Thursday, 4/24/97 Retribution would only deepen empty feelings
Survivors’ anger, pain not assuaged by memorials, reparation
By Sarah Ter-Minasyan Here I go again making up an excuse not to
watch "Mairig," a French-made movie about the Armenian survivors’
experience in France right after the genocide. This is nothing new
to me. I never went to see "Schindler’s List" despite the numerous
positive reviews. I just could not deal with the reminder of my
people’s victimization regardless of how heroically they were
presented. I find it degrading even to be in a position where an
entire nation is subjected to butchery. I hear my aunt put a
positive twist on the matter, repeating, "We survived, didn’t we?
Varvats armatits achetsink! We grew from the burned roots!" I smile
back, refraining from arguing because it is rude to argue with
elders. What kills me inside is the fact that 1.5 million Armenian
and 6 million Jewish children, women, elderly and men are turned
into "burned roots," putting the burden on them to regrow. I am
infuriated at such an analysis of events. I hate being a victim. A
victim has to beat the odds to erase the stigma placed on her. If
some of the people miraculously escape and start new families,
their children and grandchildren still feel the effects of the
genocide. In the nursery, while pretending to be asleep, my sister
and I heard strange stories about somebody’s grandmother having
"visions" of being abducted and of seeing her entire family
mutilated. The woman was "insane" – what a shame to the family! She
was a constant reminder to them that they too had been dehumanized.
My confused impressions finally began to resolve themselves after
my parents took us to the park dedicated to the survivors of the
Armenian genocide. Afterwards, we met some survivors who had
overcome their tragic past and led seemingly normal lives.
Nevertheless, something always remains: Armenian eyes. Armenian
eyes are sad – always sad. Even when they smile they are sad. They
speak of pain, victimization, death and genocide committed on an
entire nation. Among my classmates, we talked about it as if it
happened to some distant folks – many of us were stupidly hiding
that our own grandparents were the orphans who managed to survive.
I remember my grandmother saying,"Genocide is in our genes." How
puzzling. It was much later – several years after her death – that
I figured out the reference to her Jewish heritage and her
husband’s Armenian tragedy. No wonder everyone on my mother’s side,
one way or another, is a fighter. They seem to be trying to outrun
time and prepare for the future that brought relative peace to
surviving Armenians and Jews and an opportunity to rebuild their
respective nationhoods. However, this did nothing for the
individuals whose loss was insurmountable and truly irreplaceable.
In this politically-correct world, socially unacceptable feelings
are repressed – shoved deep into the recesses of memory – as if
they do not exist. They are a nuisance. The truth is, when someone
hurts us, we want them to feel the pain. We want compensation. I
know I do! I know millions of others agree with me. But this is
where various religious and social values come in and instruct us
to behave accordingly. So I act based on my understanding of what
it is to be polite at UCLA simply because I don’t want to offend
others. This is why, when a Muslim acquaintance told me two years
ago of how little Muslim girls were abducted and raped in Bosnia,
all I could do was sign their petition. However, I wanted to
scream, "How do you think I feel every time I hear about your
Turkish Muslims raping and mutilating Armenian girls during the
genocide? And now you want me to feel for you?" At that moment, I
am sure I resonated the wish of millions that have witnessed or
been victims of ruthless, unjustifiable butchery. But now the
sorrow is twofold. Emptiness for our own loss is compounded by the
conscious realization that those we hurt in retribution are people
with similar dreams, feelings and needs. I am certain that violence
inflicted on those we may see as our "enemies" does nothing to fill
the emotional abyss we endure. Nothing is resolved. Maybe this is
why, on some spiritual, cathartic level, we commemorate the
Armenian genocide every year. Not to relive, but to convince
ourselves that we are alive. Needless to say, I did not scream at
that guy and only expressed my condolences. Here was a human in
pain because he and millions of others saw injustice and inhumanity
done and couldn’t do anything fast enough to stop it. My heart goes
out to those Muslim girls and their families who now have to deal
with their tragedy. I feel sorry for my Muslim friend because of
his pain and ashamed that, even for an instant, I felt compensated
for my own people’s tragedy which continues to go unrecognized.
There has never been an apology for the Armenian genocide by the
Turkish government, not even a public acknowledgment of our
suffering. They never will admit that their grandfathers and
great-grandfathers committed such shameful acts of beastly violence
against innocent refugees. My grandfather never felt compensated.
At least my grandmother heard of the Nuremberg trials. However, no
matter how resentful I am towards the Turkish government, I
honestly do not expect them to acknowledge their wrongdoings. In
fact, no government engaged in atrocities will admit their
involvement unless a higher overriding political force "convinces"
them otherwise. I don’t believe for one moment that the German
government apologized for the actions of the Third Reich out of the
goodness of their hearts. While immediately after the Armenian
genocide, England, France, the United States and other Christian
nations promised never to forget the Armenian genocide, the
economic and geo-poltical prospects in Turkey gradually took
precedence over the issue of humanity. Thus, the genocide issue was
suppressed and the Turkish government proceeded to omit or
manipulate facts. Once again, this behavior is not only anticipated
but also irrelevant. I don’t trust "facts" from any government. I
only need to hear about people’s experiences. The plight of a
Cambodian woman who came to my class three years ago carries more
meaning to me than a historical account provided by a political
group whose bias is bound to influence the "truth." In just the
same way, it does not matter what carefully chosen words the
Japanese government uses when referring to the experiences of the
Korean, Indonesian and Chinese "comfort women" during the Japanese
occupation. It is their stories – their eyes – that tell the truth!
Face it – the issue of humanity is only secondary to economics.
Indeed, in whose economic interest was it to stop the violence
against these girls? I am not so sure that the plight of these
girls was being seriously considered when politicians were deciding
whether the situation was worth their intervention. Remember how
fast the United States got involved in war against Iraq? Was it
only because those "poor" Kuwaitis needed protection? Eighty-two
years have passed since the Armenian genocide. April 24 is marked
in Armenian history, culture and people’s consciousness as the day
that we gather together to acknowledge, respect and mourn those who
fell as victims. This first genocide of the 20th century drew no
retribution, no trials, barely an acknowledgment, despite the
overwhelming number of documented photographs, European and
American eyewitness accounts and more importantly, survivor
accounts. I would not be at UCLA enjoying an excellent education if
my great-grandmother did not exchange her life for the life of her
son. The human mind works on associations. You remember one thing
because of an associated stimulus. Today is April 24, and I am
forced to think about the genocide – the little orphans dying in
the desert – and my own futile attempts at shutting out my people’s
past just so that I don’t feel like the victim that I am.