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  • Stand up to Turkey, then move on

    Fresno Bee (California)
    April 1, 2011 Friday


    Stand up to Turkey, then move on

    by Danielle R. Shapazian


    One of the most beloved story arcs in American culture is that of the
    downtrodden ultimately finding their way past adversity to revel in a
    new-found glory. We all know how it goes: The scorned
    wife/lover/factory worker/playground nerd has suffered long enough.

    After yet another punch to the gut, another assault to the spirit,
    they've reached their limit. Fed up, resolute, they're not going to
    take it anymore.

    So they pull themselves up from their bootstraps. A cry goes out to
    the world. "Enough is enough! I know who I am. I deserve better than
    this!" Then they walk into the sunset, spirit soaring, chest held
    high. "Tomorrow will be a better day because you can't kick me
    anymore!"

    That's what I want Armenians to say to the Turkish people. "Enough is enough!"

    And then I want them to proudly, quietly move on.

    You might ask how I get off asserting such a radical idea. Who does
    she think she is, this green-eyed half-breed who knows only a few
    Armenian words?

    I can say this because I know the truth. I don't need any government,
    or Congressional resolution, or Turkish revisionist to tell me what I
    already know: That the Armenian Genocide happened. That a lot of
    innocent lives were lost. That the homeland of my ancestors was lost,
    too.

    The first time I caught a glimpse of Mount Ararat, I lost my breath.
    Walking out the door of a magnificent Orthodox cathedral in Yerevan, I
    happened to look to my left.

    The sight took me by surprise. I silently gasped and my eyes filled
    with tears. My visceral reaction surprised me. Yet, my heart knew
    better. This tall, snow-capped mass of volcanic rock that soared
    toward the sky was a part of me. This was the mountain of my people.

    Mount Ararat sits in Turkey now.

    I had never felt a particular compulsion to visit Armenia. Not that I
    wasn't proud of my heritage. But my paternal grandparents had fled
    that land almost a hundred years before. Each time I remembered their
    courage, I rejoiced in my own good fortune. Their sacrifice was
    ultimately my gain. I am a proud American down to the tip of my toes.

    But an opportunity presented itself in 2001. Then 9/11 happened and my
    travel plans were stalled. A war was brewing. No one wanted to go
    anywhere near the Middle East.

    Half a year passed. On a spring afternoon, I sat in a Fresno bistro
    with my family and ate Italian food as my farewell lunch. My father
    handed me the name of the Armenian village of his parents, Basmashen,
    scrawled on a piece of paper. "Look for it," he said. Then I started
    my journey to the other side of the world.

    Some days later, my traveling companions and I ventured to a place on
    the border between Armenia and Turkey. A soldier armed with a machine
    gun escorted us, just in case. We looked through a chain-linked fence,
    across a huge ravine, to see the abandoned, medieval ruins of an
    Armenian village called Ani.

    Later, I would tell my father that whatever became of the village of
    his ancestors, I wasn't able to find out. That place was on other side
    of the fence too, but, far, far away, in the middle of Turkey. We
    weren't even close.

    On April 24, in Yerevan, we walked in silence with tens of thousands
    of other Armenians toward the Armenian Genocide Memorial, taking the
    opportunity to lay a flower of remembrance at the eternal flame. The
    trees along the path were just budding, but even in the hope of
    springtime, we could feel the sad presence of those who were lost to
    an evil hand.

    Now, in 2011, it doesn't get past me that Easter happens to coincide
    with Armenian Martyr's Day this year. Might we think of Jesus and
    forgive the Turkish people who have been brainwashed over generations
    to revise history, to deny the truth? Might we forgive their
    ignorance, the posturing of their government, without forgetting those
    horrific acts?

    They can't kick us anymore if we don't let them. Let that belief, that
    strength, be our glory.

    Danielle R. Shapazian of Fresno is associate chief of staff for
    Clinical Affairs and Quality Management, VA Central California
    Healthcare System.




    From: A. Papazian
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