necessary means, back in those days the Armenian communities were scattered all over the United States with no established community centers, schools and such. It is inevitable that under such circumstances some children fall victim to assimilation. Despite all the reasons I mentioned and given their state of minds and the lack of formal educational centers, I still think the best way they could have gotten back at their Turkish murderers would have been to make sure to at least pass onto their children their spoken Armenian. I say this because I strongly believe it is one’s language, therefore one’s culture as a result, that acts as a shield and deterrent against assimilation. What better way for these people to spit at the faces of their racist and blood-thirsty Turkish killers than to revive and grow even stronger!
Thank you.
Let us not talk about shared dolma, shared pain, an Anatolian diaspora, Turkish passports, lobbies, condolences, and other absurdities.”}
Well said Mr. Mouradian.
that’s the word for it: Absurdities.
Your Name Harshly Degraded, Shan’t Vanish,
As Our Souls Breathing Soundlessly There!
Return . . . Dear Armenians return from everywhere
Return . . . to your real land From Artsakh to Anatolia
and further west To view dead valleys . . . rivers.
To Tigranakert where King Tigranes II (Dikran the Great*)
Implanted his first stone to build a civilized city,
He turned it green, like Eden’s place.
See the invaders change everything including the name
By smashing every piece of rock carved with it,
Changing it from Dikranagerd to Diyarbakir;
Changed King’s Dikran name to Diyar from word dar
That means ‘homes’ in stolen languages and . . . why
The Bakir . . . means a new land . . . newborn!
Return . . .
To see your churches, cathedrals destroyed
Their grounds no longer filled of marbles . . . stones
Scene . . . full of wild plants . . . dried weeds and smelly sands,
Bones of killed animals, and insects scattered, dry, breathless.
No khoran, altars left to pray and call old God.
Even the Almighty, scornfully lost his faith . . .
Left those lands for scavengers to breathe in,
Robbers of stones and of churches to
Build on seized lands, many ugly shanty homes
Deprived of basic art . . .
Nevertheless . . . still, you can see some stones
Carved on crosses typical of Armenian art, Khatchkar
In it the Armenian alphabet which can still be read.
Some rocks are decorated by our ancient animals and planets.
Your cemeteries are alive only awaiting excavation;
Let souls of DNA arise and wrestle with slayers and
Scream to reach the sky . . .
Narrate what the slayers did
In that artful, educated, dedicated people’s fertile lands.
Recently I saw on TV . . .
Photos that left me smashed soundless . . .
That ruins crossed my hidden volcanic flames . . .
To shout where are the real humans in this life.
“Dikranagerd-Tigranakert”
On my grandparents’ serenade dative terrains . . .
There were schools, colleges, goldsmiths, music, art . . .
On every corner, the bells jingled calling saints.
My grandmother used to say,
“Our house was near the cathedral **
Every Sunday the city was quiet
Believers attended there to pray!”
June 27, 2010
From My Historical Poetry Collection…”My Son-My Sun:Chants Ann,…” June2011