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Glendale News Press, CA
April 25 2009
FROM THE MARGINS:
Hate the act, not the people
By PATRICK AZADIAN
Published: Last Updated Friday, April 24, 2009 10:03 PM PDT
I clearly remember my first April 24 experience. I could not have been
any older than 7 or 8 when my mom took me to a protest that was
organized at the grounds of our neighborhood Armenian church.
I even remember the taxi driver. He was a middle-aged Iranian man with
a heavy 5 o'clock shadow. As he pulled up to the gates of the
St. Sarkis Church in Tehran, he was puzzled by the dense and
vociferous group of protesters. He asked (in Persian): `What are you
Armenians protesting against?'
My mom briefly explained what all the commotion was about. She did an
efficient job of jamming the entire history of the Armenian Genocide
from the time the question was posed to the time she paid the driver
in Iranian tumans. I remember her holding the tumans in her hand as
she was completing the story of the unpunished injustice that befell
the Armenian people.
The taxi driver was sympathetic. He shook his head from side to side
and after a deep sigh, exclaimed: `We (Persians) have not seen too
much good from the Turks either.' He could have been referring to the
encroachments of the Ottoman Empire on territories of the Persian
kingdom in the past century. His reaction could have also been based
in the mythical rivalry of Iran and `Turan' (a mythical Turkic state
in the north of Iran). Or, he could have simply been empathizing with
the moment.
Regardless, I was satisfied. I felt our cause was so just that even
the taxi driver was on our side. He displayed the sophistication of a
schooled politician and the kindness of a true humanitarian.
As we walked out of the taxi and set foot in the enclosed grounds of
the church, it struck me that no protester was on the
sidewalk. According to a government decree, demonstrators were allowed
within the church grounds but anyone stepping outside the legal zone
would have been breaking the law. This made the demonstration quite
self-serving. But the message of the speakers was quite
clear. Apparently we had turned a new leaf. We were not supposed to
mourn anymore, but to demand rights.
My childish mind was new to the mourning idea; I knew something bad
had happened to our people, but my grandfather, for example, who was a
survivor of the genocide, had never really shared his experiences with
me. My parents had also not indoctrinated me with the graphic details.
Nevertheless, returning home I burned my first Turkish flag. I did it
in the privacy of our balcony under the gentle spring sun. The
procedure was intricate. As I did not have a ready-made flag, I had to
cut out a small piece of paper, painted it in red and left the star
and the moon of the Turkish flag as white. This was not an easy
process, as I was intrigued by miniature items. I glued my tiny flag
to the mast of a small needle. The sacrifice took a few seconds, but
it sent chills down my spine. I was momentarily satisfied.
I did feel some guilt. That would be my last flag burning. I never
warmed up to the idea.
The next day, I turned my attention to our grocer. I vaguely knew he
was a Turk. I was looking to hold someone accountable for the grand
loss. I asked my mom about his involvement in the genocide!
My mom knew where I was going with my line of questioning. She was
quick to kill the process.
`Leave Gholam alone,' she said. Interestingly, `Gholam' means
`servant' (probably of God). `Gholam is a nice old man,' she
continued. Just to make sure that my childhood imagination did not
create any false enemies, she emphasized the fact the Gholam was an
Iranian Turk.
Despite my parents' well-intentioned attempts, from that day on, I
could not separate the contempt I had for the Turkish people from the
one I had for the act of genocide.
It has taken me years to get the rid of the former. It has been
consuming.
Many kids and teenagers will have participated in the demonstrations
protesting the Armenian Genocide around the world. They will have the
same challenges as I experienced with the feelings of contempt when
growing up. I think my grandparents would have wished the new
generation could only have contempt for the act of injustice.
Given the aggressive denial campaign of the Turkish state, this will
be almost impossible.
April 25 2009
FROM THE MARGINS:
Hate the act, not the people
By PATRICK AZADIAN
Published: Last Updated Friday, April 24, 2009 10:03 PM PDT
I clearly remember my first April 24 experience. I could not have been
any older than 7 or 8 when my mom took me to a protest that was
organized at the grounds of our neighborhood Armenian church.
I even remember the taxi driver. He was a middle-aged Iranian man with
a heavy 5 o'clock shadow. As he pulled up to the gates of the
St. Sarkis Church in Tehran, he was puzzled by the dense and
vociferous group of protesters. He asked (in Persian): `What are you
Armenians protesting against?'
My mom briefly explained what all the commotion was about. She did an
efficient job of jamming the entire history of the Armenian Genocide
from the time the question was posed to the time she paid the driver
in Iranian tumans. I remember her holding the tumans in her hand as
she was completing the story of the unpunished injustice that befell
the Armenian people.
The taxi driver was sympathetic. He shook his head from side to side
and after a deep sigh, exclaimed: `We (Persians) have not seen too
much good from the Turks either.' He could have been referring to the
encroachments of the Ottoman Empire on territories of the Persian
kingdom in the past century. His reaction could have also been based
in the mythical rivalry of Iran and `Turan' (a mythical Turkic state
in the north of Iran). Or, he could have simply been empathizing with
the moment.
Regardless, I was satisfied. I felt our cause was so just that even
the taxi driver was on our side. He displayed the sophistication of a
schooled politician and the kindness of a true humanitarian.
As we walked out of the taxi and set foot in the enclosed grounds of
the church, it struck me that no protester was on the
sidewalk. According to a government decree, demonstrators were allowed
within the church grounds but anyone stepping outside the legal zone
would have been breaking the law. This made the demonstration quite
self-serving. But the message of the speakers was quite
clear. Apparently we had turned a new leaf. We were not supposed to
mourn anymore, but to demand rights.
My childish mind was new to the mourning idea; I knew something bad
had happened to our people, but my grandfather, for example, who was a
survivor of the genocide, had never really shared his experiences with
me. My parents had also not indoctrinated me with the graphic details.
Nevertheless, returning home I burned my first Turkish flag. I did it
in the privacy of our balcony under the gentle spring sun. The
procedure was intricate. As I did not have a ready-made flag, I had to
cut out a small piece of paper, painted it in red and left the star
and the moon of the Turkish flag as white. This was not an easy
process, as I was intrigued by miniature items. I glued my tiny flag
to the mast of a small needle. The sacrifice took a few seconds, but
it sent chills down my spine. I was momentarily satisfied.
I did feel some guilt. That would be my last flag burning. I never
warmed up to the idea.
The next day, I turned my attention to our grocer. I vaguely knew he
was a Turk. I was looking to hold someone accountable for the grand
loss. I asked my mom about his involvement in the genocide!
My mom knew where I was going with my line of questioning. She was
quick to kill the process.
`Leave Gholam alone,' she said. Interestingly, `Gholam' means
`servant' (probably of God). `Gholam is a nice old man,' she
continued. Just to make sure that my childhood imagination did not
create any false enemies, she emphasized the fact the Gholam was an
Iranian Turk.
Despite my parents' well-intentioned attempts, from that day on, I
could not separate the contempt I had for the Turkish people from the
one I had for the act of genocide.
It has taken me years to get the rid of the former. It has been
consuming.
Many kids and teenagers will have participated in the demonstrations
protesting the Armenian Genocide around the world. They will have the
same challenges as I experienced with the feelings of contempt when
growing up. I think my grandparents would have wished the new
generation could only have contempt for the act of injustice.
Given the aggressive denial campaign of the Turkish state, this will
be almost impossible.