By Fethiye Çetin s
The following article was adapted from a presentation
that Fethiye Çetin gave at the Gross Center for Holocaust & Genocide
Studies (GCHGS) at Ramapo College on Nov. 14. It was translated from the
original Turkish by Nurhan A. Becidyan.
During
one’s lifetime, there are important milestones and nothing seems to be the same
after a milestone is behind you. For me, this milestone was when my grandmother
shared with me her story about her Armenian past.
This was the story of a 9-year-old girl in 1915, when she
faced persecution, violence, massacre, pillage, and terrible suffering. It was
the heartbreaking life story which she had begun as the Armenian Heranoush and
continued as the Muslim Seher.
She had paid for her survival at the cost of being
forcefully grabbed from her mother, from the world that she knew and trusted,
and thrown into the midst of those who had annihilated her family, her loved
ones—of those who had observed and done nothing to stop the occurring violence.
She had lost her language, her religion, her name, and her voice.
Until she told me her story I had no knowledge of the
genocidal violence that had occured in our (Turkish) history.
What I learned that day created shock, anger, and a sense
of rebellion in me, but as this issue was not discussed in public—not even
revealed within private circles—I lacked both the political context and consciousness
to be able to make any sense of this at the time.
In those days I was the defender of a socialist world
view. I thought that the class struggle and the revolution that would follow
would eliminate injustices. I had easy and cliché answers to difficult
questions.
But my answers were not enough to explain the reason for
my grandmother’s silence of all those long years. Her silence was the reason
that I started to deal with these difficult questions.
My grandmother had been silent for years, but she had not
forgotten the names of her mother, her father, her grandfather, and even that
of the “moukhtar” (headman) of her village.
It was as though she had repeated all these things to
herself during those “silence” years so that she could tell it one day. This
was her struggle against forgetting.
I began to share what I had learned, initially with my
relatives and also with my socialist friends. During those shared moments, I
noticed that almost everyone seemed to have similar stories, and during these
shared moments voices were hushed and turned into whispers. The silence was not
only that of the grandmothers but the silence of the whole society.
(L-R) Cetin, Becidyan, and Tchaghlasian
However,we were theyoung generation claiming that another
world order was possible and we were ready to face the consequences of such a
change. In those days we were very much interested about what was happening in
Chile,in Argentina,in Angola, and we were shoutingourslogans loudly.
However, when discussing what had happened in our own
land, we were whispering in each other’s ears, even in confined spaces. Thus my
first question was: “Why this silence?”
Why was this “secret” that everyone knew not being
discussed? Why?
I began to share what I had learned, initially with my
relatives and also with my socialist friends. During those shared moments, I
noticed that almost everyone seemed to have similar stories, and during these
shared moments voices were hushed and turned into whispers. The silence was not
only that of the grandmothers but the silence of the whole society.
The atrocities and brutalities of 1915 were of such
magnitude that it made things that would not be possible under normal
conditions possible. Hundreds of thousands of Armenian women and children had
been able to survive only by being Islamized. This apostasy and the wall of
silence that was built around it was reason enough to show the horror and
dimension of what had transpired.
I remember that I was very surprised when I learned that
this silence was also on an international scale. None of the history texts
mentioned the Heranoushes/Sehers—that is, there was no mention of the Islamized
Armenians in any text.
Ignoring the Heranoushes/Sehers, not talking about them
in public, was explainable in Turkey due to the government’s policies of denial
and suppression of the truth. But I was unable to comprehend the reason why
this issue was not discussed in the Armenian historical narrative. Moreover,
the children and grandchildren of the Heranoushes/Sehers were everywhere but
they were not included in any national historical narratives.
When my grandmother passed away in 2000, I had her
obituary published in the Agos Daily. It was an ad that started with the words,
“Her name was Heranoush,” and touched upon her story of being Islamized. I
learned from Hrant Dink that this obituary had been the subject of a news item
and a critical comment in the Haratch Armenian newspaper in France. Haratch was
how I found my relatives who lived in the United States, via Archbishop Mesrop
Ashjian who had read the obituary and the comment.
Apparently Archbishop Ashjian’s family also came from the
same village as my grandmother. Thanks to the archbishop’s maternal Uncle
Suren’s strong memory and his habit of writing down everything, my
grandmother’s sister Margrit, my cousins Richard (who is among us here
tonight), Nancy, and Deborah found me by contacting the Agos offices in
Istanbul. We made our first communication via phone in Hrant’s office.
Srpazan Ashjian in his article in Haratch was questioning
the paper’s approach: “this time it [as in, Haratch] closes the doors of hope
in front of Fethiye Çetin.”
There was something that had bothered me with Haratch’s
approach. For example, if they had criticized me by asking, “Where were you
until now? Why didn’t you speak until now?”, there was nothing I could say. But
by stating that “all doors should be shut in my face,” I felt that those words
were directed towards the Heranoushes/Sehers, and I was left with a sour taste
in my mouth.
I had published the obituary to make a truth, which was
known to most but that was kept under wraps, visible. To discuss 1915 and to
open a new and humane door in the genocide debate by telling our Islamized
grandmothers’ and grandfathers’ stories. While expecting resistance from the
Turkish public, the resistance had now come from an unexpected source. I had
thought that Haratch’s publishers did not want to hear my grandmother’s story.
But why were they shutting their ears, and why were they shutting the doors?
In fact, these women and children were the living
witnesses of the Armenian Genocide. They were the living proof of the
statement, “The past is in today.” They were the victims of the genocide who
made it possible to question the official history narrative.
Why and how did they become Muslims? Why are they alone?
Where is their family? What happened to them? Even asking these questions would
make 1915 discussable, so why this silence?
Of course, there will always be people who change their
religious beliefs, but was there any possibility of freewill under the
conditions that existed in 1915?
Some did it just to stay alive; others to save the lives
of their children or their siblings; and still others were kidnapped and
forcefully coverted to Islam. And if the subject is children like Heranoush,
could there be any discussion of freewill? They were children, they were
grabbed forcefully from the world they knew and thrusted and thrown into an
alien environment. Some were forced to live under the same roof with the
murderers and rapists of their loved ones. There were those who resisted
becoming a Muslim, some who faked it. Still others, just to be able to save
their children from discriminatory and exclusionary practices, acted like the
devoutest of Muslims by praying five times a day and not coming out of mosques.
These people who carried in their minds the images of
savagery and terror also had the burden of living in this savage space by
feeling the wind of violence and death on their backs. Without being able to
tell in a loud voice what they had seen, without being able to mourn their lost
ones, they disappeard from this world one by one. The doors of the society they
belonged to were also shut in their faces. Which caused them to live in loneliness
and shame. But none of them forgot their Armenian origin and past; a lot of
them whispered it into the ears of their loved ones, others told it on their
death beds, and almost all of them wrote a story that challenged history.
Some in spite of the heavy torture they faced never
removed their crosses from around their necks, they did not remove the Bible
from their chests, did not perform the ritual prayers of Islam.
Some prayed and lit candles in the ruined churches.
Some performed the ritual Muslim prayers and went to
mosque regularly, but also baked and distributed to their neigbours the Easter
“choereg”; they dyed eggs with onion skins and distributed them to the
children. There were also others who on certain days tied two spoons into the
shape of a cross and threw them into the lake or river nearby, and then gave 25
kurush (cents) as rewards to their children and grandchildren who jumped in
with their hands tied behind their backs and recovered those crosses made of
spoons.
Some families lived as Muslims during the day, but as
Christians at night.
Some others, in order to protect their children from
segregation, tried to forget their past, tried to become the best Muslim, the
best Turk!
But neither they, nor their Muslim neighbors, forgot.
Furthermore the state, by utilizing its segregtationist policies that was
trying to make people forget 1915, only reminded them of their past.
No matter how strong a Muslim they were, in the social
image they were all outsiders. No matter how hard they tried to forget, in the
social memory they were called such denigrating names as “converts” (dönme),
“remnants of the sword” (kılıç artığı), “fille” (a Kurdish word for Armenians),
“infidel” (gavur). This denigration and exclusion also continued to cover the
children and grandchildren of the Islamized Armenians.
The grandchidren were now expressing themselves as
follows:
One grandchild coming from a Kurdish province explained:
“They treat us like sour milk and shun us. Muslims will not pray standing
behind me. I am the other of the other (Ötekinin de ötekisiyim).
Another one said: “They never make us forget who we are
and remind us frequently. I grew a beard, and walk around with a Koran in my
hand, but still no one would pray behind me in the mosque.”1
The state, while pursuing a policy of erasing 1915 from
memories, was at the same time reminding Islamized Armenians and their children
of their roots by its discriminatory and exclusionary practices.
For example, my mother’s brother was not accepted to the
military academy because his mother was a convert (mühtedi). These children and
grandchildren were not allowed to become officers, policemen, judges, or
prosecuters. Not only they, but their spouses, were also subjected to security
clearance issues. This was a state that coded its citizens with an “ethnicity
code”; it did not trust them!
Cetin signs copies of her books following the N.J. event
Yusuf Halaçoğlu, one of the past heads of the Turkish
Historical Society, made some claims about these people, whom he called them
“Crypto Armenians,” saying that they were enemy agents and a threat to state
security.
The Eruh Raid of the PKK in 1984 was reported in the
media as “the Armenians came back to claim their land.” The ınterior minister
of the time labeled the PKK leader Abdullah Öçalan as “Ermeni dölü” (a
deragotary term meaning “Armenian offspring”).
During the early 2000’s, when Hrant Dink had become a
target of attacks, all of the intelligence units of the state started a “Crypto
Armenian” hunt in Anatolia. In the Ergenoken court files there is quite a lot
of information on this subject. In fact, there are notes and conversations
connecting the fact that my grandmother was Armenian to why I had accepted to
represent Hrant Dink.
What this means is that their children and grandchildren
lived and are living facing double exclusions, labeled as untrustworthy,
rootless, vagrants.
Lately, first maternal/paternal grandmother stories and
then discussions about Islamized families, villages, and even tribes have been
started, leading to major fractures in the century of silence.
The interest created in the community from my first book,
My Grandmother,2 was the reason the book Grandchildren,3 which I co-authored
with Ayşe Gül Altınay, was written. We conducted our first interviews in 2005
and used pseudonyms for the grandchildren that we interviewed.
When the book was published in 2009, in spite of the use
of only pseudonyms, one of the grandchildren pulled back his story. But we can
say that this fear and uneasiness is diminishing lately. Books and articles are
being published; documentaries are being filmed; verbal history studies, TV
interviews, and discussion programs are being made. Even though they were late,
academics are not ignoring the subject matter any more, and the debate occuring
in the collegiate environment consisting of young academics is very lively, and
gives me hope and excitement.
On the other hand, the process of being questioned over
where they belonged and the barriers of identification made the Islamized
Armenians feel as if they were stuck in limbo.4 This was the period when they
felt they were being squeezed between two groups.
One grandchild who participated in the Islamized
Armenians Conference explained this condition: “For years we felt as though we
were in Purgatory. The Muslims were excluding us. For years we waited for the
Christian Armenians to accept us. But they called us Dajig, and they also did
not accept us among them.”
Another one said: “The media and diaspora approach us as
merchandise, but disappear when their job is over.”
Yet another one said: “Their attitude was condescending,
their questions were insulting.”
There were others who called themselves “Muslim
Armenians” and demanded that this identity be accepted. There were some who did
not deny their Armenian roots, but described themselves as a “Turk” or a
“Kurd,” or accepted their multi identities.
Those who were baptized or went to the Armenian
Patriarchate to be baptized were faced with the obligatory six-month-long
courses, and reported that it was very difficult to come from Anatolia and have
to attend those courses for six months.
A grandchild that protested to this situation said: “All
I want is to get back what was taken from me forcefully. Why are they creating
such difficulties?”
Another asked: “Whether we want it or not, we are
Armenians. In order to understand us you have to live the life we have led. Our
choices were: ‘Should I die or should I become a Muslim?’ I had to choose
either death or Islam. Who is going to decide about my Armenianness? You or the
Patriarchate or I, who has faced vast difficulties during the past 100 years?”5
There were those who were baptized in Etchmiadzin, but
there have been rumors lately that Etchmiadzin is refusing the baptismal
requests of Turkish citizens, saying that they should be baptized in Turkey.
Their converted Islamic identities are not enough to make
them full Muslims, and their historical experiences are found lacking for them
to remain as Armenians.
Because the identity- and belonging-molds are coded in
such a manner that we are unable to fit them into any of the molds in our
minds.
This group, which today numbers in the millions, does not
fit either into the Armenian mold identified by Christianity, nor the Turkish
or Kurdish mold identified by Islam.
Because the stories and lives that are floating to the
surface complicates and challenges identity limits, and in a way goes beyond
the ordinary.
Another [grandchild] asked: Whether we want it or not, we
are Armenians. In order to understand us you have to live the life we have led.
Our choices were: ‘Should I die or should I become a Muslim?’ I had to choose
either death or Islam. Who is going to decide about my Armenianness? You or the
Patriarchate or I, who has faced vast difficulties during the past 100 years?
The Muslim Armenian category, even without being
identified as a collective identity, comes up as a new definition by forcing
the redefinition of the Armenian identity that has been identified with
Christianity.6
The conference organized by the Hrant Dink Foundation at
the Bosphorus University turned out to be a very important one, where such
subjects as Muslim Armenians, identities, the definition of belonging, and the
reasons for the silences were discussed.
During the conference, Ronald Grigor Suny said: “Armenian
history studies have, for the past 100 years, almost ignored the problem of the
Islamized Armenian issue. We should all respect them and refrain from imposing
our subjective personal identity on others. Ethnic and national identity, just
as religious identity, is objective and is not a matter of blood or origin. The
sense of identity is based on history and experience, [it] is a human trait;
ultimately a matter of preference.”7
Vahe Tachjian’s view was that, after 1915 “with the hope
of recreating the nation, these women, that were the remnants of the Armenian
people, were attempted to be re-assembled but soon it was realized that this
was an extremely complex issue.”
In terms of the surviving women, there were two basic
approaches accepted among the prominent Armenians: Accroding to the first view,
a “Red Line” had been crossed. These women had violated the national code of
ethics, and therefore did not deserve to be accepted among the Armenian people.
The second view saw these women as the victims of the massive violence. They
needed support, protection, and direction. Shelters for them should be built.
What if there were illegitimate children? The majority
was against accepting these children into the Armenian community. These
children were from the enemy, and therefore they could not be accepted as
Armenian. The women were left with only one choice: “Leave your children and
come among us!”8
This complex problem, because it was never discussed,
never questioned, was abandoned with the hope that it would be forgotten.
But this reality was not forgotten and it almost blew up.
And this explosion caught every sector unprepared.
Islamized Armenians, facing the problem of not being
accepted by either community, have started to have meetings amongst themselves
and created associations to overcome these shortcomings.
The Diyarbekir Sourp Giragos Church has become the
meeting place for those that do not deny their Armenian roots but identify
themselves in different manners, such as Turkish, Kurdish, Muslim, Alevi, or
atheist. On Sundays there are banquet tables set up in the church’s courtyard.
Also every passing day more people are attending the Armenian classes being
offered by the Diyarbekir-Sur municipality. The locations where these classes
are conducted have become other meeting places.
Those who wish to return to Christianity by accepting
their Armenian roots are trying to overcome the problem by establishing
associations amongst themselves, caused by the cold shoulder shown by the
Armenian community and the Patriarchate.
For example, the Dersim Armenian Association, the Bitlis
Armenians Association, the Sasun and Mutki Armenians Solidarity Association,
and the Malatya Armenians Association were all born because of this necessity.
These people, because they are unable to express themselves in the Armenian
community, are searching venues where they can express themselves.
These last few years quite a few Islamized Armenians have
approached the Patriarcahte in order to be baptized. It seems that both the
Patriarchate and the community was cought unprepared for this eventuality.
Therefore they are trying to stretch the reality by not granting their
baptismal requests immediately and demanding that they take six-month-long
courses before being accepted for baptism.
Or they are asking them to change the religious
affiliation section on their identity cards from “Islam” to “Christian.” This
is problematic for these people who want to convert, especially those that are
government employees, and people are refusing this because it might cause them
to lose their jobs.
The state has stopped using the “ethnicity code,” but for
parents who want to register their children in Armenian day schools problems
still exist. Because of the barriers the Patriarchate has created for baptisms,
the children of unbaptized parents are not being accepted to the Armenian day
schools.
These parents are saying: “We were able to force the
state to accept our right to send out children to Armenian day schools, but
still we are unable to make the Patriarchate accept our wishes.”
Nira Yuval Davis says that “belonging is tied to the
emotional commitment, of feeling himself to be home.”9 Islamized Armenians, on
the Centenary of the Armenian Genocide, still feel homeless and without a nest.
We must hear their cry of: “My only wish is to take back
what was forcefully taken away from me!” This rebellion and wish today is still
waiting to be heard and to be thought about, and for a solution.
Notes
[1] Ziflioglu,
Vercihan, Araftaki Ermenilerin Hikayesi, Iletisim Yayinlari, 2015.
2 Çetin, Fethiye, Anneannem, Metis Yayinevi, 2004.
3 Altinay, Ayse Gül & Çetin, Fethiye, Torunlar, Metis
Yayinevi, 2009.
4 Türkyilmaz, Zeynep, Müslümanlas(tiril)mis Ermeniler
Konferansi Tebligleri, Kasim 2013, Hrant Dink Vakfi Yayinlari.
5 Ziflioglu, op.cit.
6 Hadjian, Avedis, Müslümanlas(tiril)mis Ermeniler
Konferansi Tebligleri, Kasim 2013, Hrant Dink Vakfi Yayinlari.
7 Suny, Ronald Grigor, Müslümanlas(tiril)mis Ermeniler
Konferansi Tebligleri, Kasim 2013, Hrant Dink Vakfi Yayinlari.
8 Tachjian, Vahé, Müslümanlas(tiril)mis Ermeniler
Konferansi Tebligleri, Kasim 2013, Hrant Dink Vakfi Yayinlari.
9 Yuval-Davis, Nira, transmitted by Beyinli, Gökçen,
Müslümanlas(tiril)mis Ermeniler Konferansi Tebligleri, Kasim 2013, Hrant Dink
Vakfi Yayinlari.
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