Մեզ հայ են ասում...

 Արմենակ Եղիայեան-ին շաբաթական «Հայերէնը կը զուարճանայ»՝թիւ 111ա  յղումը։

Հայերէնը կը զուարճանայ (111ա)

Սփիւռքը եւ հայրենիքը արշաւի ելած են՝ աղաւաղելու մեր բազմահազարամեայ բառամաթերքը՝ մեր ազգային մեծագոյն հարստութիւններէն մէկը, հարիւրաւոր սերունդներու քրտնաջան պայքարի ու  մաքարումի ամենափայլուն իրագործումը. յառաջապահի դիրքերուն վրայ կը գտնուին «Ազդակ»-ի քաղաքական էջերը եւ «Արմէնպրէս»ը, որոնք, ուս-ուսի տուած, առիւծի նման, իբրեւ  անխոնջ ասպետներ՝ անագորոյն կը գռոհեն  դէպի  նոյն տեսլականը՝ փորձելով  իրարու ձեռքէ խլել յաղթանակի լուսաւոր  ջահն ու յառաջամարտիկի վսեմ պսակը:

1.Առեւանգել

Հերթական զոհերէն մէկն է այս բառը:

***«Անոնք կրնան առեւանգել Լիբանանի նախագահութիւնը»: 

Ինչպէ՞ս կարելի է առեւանգել... նախագահութիւն մը.   նախագահ մը ըսեն՝ խելքի կը պառկի. օրինակ՝ դիմակ մը կ’անցընես  դէմքիդ, կը զինուիս ատրճանակով մը եւ կը   հրաւիրես  փողոցները անզգուշ սլքտացող նախագահը, որ  ինքնաշարժդ մտնէ, այլապէս... ան լաւ գիտէ, թէ ի՛նչ կրնայ պատահիլ: 

Այս բոլորը աւելի քան բանական, բնական ու  տրամաբանական է:

Բայց առեւանգել նախագահութիւնը... ահա ա՛յս է, որ  կը մատնէ գրողին մտային բոպիկութիւնը հայոց լեզուի  անդաստանին մէջ:

Հիմա նայինք, թէ  բառիս ի՛նչ սահմանում կու տայ Մալխասեանը, որ աշխարհաբար բառարանագրութեան խիղճն է. 

«Առեւանգել−կին կամ աղջիկ փախցնել՝ առանց ամուսնու կամ ծնողների հաւանութեան»,−  եւ առ այս՝ օրինակ կը բերէ  «Իլիական»-ի Պարիսը, որ առեւանգեց գեղեցկուհի Հելենան եւ պատճառ դարձաւ Տրովադայի տասնամեայ պատերազմին:

Նշանակութեան տրամաբանական ընդլայնումով, թոյլատրելի է «առեւանգել», ինչպէս վերը բերինք օրինակը, տղամարդիկը եւս՝ ինչ-ինչ քաղաքական, ահաբեկչական կամ նիւթական պատճառներով: Յաճախ պատահած է, որ դրամաշորթներ առեւանգեն մանուկ մը, թէկուզ չափահաս մը, եւ հարազատներէն դրամ պահանջեն՝ իբրեւ փրկագին:

Եւ այսքա՛ն, ուր «նախագահութեան առեւանգում»-ի իմաստը տեղ չունի:

Նախագահութիւնը կարելի է իւրացնել, յափշտակել, խլել, կորզել,  զաւթել, հայր Ղազիկեանի գունագեղ լեզուով՝ ապշոպել, բայց ոչ առեւանգել:

                                                           *   *   *

Առեւանգել կ’ըսեմ կամ կը լսեմ, եւ գաղափարներու զուգորդութեամբ կը հասնիմ մինչեւ... Կարո Սասունին՝ Հայ գրականութեան ուսուցիչիս՝ անցած դարու 50-ականներուն:

Որ աւելի  լաւ պատմող էր, քան թէ... գրաբանող:

Ուրեմն Դանիէլ Վարուժան կը սիրահարի ինչ-որ Արաքսիի մը, որ կը փոխադարձէ անոր սիրոյն, բայց ահա   մեր՝ գլուխը լեցուն եւ գրպանը պարապ դիւցազներգակի բոլոր ճիգերը՝ համոզելու  Արաքսիի բարեկեցիկ հայրը,− կը մնան ապարդիւն. մարդը հարուստ փեսայ կ’ուզէ: 

Իսկ հարստութիւնը միակ «շնորհն» է, որ Աստուած զլացած էր Վարուժանին:

Ճարահատ՝ ան կ’որոշէ առեւանգել Արաքսին:

Որ անշուշտ  կը յօժարի   այս առինքնող կարգադրութեան:

Բայց այս ծրագիրն ալ  Հարճի առեւանգումը այնքան վառ գոյներով  պատմող բանաստեղծին  ուժերէն վեր կը թուի ըլլալ, մինչեւ որ իրեն օգնութեան կը հասնի ոչ աւելի, ոչ պակաս՝ Վարդգէս Սերենգիւլեանը, որ երկու ձի թամբած՝ մէկը իրեն, միւսը առեւանգիչին,  կու  գայ Արաքսիի ննջասենեակի պատուհանին տակ՝ ճիշդ Հարճի առեւանգիչ Տրդատ Բագրատունիին պէս:  Արաքսիի մէկ շունչով ցատկելն ու Վարուժանի գիրկը հանգչիլը ակնթարթային կ’ըլլայ, իսկ այնուհետեւ՝

Կանգ մի՛ առներ, սրաթռիչ երիվար,

Նպատակս տկարութիւն չի ճանչնար...

Այս բոլորը շատ բարի, սակայն մինչեւ հիմա ալ չեմ կրցած հասկնալ, թէ  գեղջուկ Վարուժանի ընել չկրցածը  Վարդգէս ինչպրէ՞ս կրցաւ յաջողցնել իր թոփալ ոտքով:

Դուք ալ պիտի ըսէք՝

−Մինչեւ Օսմանեան խորհրդարան հասնողը  այդքանն ալ կրնար ընել հարկաւ:

Եւ դուք ալ իրաւունք ունիք:

2. Արգելափակել

Իսկ սա յաջորդն է, արեւելահայերուն ամէնօրեայ մատի փաթթոցը, իսկ արեւմտա-հայոց... բնազդական ընդօրինակութեան առարկան:

«Ադրպեյջանը արգելափակել է Հայաստանից Արցախը սնուցող միակ գազատար խողովակը»:

Այս ալ մեկնաբանութիւնն  է  ինչ-որ տեղ  փակուած  ինչ-որ ծորակի մը: 

Կարելի՞ է «ծորակի փակումը» թարգմանել արգելափակել բայով:

Կը դիմեմ Ակադեմիայի քառահատոր բացատրականին, քանի Մալխասեան չունի այս բառը, ու կը կարդամ.

«Արգելափակել− բանտարկել, մեկուսացնել, հսկողութեան տակ պահել»,− օրինակ բերուած է Զապել Եսայեանի հետեւեալ կիրարկութիւնը.  «Երբեմն ալ յիմարանոցը կ’արգելա-փակէին իբրեւ խենթ»:

Եսայեան ի մտի ունի այն հիւանդները, որոնք Պոլսոյ պատրիարքապատկան  հողատարածքի վրայ կառուցուած  ս. Խաչ հիւանդանոցը կը դրուէին դարմանումի համար. այս  տխրահռչակ հաստատութեան «դարմանումը» կը կայանար  այդ խեղճերը խուցերու մէջ մեկուսացնելու  մէջ՝ երբեմն  կապելով անոնց ձեռքերը, որպէսզի չկարենային  իրենց մօտեցողներուն  վնասել. ասով ալ յաճախ չէին գոհանար եւ կը կապէին զանոնք յատուկ հաստատուած սիւնի մը կամ մետաղեայ կեռի մը: Եւ կար աւելին՝  մասնաւոր պատրաստութիւն ստացած երկոտանի ճիւաղներ կը մերկացնէին զանոնք, պաղ ջուր կը սրսկէին անոնց վրայ եւ... տուր որ կու տաս՝ կուշտուկուռ կը ծեծէին զանոնք: Այս բոլորը՝ օրուան պատրիարքին եւ անոր սպասարկող մասնագէտ բժիշկներու  թելադրութեամբ  եւ հսկողութեան տակ, հոն,  ուր պատրիարքը ինք եւ բժիշկները պէտք ունէին այդ  ծեծին:

Ահա թէ մեզ ուրտեղերը կրնար հասցնել... յիշեալ ծորակը:

Եթէ վերի տողը գրողը տարրական հայերէն մը գիտնար եւ օժտուած ըլլար տարրական խիղճով մը  ու  ճիշդ գործածէր «արգելափակել» բայը, ձեզի եւ մեղաւորիս խնայած պիտի ըլլար մեր պատմութիւնը մռայլող ու նուաստացնող նման դրուագները:

Չհաշուած հայերէնի խոշտանգումը:

                                                                            *   *   * 

Գիտեմ, սրտցաւ ընթերցողներ վաղը պիտի գրեն ու զարմացած  հարց տան, թէ եզին տակ  ի՛նչ  հորթ կը փնտռեմ: Է՜հ, կովուն տակ հորթ չգտնողը, ստիպուած կը դիմէ...եզին:   Մեր ամբողջ ներկան հիմա եզի տակ հորթի փնտռտուքի վերածուած է. Հայատանի ու մանաւանդ Արցախի վերաբնակեցումէն կը ճառենք հանապազօր՝ առանց հրաժարելու Արեւմուտքի հանգստաւէտ ոստաններէն, տիւ ու գիշեր Բերձորի ազատագրում  կը քարոզենք աշխարհի բոլոր հրապարակներէն՝ առանց մէկ հատ  ազատամարտիկ ղրկելու  ազերի հորդաներու դէմ եւ... եւ... եւ...

Մեզ հայ են   ասում... 

A Language Beehive: Bourj Hammoud (4) – Visiting Turkey

My abridged translation of Armenag Yeghiayan’s sequel (Լեզուական Փեթակ՝ Պուրճ Համուտ – 4 -). The original is linked.  Vahe H Apelian

Courtesy Garo Konyalian

These visits were not unilateral, not only Turks would visit Lebanon, especially Bourj Hammoud, there were also no shortage of reciprocating visitors from Bourj Hammoud to Turkey. They began with the transportation of cheap goods and the introduction of expensive articles, such as leather, textiles, etc. At the beginning it was trickling in small quantities, in travelers’ bags. Later, in large quantities through known and unknown routes, in commercial quantities, to the point of flooding our markets, much like they currently flood the department stores of Armenia.

Along with these visitors, there were also patriotic visits that were driven by the desire to see the homeland.

A long time ago I became privy of two such visits. I share them with my readers as they were told to me by the visitors themselves.

The First Testimony

The narrator was Krikor Ngrurian. He hailed from Mussa Dagh. He remains a well-remembered, long-time public servant as a pedagogue, a teacher, and a principal.  

He told me that his father was a very healthy and active man who climbed trees to pick fruit and prune dead branches well into his old age. But, despite his iron constitution, he began to give up on his usual daily activities that filled his day and became withdrawn and remained preoccupied by his memories of their village in Mussa Dagh.   

To bring his father out of his withdrawal and disinterest, Krikor decided to take him to his birthplace. Krikor was no less determined to make that mission for he was also curious and wanting to see their paternal home and its surroundings that had remained a fogy memory of his early childhood there. 

They reached Mussa Dagh and their village. They easily found the street where their patriarchal house used to be.

"Our house was on the right side of a steep road," he had told me, “One or two meters lower from the road."

The local lads - not to also say the adults - who were used to such visits and to the generous rewards they received from the visitors, surrounded the father and son, and directed them right to the front of the house, whose current Turkish landlady, appeared apprehensive seeing such a crowd obviously fearing that they have come to take possession of her house. She, nonetheless, invited them to come in.  

“Sister, we used to live in this house. My father misses it. We came so that my father would live up his memory for a few moments and then we will leave.” 

The explanation of the purpose of their visit apparently rested the landlady, who took them around showing them the whole house, room by room, with all the nooks and crannies, the orchard, and other areas. Seeing their house erect calmed Krikor’s father who took a few deep breaths of relief. 

They returned to the yard, where the hostess had arranged chairs and prepared yogurt drink for them. They drank the yogurt drink, thanked the lady, and headed towards the stairways on their way out to the road.

- “A few days before the exile” continued telling Krikor, “my father had started to build a  brick railing on the right and left sides of the stairway. Everything was finished but there was only a brick or so left to place on the right side. I don't know why it had not been possible to put it in place, and we had left the house without completing. And here, I noticed with deep emotion that everything in and around the house had remained the same during the last more than thirty years, the way my father had told me, even the missing brick/s. When we were getting ready to put our feet on the first step, the landlady, who was following our steps, surely wanting to see us leave a moment sooner, said with a genuine grief:

- "Could you not have placed the bricks and then left?”

*****

Second Testimony

The narrator in this case was Yervant Demirdjian who was a long-time executive secretary of the prelacy and was well-known throughout the community whom he served with great devotion during the years of the leadership of Aram I as the prelate.

It was at the end of one of the meetings of the Educational Council when, I don't remember why, he invited me to his small office, which was located directly next to the assembly hall, and after everything else was discussed, he told the following story, in his peculiarly colorful style and vocabulary, which was only his own.

-         “I was barely seventeen years old; it was a year or two after the end of the war,” - he began, telling,  “when Turkey established an embassy in Aleppo, and declared that the cross boarder movement was  free for all Syrians, including and especially for the Armenians, emphasized those in our social circle, who had taken advantage of the opportunity and visited Turkey.”

So, without saying a word to anyone, he secured a passport from the state, then a visa from the Turkish embassy, and with a triumphant and beaming face he revealed all this to his parents, who were naturally horrified by the idea that their son, in his mid-teens, will be going to Turkey on his own, to visit Digranakerd, his birthplace where their patriarchal home they left behind was. But to no avail, the teenager had made his mind, driven out of patriotic sentiments towards his hometown. 

As far as I remember, his family left Turkey relatively late, that's why the image of the place was still fresh in his memory, as he told the details of his visit with an authenticity expected from someone who is very familiar with a place and no less because  there was a  listener sitting in front of him who was eagerly and breathlessly devouring his every word and following his every gesture.

Yervant had found in me a captive audience and gave way to his animated storytelling.

- “I went straight to our house, “- he emphasized – “with the impatience of someone who presents himself not only several minutes, but several hours earlier than expected.”

- “I explained my predicament to the new owners. They received me affectionately”, Yervant said.  

But rather than the house, Yervant was more interested to see the cabin they had in the adjacent yard or garden with a pentagonal glass dome. Therefore, he ran straight to the yard, to that cabin, where he spent most of his time and organized his children's games with friends.

The cabin with a pentagonal glass dome was still there, but, Yervant continued telling. 

- “One day I saw a bird on a tree in the yard, I immediately prepared my sling shot, took aim, but the marble missed the bird and hit one of the glass panels of the cabin dome and shattered it. My father punished me for the breakage I caused, but I remained waiting for the glass to be repaired. Time passed, that glass was not replaced when we were deported. And now, looking back, years later, how bitter my feelings became when I saw that the breakage had not been repaired, and pieces of glass remained stuck in the grooves of the empty window frame that seemed to be staring at me.”

 

armenag@gmail.com                  Արմենակ Եղիայեան

 The original:  http://vhapelian.blogspot.com/2023/02/a-language-beehive-bourj-hammoud-4.html

 

Mecho

Mecho, was fourteen years old when his poor father Loleg Ovan died leaving behind “a dilapidated cottage, a cherry wood-wipe, a widow and a cow with and adorned back”. After his father death, Mecho, already restless, became the undisciplined kid of the village and left school preferring to spend time in nature, grazing their cow and hunting.  But one day Mecho discovered a girl’s nakedness and his life changed. Attached is my abridged and excerpted translation of superb story tellerHamasdegh’s description of the change that came over Mecho and Mecho’s plea to Saint Sarkis.

*****

“It was spring. The waters of the springs were overflowing, flooding the streams. The trees were spreading their roots further into the soil. The seeds were germinating. There was life and movement everywhere.

Every day, amidst this abundance, Mecho would be seen seated on his cow crossing the bridge into the pasture.

On a warm spring day, Mecho, while pursuing a bird, entered uncle Soukeg’s vegetable garden. His attention got distracted from the bird when he saw uncle Soukeg’s wife bathing her little daughter Louseg right in front of their summer cottage. Mecho did not understand why he hid behind the bushes and did not understand why he kept looking at the naked girl crouched over her heels much like Venus in a washtub.

Mecho was the prince of the nature but in his entire universe no other being had seized his attention the way  Louseg did in her nakedness.

Mecho forgot the bird, forgot his cow and came out from the bushes.

Mother and Louseg suddenly realized that Mecho, standing erect next to the trees, is watching them fixated.

- “Hey Mecho, what are you doing here?” said the mother.

Mecho was not speaking. He had become speechless. While Louseg, shy, crouched further as if shivering.

Louseg’s mother was astonished. She saw fire in the eyes of the lad kindled by her daughter’s nakedness. 

-  “Get out of here, Mecho”, she shouted. 

Mecho was not moving.

- ‘Get away’ – said the mother angrily-and went straight towards him. Mecho with single leap jumped over the fence and disappeared in an instant much like an apparition that just had appeared. 

The following day, Mecho again took his cow to grazing next to uncle Soukeg’s vegetable garden. He saw uncle Soukeg tending the garden with his sleeves tucked onto his arms. Close to him, next to the potato sack, Louseg was standing helping her dad plant potato.

Uncle Soukeg saw Mecho jump over the fence but did not scold him.

-“Hey Mecho, what are you doing here? Come and give a hand.”

Mecho approached Louseg. They looked at each other and both blushed. 

Louseg was a little girl, thirteen years old. Mecho saw in her nature as a whole with its dawn and its dusk. He saw in her a bit of the wild pigeons, foxes, hares he hunted.  He saw in her a bit of the cow he grazed and a little of the sky above. Her eyes were as beautiful as a newborn calf’s eyes. Her voice was even more tender than the sounds the wild pigeons made when they suddenly took wing from the gorge and swiftly flew and rested on the rocks of Saint Sarkis mountain. Her eyebrows were even darker than the feathers of a crow fallen on snow. Mecho felt something strange in him every time his hands touched Louseg’s hands in the potato sack.

Mecho was restless much like the seeds of wheat under the soil bursting to come forth under the sun.

Louseg had become Mecho’s sun.

Mecho no longer took his cow into the valley to graze.  Every day with his cow he went  close to uncle Soukeg’s vegetable garden. He left the cow on the harvested dry fields and he hid behind bushes looking at uncle Soukeg’s vegetable garden. His cow had realized that Mecho no longer took care of it and remained thirsty under the sun in the open dry field. Mecho no longer rested his head against the cow when both used to take a break under the shadow of a tree in the lush valley.

Mecho did not want to graze his cow anymore but wanted instead to work in uncle Soukeg’s vegetable garden. He would till the soil from dawn to dusk, plant potato, take care all the work of their vegetable garden. For his hard work Mecho would not ask for anything, other than being close to Louseg.

One day Mecho came out of the bushes when he saw Louseg  pass by. This time he had an owl in his hands.

- “Louseg” uttered Mecho to attract her attention.

Louseg looked at the owl in Mecho’s hands and approached him. 

-“why have you caught this owl? ” asked Louseg as she approached him to see the owl closely.

Mecho started telling Louseg about the mysterious powers of the owl as she remained mesmerized by what Mecho was telling her when suddenly her mother rushed from their cottage.

Mecho fled away as soon as he saw her coming toward him.

- “Girl, what are you doing here? I have been calling your name for so long that my voice got hoarse. Have I not told you not to speak to that crook? Had I caught him I would have broken his knees. Get home and clean the dishes” said the mother as she scolded her daughter.

Louseg henceforth avoided Mecho if she happened to see him. Mecho was a thief, the whole village knew that, and her mother would get angry should she been seen talking to him.

It was Saint Sarkis day. Those who had been fasting in preparation of the feast lucked up on that year’s Saint Sarkis day. Although it was a bit cold, but it was sunny and the snow was glittering under the sun’s rays. The young girls and boys of the villages nearby were heading up the Saint Sarkis mountain.

- “Who is that ?”  the villagers asked each other when they saw someone from far following them alone.

- “Maybe he is a beggar” said someone

- “What beggar ? He is Sarig’s son Mecho”, corrected another

- “I bet he has come to steal the candles of Saint Sarkis”.

Mecho trailed them from far much like an uninvited mourner following a casket. Mecho was an unofficial pilgrim. His clothes were not new. The fez he wore was tarnished with oil over its long use. He had stuffed straw in his shoes for warmth.  When he reached the site, he saw pilgrims buying candles to lit, pigeons to sacrifice. Pilgrims lit a candle or sacrificed a pigeon and then kneeled at the alter site, crossed and prayed to have Saint Sarkis fulfill their wishes. 

That evening Mencheg’s wife alerted her husband that she heard sounds coming from the roof. 

-“Who would be out  on this bitter cold night ?” said Mencheg to his wife. “Don’t you hear the winds are howling?”

It was Mecho. He had stolen Mencheg’s prized pigeon and  was braving the cold bitter night to  offer his sacrifice to Saint Sarkis before Saint Sarkis left with the howling winds riding his horse.

“O~h great Saint Sarkis. I offer this pigeon as my sacrifice. I do not want richness.  Grant me the strength, and the graciousness of your horse to be a laborer in uncle Soukeg’s garden.”

The following day  Kel Ghougas headed towards the Saint Sarkis mountain to see the animals he had trapped. When he reached the mountain top, not far from the Saint Sarkis alter he saw a frozen body. 

It was Mecho’s.”

Այսօր յիշեցի Յակոբը

 Վահէ Յ. Աբէլեան

Hagop Yapoujian 

Այսօր Ֆէյսպուքը ուշադրութեանս յանցնեց որ ՀՅԴ Զաւարեան Ուսանողական Միւթեան վաղեմի ընկերներէս Յակոբ Եափուճեանին մահուանը տարելիցն է։ Անակնկալ մահը պատահած էր 3 Փետրուար 2018-ին։ Մահուանը գուժը ստացած եղած եմ Յակոբ Հաւաթեանէն՝ Լիբանան, նմանապէս յիշեցուց զիս ֆէյսպուքը։

Նախորդող ամիսներուն հաղորդակցութեան մէջ էի հետը։ Կարգ մը նախքին Զաւարեանականներ կը մտածէին, նախ քան Լիբանանի քաղաքացիական պատրեզամին   Զաւարեան  ուսանողական միւթեան անդամներուն մասին յուշագրութիւն մը պատրաստել։ Եթէ Կարսը Ռուբէն Տէր Մինասեանի սերունդին հնոցը եղաւ՝ այնպէս ալ Պէյրութը սփիւռքահայութեան այդ սերունդին հնոցը դարձաւ։ Իսկ Զաւարեան Ուսանողական միւթեան այդ սերունդին անդամները իրենց դրօշմը դրին սփիւռքահայ կրթական, քաղաքական, լրագլական, մշակոյթային եւ ազգային հասարակական կեանքին մէջ, ինչպէս եղաւ նաեւ Յակոբ Եափուճեանինը, ինչպէս կը նշէր Յակոբ Հաւաթեանը իր գոյժին մէջ։

Թէեւ Յակոբին հետ կապի մէջ էի, բայց զինք անձնապէս չէի տեսած երկար եւ երկար տարիներ։ Մահուան գոյժին կցուած լուսանկարը զգաստութեան բերած եղած ըլլալու է զիս որ հետեւալը տեղադրած եմ այդ օրուան իմ Ֆէյսպուքի էջիս վրայ՝ «Տարիները այսպէս սահէր են եւ մենք ալ փոխուեր ենք. եթէ պատահմամբ իրար հանդիպէինք ճամբու մը վրայ ալ պիտի չճանչնայինք իրար։ Նախքին Զաւարեանական ընկերերներէս  Յակոբ Եափուճեանը մահացեր է։ Գոնէ անգամ մը հանդիպէինք եւ խօսէինք երես երեսի, ի՞նչ վիճակ ստացաւ այդ Զաւարեանական սերունին մասին գրելու մեր ծրագիրը։ Հիմայ ինքն ալ այդ սերունդէն պատմութեան անցեր է։ Կը ցաւիմ.......՝»

Սովորութիւն ըրած ենք որպէս վշտակիցներ իրար կը կարեկցինք ըսելով ՝ «կեանքը քեզի», յաճախ ալ «կեանքը քեզի եւ սիրելիներուդ» եւ կամ նման կարեկցական մաղթանքներ ընելով որոնց առանցքը միշտ «կեանքը»-ն է։

Կեանք բառին շեշտաւորումը «ը» մասնիկով շփոթ կ՚արթնցնէ մէջս՝ որո՞ւ կամ ի՞նչ կեանքին մասին է կարեկցական ակնարկը՝ հանգուցեալին ապրած կեանքի՞ն կամ սպասուած յաւելեալ տարիներո՞ւն։ ես կը կարծեմ որ այդ խօսքը աղաւաղուած է։ Հաւանաբար կարեկցական ակնարկը «կեա՛նք քեցի» ըլլալու է, որ խորքին մէջ արեւշատութեան կամ աւելի երկարակեցութեան մաղթանք մըն է։ Կեանքը խլուեցաւ հանգուցեալին բայց արեւշատութիւն՝ «կեանք քեզի»։ Հետեւաբար ես իմ կարեկցական վշտակցութիւնս փոխած եմ ըսելով ՝ «կեա՛նք քեզի» եւ ոչ թէ «կեանքը քեզի»։՚

Այսպէս՝ կեա՛նք իր զաւակներուն եւ թոռներուն։

Գալով մահուան, բնականաբար մեռնողին տարիքը իր ազդեցութիւնը ունի մեղմացնելու եւ կամ աւելի տանելի դարձնելու մեռնողին մահը։ Բնականաբար աւելի տանելի է տարեցի մը մահը քան երիտասարդին։ Բայց մահը ցաւալի է, ինչ որ ըլլայ մեռնողին կեանքին տարիները։  Վերջին հաշուով մահուան յաղթանակը Քրիստոնեայ մեր հաւատքին առանցքներէն է՝ «Ո՛վ մահ, ո՞ւր է քու խայթոցդ, գերեզմա՛ն, ո՞ւր է քու յաղթութիւնդ »։

Eric Bogosian-ը իր «Operation Nemesis” գիրքը կ՚աւարտէ հետեւալ թարգմանական խորհրդակցութեամբ՝ - բնագիրը կցած եմ ներքեւը - «Մենք այս աշխարհը կուգանք առանց ոչինչի և կը հեռանանք առանց ոչինչի: Մենք բոլորս գիտենք, անուղղակիօրեն կամ բացայայտօրեն, որ այն ամբողջը ինչ որ իրականութեամբ ունինք, մեր տեղն է ուրիշներու յիշողութիւններուն մէջ: Մենք գոյութիւն ունենք այնքան որքան կը ճանչնանք և կը յիշենք իրար. նոյնիսկ մեր մեջ ամենամեկուսացածները: Մենք կը բաժնենք հաւաքական հասկացողութիւնը, որ մենք բոլորս աւելի մեծ ամբողջականութեան մը մաս ենք»։

Այսօր յիշեցի Յակոբ Եափուճեանը։

IMMINENT ETHNIC CLEANSING IN ARTSAKH (Nagorno-Karabakh)

Hrair Balian

I knew Hrair Balian from our days in close-knit Armenian community of  the Zokak-El-Blat neighborhood, the hub of the Armenian community in West Beirut. I quote Hrair: "The essay on Artsakh was the product of collective effort, I did not write it alone. I left the Carter Center a year ago and I am now an independent analyst/writer, teaching conflict resolution at GA Tech's Sam Nunn School of International Affairs."

Hrair Balian

Since 12 December 2022, Azerbaijan has imposed a blockade on the only road, a lifeline, between Armenia and Artsakh (Nagorno-Karabakh) through the Lachin Corridor, isolating some 120,000 Armenians in Artsakh and causing a dire humanitarian emergency. The Lachin Corridor, a span of 10 Km, separates Artsakh from Armenia. 

Food, medicine and other vital supplies in Artsakh are depleting rapidly. Prior to the Azerbaijani blockade, over 400 tons of essential supplies were trucked daily from Armenia to Artsakh. As well, Azerbaijan has blocked and sabotaged intermittently the supply of gas and electricity from Armenia to Artsakh. Without reliable means for heating in the harsh winter, educational institutions in Artsakh have been forced to close.

Further, the movement of people between Armenia and Artsakh has been blocked completely. Even the air corridor between Armenia and Artsakh is closed as Azerbaijan has threatened to shoot down any flight attempting to land in Artsakh. The International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) is the only humanitarian organization allowed to transport through the Lachin Corridor few gravely ill patients, among them children, for treatment in Armenia. Thus, the free movement of people and goods through the Lachin Corridor is blocked, and Artsakh is under Azerbaijani siege.

Azerbaijan claims the road through the Lachin Corridor is blocked by Azeri “environmental activists” protesting industrial undertakings in Artsakh, falsely claiming the activists are independent and not directed by the government. 

However, these so-called “independent environmental activists” patently are agents of Azerbaijan's dictatorial Aliyev regime. Freedom House rates Azerbaijan as “Not Free” with “little room for independent expression or activism.” “Unsanctioned assemblies can draw a harsh police response and fines for participants” in Azerbaijan. 

Hence, the siege of Artsakh is a hybrid Azerbaijani warfare tactic intending to isolate and terrorize the Armenians in Artsakh and ultimately to force them out – a classic definition of ethnic cleansing. Aliyev has long promised and frequently stated publicly his intentions to cleanse Artsakh of its indigenous Armenians.  

Governments and institutions around the world have not been fooled by the theatrics of Azerbaijani agents posing as independent actors and have called on Baku to end the siege of Artsakh. The EU Parliament stated that the safety and security of the people of Artsakh is paramount and only possible with the free movement of people and goods along the Lachin Corridor and with the presence of a reliable peacekeeping mission. The U.K., France, U.S., Sweden, the UN High Commissioner for Human Rights, the European Court of Human Rights and countless others have called on Azerbaijan to end the siege of Artsakh and not interfere with the free movement of people and goods through the Lachin Corridor.

The Azerbaijani blockade of the Lachin Corridor has created a DIRE HUMANITARIAN CRISIS in Artsakh and has TERRORIZED the 120,000 indigenous Armenians under siege. The ETHNIC CLEANSING of the Armenians of Artsakh, Azerbaijan’s next move, must be averted and ANOTHER WAR in the region prevented.

ACTION REQUEST: (1) Azerbaijan must order its operatives to vacate the Lachin Corridor and cease interfering with the free movement of people and goods between Armenia and Artsakh. Otherwise, (2) the international community must levy sanctions on Azerbaijan if the siege of Artsakh is not lifted. (3) International observers must be deployed to the Lachin Corridor to ensure the free movement of people and goods between Armenia and Artsakh.

BACKGROUND: Nagorno-Karabakh (called Artsakh by Armenians) has been inhabited by an indigenous Armenian population since at least the beginning of the 2nd century BC. Armenian monuments there date back to early Christianity. In 1921, the Soviet Union arbitrarily carved Artsakh out of Soviet Armenia and placed it under Soviet Azerbaijani administration, but with autonomous status as the Nagorno-Karabakh Autonomous Oblast (NKAO). 

In the lead-up to the dissolution of the USSR, Artsakh emerged as a source of dispute between Armenia and Azerbaijan. In the 1980s, Artsakh Armenians called on the Soviet authorities to transfer the region to Armenia. In response, a pogrom was carried out against the Armenian minority of the Azerbaijani city of Sumgait. Further pogroms and ethnic cleansing took place in the following years against Armenians in other Azerbaijani cities.

On 10 December 1991, following a referendum in accordance with the Constitution of the USSR in process of disintegration, Artsakh declared independence from the Soviet Union to become the Republic of Nagorno-Karabakh (Artsakh), with the intention of reunifying eventually with newly independent Armenia. The declaration was rejected by Azerbaijan, leading to the outbreak of full-scale war. Azerbaijan held a referendum for independence on 29 December 1991.

NAGORNO-KARABAKH WARS: Full-scale fighting erupted in early 1992 and continued until a ceasefire was reached in May 1994, with the Armenians gaining control of approximately the entire territory of the former NKAO, as well as most of seven adjacent districts of Azerbaijan as security buffer until a peace agreement could be signed. The international community did not recognize Artsakh’s de facto independence.

Since 1994, peace talks have been unsuccessful. The Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) created the Minsk Group in mid-1992 with the purpose of mediating a peace deal between Armenia and Azerbaijan, but little has been accomplished.

Intermittent fighting over the region continued without significant territorial changes. On 27 September 2020 with the assistance of Turkey, Azerbaijan launched a full-scale attack against Artsakh. The 44-day war claimed 7,000 deaths and ended in Azerbaijan’s takeover of a large part of the territory of the former NKAO, as well as the seven adjacent districts. A ceasefire declaration signed on 9 November 2020 ended the fighting and deployed a contingent of about 2,000 Russian peacekeepers along the line of contact, including the Lachin Corridor.

Since November 2020, Azerbaijan has repeatedly violated the ceasefire declaration through numerous military incursions across the line of contact and by continuing to hold Armenian POWs. What is more egregious, Azerbaijani forces have committed grave breaches of international humanitarian laws by mutilating numerous Armenian POWs and civilians, including women (horrific video evidence of torture and murder is available on the internet), sentencing to prison terms Armenian POWs under groundless terrorism charges and publicly humiliating them, destroying Armenian monuments and desecrating tombs. 

The blockade of the Lachin Corridor and the siege of Artsakh are the latest egregious violation of the 10 November 2020 ceasefire declaration. The Russian peacekeeping forces have been unable or unwilling to remove the Azerbaijani blockade and ensure the free passage of people and goods through the Lachin Corridor as stipulated in the ceasefire declaration.

30 Jan 2023

A language Beehive: Bourj Hamoud (3) -When customs started changing

My abridged translation of Armenag Yeghiayan’s sequel (Լեզուական Փեթակ՝ Պուրճ Համուտ -3-). The original is linked.  Vahe H Apelian

Courtesy Garo Konyalian

The popularity of Armenian songs did not silence the Turkish songs, nor curtail the Turkish language in Bourj Hamoud. There was still a long road ahead.

Turkish song records were a steady and inexhaustible source that found their ways into our social customs, especially during our feasts. I did not know who and from where these records were procured, much like I do not know who procures Turkish supplies or goods to the Nor Marash shops just before the holidays; you may even say during the 12 months of the year. These Turkish records were many, diverse and were very popular both for individuals and especially for banquets that did not have to wait for any special occasion to take place.

During those happy-go-lucky years in Lebanon, a few people in Bourj Hamoud always found an opportunity to buy one or two bottles of oghi and organize a party. Chikofta or khyma, shish kebab, along with other trimmings were no exceptions, giving a special flavor to these impromptu banquets. In the absence of records, which rarely happened, singers would emerge. They were crooners who volunteered their talents and who, after a few cups, would sing like nightingales and brighten up the colorful days of Bourj Hamoud. Along with the singers came the dancers, at time of both sexes, who after moving their feet while seating down to the song’s tempo, gave free rein to their legs and arms and joined the singers with boundless movements stirring the jealousy of those who remained seated savoring the food. 

Sometime later, television became common whose screens were flooded with Turkish film series, which the Armenian women adored

New phenomena appeared with time.

*****

One by one, Turkish pilgrims began to appear in our neighborhoods, who, on their way to Mecca for pilgrimage, came off the ship at the port of Beirut just to see the city. Some met old Armenian acquaintances and were hosted in their homes. On an occasion of such a hospitality, which I attended with my father in the house of one of our family friends, I saw a Turk for the first time. I was completely surprised to find out that he was an ordinary human creature like the rest of us. He also had two ears, two eyes and one nose. and a mouth, while I had a completely different visualization about the representatives of that monstrous tribe, who became the subjects of conversation around us for the twelve months of the year.      

I found out from the ongoing conversations that this current Turk had used all his means to save the family who was hosting him. He had sheltered its members during the years of war, that is, during the Yeghern – genocide -, and after the end of the war, he had escorted them to a safe harbor to go abroad.

A more remarkable event also happened.

*****

We confirmed that we knew the family. Their apartment was a few steps further from ours. The husband was dead. His widow and their children lived there.

"Then, take us to their house," asked the visitor.

We escorted them to that family.

The foreigner was a Turkish pilgrim. He introduced himself and respectfully greeted the hostess. After expressing his condolences, asked a few names, made a couple of checks and asked very politely.

- Has your husband ever talked to you about a green handkerchief?

- Yes, - answered the landlady bewildered - he had told us how on the day of the deportation, they had given their gold in a green handkerchief to their Turkish friend asking him to keep it "until their return"...

The Turk put his hand into his pocket and took out a palm-sized green bundle.

- This is the bundle that I have never opened before. I thank you for removing this burden from my soul. Now I can continue my pilgrimage and die in peace.

Having said this, he handed the bundle to the stunned widow, who looked around, once at the person and then to the rest of us present, as if she was looking for words but could not find them.

*****

One day, one of my classmates, who lived next door to us and who was also a playmate, said:

- Do you know that in Turkey, I have a grandmother who is married to a Turk?

This was quite a complicated situation, for which I did not have a solution. How could an Armenian girl, born and raised here in Bourj Hamoud, with a well-known Armenian mother and father, have a grandmother married to a Turk in Turkey?

Little by little, later than sooner, I also understood the crux of the matter. My friend’s father, uncle Margos, was a five- to six-year-old child when the war ended and an armistice was signed in 1918. He was sheltered in one of the orphanages, and after a year or two, along with the rest of the orphans, he was also brought to Lebanon while his mother remained in Turkey, where she married a Turk and had children. But uncle Margos, for decades, had not known about the fate of his mother until one day he received a letter from a Turk, who had somehow found out his address as a stepbrother and had written to him letting uncle Margos know that their mother is old but is healthy and how happy she would be if she found him again and that her other children themselves would be equally happy if uncle Margos is willing to visit them Turkey so they could host him in their home.

The writer earnestly pleaded uncle Margos to respond to the letter.

One day, a nice Turkish-speaking old woman appeared at Uncle Margos's house. The resemblance between the two was striking. She was his mother. All us neighbors witnessed the loving care the old woman showed towards her son and her grandchildren. The cruel Armenian fate had deprived them of the joy. 

She stayed in Bourj Hamoud for quite a long time. Slowly and to some extent she restored her broken Armenian, until one day she said:

- I miss my children and grandchildren.

She was referring to her Turkish children and grandchildren in Turkey.

*****

As to the third language, the dialect, its acquisition was conditioned by the presence of the dialect speaking elder in a given family. With the elder’s presence in the household, the rest became easier. The mother tongue and the dialect were equally absorbed by the younger generation. But it surely is tacitly understood that if there was no such elder person in the household, a neighbor’s, or a friend’s elder could not be useful to someone else, simply because the dialect the elder spoke was not necessarily the same dialect. A bouquet of dialects was spoken in Bourj Hamoud.

It would not be out of place to note the last linguistic feat of the residents of Bourj Hamoud, who are already endowed with a magnificent linguistic laurel wreath; their knowledge of Eastern Armenian. 

Yes, Eastern Armenian.

Our first textbooks, including the "Aragats" series prepared by Onnik Sargisian and Simon Simonian, offered carefully, at least from 3rd grade and on, selected pieces in Eastern Armenian by Raffi, Ghazaros Aghayan, Kourgen Mahari, Stepan Zorian, Hovhannes Shiraz and others. No one would point out the difference between Eastern Armenian and Western Armenian. It thus became completely normal for us to come across a language that sounded different from our "known" Armenian and adopt it. And we would graduate easily reading and understanding their works.

Our generation(s) growing in Bourj Hamoud acquired all these languages without any difficulty, by hearing them spoken in the house, on the street, in the workplaces or in any public place. We learned aurally, without having the slightest notion of the theoretical grammar. The language was handed down by a generation and was transmitted by speaking and learning by hearing without attending a Turkish school and without having the slightest idea about theoretical grammar. 

Weren't all the languages of the world transmitted in the same manner for thousands of years, in ancient times, when "writing" did not exist in any form?

*****

And what about Arabic, the official state language of the country?

E^~h, it was the big absent from the unique mosaic of the Armenian, Turkish and the colorful dialects that constituted our life in Bourj Hamoud. Knowing the official language of the country did not serve any purpose for us, therefore it had no role in our daily life in Bourj Hamoud.

The state teacher who taught an Arabic class a day, with the attitude state teachers of those years had, was completely powerless to make us have any interest in learning the language, especially when outside of the school, there was no need for Arabic at all simply because in all of Bourj Hamoud there were no Arabs save only two families of state functionaries.

This was the situation until the 1950s.

The repatriation left behind many unoccupied houses in Bourj Hamoud which were bought by locals fleeing to the city from the south. That and the onslaught of Palestinian refugees completely changed the ethnographic situation of Bourj Hamoud which began to take on an Arab face, not counting other foreign nationals that fled there later. Kurds, Sri Lankans and Indians and many others in their colorful languages, all of which is familiar to the present-day residents of Bourj Hamoud.

Along with them, the dialect-speaking elders gradually passed away. A strong struggle against Turkish began. All these caused us to wrap up our Armenian identity, at times preserving it with difficulty, only to become Arabized with our newer generation rushing to attend public schools.

Արմենակ Եղիայեան 

armenag@yeghiayan                                                            

Բնագիրը՝ http://vhapelian.blogspot.com/2023/01/3_29.html