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Today's Zaman, Turkey
Sept 8 2008
If only Hrant were here, too
Hrant Dink would be very happy about the whole thing. If he was still
alive, he would hug me with a big smile in the middle of the square. I
can hear his deep voice: "Yavuz, we managed, didn't we? Look at these
people talking to each other, beginning to make peace with history. We
defeated the borders of hate."
How one wishes, at such a moment, in Yerevan, to joke and laugh with
him. Without the slightest doubt, in the sweltering, dry heat of
Yerevan, the "football encounters" between Turks and Armenians were
significant. The temporary lifting of visa restrictions also meant a
psychological release for two peoples, facing each other on the
street, being friendly. On that end, "the match" was a great
success. Native Armenians demonstrated peacefully and returned to
their homes after the defeat singing. Turks and Kurds defied the
border and traveled long hours to Yerevan via Georgia. Families from
Turkey's Armenian minority went by airplane (mostly supporting the
Armenian team) and even people from the diaspora in the US were
visible, all to celebrate the occasion.
After the match, at around midnight, I was greeted by seven or eight
Armenians, all speaking perfect, Ä°stanbul Turkish. They flew in
from New York City, they say. One of them notes, "You notice we are
all men." "So?" I ask. "Because we came via Ä°stanbul and left
our wives there -- for shopping." I ask about their background. Two of
them were from Moda, one of Ä°stanbul's more posh
districts. Three are from Kayseri, another is from the Kumkapı
neighborhood in Ä°stanbul and the last one was from Bitlis. What
did they think about the new dialogue? "It is a new dawn," one said.
Standing not far from me, my colleague Cengiz Ã?andar is in an
excited conversation with some fans. When I come closer I realize they
are Kurds from the Turkish province of Ardahan. He tells us that they
had to travel 12 hours to get to the match. "Look," he says, pointing
to himself and his friends, "We Kurds came all the way to support our
[Turkish] team, and those nationalists [referring to right-wing Turks]
who grunt about this or that at home didn't dare show up here!" As we
listen in amazement, he goes on: "Let them open this border. Enough! I
tell you, if they don't, we will have to go and join the PKK
[Kurdistan Workers' Party] in the mountains or emigrate to
Ä°stanbul and take your work!" He is referring, naturally, to
the unemployment and poverty in the eastern provinces of Turkey.
Another colleague tells about his conversation with a member of the
Armenian nationalist Dashnaksutiun party. At the beginning of the
match, the Dashnaks opened a huge banner, with "recognition,
reparation, restitution" written on it. When they chatted after the
match, my colleague asked him whether it was necessary to bring
history to the stadium. "If we Dashnaks do not do it," he responded,
"We would have to shut down the party." They laughed together and
agreed that dialogue will resolve many issues and help everyone to
talk -- even about history. Around noon, at a distance, you are
greeted by what a colleague of mine calls "the great natural monument
in Armenia" -- Mount Ararat. Inside Turkey's borders with its sister,
Little Ararat, it overwhelms you, symbolizing the long-held historical
sentiments of the Armenians about the territory and their very
existence, filled with tragedy.
After a brief journey, I come much closer to the giant. On a visit to
a historic monastery, it rises before you, separating and uniting the
common history of two Anatolian peoples. Below the small hill where
the monastery is located, extends the plain, with the river Arax in
the middle, you can see Armenian peasants and even Turks beyond it,
working in the fields.
Under normal circumstances, it would take you only half an hour to
pass a border and enter Turkey on that plain. The closed border
mystifies both countries before each other. It adds to the myths,
mostly in a bad sense.
Just above the "sunken" stadium, in the heart of Yerevan, lies the
"Monument of the Armenian Genocide," facing Ararat. It is a serene
site, with heart-wrenching music and quiet visitors. I go there, as I
always do, to pay my respects to those who perished due to inhuman
folly and sheer madness during late Ottoman rule. Once upon a time,
our ancestors were the citizens of the same land, though many of them
had their share of tragedy, when visiting the "Genocide Museum," it is
clear who paid the highest price. As Hrant Dink used to tell me,
"Understanding, only understanding, will help us overcome denial."
Toward evening, we notice how little we talk of football. For us, in
our group of colleagues, it is part of daily life, with jokes, stories
and teasing. It does not come as a surprise when we tell each other
how overwhelmed one can be to pass the border and plunge into history
and memory, to listen to the problems of today waiting to be solved.
In the evening, tired, we go to one of my favorite spots in Yerevan,
Artush Babayan's restaurant, The Real Armenian Kitchen. His origins
from "Smyrna" (Ä°zmir) help him speak some rough Anatolian
Turkish when he enthusiastically welcomes us. As he serves one
delicious meal after another, we raise our glass of apricot vodka in
memory of Hrant, many of us in tears. One of our colleagues reminds us
at the table, "After all, it is his memory that brought us here."
Soccer has been a pretext. But we know how happy we all would have
been to watch this match together with Hrant.
08 September 2008, Monday
YAVUZ BAYDAR TODAY'S ZAMAN
Sept 8 2008
If only Hrant were here, too
Hrant Dink would be very happy about the whole thing. If he was still
alive, he would hug me with a big smile in the middle of the square. I
can hear his deep voice: "Yavuz, we managed, didn't we? Look at these
people talking to each other, beginning to make peace with history. We
defeated the borders of hate."
How one wishes, at such a moment, in Yerevan, to joke and laugh with
him. Without the slightest doubt, in the sweltering, dry heat of
Yerevan, the "football encounters" between Turks and Armenians were
significant. The temporary lifting of visa restrictions also meant a
psychological release for two peoples, facing each other on the
street, being friendly. On that end, "the match" was a great
success. Native Armenians demonstrated peacefully and returned to
their homes after the defeat singing. Turks and Kurds defied the
border and traveled long hours to Yerevan via Georgia. Families from
Turkey's Armenian minority went by airplane (mostly supporting the
Armenian team) and even people from the diaspora in the US were
visible, all to celebrate the occasion.
After the match, at around midnight, I was greeted by seven or eight
Armenians, all speaking perfect, Ä°stanbul Turkish. They flew in
from New York City, they say. One of them notes, "You notice we are
all men." "So?" I ask. "Because we came via Ä°stanbul and left
our wives there -- for shopping." I ask about their background. Two of
them were from Moda, one of Ä°stanbul's more posh
districts. Three are from Kayseri, another is from the Kumkapı
neighborhood in Ä°stanbul and the last one was from Bitlis. What
did they think about the new dialogue? "It is a new dawn," one said.
Standing not far from me, my colleague Cengiz Ã?andar is in an
excited conversation with some fans. When I come closer I realize they
are Kurds from the Turkish province of Ardahan. He tells us that they
had to travel 12 hours to get to the match. "Look," he says, pointing
to himself and his friends, "We Kurds came all the way to support our
[Turkish] team, and those nationalists [referring to right-wing Turks]
who grunt about this or that at home didn't dare show up here!" As we
listen in amazement, he goes on: "Let them open this border. Enough! I
tell you, if they don't, we will have to go and join the PKK
[Kurdistan Workers' Party] in the mountains or emigrate to
Ä°stanbul and take your work!" He is referring, naturally, to
the unemployment and poverty in the eastern provinces of Turkey.
Another colleague tells about his conversation with a member of the
Armenian nationalist Dashnaksutiun party. At the beginning of the
match, the Dashnaks opened a huge banner, with "recognition,
reparation, restitution" written on it. When they chatted after the
match, my colleague asked him whether it was necessary to bring
history to the stadium. "If we Dashnaks do not do it," he responded,
"We would have to shut down the party." They laughed together and
agreed that dialogue will resolve many issues and help everyone to
talk -- even about history. Around noon, at a distance, you are
greeted by what a colleague of mine calls "the great natural monument
in Armenia" -- Mount Ararat. Inside Turkey's borders with its sister,
Little Ararat, it overwhelms you, symbolizing the long-held historical
sentiments of the Armenians about the territory and their very
existence, filled with tragedy.
After a brief journey, I come much closer to the giant. On a visit to
a historic monastery, it rises before you, separating and uniting the
common history of two Anatolian peoples. Below the small hill where
the monastery is located, extends the plain, with the river Arax in
the middle, you can see Armenian peasants and even Turks beyond it,
working in the fields.
Under normal circumstances, it would take you only half an hour to
pass a border and enter Turkey on that plain. The closed border
mystifies both countries before each other. It adds to the myths,
mostly in a bad sense.
Just above the "sunken" stadium, in the heart of Yerevan, lies the
"Monument of the Armenian Genocide," facing Ararat. It is a serene
site, with heart-wrenching music and quiet visitors. I go there, as I
always do, to pay my respects to those who perished due to inhuman
folly and sheer madness during late Ottoman rule. Once upon a time,
our ancestors were the citizens of the same land, though many of them
had their share of tragedy, when visiting the "Genocide Museum," it is
clear who paid the highest price. As Hrant Dink used to tell me,
"Understanding, only understanding, will help us overcome denial."
Toward evening, we notice how little we talk of football. For us, in
our group of colleagues, it is part of daily life, with jokes, stories
and teasing. It does not come as a surprise when we tell each other
how overwhelmed one can be to pass the border and plunge into history
and memory, to listen to the problems of today waiting to be solved.
In the evening, tired, we go to one of my favorite spots in Yerevan,
Artush Babayan's restaurant, The Real Armenian Kitchen. His origins
from "Smyrna" (Ä°zmir) help him speak some rough Anatolian
Turkish when he enthusiastically welcomes us. As he serves one
delicious meal after another, we raise our glass of apricot vodka in
memory of Hrant, many of us in tears. One of our colleagues reminds us
at the table, "After all, it is his memory that brought us here."
Soccer has been a pretext. But we know how happy we all would have
been to watch this match together with Hrant.
08 September 2008, Monday
YAVUZ BAYDAR TODAY'S ZAMAN