Մէքթուպ իմ Պէպկօն “A Letter To My Grandpa”

Արա Քէշիշեան (by Ara Kechichian)

Իրօզէս միէջ երբ ըսքի տիսու      (In my dream when I saw you)

Իկօծերէ բուն մը էսիլա,    (You had come to say something.)

Ըսքի շոտ նաղւուօծ գըտու,    (I saw you much troubled)

Հուօխ կուներէ դոն նաղուիլա.    (You were right to be angry.)

Վերուցը ձառիդ զես վախցուցի   (A stick in your hand, you made me afraid)

Սբիտուօկ ըրրուօխ, սբիտուօկ մուրօք    (White garment, white beard)

Ըսքի ընծատ չտիսուօծերէմ պէպօկ:   (I had not seen you like that, Grandpa.)

Իկուօծէրէ զէս նասադիլա    (You had come to pay me a visit)

Նայուածքեդ միէջ կարօտ տիսու    (I saw a longing in your gaze)

Քեսպու խուղէն, հաւէն, ջրէն,    (For the land, the air and the water of Kessab.)

Եարսօն տէրվին կարօտ տիսու:    (I saw a thirty-years long, longing.)

Գուտիմ տօնիս դիժուօր գտուօր    (I know you found my house with difficulty)

Քեսուօպ փըխվուօծի իսուօր,    (Kessab has changed nowadays.)

Ձիր թուօղը դիժուօր գտուօր    (You had difficulty finding your ward)

Շինուօծ տոնդ չիգու իսօր:     (The house you built exists no more.)

Բեդվիցուօ՞ր տնկուօծ թիթինէդ    (Did you look for the mulberry tree you planted?)

Կէսլէդ իլան ընկուզինէդ    (the Laurel tree and the walnut tree?)

Թընտըրէն տիէղը մինք ծախիցունք    (The oven place, we sold it)

Պաղչէն տիեղը պինա շինցունք    (We had a building erected in the orchard)

Պալինց պատռօյնիլի ճամբիցունք    (We got rid of the Balent’s section)

Էնուր տիէղը օթօմպիլ արունք    (and bought a car instead)

Նուր նուր բէնիր շուօտ գնիցունք    (We purchased many and many new things)

Նուր նուր Քեսօպ մը մինք շինցունք։    ( A new Kessab we built.)

«Ըզքը հեմու սեկկու» էսի.    (“It is now that I  just died”, you said.)

Հուօխ կուներէ դոն էսիլա    (You were right to say so)

Հուօխ կուներէ դոն նաղվիլա    (You were right to be angry)

Հուօխ կունես դոն զէս ծիծիլա    (You have the right to beat me)

Կրէքէն միէջը զէս բէդդիլա    (To cast me in a fire)

Հուօխ կուներէ դառնում կեսիմ:    (You had a right to return to say.)

Միէկ իշիլուօն, հեսկըցու ըզմէտքիդ    (In one glance, I understood you)

Ան թագգան, բացայ ըզվէրքիդ    (At that very moment I opened your wounds)

Մարաս տրվւուօծ մի Քեսուօպը    (Kessab is a legacy handed to us)

Վասիուօթ իրուօծ ձիր թոռնիրէն.    (Destined for passing it on to our grandchildren.)

Տիէր ըննիլա միր խուղիրէն.    (Claiming ownership of our lands)

«Խուղը, չծախվէր» էսի    (“the land cannot be sold”, you said)

«Խուղը, զիսսանը կը պիհի»:    (“The land sustains the person”.)

Հուօխ կոներէ դոն էսիլա    (You had a right to say so)

իմ մինէն դոն նաղվիլա:    (and be angry at me.)

Բացա զաչքիս, չիգուօս պէպօկ,    (I opened my eyes, you were not there, Grandpa)

Նաղւուօծ գէցի, մուրթուօ՛ր պէպօկ    (You left troubled, do not go, Grandpa)

Քաշքա եարանչ դոն ուգերէ,    (I wish you had come earlier,)

Իմ կօյր աչքը դոն բեներէ.    (Opened my blinded eyes.)

Կը խուստենում իս քի պէպօկ.    (I promise you, Grandpa)

Տիեր ըննիլա, միր խուղիրէն.    (To safeguard our lands)

մարաս տըրւուօծ պէպկինիրէն,    (given to us as a legacy by our elders.)

դարձէ՛, դարձէ՛, էնոշ պէպօկ    (come back, come back, sweat Grandpa)

Կը խուստենում իս քի պէպօկ    (I promise you, Grandpa)

Տիէր ըննիլա միր խուղիրէն    (to guard our lands)

Մարաս տըրւուօծ պէպկինիրիէն    (the legacy of our elders)

Դարձէ՛, դարձէ՛ քուօղցըր պէպօկ:    (Come back, come back, Sweet Grandpa.)

Hamo and Dro: Ideological contrasts (1/2)

Antranig Zarougian

Translated and abridged by Vahe H. Apelian

This is an excerpt from a chapter of Antranig Dzarougian's “The Greats and the Others” (Մեծերը եւ Միւսները, 1992). The chapter's original title is 'Hamo Ohanjanian and Vahan Papazian'.

"In the middle of the Second World War, at the height of German military successes, Hamo Ohanjanian came to the center stage of Armenian life--out of seclusion in the country of the sphinxes. His long-time friend Avedik Isahakian had written a bitter and an emotional letter to him from Armenia asking how was it that Dro was allowed to join the Germans and invade the Soviet Union, which meant invading Armenia? Ohanjanian responded publicly in an article that took an entire page –-whether he had written it or someone else had done it on his behalf does not matter for he had signed his name in the ARF organ "Houssaper" saying that he and his party unequivocally condemn Dro’s conduct and actions and that they irreversibly stood with the Allies, meaning with Armenia.

It was simple and clear but nonetheless just an article, a pubic affirmation. Yet one would not have faulted a person who thought it did not appear to reflect the real mindset and the ongoing actions. But it would soon be proven that whatever Hamo Ohanjanian said in his response to Avedik Isahakian was altogether honest and expressed the real conviction of the ARF Bureau.

Late one night in Aleppo a circular arrived for an out of the ordinary meeting compelling the recipients to attend it. Because of the war the Central Committee (Gomideh) had reduced its membership to a minimum (five members) and there was a special provision that a decision by three would be regarded unanimous. Although there was no war in Syria, the country was experiencing a heightened state of alert. German and Italian spies abounded; new groups were coming ashore from the sea and from the air, and there were Armenians among them. British and French agents were ceaselessly apprehending Arab nationalists whose overt sentiments were pro-German.

Under these circumstances it was a total surprise to me when I found Hamo Ohanjanian in Adour's house. It was the first time we had met, although it seemed to me that I had seen him many times before. He was so much the man as in the photographs. His arms were resting on the armchair, he was holding his head high much like in his photographs. He retained the same composure throughout the meeting. Only once did he change his posture when he excused himself to go to the bathroom. He had convened the meeting in the name of the Bureau. He immediately made a point that there would be no minutes recorded to my relief, as I was the recording secretary.

The British were planning to evacuate Egypt out of concern that they would not be able to withstand the assault of Rommel’s army, whose front forces were approaching Alexandria. It was thought that after taking Egypt the German forces would succeed in entering Palestine, Syria and Lebanon where the British, after putting a show resistance, would pull to Cyprus to ready them for a counter-attack later on.

For over an hour we heard similar military and political analysis after which Ohanjanian turned to the main topic. He revealed the British would have a plane at the disposal of the Bureau, which was centered in Egypt, to evacuate its members and transport their archives as the British retreated. Given that the ties between the Bureau and regional bodies might be disrupted under such circumstances, decisions had to be taken to keep communication lines open. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and read the following words: 1) Comrades (ungerner), 2) Dear Comrades and 3) Precious Comrades.

If the circulars from Bureau read "Comrades", the outlined directives should be followed irrespective of regional considerations because the Bureau would have regarded it in the best interest of the people at large. Should the circular read "Dear Comrades", it would mean that the Bureau was not convinced of the best course of action so it was up to the regional committees to act accordingly. Should the circular read "Precious Comrades" the directives in the circular should be ignored.

After he communicated to us this latest development, he invited us to ask questions. But we remained silent and no one asked any question. We were dumbfounded. The decisions taken appeared so out of place and unexpected. We had lived the past three years of the war in relative calm and relative passivity, far away from the happenings. The bloody battles were news we watched with interest. In fact, the community was experiencing such an economic upturn that there appeared a revived interest in literature. The “Nayiri” literary periodical was established for Armenian writers in the Middle East irrespective of their political affiliation. Whatever Ohanjanian conveyed to us sounded pretentious and totally contrary to our party.

It was Herartian who objected by saying: "You seem to forget that our party is based on the principle of decentralization. How could the Bureau dictate to us a course of conduct when our by-laws stipulate that each regional committee act according to the dictates of the region?"

Ohanjaniana replied: "The Bureau has made a note to that affect. Since we are in wartime the by-laws have been suspended."

Dzaroukian: "Decentralization is the core of our party’s structure and can only be suspended by an all-party assembly. Would it not have been prudent for some of the members of the Bureau to have departed with the British and taken the archives while the rest of the leadership stayed put? Much as in France's case where there is a Free France under the leadership of De Gaule and an occupied France under Marshal Petain.

Ohanjian's rebuttal was fast and swift: "Young Comrade, an occupied Bureau cannot function under the heel of Hitler."

The meeting ended at dawn. It was decided to invite group leaders for a consultative meeting the same evening. During the meeting we asked Ohanjanian to gauge the feelings of party members. He had nothing to report or to say to them, he said. He would listen rather than tell them anything.

It should be noted that, whether unfounded or not, the overall feeling in the party was pro-German.  After the German occupation of Greece and Crete, it was natural to expect the next blow would be against Turkey. It’s a mob mentality that gives a feeling of euphoria. Few were prepared to analyze an insignificant event that would tell volumes about German and Turkish relations. Upon Hitler's orders, the remains of Tala'at Pasha, which had been buried in Germany for the previous twenty years, were taken to Istanbul. Surely that did not sound as a hostile act but signaled a growing friendship. It was only after the war that we came to realize relations between Germany and Turkey had been contrary to our understanding. Not only Germany had no intention to attack Turkey, it was Turkey that had been waiting for the opportune time to attack Caucasus.

Ohanjanian said a few words and encouraged attendees to openly express themselves. He heard the same pro-German tune from all. Dasnabedian asked: "Should tomorrow Dro reach Yerevan with the German forces and appeal to us from there, what would be our response?"

"Let me ask that question to you," said Ohanjanian, "what would you do?"

"We? We would applaud and dance from here," said Dasnabedian.

For the very first time Ohanjanian’s voice quivered when he snapped almost in fury: "Should he do that, he will no longer be my comrade and you will not be an ARFer with your dance."

From left and right the same sentiments could be heard. The German military successes had dazzled our comrades. No one had any doubt that Germany will emerge the winner of the war. I should admit that the members of the leading bodies did not think differently. It was only Ohanjanian who remained steadfast on his belief that final victory belonged to the Allied forces. He then adjourned the meeting.

There was such an emphatic tone in his voice that I remember his closing words almost verbatim. "Comrades, do not be deceived by appearances. The German victory means a return of mankind to the Middle Ages. The wheel of time does not go backward. It would be impossible to envision Hitler ruling the world. Do not believe in transient victories. The racist mentality of Germans cannot stop the wheel of progress. Believe in the final victory of freedom and socialism."

He stirred emotions but could not convince the attendees. The belief that Turkey was next had overwhelmed the comrades.

My last meeting with Ohanjanian was brief. It lasted half-an-hour. He had requested that we present our opinion on paper. I presented a summary of our views and gave it to him after reading it out loud.

“Our committee does not support Bureau’s decision to depart with the British for the following reasons:

A.  Where can the British take the Bureau? Probably to London or even may be to India. Presumably under German occupation, how can we follow directives from the Bureau that surely will not be in favor of the Germans? If we were to follow its directives we would undermine our security here. If we do not follow the directives of the Bureau, the British would have no reason to hold on to the Bureau.

B.  We recommend that the Bureau stay in Egypt even though some comrades may be obliged to leave."

Ohanjanian took the paper and looked at it for a long time. It appeared he re-read it.  He looked at each of us, one by one, and then said in a low voice: "Alas, it appears that for forty years we have struggled in vain to secure a victory for socialism. It appears I have not known my comrades.”

Soon after the meeting the wheel of fortune suddenly changed in the opposite direction. Not only did the British not leave Egypt, but also they started to pursue German and Italian forces from one end of Northern Africa to the other. At the same time, after the heroic Battle of Stalingrad, the Soviet forces resorted to counter attack. The rest is history.

From all these I retain the unadulterated picture of Hamo Ohanjanian and his unwavering belief. Of all the political personalities I have met no one else has stood without blemish as he has. To enjoy success and to retain a belief in victory is not an impressive achievement. Real courage and greatness lie in retaining one’s beliefs and not be swayed by the currents."

Dro and Hamo: Ideological contrasts - 2/2

The attached is an abridged` excerpt of “Dro and world War II” chapter fro Antranig Chalabian’s book titled “DRO: Armenia's First Defence Minister of the Modern Era”, translated by his son Jack Chelebian, M.D. 

"Dro (Drastamat Kanayan), the valiant, selfless fedayee for the survival of the Armenian nation. Among his exploits: the assassination of Nakashidze, the viceroy of the tsar in the Caucasus. Victories in battles against the Turks, specially in Bash Aparan, during the battle of Sartarapat, which prevented the total destruction of Armenia in the aftermath of WWI. His Machiavellian 'collaboration with nazism' to save the Soviet Armenian POWs and the civilian Armenian population of Nazi-occupied Eastern Europe and Russia from certain annihilation, even as he cautioned his compatriots in Soviet Armenia against any untimely uprising against Soviet rule."

 

“World War II changed the course of Dro’s (Drastamat Kanayan), regardless of his will or intention, linking him to the Russian-German struggle as collaborator with Nazism.

During WWI he had collaborated with the tsarist regime as commander of the 2nd Volunteer Regiment on the Caucasus front. That does not mean that Dro, Andranik, Vartan, Keri, Hamazasp or others admired the tsarist dictatorship.

With the same rationale, it is not possible to accuse Dro of sympathizing with the Nazi ideology. In collaborating with Nazism, he was guided solely by the supreme interests of Armenia and the Armenian nation. There is no other way to consider this matter; because, like Andranik, Dro was not an ideologue who understood Bolshevism, Nazism, or the many varieties of socialism. Dro and all the revolutionaries, for the most part peasants, knew how to struggle for Armenia and die for the sake of the Armenian people’s salvation. Even when those fedayeen were ARF (Armenian Revolutionary Federation) members, they did not understand much about the socialist ideology of that party. For them the ARF was that organization which had trained and molded them to fight against the Turks and other enemies, and if need be, to die for the deliverance of the Armenian people and homeland.

In the years of WWII, the issue that preoccupied Dro and his comrades, before all and above all, was the physical survival of the Armenian nation, knowing the conditions to which Jewry in all of Europe was subjected.

“Collaboration” with Nazism  

Many people threw furious insults at Dro without understanding why, after living under Bolshevik regime for several years, he would suddenly change color and turn to Nazism, supposedly to battle against his much-beloved Russia and the Russian people.

The most elemental logic and common sense would make us surmise that the guerrilla leader and military commander, still carrying a piece of lead in his lungs from having been wounded on the path of the homeland's salvation, could not have taken such a step if not for the rekindling of patriotism in his heart and soul.

Starting in his adolescence, the elements of Dro’s life had been struggle, revolution, war, and adventure.

Thus, simple common sense would reassure us that Dro could not have betrayed his name, his conscience, and his beloved Armenia. For the sake of what purpose would he have taken such a step? For riches or for glory? He was neither materialistic nor ambitious. Surely, he must have had a concealed and supreme goal when he proceeded to collaborate with Nazism.

It's relevant to mention that the government of Armenia, during independence, had offered to grant him the rank of colonel when he was military commander of the entire province of Yerevan. Dro had declined that offer.

Years later, when Dro was visiting Beirut, people everywhere would address him as ”General Dro”, but he would always demur, saying “Just Dro” or “Comrade Dro”.

Dro’s perspective was that politics is amoral, unprincipled, and relativistic. Therefore, for the sake of the salvation of the homeland and the nation, it is necessary, for a period of time and until the storm passes, to forget moral and democratic principles, especially when the anti-democratic regime is mighty.

In the beginning of WWII when Dro’s links and contacts with Nazism were publicized, Ruben Ter-Minasian and Hamo Ohandjanian proposed distancing Dro from the ranks of the ARF, but with Vahan Navasardian's active intervention the proposal was rejected. Navasardian was Dro’s intimate friend and worshiper and leaned toward collaboration with the Russians.

Not only did a small group of one faction of the Armenian people collaborate with the Nazis for a specific purpose, but also prisoners of war from all the republics of the Soviet Union did as well, in larger dimensions, were they Russians, Byelorussians, Ukrainians, Caucasians, Tajiks, or any of the rest. Why? Because they all hated Stalin and his bloody regime equally; therefore they did not want to fight and die for Stalin. And if Hitler had behaved a little differently toward the millions of Red Army prisoners of war who willingly surrendered, they could have shaken the anti-populist regime of the Kremlin’s dictator and his sycophants from its foundations.

During WWII, the Armenians in the whole world could be divided into three main parts:

1. The Armenians in Armenia and the Soviet Union, who were obliged to follow the position of the Soviet government;

2. The Armenians in the great countries of the West and the countries more or less subject to them, who similarly were obliged to follow their governments delineated policies;

3. The Armenians, some 400,000 in all, living in the territory conquered by the Wehrmacht in the Balkans and the Ukraine, who naturally were subjected to Nazi dictatorial rule.

Bearing in mind the Nazi Party's chauvinistic and xenophobic ideology and brutal methodology, what would have been the fate of this third group of Armenians? Who would have worried about them?

That individual was to be the brave living in the Balkans, Drastamat Kanayan, aka Dro, who would assume the responsibility for the care and safety of the Armenians living in Hitler's imperial domain.

Only a person of extraordinary courage and selflessness would have had the temerity to plunge into such a dangerous political game, in large measure because the supreme leader of Nazism with whom Dro was to deal was not a normal, straightforward man of sound judgment. Excessively eccentric, a skilful trickster with strange ideas, Hitler could have harboured suspicions that Dro served the intelligence services of the Bolsheviks or of the Western imperialists and therefore Dro could have lost his life. I think that Dro’s strong personality, sound judgment, and daring enabled him to survive the claws of both Stalin and Hitler, both of whom he dealt with for years.

The work of Dro and his comrades became more difficult when it became evident that Nazism intended to physically annihilate in its entirety the Jewry of Europe. There was fear that Armenians also could be subjected to the same fate, because according to Nazi ideology Armenians were considered enemies and subject to the same rules. Moreover, in the event of Hitler's divisions invading the Transcaucasia, the existence of the Armenians in Armenia, Georgia, and Azerbaijan would have been greatly imperilled.

According to Simon Vratsian, an influential wing of the Nazi Party wanted to classify Armenians as not Indo-European, but to be listed among Asiatic people, which meant a race unworthy of living.

Dro and his comrades ware able to recognize the danger threatening the existence of the Armenian people in the occupied countries as well as in Armenia. They put forth proof that Armenians are of Indo-European origin and belong to the Aryan race.”

REMOVING, RENAMING; REMOVING, AND RENAMING

REMOVING, RENAMING; REMOVING, AND RENAMING

Vahe H. Apelian

There seems to be frenzy across the globe to sanitize history by removing statues and or renaming streets and cities. Of course, the phenomenon is not new. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, the statues of Lenin were brought down including in Armenia when it stood in the center of Yerevan of what was once known as Lenin's square. It is now called Republican Square. Similarly, one of the largest Russian city Leningrad was reverted back to its historical name Saint Petersburg.

A similar thing is happening in the United States. After the demonstrations in Charlottesville over the Confederate general Robert E. Lee statue, a few Confederate statues were removed in the cover of the night. 

A similar debate is going in Australia and in Armenia as well.

Recently the opposition party "Menk" proposed renaming the streets of Yerevan that were named after prominent Bolsheviks. or Communists. Today I read that Daron Markarian, the Mayor of Yerevan, opposes renaming the streets. He claims that it amounts to unnecessarily dabble in history. He claims that as the city Yerevan expands there will arise the need for naming streets and proposes to consider renaming such streets after persons "Menk" advocates. 

Prominent ARFers in the Diaspora have proposed placing the statue of Aram Manougian where Lenin's stood at one time. The city of Yerevan has announced that to celebrate the upcoming centennial of the founding of the first Republic of Armenia,  it will have the bust of Aram Manougian carved and placed at the intersection of streets close to the Republican Square but not in the square. The Republican Party of Armenia and the ARF-D that constitute the ruling coalition that governs Armenia have thus far remained silent on these issues.

In general, I oppose renaming streets and removing statues but yet again I see reasons and justification for doing so in some cases. But whose statue is to be removed, and whose name is to be erased from a street or a city and renamed can give rise to serious conflict when such a conflict would be a mere distraction from pressing issues and will solve nothing. 

Thus, I remain ambivalent. But I will have to admit to the following.  Because of the ongoing debate in Armenia over renaming streets, I learned of an Armenian communist leader Gaussian, after whom a street is named. Had there not been a debate over removing his name I would not have known about him and I bet many if not most of the younger generation who use that street would not have given much thought as to who he was. 

In a strange way, such debates bring back to life, persons, and events long forgotten or not much thought of by many if not most in the hustle and bustle of their daily lives. Their resurrection of sorts kindles and inflames feelings over issues that many would not have cared much otherwise.

Heavenly Kessab

Heavenly Kessab

A chapter from Zaven Khanjian’s book titled Haleb (Aleppo)
Abridged and translated by Vahe H. Apelian

While our homes and schools in Haleb were each a small spiritual Armenia, Kessab, on the other hand, was for us the only tangible, tasteful, huggable, historic and ancestral Armenian soil. Let Kessabtsis remain assured that we lay no territorial claim when we state that Kessab was our Armenia as well. This Armenian speaking, breathing and heart-beating northeastern Syrian corner was the magnet for our summer vacation; a most beautiful mountainous resort comprised of its namesake main village, Kessab, and surrounded by the Armenian inhabited, Armenian speaking but Turkish named villages.

In those days the inhabitants of Kessab were few. They thus became the close acquaintances of those who visited Kessab, especially when visiting the same village summer after summer and especially when both the visitors and the locals were members of the same denomination. Keurkune first, followed by Ekiz-Olough and then Kessab became the summer long camping centers for the youth of the Armenian Evangelical Christian Endeavor -Chanits.  

Resting at the foot of a hill, the center for our summer vacation in Keurkune was a stone walled one storied building whose doors and windows remained without panels. It was not only the mountain winds that breezed through it, but also our childhood curiosity that took wing and fired our imagination as to what possibly could lay behind that hill. In time we discovered, to our disappointment, that what lay behind the hill was the dirt road that snaked through keurkune and Ekiz-Olough.We then wondered what lay further away?

In time we grew taller and with the passing years we climbed to the highest peak of Kessab, that of Mount Silderan. Many a time we passed by the icy waters of Chalma’s spring and its majestic chestnut tree and gazed with wander the vast expanse of the blue water of the Mediterranean Sea. It was way too early for us then to ponder what lay beyond the blue waters and be drawn by the deceptive allure of the Western Civilization.

My contemporaries and I owe a lot to Kessab. In that mountainous and borderless environment, one attempts to soar with eagles. The pine trees there proudly stand tall, sky high. The apples, the figs, the wild berries you come across at every pace taste heavenly in Kessab. It is there when you experience freedom and feel closer to the Heavenly Father and come to worship both the Creator and the Creation and exalt God in the highest with an unyielding earnest to live free.

Kessabtis are a happy bunch, even though Kessab was not spared from the destructive and annihilating policies of the Young Turks. The surviving Kessabtis returned to their homes and stayed there. Where else west of Mount Massis1 has an Armenian enclave continued to embrace the descendants of the House of Torkom2 for longer? Aside west of Massis, which another Armenian enclave has had the good fortune to continue living on its ancestral soil for longer Kessabtsis were salvaged because somewhere, somehow, someone - a blessed creature - whether an official of the Ottoman Empire or of the Colonial French mistakenly drew the line that left Kessab inside Syria. The latter in turn embraced it with a sincere welcome and assured its safety.

Nowadays Kessabtsis are more of immigrants than native, more of them live outside than inside Kessab. They are more scattered worldwide than congregated in their native enclave. However, all these changes have come about out of free will choices and not due to any persecution, threat, or forced displacement. There was a time when the Kessabtsis toiled the land and were more of villagers. They left their pickaxes, shovels and scoops in favor of tilling medical, academic and spiritual fields. These days the Kessabtsis are more of medical practitioners, educators, and spiritual shepherds.

We loved Kessab and Kessab, in turn, loved us. Our summer long sojourn there inevitably lead to that mutual bond. The summer long church related meetings concluded with the traditional bonfire when the whole village would congregate around the vacationing young men and women to attend the comedy presentations the young vacationers prepared for the villagers as a gesture of good will.

Nature had endowed Ekiz-Olough with an open-air theater in the center of the village where we fashioned the stage with sheets, ropes and wooden poles. Armenag was the brainchild behind the improvised theatrical stage, while Raffi Charkhudian, Azad Mesrobian, Zadour Khatchadourian and I attempted to remain true to the characters of the plays we portrayed whether it was in “կիկո “ (Gego), “Շողոքորթը“ (The Flatterer), “Քաղաքավարութեան Վնասները“ (The Perils of Politeness). With rare exceptions, all the villagers attended and enjoyed the zenith of our summer long cultural endeavor. The younger vacationers, in turn remained captivated by the performance of their elder campers.

We, in turn, loved the Kessabtsi. We loved the Kessabtis for their unassuming and modest characters worthy to those brought up in nature, for their pure hearts akin to the clean waters of their springs, for their steel like character much like the boulders of their rocky terrain, for their perennial quest much like their ever green pine trees. We loved the Kesssabtsis for the labor they bore much like their fruit bearing trees, for their resiliency worthy to those who are brave, for their quest to reach the sky much like their mountains. How could we have not loved? Still, Kessab became the impetus that gave maturity to our maturing young bodies.

It is there, in Kessab that
We experienced nature at its virgin best for the very first time.
We visited Armenia for the very first time.
We met our Creator for the very first time.
We experienced village for the very first time.
We lived with domestic animals under the same roof for the very first time.

And for the very first time during these meetings, I met a vivacious, vivacious, a beautiful girl full of life and zest who would give meaning to my life and one day be the mother of my children.

How could I not love Kessab?

Notes:
1.Armenians refer to Mount Ararat as Mount Massis as well and refer to twin peaked mountain and Big Massis (Medtz Massis) and Little Massis (Bzdeg Massis).
2.House of Torkom is an expression for the Armenian race.
3. Pictures are from  volume 1 of Hagop Cholakian's sequel about Kessab.
4. Source Keghart.com.

Israel (Vahan) Pilikian’s Memoir

 Vahe. H. Apelian

One does not need to be a psychiatrist or psychologist to affirm that the survivors of the Genocide of the Armenians were traumatized. Modern medicine has coined a name for it--Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). It is an acronym that is mentioned often these days because of the recent wars the West has engaged in. In North America it is mostly referred to or in conjunction with the returning soldiers who had their 'boots on the ground' in foreign 'theaters'–-the military has its ways of making things palatable through euphemism, doesn't it? These soldiers have all sorts of trained specialists to help them overcome the effects of their traumatic experiences. The survivors of the Armenian Genocide were much less fortunate. They had no such intervention nor could they dream for such intervention. They were left to their lot. The survivors, however, created their own ways of coping with their traumatic experiences. They helped each other in the makeshift camps and laid the foundation of the modern, prosperous and ever more confidant Armenian Diaspora.

They also resorted to writing. Pen, pencil, and paper became their catharsis. In doing so, they created the post-Genocide Armenian literature. Some of them attained the pinnacle of literature (e.g. A. Dzarougian). Some created novels that will remain classics of the Western Armenian literature (e.g. Shahan Shahnour). Some wrote a novel with characters portraying the prominent Armenian men of letters who were killed during the genocide (e.g. “Love in Medz Yeghern” by Antranig Dzarougian) and others they knew. Some recounted their experiences as memoirs (e.g. Mushegh Ishkhan, Karnig Panian, and Armen Anoush). Some attained recognition posthumously and only after their memoirs became known to a wider readership, thanks to translation, such as Grigoris Balakian’s  “Armenian Golgotha”.

The memoirs of others remain dormant. They wrote so as to pass a legacy to their children. They may have cared less whether their memoirs were published or not or even was understood by their descendants who were born and raised in lands far away from theirs and in cultures far different from theirs and consequently would not be able to read their memoirs. Their memoirs first and foremost unburdened them from the trauma. Among such memoirs is the memoir of Israel (Vahan) Pilikian, the father of the gifted and eminent Pilikian brothers in London.

In the close-knit Armenian community of Beirut, the Pilikian name was not unfamiliar. I knew the name before my teens. A family relative worked as a pharmacy technician at the Pilikian Pharmacy in West Beirut. Every now and then he would give me a ride on his bicycle on his way to or from the pharmacy. I met my wife in a building the Pilikian family owned in Mar Mikhael neighborhood of Beirut. Her brother was my pharmacy school classmate. Their family had rented a flat on the first floor that had a balcony overlooking the busy street below.

Recently, Prof. Khatchatur Pilikian, upon my request, forwarded for me an electronic copy of his father’s memoir, through Dr. Dikran Abrahamian. The memoir is 249 pages long and is hand-written. He wrote it in a span of a quarter-of-a-century (July 25, 1960, to Nov. 25, 1985).  Israel Vahan Pilikian lived a long and productive life. He was born on June 21, 1902, and passed away in London at 95 on April 26, 1997. According to Prof. Pilikian, his father gave a testimonial at the Armenian Genocide commemoration in London just a day before his death.

Israel (Vahan) Pilikian was born to a hardworking, driven father who provided well for his family. He was 12 or 13 when he, along with his family, was driven for extermination. He had harrowing experiences. I would like to ask the readers to excuse me for noting the way he lost his sister, mother, and father in that order when still in his teens so as to express the nature of his trauma and to justify the title of this article--that his odyssey was a triumphant overcoming over adversity. He noted over and over again that they had become desensitized and had lost grip of the reality happening to them. The family gave their young daughter, Israel’s youngest sister, away to give her a chance for survival when death, they thought, was imminent. The reality of the separation, however, soon set in and they frantically began to look for the person to whose trust they had placed their daughter so as to reclaim her, but to no avail.

Israel Vahan Pilikian’s mother became “tongue-tied” after she and he were attacked and, at knifepoint, were forced to surrender the remaining gold coins they had wrapped around their bodies. She never spoke henceforth and remained in despair and would helplessly gaze at her children until her death that came not long after. These horrible experiences rendered their once-vibrant father a recluse. On that fateful day, the young Pilikian dreamt that his father, sleeping on the floor along with the rest of his remaining family and other surviving relatives, was asking for water. He woke up and hurried to bring him a cup of water only to be confronted by the group's elders who told him that his father had just taken his last breath and was dead.

It’s under such circumstances that Israel Vahan Pilikian, his brother, and sister embarked on their lives. Israel Pilikian’s life, much like that of many of his generation as survivors of the Genocide, was in the end, one of good overcoming evil, one of hope rather than hopelessness. These are not legacies to be taken lightly. Thankfully, his children are highly appreciative of the legacy that has been handed to them.

For a young boy whose schooling ended abruptly, Israel writes very well. He makes every effort to make his memoirs accurately depict his experiences. He does not shy away from mentioning that he does not remember a date or the name of a place or how long a march lasted. His memoirs resonated well with me especially when I read the passage where the family met its father anew after a forced separation in a town called Ereyli in the province of Konya, a town my father-in-law would often mention because he was born there.

Source: Keghart.com.

Righteous Turks from Erayli

Vahe H. Apelian

In memory of my father-in-law Mihran Hovsepian

Mihran Hovsepian

Erayli is a name of a town in the province of Konya my late father-in-law would often mention. He was born there in 1914. Thanks to their Turkish friends and his father's business partners, the family continued to live there until his father’s untimely death sometime in the early 1920s.

Whenever he would reminisce about his childhood and tell us about Erayli, I would wander if such a humane townspeople existed in Turkey in 1915, let alone in such a town. However I worded the sound of the name in western characters, I still couldn't find any reference to any town in Turkey that remotely sounded similar. For a while I thought of writing to a Turkish consulate to help me locate the town. I don't remember in what context it was that I appealed in a comment to readers of Keghart.com if they knew of such a town. Lo and behold, I got a response. The name turned out to be Ereğli in the province of Konya, as my father-in-law would say. According to Wikipedia Ereğli (formerly Erekli) is a Turkish toponym derived from Ancient Greek Ἡράκλεια (Herakleia), in Latin Heraclea or Heraclia.

I do not read, write or speak Turkish. It may be that Ereğli is pronounced Erayli, but lingering doubt remained in me that my father-in-law may have forgotten the pronunciation of the town he was born in. However, my doubts dissipated when I read Israel Vahan Pilikian’s memoir where he mentioned the name of a town in Armenian character that sounded exactly the way my father-in-law pronounced, Erayli in the province of Konya in Turkey much like my late father-in-law who would almost always refer the two jointly. I had not heard the sound of that name in Armenian from anyone else, nor read about the town in Armenian literature anywhere else. Israel Vahan recounted that the Pilikian family found their father safe and sound in Erayli and reunited with him after the family was forcefully separated on their way to their 1915 'golgotha'. 

It was a discovery that not only affirmed for me that my father-in-law correctly pronounced the name, it also affirmed to me all the good things he would say about his father’s Turkish business partners in that town. 

I do not use the words discovery lightly because those few lines in Mr. Pilikian’s memoirs were indeed eureka moment for me. It happened on a plane on our way to celebrate Thanksgiving with our son and his family. To kill time, I was reading the memoir I had downloaded in my computer from the PDF file that I had received through Dr. Dikran Abrahamian of Keghart.com. I immediately pointed out the few lines to my wife. After reading those few lines, she said: "Lals yegav“ ("I almost cried", in Armenian). 

My father-in-law passed away over two decades ago and yet his experiences have left an indelible impression upon us. I think our instinctive reaction to having heard of his birthplace from another Armenian survivor is common occurrence for the descendants of the survivors of the Genocide of the Armenians.

 We know the following about my father-in-law. His father’s name was Hovsep; his mother’s name was Hripsime’. They had named their children Boghos, Mehran--my father-in-law--and their daughter Takouhie. I cannot help it, my eyes got teary as I wrote these names much like they did when I read my father-in-law’s obituary in Clifton, New Jersey where he passed away and where he is buried, far from Erayli. Such authentic Armenian names for what must have been a traditional Armenian family living on their ancestral lands for generations and carving a life for them by minding their business, attending to their needs, striving to attain the niceties of life, and securing an honorable standing for themselves in the society they lived.

Historian tell us of the following as well about the Governor of Konya during the Genocide: “Mehmet Celal Bey (Ottoman Turkish: محمدجلالبك‎‎; 1863 – 15 February 1926) was an Ottoman statesman and a key witness to the Armenian Genocide. During his career as a politician, Celal Bey served as governor of the Ottoman provinces associated with the cities Erzurum, Aleppo, Aydin, Edirne, Konya and Adana. He also served as minister of the interior and minister of agriculture as well as mayor of Istanbul. Celal Bey is known for having saved many lives during the Armenian Genocide by defying deportation orders, which were preludes to starvation and massacres. As a result, he was removed from his post as governor in Aleppo and transferred to Konya, where he was again dismissed upon continuing to obstruct deportations. Today, he is often called the Turkish Oskar Schindler."

Upon the death of his father and after continuing to live in the town for some time, his mother seeing that her children were growing up isolated from the rest of the Armenians and speaking only Turkish decided to move the family to Lattakia, Syria in the early or mid-'20s. Her sister was married to an Armenian pharmacist there whose family name is Margosian. Their business partners helped the young mother and her three children and escorted the family most likley to Iskenderun and boarded them on a ship to their destination via Beirut. 

Their family name was Altebarmakian. In Syria they were registered as Hovsepian after their father. The registering officer, apparently finding Altebarmakian difficult to write, decided to register them under the name of the family’s patriarch, Hovsep, thus severing all official ties with their past. In Lattakia my father-in-law had a few years of schooling in the Armenian school. Apparently, the eminent Armenian writer Armen Anoush had taken a liking of the handsome kid with hazel eyes and who only spoke Turkish and took upon himself to teach the boy Armenian with the correct pronunciation, my father-in-law would recall.

Years later, my father-in-law would continue telling us, that they received unexpected guests in the persons of his father’s Turkish business partners and friends. It turned out that their Turkish family friends, having lost contact with them had embarked on a journey in search of the family. They had undertaken the search for a reunion of the families for old times sake. That is why I have carved a place of affection in my heart to a town named Erayli in the province of Konya in Turkey.