Dogs, Politics and President Putin

Vahe H. Apelian

(Note: edited in 2021 with President Biden taking office)

I believe President Putin's gesture of meeting with President Erdogan and his delegation in a room in Kremlin where the statue of Catherine II is prominently displayed was deliberate. The Tsarina had crushed Ottoman Turkey in Russo-Turkish war (1768-1774).

Dogs presidents own, also play a symbolic role in politics and in international relations between powerful leaders.

All the presidents I know, other than President Trump, owned a dog. After all, as President Truman famously said, if a president looks for a friend in Washington, he  better have a dog. The dogs the U.S. presidents own are no less known than their masters.  Reporters scrutinize the type of the dog the president's family own and measure their relationship in an effort to find out about the president's character.  When President Johnson lifted his beagle by its ears in front of reporters and photographers he made headline news and set off a nationwide barrage of protests from animal lovers. 

But for reporters, LBJ's treatment of his dog seemed to reinforce his character. President Lyndon B. Johnson was the second tallest president. He measured 6 ft 31/2 inches, short by a half an inch from the tallest, President Lincoln. It is said that LBJ had a tendency to stand close to someone and overpower him with his height. He had also a large ego. He had his wife's and his daughters' initials after his, LBJ.

President George W. Bush and First Lady Laura Bush owned a Scottish terrier. According to Wikipedia "Barney (dog) Bush (birth née Bernard Bush; September 30, 2000 to February 1, 2013) was a Scottish Terrier. Barney had his own official web page which redirected to an extension of the White House website". President Bush seemed to dote on his dog. He would be seen carrying Barney on the White House lawn heading towards the attending helicopter. Barney seemed to have free access to the oval office.

After his retirement from public life, George W. Bush exhibited a latent talent in the painting of portraits. Some found George W. Bush's latent artistic talent remarkable. Others claimed that Bush officially established himself as an artist. He exhibited his paintings of some of the world leaders he shared the world stage, such as Tony Blair, Hamid Karzai, and famously Putin, whom he portrayed with clenched jaws, intensely focused blue eyes imparting an air of determination and being in charge.

George w. Bush explained his painting of Putin's portrait as follows: "As you know, our dear dog Barney, who had a special place in my heart — Putin dissed him and said ‘You really call that a dog?' "  A year later, President Bush went to visit Putin at his dacha outside Moscow. Putin showed him his dog, a "huge hound" much bigger than Barney. Then, quoting Bush,  "Putin kind of looks at me and he says 'Bigger, stronger and faster than Barney.' " The comment left President George W. Bush dumbstruck. (Adam Taylor, April 4, 2014, The Washington Post).

George W. Bush had Barney to have a measure of the former KGB intelligence officer Putin turned Prime Minister and President of Russia. Alas, President Donald J. Trump does not own a dog. It could have helped him assess Putin. 

The Bidens have German Shepherd dogs, named Champ and Major. They came with the rest of the family to the White House. German Shepherd dogs are no poodles but I am not sure how they measure against the dog Putin owns and bragged about to George w. Bush, dismissing Bush's dog as a "no dog". One thing appears to  be apparent, with dogs in the White House, a more aggressive shift towards Russia is palpable.

Note: Updated on May 6, 2021

A Sunday Unlike Any Other

Vahe H. Apelian

For an onlooker, Sunday in Keurkune, our ancestral village, was no different than any other day of the week. There were no cars and hence no traffic to experience less of it on a Sunday. There were no shops in the village to see them closed on Sundays. There were no people working in any commercial enterprise in the village to see them not working on Sundays. The villagers toiled in the fields. Yet Sundays were all too different from the other six days of the week, especially in our house because of our grandfather.

I will come to that later.

It was the sound of the church bells that broke the stillness of the day in the village heralding that the seventh day of the week is meant to be unlike the other six days. There were two kinds of bells. There was a resonating piece of metal that was hung with a wire from one of the three olive trees in the church courtyard. It was rung signaling the start of Sunday school for the children. It was a small metal piece but it made a surprisingly clear sound that was heard all over the village.

The other was the sound of the church's bell that alerted the start of the Sunday service for the grown-ups. The bell was rung not long before the pastor was ready for the service, for he served the only churches, the Armenian Evangelical Church in each of the two sister villages: the one in Ekizoloukh, and the one in our village Keurkune. In a spirit of fairness the Sunday church service was held early in one village and later in the other on a given Sunday and the order was reversed the following Sunday. There were no cars then, so the pastor had to hurry from one church to the other on foot. It took some 30 minutes of brisk walking for the paster to cross from one village to the other. Most, to my recollection, preferred to walk the distance on the short path that traversed through the fields and orchards instead of riding a donkey on the regular route that might have made crossing the distance a bit more comfortable but surely not faster.

Honestly, Sundays were a dread for us boys. First and foremost there was the issue of the attire. Even though dressing for Sunday meant only tucking a white shirt in shorts and continue wearing our sandals without socks, it nevertheless became all too confining and all too formal for us. Hunting was forbidden on Sundays. We were thus not allowed to use rifles or debkh, the sticky sticks we used to catch birds. Even the animals were not grazed on Sundays, confining Papken and me in the village. Our inclination would have been to have the animals grazed in Keurkune's gorge, we called khandag where some of the Apelian families had owned and operated a water mill at one time. The mill had been idle and abandoned when we came of age. The khandag was considered to be too remote for a youngster to be entrusted with the animals for grazing there, but two youngsters teaming made the venture permissible.

There was also the chore of attending the Sunday service. Irrespective of marital status, the men entered the sanctuary from the left-hand side door and the women from the right-hand side door. The front two pews, on the left-hand side of the three rows of pews in the church, were reserved for the boys.

The fields were wide open then and spread all around us. There were no buildings to obstruct the idyllic pastoral scene that came into full view from the left-hand side windows, extending all the way to Chakaljekh, the village nearest to Keurkune. It took a lot of discipline on our part not to appear overly bored during the service and gaze outside lest we invoke the stern looks on the faces of our elders and be reprimanded after the service.

Sunday in our house was marked with our grandfather's ceremonial shaving in the morning. I do not think he shaved every day of the week and I do not mean to imply that he shaved only on Sundays. But his shaving on Sundays in preparation to attend the church service was the more ceremonial and it created that special Sunday mood in our household.  He had a bar of soap in a small kettle. He foamed the soap with a brush, applied it to his face and shaved with a long razor that he sharpened beforehand, all the while at looking at a small mirror he used for that purpose. His shaving was important for his Sunday grooming. There was an honored role he was entrusted with and attended to it diligently until to the very end. He was the life-long treasurer and a trustee of the church.

We had become accustomed to that Sunday ritual as kids came to our house bringing with them larger coins and asked him to have the larger coins changed for smaller. Our grandfather kept the church's meager treasury in a tin can in one of the cavities high on one of the inner walls in the house. He would bring the tin can down on Sundays to have an ample supply of smaller coins ready. He would see the kids returned to their homes with smaller change for their Sunday church offering. We called it khatchamboor. It is a word perhaps unique to the local Kessab dialect. It may have meant money reserved for the cross.

For lack of a better description, nickels and dimes may best describe the coins cast on the offering plate, which was made of brass. The drop of the coins on the metal plate made a distinctive sound during the collection. From the sound, we could tell what denomination it was.

Our grandfather would be late coming home after service. We would wait for his return home to have Sunday lunch. After service, he and the pastor would count the Sunday's offering and I presume recorded in a ledger. He would then bring the Sunday's treasury home to pile it in the tin can. At times, before he placed the coins in the tin can, he could have them on his bed creating a lot of excitement in the house should there be a "paper money" in the collection We would speculate as to who may have offered the "paper money". The speculating usually would center on the villagers who lived elsewhere, such as in Beirut, and were visiting the village for the summer or happened to be there. In hindsight, I realize that faith, more than finances, perpetuated the Armenian Evangelical Church of Keurkune that now bridges three centuries.

The rest of the Sunday would drag on for us boys.

As I look back to those bygone days, I realize that Sundays in Keurkune were truly a day for rest for the villagers. Having toiled in the fields for the preceding six days, Sundays gave them the rest they needed to resume their work the following day to make a living by the sweat of their physical labor made possible for them by nature's gifts, soil, water, and sunshine.

Krikor Zohrab: Martyred (5/5)

By Matheos Eblighatian

Translated by Vahe H. Apelian, Ph.D.

Edited by Jack Chelebian, M.D.

 

The same week the Minister of Justice issued a circular barring Krikor Zohrab from practicing law in the Ottoman courts.

From one day to the next, the man who was sprinting started walking on crutches. Henceforth, Zohrab could work only in the courts set by the embassies. He also could work as a legal consultant to lawyers of the  Ottoman court. The ruling reduced his earning potential to a quarter of what it was. He was also afraid of the worst. It was the Hamidian era. Influential persons would disappear without a trace and no one would have the courage to inquire about them with government officials.

A free thinker like Zohrab, naturally, could not be fond of Turkey’s dictatorial regime. And when its heavy hand came down on his head, of course, he reacted. Zohrab started working with the Russian Embassy and was appointed the Embassy’s legal consultant. The Ambassador showed much interest in the plight of the Armenians. Zohrab, in turn, felt the need to do his best to put an end to Sultan Abdul Hamid’s anti-Armenian policies. Zohrab also went to Europe and under an assumed name wrote a book in French on that topic.

These uncertain and dangerous days came to an end. On July 10, 1908, for the second time, the Hamidian constitution was declared. The following year (1909), when Sultan Abdul Hamid was dethroned in early April, Zohrab and Halladjian were elected as Armenian community’s representatives (from Constantinople) in the Turkish Parliament. The same year, I was sent to a remote corner in Turkey called Yania as a judge and moved away from Istanbul when Zohrab was financially very well off. At the same time, new national and political horizons had opened in front of him. Only a gifted individual like him could meet the demands of his office as a parliamentarian.

After moving away from Istanbul until 1912-1913, I followed Zohrab’s activities through the Armenian newspapers and through Turkish newspapers as well. During that time Zohrab had also become a professor in the School of Law. The students would talk about him with admiration. Much like the other Armenian representative Bedros Hallajian, Zohrab had not become a member of the Ittihad party. The Ittihad party leaders admired him but yet were wary of him. Whenever Zohrab articulated about an issue in the parliament, he came across as an authority. Zohrab also shined in the Armenian community. It was not only because he was a member of the parliament. After all, Halajian was a member of the parliament as well. He championed liberal causes, against the conservatives, in the Armenian National Assembly.  He was not a member of Armenian political parties and had no inclination to espouse socialist ideology. He had a powerful personality to be confined by any party ideology.

As I had noted earlier, during the time he was barred from practicing law in Ottoman courts, he had established a close relationship with the Russian Embassy promoting reformation to put an end to the oppression of the Armenian subjects in the interior of the country. He had his considerable input in the Patriarchate to address the grievances of the Armenians. Let us not forget that at that time the name was Ottoman and was not Turkey as it is now. The Armenians, the Turks, the Greeks, the Albanians and the Arabs were constituents of the country. Therefore every one needed to strive to achieve the common good in the country they were part of.

It is known nowadays that the Ottoman Constitution did not achieve that. Those who harbored illusions and hopes had their rude awakening when they read Hussein Jahid’s theory of  “the dominant people”; according to which the rest of the constituents of the Ottoman society were subservient to the dominant Turks. The Turks were not content with monopolizing the country and the government but also resorted to oppressing and massacring the rest.

The Turks wanted the rest to think much like them but without granting the rest the rights and the privileges they enjoyed. We did not even have the right to keep the fruits of our own labor. A healthy, lively, robust and clever Armenian tradesman was not to their liking.  For an Armenian to be wealthy was regarded as some sort of transgression. Establishing amicable relations with foreigners residing in the country was considered an unforgivable sin. Our socio-economic comfort provoked their envy. They considered us having a graceful wife or beautiful daughter were gifts we did not deserve. To top it all, they demanded that we respect them, remain loyal to their individual and national interests. Such was the reigning state of affairs before and after the 1909 Constitution. Naturally, the other ethnic groups did not feel a kinship with the Turks. A Greek parliamentarian at one time said that his relationship with the Ottoman government is like that of the Ottoman Bank’s relationship with the government, that is to say by name only. Zohrab (as an Armenian parliamentarian) likewise had a right for similar perspective, and could act accordingly. Consequently, the Turkish officials’ ceaseless efforts to convince the Armenian community to expect the implementation of reforms solely from the Ottoman government perspective, was futile.  There are those among us who think that that we should have acted this way or that way and that it would have been more favorable for us to concede and get by.  While we looked to foreign powers to bring about reformation to achieve a dignified life, our relations with the Ottoman government always remained lawful.  

Right around this time, Krikor Zohrab wrote an article proposing that the prelates in the provinces be knowledgeable in jurisprudence to best represent the Armenian community to the government. While I appreciated the necessity for this, I had a better grasp of the reality. Consequently, I responded to Zohrab’s article noting that it is not likely that a person who has attained a law degree would choose to be a celibate priest. It is more realistic, I argued, that knowledgeable professionals be appointed as advisors to the prelates. I argued the same in the Armenian National Assembly when it came to appointing officials to the Patriarchate.

Naturally, this was not going to happen overnight. I mention it here to note that all we wanted from the Ottoman Government was securing our lives, honor, and properties through law. We all know it did not happen and in fact, nothing changed. Foreign nationals proposed laws to achieve these objectives. But the persons who were to enact and enforce the proposed laws were the Turkish ministers who chose what suited their sinister goals.

It is often told that Talaat Pasha got emotional and embraced Krikor Zohrab as they parted after socializing at the Circle D’Orient Club, but even Talaat knew the black fate that awaited Zohrab and Vartkes on the very next day. Consequently, some people conclude that Talaat was reluctant to endorse the destruction of his friend. The following day Zohrab and Vartkes were indeed apprehended and sent to face the military tribunal in Dikranagerd and on their way there, they were both killed.

 I knew from reliable sources what Talaat said about Zohrab months after his martyrdom. Talaat claimed that after the declaration of war, the Russian Ambassador had left in a hurry and failed to destroy some of their documents. In those documents, there were reports and suggestions by Zohrab, Talaat claimed, were treasonous. Talaat had added that had he known about these documents, he would not have sent Zohrab to Dikranagerd but would have him hanged in Byazid square in Istanbul and that he would have personally pulled the rope. In this case, Talaat did not hide his origin. In Ottoman Turkey, the hangman’s job was reserved for the gypsies

We have irrefutable proof to conclude that the Turks were thirsty for Krikor Zohrab and his compatriots’ blood and had unanimously voted in the Ittihad center on a plan for their annihilation much in advance. The rest was merely theatrics.

*****

 

The Death of Krikor Zohrab and its reporting in Ottoman Archives (excerpts from historian Taner Akcam’s book titled “Killing Orders”.

“The prominent Armenian parliamentarian, deputy for Istanbul, Krikor Zohrab, was arrested in Istanbul on 2 June 1915. He was sent off to the southeast Anatolian city Diyarbakir on the pretext of standing trial for charges filed in the military tribunal there, but was murdered en route near Urfa on July 19, his head being bashed in with a rock. At the moment that Zohrab was being killed, official documents were already being prepared reporting his demise from a heart attack. According to a report dated 20 July 1915, signed by the Urfa municipality physician, Zohrab experienced chest pain while in Urfa and underwent treatment there. After being treated Zohrab once again was sent on his way to Diyarbakir but was later reported to have died en route. The doctor traveled to the place of the incident and documented the cause of death to be cardiac arrest. 

Another report on the incident was ordered by the priest , Hayrabet, the son of Kurkci Vanis, a member of the clergy of the Armenian church in Urfa. In this report, which bears his own signature, the priest claims that Zohrab died as a result of heart attack and was buried in accordance with (his) religious traditions.. At the bottom of the report, there is a note certifying that it was the personal signature of Hayrabet, son of Vanis, the priests of the Urfa Armenian church, along with the official seal of the Ottoman authorities. We have a third document in hand that also indicates  that Zohrab was not murdered but died as a result of accident. According to an Interior Ministry cable sent to Aleppo on 17 October 1915, it was confirmed through the investigation document number 516, dated 25 September 1915, that Zohrab perished as a result of mishap en route.”

Tamer Ackcam cites these, along with others, as examples of “fact creation” and developing a historical narrative

Krikor Zohrab: Disbarred from the Ottoman Court (4/5)

By Matheos Eblighatian

Translated by Vahe H. Apelian

Edited by: Jack Chelebian, M.D.

 

Instead of studying legal cases and preparing for superb defensive arguments, had he devoted to literature, the Armenian literature would have been much richer. However, his contribution to Armenian literature is such that he is regarded among the most famous Armenian writers.  As a publicist, he penned valuable editorials with tight logic. I still remember his column titled (St. Gregory) “The Illuminator’s Broom”, which was reprinted at least a couple times per year by various publications.

Zohrab did not achieve immediate success as a lawyer. His activities in literature, editorials, and articles and his publication of the literary magazine “Massis” with H. Asadour got in the way. However, these initial years were not lost altogether. On one hand, his literary endeavors and on the other hand his successes at small or midsize legal cases reflected positively as his stature grew in Istanbul as well as in cities nearby.

Zohrab was no more the penniless person he had been. Instinctively he also gravitated towards social circles where women and having a good time were of the essence.  His growing prominence in social circles, beyond the Armenian community as well, helped greatly his career in law.

When in 1903, I was able to stay in Istanbul and attend the School of Law, Zohrab had already attained fame as a lawyer. He did not shy away from displaying his wealth. He already had his family. They lived in a house across from the Luxemburg Café’. He had his spacious legal office consisting of a few rooms. He had such charisma that young students like me, who were studying law, would follow him earnestly. Not only I, but students from other races also followed him and attended his legal arguments during court proceedings. In Istanbul court, the proceedings took place from noon until 3 to 4 p.m. We did not have classes during this time and would walk around the hallways of the court waiting for an important case to attend.

During this time criminal and penal cases did not interest me. We rarely came across significant defensive arguments in such cases. Usually maritime and mercantile cases interested me the most. The French language predominated in court.  Renowned German, Italian, British lawyers along with Zohrab, Stambolian, Ketabian, Yerganian displayed their legal rhetorical skills in eloquent defensive arguments which would last a half an hour, and sometimes even longer. The proceedings would adjourn for the prosecutor’s counter-argument to take place next time.  At that time I was a novice in legal proceedings. I would tend to side with the last argument I heard only to find it dismantled, point by point, the next time.

I recall attending a big case. Attorney Rosenthal and another, whose name I do not remember, were dealing with a case that pertained to two hundred thousand gold coins for a railroad construction project through Hama. It appeared that Rosenthal was about to lose the case and thus had sought Zohrab’s legal assistance. Zohrab had prepared a powerful argument where his engineering knowledge had become a center point in structuring his defense. Zohrab’s argument had carried the day and assured Rosenthal winning the case for which he earned ten thousand gold coins and offered Zohrab only two thousand gold coins. Zohrab sued Rosenthal and demanded five thousand coins instead. The court sided with Zohrab. In another case, in a matter of fifteen days, Zohrab earned two thousand gold coins.

Zohrab was a hedonist. Right after his reimbursement, he frequented Boyukada with mixed company and after a week there, gave the remainder of his money to a troubadour. His wealth gave way to his extravagant spending on women and gambling. It was said that at times he would end up penniless when crossing the bridge from the island and at other times he would be laden with hundreds of gold coins having had success at the gambling table.

However, his indulgence in high life and his pursuit of women did not distract him from carrying the responsibilities of his legal practice professionally. One of Zohrab’s clients happened to be a beautiful European woman. Seeing her, his friend, attorney Diran Yerganian remarked to Zohrab whether she pays for his services with money or by offering her body. To which Zohrab immediately answered: “It would be shameful for me not to reimburse a woman for her services and it would be equally shameful for me to engage in my legal practice without being reimbursed financially.”

*****

I wrote at length about Zohrab’s increasing prominence socially and also professionally. His professional stature enabled him to establish friendship with many influential judges, which did not sit well with the Minister of Justice Germerzade Abdul Rehman Pasha.

Germerzade Abdul Rehman Pasha was the patriarch of a very prominent family and was an ex vizier. He was also the father-in-law of Sultan Abdul Hamid’s favorite daughter. He was not educated but he was very intelligent and surprisingly very decent and an honest man. He strived to keep the legal department on the right track. Sultan Abdul Hamid respected him a lot, that’s why no courtier or highly placed official dared to interfere with the proceedings of the legal department.

In spite of the Minister of Justice’s vigilance, the legal department was not altogether free from corruption. The Minister was very adamant and would right away dismiss corrupt lawyers or would hold them without promotion for years. In spite of the minister’s suspicion about Zohrab’s contacts with prominent judges, I remain convinced that Zohrab never engaged in corrupt practices. He was simply very effective and persuasive. Those who had not heard his powerful defense arguments, including the Minister of Justice, could very well have formed a wrong opinion about him. I would like to present two cases to make my point.

After graduation, most of the students of the law school would apply to the Minister of Education to be assigned to training posts in the courts. The assignment was for two students working together at a time. I had also applied. Almost a year later and after five weeks working in Hmayag Khosrofian’s law office as a secretary, I was informed that I was assigned to a post in Istanbul’s second penal court.

There was a heavy load in the courts. I, and my Turkish classmate, without stipends, went to the court every afternoon and alternately helped the recording secretary. When a lawyer presented his defense without resorting to a written text, we rapidly jotted down in shorthand his argument and afterward finalized it for record keeping. I was present when Krikor Zohrab presented his powerful arguments in two cases.

One day a handsome young man and his attorney Krikor Zohrab appeared in court to appeal the young man’s six months indictment issued by the court earlier in his absence. The young man had intimate relations with a young woman and subsequently refused to marry her. Both were Armenians and were well known in the community, especially the girl’s father, who was affluent.

Legally, an adult man and woman’s intimate relations were not the court’s business as long as they were consensual and were not against public morals. However, having an affair with a woman, after having promised to marry her but not keeping the promise was considered a legal matter, as long as there was tangible proof of the promise, such as letters. In this case, there were letters, which even contained references to the future, but there was no explicit promise of marrying. In short, the circumstances of the case were such that the verdict depended on the judge’s perspective and conscience; a situation that affords the defense lawyer maximum opportunity to display his analytical and persuasive skills. Zohrab was specially brilliant that day as he presented his argument in defense of the young man. The judges sided with Zohrab and exonerated the young man.

The second case was a far more important case that showed Zohrab’s skill as a lawyer. The case had to do with a commercial transaction in hundreds of thousands of gold coins between the French and the Ottoman governments. The proceedings took place in a special mixed tribunal because of Turkish Capitulation, which was grants made by successive Sultans to Christian nations, conferring upon them rights and privileges in favor of their subjects residing or trading in the Ottoman Empire. Consequently, the French Embassy had appointed two French judges out of the five judges. The rest were Ottoman subjects consisting of Osman Bey, another Turk and Stepan Karayan. Naturally, if the three Ottoman appointees voted unanimously, the government would carry the day.

Who among the three Ottoman appointees would vote against its government? In such tribunals, there had never been a case where the foreign judges voted against the interest of their citizenry. We studied the phenomenon of Turkish Capitulation as part of our course. It was rumored that the French Embassy had reached out to Stepan Karayan to vote on the side of the French judges, but he had refused to engage in such collusion. Thus the outcome of the trial depended entirely on the skill of the lawyer to convince one of the three Ottoman judges to vote along with the French judges for the French Government to win the case.

I was not present during the defense. Those who were present told me that Krikor Zohrab made such a powerful and irrefutable case that a miracle happened. Osman Bey voted in favor of the French judges forcing the Ottoman government to pay hundreds of thousands of gold coins. Nothing of that sort had happened before. Osman Bey was a just and honest man. He had represented the Ottoman government in the international court of justice in Lahey. He had an international reputation as a knowledgeable jurist. The Minister of Justice, fortunately, knew him personally only to reprimand him saying:

“Again that pig was able to bag us. Did you not have the same patriotic feelings as the giaour (infidel) judge?” The minister was alluding to Stepan Karayan.

The Minister of Justice did not dismiss Osman Bey but assigned him to a secondary post cutting his salary by one third.

The verdict was final, what remained was its implementation. To put an end to the Ottoman government’s procrastination, the French government resorted to dispatching its warship to show resolve in settling the matter for good.

The same week the Minister of Justice issued a circular barring Krikor Zohrab from practicing law in the Ottoman courts.

Krikor Zohrab: The Lawyer and the Writer (3/5)

By Matheos Eblighatian

Translated by Vahe H. Apelian

Edited by Jack Chelebian, M.D.

When Zohrab finally understood that his (engineering) post in Trabizond was not to be, he became exceedingly angry. No one understood that he was cut from a different cloth. He was not the type to sit in an office smoking and sipping coffee all day long doing little.  The very next day he tended his resignation from the job offered to him refusing henceforth to be an employee of the state. He returned to his alma mater and registered in its law division subjecting himself to another four years of bread and halva diet.

There also he faced an unexpected development. The engineering and law divisions of the Galatasaray Lycee’ were canceled. A law school opened in Istanbul (at that time the word and the institution of the university did not exist and the faculties were called the medical school, law school). The government had assigned a very strict person of Hungarian descent named Magar Emin Effendi as its director.

The ensuing years were difficult for Zohrab as he anxiously waited for his graduation to practice law whose calling he felt. Here again, his intense desire to become a lawyer met with unexpected difficulties. First, the number of years for studying law was increased from three to four years. More importantly, he got into an argument with the director of the law school and had to leave the school without taking its final examinations.

During that time an enlightened minister by the name Hassan Fehmi Pasha initiated a European based judicial structure. He started the reformation from the province of Edirne, where he appointed his friend Toros Sarajian as the general prosecutor. He also wanted to change the caliber of the lawyers who were practicing law in the courts. They were asked to pass the legal examination to qualify for practicing law. In Istanbul, the examination took place in the Law School. In the provinces, a committee composed of the principal of the central court and a few other members conducted the examinations. Those who passed the examination in a particular province could only practice there.

Zohrab hurried to Edirne where he passed the examination with flying colors. He returned to Istanbul whereby with a special dispensation he also secured the right to practice law there as well. Thus, the graduate from the engineering school who had left that career embarked in the practice of law in a non-conventional way.

*****

I do not have much to say about Krikor Zohrab as an author and publicist. To do so, one needs expertise in the field and a thorough knowledge of the person’s literary output. I lack the former and I do not have sufficient time for the latter.  I know that he started writing at an early age and became a well-liked author and that his writings helped him tremendously in his career as a lawyer and as a community leader. He had mastered the language and had a beautiful style of writing, which I assume was nurtured in the Armenian elementary school he attended. Furthermore, his literary collaboration with H. Asadour surely was beneficial to him. His superb intellect, cultured mind; his capacity for astute observation and sound judgment were more than enough to have catapulted him to social prominence.

By 1880’s Zohrab had already received a sound secondary education in French and subsequently completed his engineering and law courses. Consequently, he had received the best education in his time. Add to that his innate abilities to observe, analyze, judge, articulate and to write, you can picture a multi-talented accomplished person. There may have been others who may have surpassed him in a given trait or another but not in the sum total of these characteristics. No other Armenian came close to his stature.

It was his youthful energy and desire to be known and advance his career that motivated his literary endeavors. It would have been wonderful if he had devoted himself completely to literature. However, he had his passions and a thirst for the pleasures of life that could only be attained by material rewards. In those days achieving material comfort through literature was impossible. The Armenian readership was small and making a comfortable living as an author was almost an impossible dream, a ‘paper glory”.

Instead of studying legal cases and preparing for superb defensive arguments, had he devoted to literature, the Armenian literature would have been much richer. However, his contribution to Armenian literature is such that he is regarded among the most famous Armenian writers.  As a publicist, he penned valuable editorials with tight logic. I still remember his column titled (St. Gregory) “The Illuminator’s Broom”, which was reprinted at least a couple times per year by various publications.

Krikor Zohrab, the Engineer (2/5)

 By Matheos Eblighatian

Translated by Vahe H. Apelian

Edited by Jack Chelebian, M.D.

 

It is to this end that I pen my memories and impressions. I do not have in mind Krikor Zohrab solely as a writer, nor as a lawyer or as a politician. I will write only what I know, have seen or been told I have been able to verify.

Krikor Zohrab did not have a happy childhood. His father died prematurely. His mother remarried a lawyer of ordinary means. After graduating from the local Armenian school, he was enrolled in the Franco-Turkish lycee’ of Galatasaray.

This school was established during the reign of Sultan Abul Aziz at the request of Napoleon III. It had an illustrious period especially during its initial years. Many of its teachers were noted professors who were appointed by the French government. The natural instincts of Turkish politicians were honed in this institution. In the beginning, the Galatasary lycee’ offered courses in law and engineering as well and many Armenian young men took full advantage of these unique opportunities, so did Krikor Zohrab. He studied engineering.

Across the Galatasaray lycee,’ there was a Turkish pastry shop that later became Ohnigian’s tobacco shop. Every morning young Krikor Zohrab would walk from his home (I believe in Ortakoy), to the school. For lunch, he would use his allowance of 50 piasters to buy bread and halvah from the pastry shop. In spite of the fact that the purchasing power of his allowance diminished over time, the kind shopkeeper continued serving Krikor Zohrab the same portions. He liked this poor but intelligent lad.

He was very popular among his classmates. He was the youngest in his class but was always the first in the academic ranking. Years later when Zohrab became a prominent lawyer, his one time classmates, who had become renown engineers, would relate about their former classmate’s uncanny ability to solve accurately and fast complex engineering problems.

It is not hard to envision that after years of living off of bread and halvah and walking for hours under snow or rain, young Zohrab would have been eager to graduate in order to attain a better life for himself. That day came and Zohrab graduated the first in his class.

As it was customary then, the list of the graduating engineering students, with their academic ranking, was sent to the ministry of public works to have each student assigned an appropriate post. The country was just beginning to organize itself along European standards. There were few decent roads and bridges in the country. Even the governing centers of the many provinces did not have engineers or any official worthy of the name.

The ministry assigned Krikor Effendi to an important office commensurate with his academic ranking to be the main engineer of the Trebizond province with a monthly salary of one thousand eight hundred piasters, which with pension and other allowances, added to 16 Ottoman gold coins. His days of bread with halvah were over. Was it a result of his destitute childhood or his innate character? He exhibited early on a deep desire for lavish spending and enjoyment of life.

Like the rest of his classmates, on the assigned day, he presented himself to the minister’s counselor to receive his assignment. The orderly escorted him to an ornately furnished hall where, in one corner, a short man was sitting behind a desk. When the counselor understood what the young lad is here for, he asked:

-       “Well my son, why did not your father come?”

-       “My father is dead”

-       “Who is Krikor then?”

-       “Myself”

-       “How could that be? Are you the first engineer of the Trebizond province?”

-       “Yes, your Excellency”

The counselor rang a bell and ordered to have the young engineer’s dossier brought to him while Krikor remained standing and waiting anxiously.

It took the official ten minutes to study his dossier. He added a few notes on the cover and instructed Zohrab to meet him in a week. Zohrab became very apprehensive and assumed that there were some obstacles in on his way even though at that time there was no overt animosity against the Armenians, but then, was he not a Christian?  Life had not been kind to him yet. He had always encountered difficulties. This delay was an ominous sign for him, Zohrab thought, especially that most of his classmates had already received their assignments and were preparing to transfer to their posts.

Zohrab was so inexperienced then he had not even inquired the name of the official who had suspended his hopes. The following week he presented himself with trepidation. This time around the minister’s counselor spoke to him in Armenian.

“You are lucky, my son. The government has noted your exceptional talents and your age and has assigned you as a vice administrator in this ministry at a salary of 900 piasters monthly”. That post was indeed an exceptional opportunity for him even though the salary was only half as much as it would have been in Trebizond. However, the post was in the capital city, Istanbul, with all its comforts and bearing in mind the expected year-end bonus, the difference in the salary would not have been that much.

Zohrab was taken back and took leave without responding. Once he found out that the person he had met was no other than the well-known Krikor Odian, through intermediaries he sent word to him asking for his other post. Krikor Odian remained puzzled knowing that those in the countryside would have looked forward to changing their position in favor of a lower ranking and paying post in Istanbul. Furthermore, he noted that Zohrab was way too young to have his say over his older subordinates in the distant provinces. He added: “How can I throw him to the beasts?”

When Zohrab finally understood that his post in Trabizond was not to be, he became exceedingly angry. No one understood that he was cut from a different cloth. He was not the type to sit in an office smoking and sipping coffee all day long doing little.  The very next day he tended his resignation from the job offered to him refusing henceforth to be an employee of the state.

Krikor Zohrab (Memories and Impressions) Part 1/5

By Matheos Eblghatian

Translated by Vahe H. Apelian
Edited by Jack Chelebian, M.D.

June 26 (1861) marks the birthday of one of the most colorful personalities in modern Armenian history, Krikor Zohrab. He was an enigneer who studied and became a prominent lawyer, politician and writer. He was endearingly called the “Prince of the Armenian (short) Novel”  (Նորապէպի իշխան). Matheos Eblighatian,  a lawyer himself, had remained from his youth fascinated by the larger than life Krikor Zohrab, and devoted  a whole section of his memoir (A Life in the Life of My Nation – Կեանք մը Ազգիս Կեանքին Մէջ) to  Krikor Zohrab  claiming to write “ what I know, have seen or been told I have been able to verify”. Matheos Eblgihatians memories of Krikor Zohrab make for a fascinating reading about the man. I have attached in five parts my translation of the segment, which was edited by Jack Chelebian M.D.  Krikor Zohrab was martyred in 1915.

 

"I wanted to study law at the university. Therefore, I had to go to Istanbul because, at that time, the branch in Konia had not opened.

In those days, the Turkish Armenians were living their darkest days. Hamid’s government had forbidden the Armenians to travel from one province to another without permission. Going to Istanbul was almost impossible. I had attempted twice and in both instances, I had permission from Izmir’s all-powerful governor Kamil Pasha. However, in both instances, I was sent back. I succeeded in my third attempt, in 1903.

Even after arriving in Istanbul, remaining there had become exceedingly difficult, especially during the celebrations of Hamid’s birthday and enthronement. The Red Sultan’s secret police were checking all the hotels and all the houses that rented out rooms, looking for Armenian migrants from the interior of the country and were sending them back.

As an Armenian law student, naturally I was interested in the lives of Armenian judges and lawyers. Goes without saying, Krikor Zohrab was the most brilliant representative of the latter. Since my course load consisted of two or three periods per day, I had the afternoons free to look for a job to get by financially and at the same time to gain experience by working in a law office. Naturally, I tried my luck first with Krikor Zohrab’s office.

A high-ranking judge, who was my sponsor and also an old family friend, gave me a reference. When I presented myself to Krikor Zohrab’s office I saw two young men, Arshag and Armenag, working in the reception area. I waited there until Krikor Zohrab became available to see me, I entered his office and presented my reference to him.

At that time Krikor Zohrab was a handsome mature man in his 40’s with round face, mid-height, and had piercing eyes. In this harmonious whole, the only exception was his voice, which was cracked and unpleasant.

He took my reference and read it carefully and asked me a few questions and said – “give my regards to the Effendi. I will see him later”.

In fact, the next day, he had explained to my sponsor that being a student, I would be distracted with my studies in the office and naturally would not be able to concentrate on my office work to be of much assistance to him. Likewise, he would not want me to leave my studies, as many students would do, to make a living. Naturally, his response saddened me and I got sadder as I started getting used to life in Istanbul. I devoted my free time dabbling in literature and started writing under the pen names Norayr Bared or simply Bared.  In time my adulation of Krikor Zohrab bordered on reverence.

During that time Zohrab was at the pinnacle of his career. He did not have time anymore to continue writing. He had long ceased publishing “Massis” with his literary friend H. Asadour. I, on the other hand, while contributing to Z. Yousefian’s “Arevelk” and Dikran Arpiarian’s “Massis” literary journals, had come to appreciate Zohrab the core, both as an author and as a lawyer and jurist. He was a lighthouse for me. Emulating the status he had attained, both socially and professionally, became my greatest wish. My interest in him knew no bound.

On all occasions, with whoever I might be in contact, be it a lawyer, a judge, or an author, I would direct the course of my conversation in such a way that it would include Krikor Zohrab’s life, whether personal or public. The person told me the most about Krikor Zohrab was my sponsor who was the general prosecutor of Pera. The next person was H. Asadour, whom I often met in M. Asasian’s law office.  Editors, officials in the Patriarchate, casual conversations in the court hallways, all became avenues for me to gather information about Krikor Zohrab.

A different life, different atmosphere, and different perspectives took over in 1908, at the dawn of the Constitution. The cowed, silenced life of the Hamidian’s regime era ended. Everyone’s life became much like an open book. Our ideas and aspirations crystallized were transparent while our eternal enemy stealthily penetrated our core – our thoughts and instincts waiting for the opportune time to strike. Years went by and Krikor Zohrab was martyred.  

One day, during 1919-1920, when I was the general director of the National Relief organization, in a steamship going from Boyukada to Istanbul, I was reading philologist A. Alboyajian book about Krikor Zohrab.  That book, along with the rest of my library remained behind in Istanbul. Others also wrote their memories and impressions of him. All these publications will one day serve as a primary source for anyone who might be interested in studying the life and contribution of Krikor Zohrab and the rest of our luminaries who shared his fate. I believe that there will be writers who will write about them and will offer the fruits of their research as a monument in the pantheon, which as yet does not exist in a material sense.

It is to this end that I pen my memories and impressions. I do not have in mind Krikor Zohrab solely as a writer, nor as a lawyer or as a politician. I will write only what I know, have seen or been told I have been able to verify."