For the memory of an Honourable Man. Hrant Dink. ___________________________________________ We are two sick nations: Armenians and Turks. Towards one another. The Armenians are suffering an enormous trauma towards the Turks, and the Turks an enormous Paranoia. We are both clinical. Who will heal us? The decision of the French Senate? The decision of the American Senate? Who will write the prescription? The Armenians are the Turks’ doctor, and the Turks are Armenians’. There is no other medicine or doctor. There is no other solution. No and no. I am calling out to the Diaspora. Do not get stuck on 1915. Do not define yourself by 1915. Do not chain yourself to the acceptance of the world of this genocide. “Did we suffer? We suffered, our ancestors suffered terribly. I am from Anatolia. There is a good saying in Anatolia: “To bear the pain with honor and to carry it”. Without shouting, without making noise. I am telling this to world: I am bound by whether you recognize the Armenian Genocide or not. Did the Armenians not kill the Turks? They did. In 1918, with the Russians they had their revenge… Revenge: I damn that word. I am telling this to the Turks: Ask yourself why the Armenians care so much. Think about this for a while. If you do, you will see and honor in this. I am telling this to the Armenians: Ask yourself why the Turks say, “No, this was not a genocide”, and try and see the honor in that. What is it? [They say]: “As a Turk, I’m against genocide, I’m against racism. Genocide is terrible. How can my ancestors do such a thing because I can’t.” … My phone rang. From some village near Sivas, and old man said, “Son. They told me to talk to you, so I found you. An old woman came from France. She stayed here for ten days, and then she died. So we buried her. We prayed, we performed the funeral rights, and we buried her. But we learned that she is one of you. They recommended you, so I called”. Here he gave her name and continued, “If she has a husband, a friend, some relatives, a son or a daughter, we’ll help them move the funeral elsewhere”. I called a friend from Sivas, and told him the name, and he replied, “Look outside your apartment, across the street, you will see a shoemaker”. I went and asked them, and she turned and said, “She is my mother”. I asked, “Does she come to Turkey”, to which she replied, “She does, but she rarely meets us in Istanbul. She usually goes directly to Sivas, her birthplace. She spends fifteen days there, with the villagers, and on her way back, she sometimes visits me, sometimes doesn’t”. I told her, and naturally she cried. Next day she went to Sivas, and called to tell me, “I arrived. It’s true. It’s my mother”. I asked, “Are you going to bring her”, to which she replied, “I was going to bring her but there is an old villager here who said to me…”. At this point she began crying. I panicked. “Girl, why are you crying, what’s wrong?”. The old man took the receiver and I asked him, “What have you done to the girl?” He said, “Son, I did nothing, nothing. I just told her, ‘It’s your mother, it’s your right. You can take her. You can leave. You know best. But if you ask me, leave her. The spring has found its crack. Let it stay”. That sentence destroyed me. I also began crying. What wisdom. What proverb. The spring finds it crack and it flows there. https://youtube/watch?v=gIpuvw3I56A
Posted on: Wed, 14 Jan 2015 03:55:47 +0000
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