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GUNAYSU: COMMEMORATING GENOCIDE IN A POST-GENOCIDE DENIALIST HABITUS
http://www.armenianweekly.com/2013/10/02/gunaysu-commemorating-genocide-in-a-post-genocide-denialist-habitus/
By Ayse Gunaysu // October 2, 2013
Dilara Balc覺, in her book that gives a detailed account of how
non-Muslims were represented in the Turkish film industry until the
1980's, tells an anecdote that elucidates a great deal the environment
in which Armenians, the descendants of genocide survivors, in Turkey
led their lives.
In 1979, the late Nubar Terziyan, one of the veteran actors in Turkish
cinema, put an advertisement in several newspapers to express his
condolences for the death of Ayhan Isik, another Turkish star famous
for his good looks. The advertisement read: "Ayhan, my son, the world
is ephemeral, death is the fate of us all, yet you will never die,
because you will always live in our and in millions of others' hearts.
This is a blessing for you. ... Your uncle, Nubar Terziyan." It was not
long before the family of Ayhan I癬_覺k gave a counter-advertisement
to the press, meant as a public announcement. It read: "An important
correction: There is no connection whatsoever between the advertisement
undersigned 'Your uncle, Nubar Terziyan' and our beloved Ayhan
I癬_覺k. ... We regretfully announce as we see it necessary."
(http://www.radikal.com.tr/hayat/rumlar_fahise_ermeniler_pansiyoncu_yahudiler_tucca r-1149673)
As in many cultures, "son" is a term of endearment in Turkish,
used by elders when addressing a beloved youngster. And "uncle"
is its counterpart, used by a youngster in addressing a close and
dear elderly person. Despite this very well-known fact, the slightest
possibility that someone could take it seriously and think that Ayhan
I癬_覺k indeed had a family relation with Terziyan terrified (and at
the same time, infuriated) I癬_覺k's family to such an extent that
the deep sentiment originally expressed was forgotten, and replaced
with a public display of racism.
'Geography of genocide and denial'
Nubar Terziyan's humiliation and the I癬_覺k family's response
were only one of the numerous daily manifestations of life in a
"post-genocide denialist habitus," as Talin Suciyan calls it in
her Ph.D.
dissertation at the Ludwing Maximillians University in Munich. The
thesis aims to "to write a post-genocide history of Armenian existence
in Turkey that remained in the geography of genocide and denial: The
crime continued to be reproduced by denial and victim and witness
continued to live side by side along with the perpetrators. The
testimony of both victim and witness was silenced and denied, and as
the perfection of the crime proves, their memories, their testimonies
were turned upside down."
As Suciyan strikingly proves, based on primary Armenian sources,
this was when those Armenian households that still remained after the
genocide, dispersed throughout the various provinces in Asia Minor,
were systematically removed from the region and concentrated in
Istanbul where, it was thought, they could be more easily and directly
controlled. They were doomed to lead their lives in an "ordinary,
banal reality of the post-genocide denialist habitus," which is the
"more invisible rumbling social and political context, the everyday
realities." This habitus was the setting against which anti-Armenian
policies, practices, and actions throughout the Republican era in
Turkey took--and continue to take--place. This "defines the legal,
cultural, social, and economic life of non-Muslims, in general,
and the life of other ethnic and religious or political groups
whose conflicts with the state remain unresolved," writes Suciyan,
referring to the anti-Armenian campaigns that "have served to
reproduce anti-Armenianism in the country, to keep the voices of
the victims of genocide away for decades, and to silence those who
remained in Turkey." She continues, "Calling Armenians to represent
themselves in an anti-Armenian atmosphere not only meant to ignore the
annihilation of their parents, but also to ignore the fact that they
were the children of survivors themselves. Thus, Armenians in Turkey
were expected to become parts of the denialist habitus by operating
within the framework of the same habitus." Suciyan questions the
relevance of the "minority-majority" formula used in defining the
issue in Turkey: "It is not a matter of merely legal condition, but
the denialist habitus that plays a decisive role, although not only
in the production and generation of apparatuses of exclusion; it also
constitutes a model of citizenship and, consequently, a social reality
embodying an affective attachment to this denialist formation."1
This "habitus" is diametrically opposed to the post-Holocaust social,
cultural, and intellectual environment in Germany, where you cannot
walk through the streets of Berlin, for instance, without being
reminded of the Holocaust.
Istanbul: scene of crime
How, then, should a truly meaningful commemoration of genocide
look like in such a habitus of denialism? In what ways should it be
different from genocide commemorations held elsewhere in the world?
Istanbul--where the Armenian Genocide has been commemorated indoors
since 2005, and outdoors since 2010--was the capital of the Ottoman
Empire, and the crime scene of the Armenian Genocide and the genocide
of other Christian peoples of Anatolia. Now it is the biggest city and
business center of the country, and it is still a crime scene--this
time, of the denial of the genocide.
Given the post-genocide denialist habitus, there is a categorical
existential difference, indeed contrast, between the Armenians and
Sunni Muslims in Turkey. We, a handful of people organizing these
commemorations, are the members of the perpetrator group, no matter how
conscientious, righteous, or even courageous we feel. The existential
difference can never be erased even by the most selfless efforts we,
Turks and Kurds, make against denial, with the best intentions and
cleanest conscience. We do what we choose of our own free will and
by conscious choice; and the moment we cease to do what we do now, we
will be safe. But the families in Samatya, in Ferik繹y, and in other
quarters of Istanbul, where the diminishing Armenian population is
concentrated--regardless of their political stance, what they choose,
what they do--are under constant threat just because of their names,
because of what is written on their birth certificate, because of
what they are. They are under constant bombardment of ugly denialism
radiating from all sorts of media, and are exposed to hate speech
showeredfrom TV channels, the internet, even their neighbors and the
taxi driver (as in the case last year when an Armenian woman was beaten
by a taxi driver in Istanbul, just because she was Armenian). The
existential reality of Armenians in Turkey is well described by Ayda
Erbal in her article, "We are all oxymorons!" which she wrote after
the assassination of Hrant Dink: "Either you chose to stay relevant
and become politically involved and risk getting killed because of
your involvement, or you choose to be reduced to total irrelevancy
in another country--which is, of course, a subtle way of being
killed. Especially if you are an intellectual, journalist, artist,
or writer, this second version of being killed over and over again
during all those years of undoing and redoing yourself in different,
strange, and sometimes hostile cultures, is the only thing that you
share with the other lucky (!) Armenians from around the world. Your
ability to survive in partial-death situations connects you to your
fellow Armenians, especially if they are from the Middle East."2
Recognition starts on the personal level
There is currently an ongoing debate, within a rather closed circle
of people who are involved in the so-called "Armenian Question," if
ordinary Turks and Kurds today should feel guilty over the genocide
and shame for being a member of the perpetrator group. It is argued
that one cannot be accused and considered guilty of what his/her
ancestors have done.
But is personally committing a crime a prerequisite to feeling guilty?
Are we only responsible for those actions we carry out ourselves,
especially if it is not an isolated case of murder but a genocide,
if it is a crime against humanity with an immense, unimaginable scale
of atrocities, irreparable losses, and repercussions that will be
felt forever by the descendants of the victims, transmitted from
generation to generation against the murderous setting of denialism?
An enormous amount of wealth was plundered, and none of us can be
sure whether or not there has been any ill-gotten property in our
family history. Even if our families are thoroughly clean in this
respect, we are the members of a group who reproduced, proliferated,
and reinforced its dominance as a majority in the absence of the
Armenians and other Christian peoples annihilated just for this
purpose. In other words, we became, were made, the agencies that
enabled the genocide to serve its purpose. The simple fact is that
they were exterminated, and we are here to live and to prosper.
Above all, the crime was and is still being committed in our name,
and on our behalf, in the name of Islam and "Turkishness," which we
have naturally, if not voluntarily, inherited, and which we--again,
regardless of whether or not it is our own choice--enjoy the privileges
of, as non-Armenians and non-Christians. In this way, we inevitably,
many of us unintentionally, contribute to this post-genocide denialist
habitus. Recognition of the genocide, then, should first begin on a
personal level on the part of the members of the perpetrator group,
by willingly bearing the responsibility and feeling the shame of the
crime committed in the name of the ethnic and religious identity we
are attached to, and for the good of the system we are a part of.
A multi-layered responsibility
As for the Turkish left, especially those who lead the efforts
for genocide recognition and commemoration, we bear a specific
responsibility. Until recently (in historical terms), we--very
self-confident in our progressive role, the vanguard of the
revolutionary forces--started the history of socialism in this country
in the 1920's with the founding of the Communist Party of Turkey,
comprised of Turkish intellectuals, who were completely unaware of the
earlier Dashnaktsutiun and Hnchak Party legacy, as well as the Greek
and Jewish labor movements. We were internationalists, in solidarity
with the oppressed masses of Latin America, Africa, and the Far East,
but unaware of the "zone of genocide" we were living in the middle
of, unable to see the oppression of the non-Muslim neighbors and
Kurds (along with Alevis) under our nose. We were anti-racist, but
racism was far away from us--in the United States, in South Africa,
and elsewhere in the world. We were totally blind to the very racist
environment we were living in. Denial of the genocide, hate speech
directed against Armenians and non-Muslims, in general, discrimination,
portraying non-Muslims as potential traitors, these were all around us,
and yet we didn't see it for many decades. In this way, we contributed
to the denialist habitus. Many Turkish intellectuals refer to the
"hundreds of thousands of people marching at Hrant Dink's funeral" with
a visible note of pride. Hrant Dink had to be assassinated for those
hundreds of thousands to wake up from their long sleep and stand up.
As the ones who have undertaken the responsibility to commemorate
the genocide, our responsibility is further multi-layered and
multi-dimensional.
Given the unique circumstances in Turkey, both on the part of the
descendants of the victims and the perpetrators, extra and deliberate
attention and sensitivity should mark our efforts in Turkey--if,
that is, we truly aim to accomplish a meaningful commemoration of
the Armenian Genocide on the scene of crime.
There are several important prerequisites for this. First, what
is crucial is that Armenians in Turkey as a community, under the
above-mentioned existential circumstances, have never been able to
collectively commemorate, throughout the decades of denialist habitus,
their own dead. They have been and are still deprived of the most
essential right to pay homage to and pray for their victim ancestors
on April 24of each year. In this sense, the commemorations that were
organized over the past several years were not "their" commemorations.
They only took part individually as "participants." The fact that
Turkish human rights activists and anti-racists were the ones who
started these events is, in itself, another manifestation of the
denialist habitus. How and under what conditions the Armenians in
Turkey are allowed to lead their lives in this denialist country
should be one of the fundamental concerns while developing the manner
and the content of the commemorations.
Secondly, the organizers should keep in mind the deep existential gap
that exists between the two sides when deciding on how to commemorate.
The two sides involved, the Armenians and Turks/Kurds, are not and
should not be conceived or presented as equals, and they should not
be called on to form a united body of commemorators, to embrace each
other as a step towards so-called "reconciliation."
A true genocide commemoration is not an "event," a "demonstration," or
a "political protest" that gives us, the offspring of the perpetrators,
the opportunity to feel a certain kind of fulfillment or catharsis,
or to be satisfied for performing our "duty". The duty will never
be fulfilled, as genocide is something irreversible, irreparable,
unrecoverable, and unforgivable. The commemoration can also not be
conceived as a reunion, a mutual embracing of Turks and Armenians,
a display of the so-called "sharing of pain and suffering" that
would lead to a sort of reconciliation. Because it is not one and the
same--it is the Armenians' pain and suffering, and the Turks/Kurds'
shame and responsibility, on the part of the Muslim peoples of
Anatolia, the descendants of the perpetrators.
Therefore a true commemoration of the genocide victims has to lay the
ground for Armenians, andonly the Armenians, to commemorate their
dead, the unburied, the graveless souls still in agony in the face
of denialism. And we, the Muslim peoples of Turkey, have no right to
"commemorate," and should only express our responsibility in the
ongoing denial and heavy burden of shame for being a member of the
perpetrator group.
Notes
[1] Talin Suciyan, "Surviving the Ordinary: the Armenians in Turkey,
1930's to 1950," unpublished doctor of philosophy thesis at LMU
Institute of Near and Middle Eastern Studies, 2003.
2 Ayda Erbal, "We are all Oxymorons,"
Armenian Weekly Special Issue, 2008 and
onhttp://azadalik.wordpress.com/2013/01/21/we-are-all-oxymorons,
accessed on Sept. 24, 2013.
From: A. Papazian
http://www.armenianweekly.com/2013/10/02/gunaysu-commemorating-genocide-in-a-post-genocide-denialist-habitus/
By Ayse Gunaysu // October 2, 2013
Dilara Balc覺, in her book that gives a detailed account of how
non-Muslims were represented in the Turkish film industry until the
1980's, tells an anecdote that elucidates a great deal the environment
in which Armenians, the descendants of genocide survivors, in Turkey
led their lives.
In 1979, the late Nubar Terziyan, one of the veteran actors in Turkish
cinema, put an advertisement in several newspapers to express his
condolences for the death of Ayhan Isik, another Turkish star famous
for his good looks. The advertisement read: "Ayhan, my son, the world
is ephemeral, death is the fate of us all, yet you will never die,
because you will always live in our and in millions of others' hearts.
This is a blessing for you. ... Your uncle, Nubar Terziyan." It was not
long before the family of Ayhan I癬_覺k gave a counter-advertisement
to the press, meant as a public announcement. It read: "An important
correction: There is no connection whatsoever between the advertisement
undersigned 'Your uncle, Nubar Terziyan' and our beloved Ayhan
I癬_覺k. ... We regretfully announce as we see it necessary."
(http://www.radikal.com.tr/hayat/rumlar_fahise_ermeniler_pansiyoncu_yahudiler_tucca r-1149673)
As in many cultures, "son" is a term of endearment in Turkish,
used by elders when addressing a beloved youngster. And "uncle"
is its counterpart, used by a youngster in addressing a close and
dear elderly person. Despite this very well-known fact, the slightest
possibility that someone could take it seriously and think that Ayhan
I癬_覺k indeed had a family relation with Terziyan terrified (and at
the same time, infuriated) I癬_覺k's family to such an extent that
the deep sentiment originally expressed was forgotten, and replaced
with a public display of racism.
'Geography of genocide and denial'
Nubar Terziyan's humiliation and the I癬_覺k family's response
were only one of the numerous daily manifestations of life in a
"post-genocide denialist habitus," as Talin Suciyan calls it in
her Ph.D.
dissertation at the Ludwing Maximillians University in Munich. The
thesis aims to "to write a post-genocide history of Armenian existence
in Turkey that remained in the geography of genocide and denial: The
crime continued to be reproduced by denial and victim and witness
continued to live side by side along with the perpetrators. The
testimony of both victim and witness was silenced and denied, and as
the perfection of the crime proves, their memories, their testimonies
were turned upside down."
As Suciyan strikingly proves, based on primary Armenian sources,
this was when those Armenian households that still remained after the
genocide, dispersed throughout the various provinces in Asia Minor,
were systematically removed from the region and concentrated in
Istanbul where, it was thought, they could be more easily and directly
controlled. They were doomed to lead their lives in an "ordinary,
banal reality of the post-genocide denialist habitus," which is the
"more invisible rumbling social and political context, the everyday
realities." This habitus was the setting against which anti-Armenian
policies, practices, and actions throughout the Republican era in
Turkey took--and continue to take--place. This "defines the legal,
cultural, social, and economic life of non-Muslims, in general,
and the life of other ethnic and religious or political groups
whose conflicts with the state remain unresolved," writes Suciyan,
referring to the anti-Armenian campaigns that "have served to
reproduce anti-Armenianism in the country, to keep the voices of
the victims of genocide away for decades, and to silence those who
remained in Turkey." She continues, "Calling Armenians to represent
themselves in an anti-Armenian atmosphere not only meant to ignore the
annihilation of their parents, but also to ignore the fact that they
were the children of survivors themselves. Thus, Armenians in Turkey
were expected to become parts of the denialist habitus by operating
within the framework of the same habitus." Suciyan questions the
relevance of the "minority-majority" formula used in defining the
issue in Turkey: "It is not a matter of merely legal condition, but
the denialist habitus that plays a decisive role, although not only
in the production and generation of apparatuses of exclusion; it also
constitutes a model of citizenship and, consequently, a social reality
embodying an affective attachment to this denialist formation."1
This "habitus" is diametrically opposed to the post-Holocaust social,
cultural, and intellectual environment in Germany, where you cannot
walk through the streets of Berlin, for instance, without being
reminded of the Holocaust.
Istanbul: scene of crime
How, then, should a truly meaningful commemoration of genocide
look like in such a habitus of denialism? In what ways should it be
different from genocide commemorations held elsewhere in the world?
Istanbul--where the Armenian Genocide has been commemorated indoors
since 2005, and outdoors since 2010--was the capital of the Ottoman
Empire, and the crime scene of the Armenian Genocide and the genocide
of other Christian peoples of Anatolia. Now it is the biggest city and
business center of the country, and it is still a crime scene--this
time, of the denial of the genocide.
Given the post-genocide denialist habitus, there is a categorical
existential difference, indeed contrast, between the Armenians and
Sunni Muslims in Turkey. We, a handful of people organizing these
commemorations, are the members of the perpetrator group, no matter how
conscientious, righteous, or even courageous we feel. The existential
difference can never be erased even by the most selfless efforts we,
Turks and Kurds, make against denial, with the best intentions and
cleanest conscience. We do what we choose of our own free will and
by conscious choice; and the moment we cease to do what we do now, we
will be safe. But the families in Samatya, in Ferik繹y, and in other
quarters of Istanbul, where the diminishing Armenian population is
concentrated--regardless of their political stance, what they choose,
what they do--are under constant threat just because of their names,
because of what is written on their birth certificate, because of
what they are. They are under constant bombardment of ugly denialism
radiating from all sorts of media, and are exposed to hate speech
showeredfrom TV channels, the internet, even their neighbors and the
taxi driver (as in the case last year when an Armenian woman was beaten
by a taxi driver in Istanbul, just because she was Armenian). The
existential reality of Armenians in Turkey is well described by Ayda
Erbal in her article, "We are all oxymorons!" which she wrote after
the assassination of Hrant Dink: "Either you chose to stay relevant
and become politically involved and risk getting killed because of
your involvement, or you choose to be reduced to total irrelevancy
in another country--which is, of course, a subtle way of being
killed. Especially if you are an intellectual, journalist, artist,
or writer, this second version of being killed over and over again
during all those years of undoing and redoing yourself in different,
strange, and sometimes hostile cultures, is the only thing that you
share with the other lucky (!) Armenians from around the world. Your
ability to survive in partial-death situations connects you to your
fellow Armenians, especially if they are from the Middle East."2
Recognition starts on the personal level
There is currently an ongoing debate, within a rather closed circle
of people who are involved in the so-called "Armenian Question," if
ordinary Turks and Kurds today should feel guilty over the genocide
and shame for being a member of the perpetrator group. It is argued
that one cannot be accused and considered guilty of what his/her
ancestors have done.
But is personally committing a crime a prerequisite to feeling guilty?
Are we only responsible for those actions we carry out ourselves,
especially if it is not an isolated case of murder but a genocide,
if it is a crime against humanity with an immense, unimaginable scale
of atrocities, irreparable losses, and repercussions that will be
felt forever by the descendants of the victims, transmitted from
generation to generation against the murderous setting of denialism?
An enormous amount of wealth was plundered, and none of us can be
sure whether or not there has been any ill-gotten property in our
family history. Even if our families are thoroughly clean in this
respect, we are the members of a group who reproduced, proliferated,
and reinforced its dominance as a majority in the absence of the
Armenians and other Christian peoples annihilated just for this
purpose. In other words, we became, were made, the agencies that
enabled the genocide to serve its purpose. The simple fact is that
they were exterminated, and we are here to live and to prosper.
Above all, the crime was and is still being committed in our name,
and on our behalf, in the name of Islam and "Turkishness," which we
have naturally, if not voluntarily, inherited, and which we--again,
regardless of whether or not it is our own choice--enjoy the privileges
of, as non-Armenians and non-Christians. In this way, we inevitably,
many of us unintentionally, contribute to this post-genocide denialist
habitus. Recognition of the genocide, then, should first begin on a
personal level on the part of the members of the perpetrator group,
by willingly bearing the responsibility and feeling the shame of the
crime committed in the name of the ethnic and religious identity we
are attached to, and for the good of the system we are a part of.
A multi-layered responsibility
As for the Turkish left, especially those who lead the efforts
for genocide recognition and commemoration, we bear a specific
responsibility. Until recently (in historical terms), we--very
self-confident in our progressive role, the vanguard of the
revolutionary forces--started the history of socialism in this country
in the 1920's with the founding of the Communist Party of Turkey,
comprised of Turkish intellectuals, who were completely unaware of the
earlier Dashnaktsutiun and Hnchak Party legacy, as well as the Greek
and Jewish labor movements. We were internationalists, in solidarity
with the oppressed masses of Latin America, Africa, and the Far East,
but unaware of the "zone of genocide" we were living in the middle
of, unable to see the oppression of the non-Muslim neighbors and
Kurds (along with Alevis) under our nose. We were anti-racist, but
racism was far away from us--in the United States, in South Africa,
and elsewhere in the world. We were totally blind to the very racist
environment we were living in. Denial of the genocide, hate speech
directed against Armenians and non-Muslims, in general, discrimination,
portraying non-Muslims as potential traitors, these were all around us,
and yet we didn't see it for many decades. In this way, we contributed
to the denialist habitus. Many Turkish intellectuals refer to the
"hundreds of thousands of people marching at Hrant Dink's funeral" with
a visible note of pride. Hrant Dink had to be assassinated for those
hundreds of thousands to wake up from their long sleep and stand up.
As the ones who have undertaken the responsibility to commemorate
the genocide, our responsibility is further multi-layered and
multi-dimensional.
Given the unique circumstances in Turkey, both on the part of the
descendants of the victims and the perpetrators, extra and deliberate
attention and sensitivity should mark our efforts in Turkey--if,
that is, we truly aim to accomplish a meaningful commemoration of
the Armenian Genocide on the scene of crime.
There are several important prerequisites for this. First, what
is crucial is that Armenians in Turkey as a community, under the
above-mentioned existential circumstances, have never been able to
collectively commemorate, throughout the decades of denialist habitus,
their own dead. They have been and are still deprived of the most
essential right to pay homage to and pray for their victim ancestors
on April 24of each year. In this sense, the commemorations that were
organized over the past several years were not "their" commemorations.
They only took part individually as "participants." The fact that
Turkish human rights activists and anti-racists were the ones who
started these events is, in itself, another manifestation of the
denialist habitus. How and under what conditions the Armenians in
Turkey are allowed to lead their lives in this denialist country
should be one of the fundamental concerns while developing the manner
and the content of the commemorations.
Secondly, the organizers should keep in mind the deep existential gap
that exists between the two sides when deciding on how to commemorate.
The two sides involved, the Armenians and Turks/Kurds, are not and
should not be conceived or presented as equals, and they should not
be called on to form a united body of commemorators, to embrace each
other as a step towards so-called "reconciliation."
A true genocide commemoration is not an "event," a "demonstration," or
a "political protest" that gives us, the offspring of the perpetrators,
the opportunity to feel a certain kind of fulfillment or catharsis,
or to be satisfied for performing our "duty". The duty will never
be fulfilled, as genocide is something irreversible, irreparable,
unrecoverable, and unforgivable. The commemoration can also not be
conceived as a reunion, a mutual embracing of Turks and Armenians,
a display of the so-called "sharing of pain and suffering" that
would lead to a sort of reconciliation. Because it is not one and the
same--it is the Armenians' pain and suffering, and the Turks/Kurds'
shame and responsibility, on the part of the Muslim peoples of
Anatolia, the descendants of the perpetrators.
Therefore a true commemoration of the genocide victims has to lay the
ground for Armenians, andonly the Armenians, to commemorate their
dead, the unburied, the graveless souls still in agony in the face
of denialism. And we, the Muslim peoples of Turkey, have no right to
"commemorate," and should only express our responsibility in the
ongoing denial and heavy burden of shame for being a member of the
perpetrator group.
Notes
[1] Talin Suciyan, "Surviving the Ordinary: the Armenians in Turkey,
1930's to 1950," unpublished doctor of philosophy thesis at LMU
Institute of Near and Middle Eastern Studies, 2003.
2 Ayda Erbal, "We are all Oxymorons,"
Armenian Weekly Special Issue, 2008 and
onhttp://azadalik.wordpress.com/2013/01/21/we-are-all-oxymorons,
accessed on Sept. 24, 2013.
From: A. Papazian