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ISTANBUL: From Armenia's Turk to Hrant Dink

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  • ISTANBUL: From Armenia's Turk to Hrant Dink

    Today's Zaman, Turkey
    Jan 25 2015

    >From Armenia's Turk to Hrant Dink


    Dear Hrant,

    In early November, I moved from NiÅ?antaÅ?ı, a neighborhood where
    high-end brands line up in Istanbul, to a slum in Yerevan, Armenia. On
    my street, I used to hear the high heels of coquettes tapping on
    pavements. Now, I hear the squeals of rats hiding under trash
    containers.

    I'm here as one of the three fellows chosen by Hrant Dink foundation.
    We came here to cross borders. To fire Armenian-Turkish friendship.
    But one of us got hit by a car and died. The other got emotionally
    overwhelmed. She leaved temporarily for Istanbul. I stayed.

    Today is January 19th, 2015. Eight years passed since you marked our
    memories with your hollowed shoes. I am walking on Alek Manukyan
    street right in the center of the city. It's sunny. Winter leaves,
    spring comes. So sudden.

    My friend Anna and I are meeting up to commamerate you at the Genocide
    Museum. When we arrive, the sun is on top of us. There are a few
    people, clustered, here and there. Two police men stare at their shoes
    as they talk to each other. There aren't thousands of people like
    there are in Istanbul. Recalling you in this land is a private matter.
    It's intimate. You know, I like it.

    The lady who has organized your commemoration is walking towards me
    and Anna. She has a plastic bag full of banners. Her red lipstick had
    colored her teeth. I don't say a word. I don't know what to do when
    these things happen.

    `We won't forget.'

    `Justice for Hrant'

    `We won't be silenced'

    Are written on the banners. But there's one that causes me emotional distress:

    `We won't forgive'

    If you were alive, you wouldn't like this banner. Or so I think. Your
    heart is made of honey and cinnamon. It forgives. Your spirit seeks
    justice with no bitterness or hostility. Your smile is forgiving and
    emancipating.

    But again, what do I know? I am hurt that you are murdered. But I have
    no capacity in me to develop anger towards your assasin(s). I am sorry
    for them. They live their own tragedy. They didn't `get' you because
    of their fears. Childhood wounds? This is no excuse. I want justice
    for you. I need justice for us. But I also want forgiveness.

    We walk from the Genocide Museum towards the Opera building. You have
    been here. You know what I'm talking about. The football stadium is on
    our left. Mount Ararat is imbued with a pink sunset. We cross a
    bridge. Noy Vodka Factory stands behind us. Next to me is a
    twenty-two-year old journalist. Her name is Siran. She is so
    beautiful! She says she made Turkish friends during her trip to Italy.
    Kurdish Osman talks to me: `Race isn't important.' Then what's
    important, Osman brother? `Humanity.' There is a French-Armenian guy.
    He says he wouldn't say no to kebab and künefe (cheese pastry soaked
    in sweet sugar-based syrup) now. You know, our food. Anatolian
    cooking. I'm hungry, you know. Born and raised in Paris. Got married
    and settled in Yerevan. The künefe guy says `I am Anatolian.' How
    come? `That's my home.' Origins, ancestors, legends, culture and
    history. Food and justice. And you wouldn't believe but David is here.
    That PhD student from Hamburg. He is fluent in Armenian and Turkish.
    `My stork was carrying me to Anatolia but it dropped me to Germany' he
    says. For sure, if you met them in person, you would have so much fun
    with these people. You would laugh together. Share your bread.

    And this is exactly what we did. Hrant. Not easy. We walked the whole
    city for you. Tired, hungry. Cold too. Hand in hand, we crossed
    Abovyan Street. Couldn't wait for the green light. We entered to
    Crumbs and ordered some soup from a young waitress with braided hair.
    When the food arrived, we were a family. We spooned hope and
    friendship.

    Stay amazing,

    Meltem


    http://www.todayszaman.com/blog/meltem-naz-kaso/from-armenias-turk-to-hrant-dink_370741.html

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