News

REMEMBERING THE ARMENIAN GENOCIDE AFTER THE CENTURY OF GENOCIDE

ADDRESS ON THE OCCASION OF ARMENIAN GENOCIDE COMMEMORATION EVENING
 
by DR PAUL R. BARTROP

Your Eminence and religious leaders, distinguished guests, political leaders and representatives of our country, ladies and gentlemen, younger people:

On 24 July 1915, Melbourne’s Age newspaper published the following report:

The Turkish atrocities committed against the Armenians baffle description. The whole of the male population in the Bitlis region was massacred. The Turks then collected 9000 women and children from the surrounding villages, and herded them in Bitlis. Two days later they drove them to the Tigris, shot the whole 9000, and threw their bodies into the river. The Turks similarly cut the throats of a thousand Armenians on the banks of the Euphrates.

This is just one report of many that appeared in the Australian press from 1915 onwards. Australian newspapers were reporting on the genocide of the Armenians almost from its beginning in 1915. It did not take long for the Australian press – without foreign correspondents of its own, relying mainly on British news sources for its overseas information, and during a time when the ANZACs were fighting at Gallipoli – to pick up accounts of what was happening to Armenians in the Ottoman Empire. The earliest accounts in the Australian press, in fact, date from 11 May 1915 – barely more than a fortnight into the killings. The reports lasted throughout the war, and into the post-war years. In this respect, it could be said that the Australian public was therefore quite well-informed about the genocide while it was taking place. Unfortunately, however, Australian awareness of the genocide was not matched by understanding. Mostly, the reports were simply reprinted from the overseas news sources, without any accompanying discussion or commentary – the kind of thing that, had it existed, could have helped to enlighten the Australian population as to how extensive and horrific the mass murder of the Armenian population actually was.

    Clearly, this is an historical episode that took place during the First World War. It was over ninety years ago, so questions need to be asked today – the most appropriate of which, especially for young people, is “why make such a big deal of the event in 2009,” or even, “why even remember these horrible things?” I’d like to reflect a little on these questions with you tonight.

    In the 21st century, we live in the shadow of a century of genocide. The Armenian Genocide began in 1915; the Holocaust of the Jewish people at the hands of the Nazis was at its most destructive during 1942-1943. We also live with the with the legacy of more recent experiences, in Biafra, Cambodia, East Timor, Bosnia, and Rwanda, within living memory, and that in Darfur is still present and unresolved. And yet, despite all these, intolerance is still with us. Racial hatred and ethnic murder have never featured more prominently, in so many people’s daily lives, than during the past two decades.

    Genocide’s criminal nature must be emphasised – and emphasised again. As an activity subject to legal sanction, its legal definition is something requiring the strictest fidelity. The reason the concept of genocide exists at all is on account of its criminal nature, and if it was not for the fact that it had been criminalised by the United Nations in 1948 it would remain nothing but a theory of human social behaviour.

    Genocide became the twentieth century’s greatest man-made catastrophe. It is a worse disaster than war, with which it is often linked but from which it can be separated. Genocide speaks of human ambitions; it addresses questions of how people perceive one another, and influences their behaviour when they interact. Above all, it conceives of humanity’s future in light of how some people view themselves – superior, intelligent, vibrant, and perfectible. To attain that future, so-called “surplus humans” have had to be sacrificed, and as regimes around the world have tried to achieve their version of the dream innumerable murders have taken place.

    This notion of “surplus humans” was initially developed by American theologian Richard L. Rubenstein, who identified in modernity the existence of populations “that for any reason can find no viable role in the society” in which they are living. This horrible concept had for many centuries already been played out in various ways, but it was not until the massive carnage of the Great War of 1914-1918 that such playing out involved implanting in human minds the idea that a “surplus population” could simply be eliminated through just killing it off. As a result of the Great War, people knew that millions of human beings could be killed by other human beings. A psychological limit was breached, from which the boundaries of the human mind would never again be the same.

    It should be pointed out that genocide does not just emerge out of nowhere. The violence required to achieve it might be sudden, but in all cases there are always a number of preliminary steps on the road to the ultimate “solution” of a regime’s “problem” target. Such steps invariably involve processes of identification, alienation, isolation and oppression, prior to the introduction of the decisive stage of the target group’s removal. All cases of genocide stem from a long-standing obsession on the part of the perpetrators with the physical, political, social, psychological, religious or cultural differences of the victim group – differences so great and irreconcilable that the perpetrators can see no resolution to their situation than the elimination of these others through mass annihilation. The twentieth century saw the continued refinement of such processes, developed throughout the century and extending into this one.

    Thus, the Ottoman Turkish genocide of the Armenians is not of sectional or peculiar interest only. As it has generally been acknowledged, it was the first large-scale instance of modern genocide, in which an entire people was targeted for total destruction, for the very reason of their existence. It was the first occasion on which genocide occurred as a direct result of a stated ideology – in this case, pan-Turkish nationalism – in which the deliberate annihilation of an entire people was both expressed as a policy goal, and carried through by the forces of the State acting together as one. Other mass murders had taken place before in other countries, and over time.

    In this regard, it would be highly remiss of me tonight if I did not recognise the one hundredth anniversary in 1909 of the Adana Massacres, in which up to 30,000 Armenians were slaughtered at the hands of the Young Turk government. Our commemoration this year is thus doubly significant, as we recall those who perished in this precursor to 1915, which few noticed and even fewer cared about.

    After 1915, however, it was the genocide of the Armenians that set the stage for all those which followed. Accompanying the Armenian Genocide were the genocides of two other Christian peoples, the Pontic Greeks and the Assyrians, and there is a remarkable similarity between the three experiences. All three peoples were subjected to massacre, deportation, dismemberment, torture, and other atrocities. A large proportion of the deaths occurred as a result of death marches; many of those who died were the victims of heat, starvation and thirst, exposure, and incessant brutality at the hands of their captors.

    The issues involved in studying what happened to the Armenians penetrate to the core of our understanding of the very term genocide itself. We see deliberate intent, avowed motives and justifications, policy execution, war crimes trials and, finally, denial. Yet for all that, the Armenian genocide became known, over time, as the “forgotten genocide.” Its “forgotten” dimension was largely due to two factors: first, the ongoing denial by successive Turkish governments, down to the present day, that genocide ever took place; and second, that the Armenian Genocide was eclipsed in both numbers killed and general awareness by other events of the twentieth century, particularly the Second World War and the Holocaust, between 1933 and 1945.

    The shock of what happened was too great, the emotional and intellectual toll too high, for Armenian scholars to begin studying the experience; it was really only within the past 30 years that newer generations were able to rise above the trauma and consider the genocide from the distance of time and space. I well recall a discussion I had with a young Armenian friend, in my home town of Melbourne, when we were both in our twenties. Referring to the Jewish experience of genocide and the Armenian experience of genocide, he said to me, “You guys have got it together so much better than us. We’re just beginning to learn about the details of what happened, and to publicise it.” My response then, as it remains today, was “So write it down. Study it. Ask questions. Learn more. And tell people about what you learn. Don’t hide from your history.” I am pleased to say that such awareness is now taking place, around the world, and the facts of the Armenian Genocide are now known more and more widely – and therefore, fortunately, serious scholarship undertaken on the Armenian Genocide since the mid-1980s has seen to it that the term “forgotten” has fallen into disuse.

    At the time the genocide began, well after the outbreak of the First World War, the Turkish military forces were waging war against the Russians in the north-east and the British, French and ANZAC forces at Gallipoli, but Turkish resources were nonetheless diverted to the campaign of murdering the Armenian population within the Empire. That the genocide took place under cover of war was more than just a matter of interest; the war was in reality a crucial part of the genocide’s success. By conducting deportations in places far off the beaten track, forcing many victims (primarily women, children and babies) into underpopulated regions of the Empire, the Turks were able to exploit the war situation for the purpose of achieving their genocidal aims. The eventual result was a loss of innocent, civilian lives – in a relatively short space of time – on a scale that would earlier have been unimaginable. The worst of the killing was over within a year, but only because the ferocity of the early part of the Turks’ campaign led to a shortage of potential victims. This did not, however, stop the killing, and Armenian communities in various parts of the Ottoman Empire, where they were found, continued to be attacked up through the early 1920s.

    If a country persists in genocidal activities despite international protests, can anything be done to stop a killing frenzy once one has been unleashed? How do we respond when a country at war proceeds with genocide even when its own allies try to step in, as happened with Germany and Austria-Hungary relative to Turkey? History has shown that it is far from an easy matter to positively influence a renegade nation or society in the process of committing genocide, but the righteous actions of a few individuals nonetheless can make even the smallest difference.

    If the world of 2009 and beyond is to learn anything from the experience of genocide since 1915 – if the study of genocide is not to become simply another branch of history about which movies are made – it must be that the one-and-a-half million Armenians, six million Jews, half a million Roma, one million Biafrans, two million Cambodians, quarter of a million Bosnians, one million Rwandans, and half a million Darfuris (so far) – among countless others, died at the hands of other human beings who were not opposed successfully by the world community owing to ignorance, apathy and fear.

    The history of genocide in the modern world shows with crystal clarity that evil people are much more dedicated toward evil than good people are toward good. But such evil as I have been describing is not an unstoppable force, and we are not helpless in the face of it. Genocide is never excusable, and never inevitable. So what are we to do? Do we need to change the world?

    These are major questions that some have spent a lifetime trying to resolve. Raphael Lemkin was one such person. He was motivated by the experience of what had happened to the Armenian people from 1915 onwards, and in 1944, during another time of immense destruction, he invented the word genocide to describe this greatest of all crimes that can be committed by one people against another. Lemkin, in 1948, was successful in establishing genocide as an international crime at the United Nations. His triumph was then mixed with tragedy, as he had thought that outlawing genocide would mean its end. He was, of course, as we all know, wrong.

    Another person who has tried to achieve permanent change is Rudolph Rummel, a Nobel Prize-nominated political scientist from the University of Hawaii. For the last four decades, Rummel has been striving to convince the world that only through encouraging democracy, and the freedoms it guarantees, can nations and peoples see that massive genocidal violence is ultimately against their own interests.

    It is within the context of the work of people such as Lemkin and Rummel that we can perhaps appreciate where more recent international developments can lead if backed up by an effective degree of political will at the highest levels. So far, however, attention has been drawn in other directions. Combating genocide on a global scale has not assumed the importance it should have, given the stakes. If the trend over the course of the past century has been towards greater killing, greater targeting of civilians, and a greater likelihood than ever before that groups are being singled out for destruction, what hope does this offer those with a commitment to peace and the sanctity of life?

    Of course, as we know, there are those who deny that the Armenian Genocide ever took place, and I’d like to talk about that with you for a moment. As a verb, “to deny” means the declaration of something to be untrue or non-existent, and the denial of genocide is a frequent occurrence among perpetrators and their supporters. This has been the case for all genocides. Denial activities most usually take place via the written word, and can take the form of falsification of research findings, misquotation, and dismissal of the accuracy of evidence. Often, deception is employed in order to “convince” those without deeper knowledge that the “accepted version” of history is in fact wrong. Yet there is nothing innocent behind the motives of genocide deniers. They do not base themselves on serious or objective scholarship, but, rather, on     political, racist or bigoted foundations. Given this, deniers frequently proceed from the belief – often held with passionate conviction – that they are struggling against a massive conspiracy. This conspiracy, they hold, is being waged by those “alleging” that “genocide” took place. Often, because of this, they maintain their denialist position in spite of all evidence to the contrary.

    Genocide denial is therefore not a part of the legitimate quest for understanding in which scholars engage, as denial activities do not rework or revise the endeavours of earlier researchers. Instead, they deny the very reality of the phenomena to which earlier scholars have directed their attention. Put differently, it can be said that genocide denial is most frequently an attempt – sometimes made quite crudely – to discredit the victims of genocide by saying their experiences did not take place. Arguments in which the Turks question the truth of genocide claims against the Armenians have existed for many decades, and have usually taken one of five basic forms:

    1    The destruction of the Armenians at the hands of the Turks never happened;

    2    The Armenians were a nation of traitors who were supporting Turkey’s enemy, Russia, and therefore had to be deported for security reasons;

    3    Turkey is not responsible for the vast number of Armenian deaths, which happened instead as a result of disease and starvation accompanying the deportations;

    4    The term genocide is inapplicable owing to the fact that there was no intent on the part of the Young Turk government to destroy the Armenian population;

    5    and, finally, any deaths that did occur were the result of a destructive civil war in the Ottoman Empire, during which at least as many (if not more) Turks died as did Armenians.

These assertions have been made by successive Turkish governments and their supporters since the 1920s, and, as we know only too well, they are still prevalent today.

    As denial of the Armenian Genocide is Turkish state policy, it differs from most other forms of genocide denial, which are, for the most part, conducted by individuals or organisations acting in a private capacity. In fact, in Germany it is against the law to allege that the Nazi Holocaust never happened, and people who do so are liable to very severe prison sentences. We can only dream that one day the same thing could ever be true of a Turkish government!

    A lifetime studying genocide and mass human rights violations has shown me a number of things about the potential to be found within the behaviour of individuals in modern society. Our generation has seen some of the worst expressions of inhumanity. We have seen:

    A power-crazy Slobodan Milosevic aid and abet bloodthirsty local warlords in their annihilation of a quarter of a million Bosnians between 1992 and 1995;

    We’ve seen machete-wielding Hutu maniacs annihilate nearly a million Tutsis and moderate Hutus in Rwanda in 1994, within the space of a hundred days;

    We’ve seen two-and-a-half million southern Sudanese Christians killed through massacre and deliberately-inflicted famine perpetrated by the Muslim military government at Khartoum;

    We’ve seen the Indonesians attempt to repeat their earlier genocidal campaigns in East Timor, and the Serbs theirs in Kosovo; and

    We’ve seen – and are still seeing – up to 500,000 Darfuris lose their lives at the hands of Sudanese militias directly backed by the government of Sudan.

As an academic colleague of mine in the United States, Professor Henry Knight, asked in a song he co-wrote with Tom Paxton, did we ask the wrong question in 1945? We thought we heard the phrase “Never, Never Again;” was it instead a case of “Hardly Ever Again?”

    We live in an Age of Genocide. The passions unleashed against the Armenian people between 1915 and 1923 are the same kind that are still being unleashed against others, today. The genocide of my people, the Jews – the Holocaust – was not the first, not even of the twentieth century. Before the Holocaust came the destruction of the Kulaks in Ukraine in the early 1930s. Before that, as we know, came the Armenian Genocide of 1915-1923. Before that came the annihilation by the Germans of the Hereros of South-West Africa (Namibia), between 1904 and 1906.

    Since 1945, the cases have multiplied dramatically, despite the cry of “Never Again.” It is not surprising that some good people, beholding all this, find their sensitivities saturated, and turn off. A term has even been coined to explain this development: “compassion fatigue.” In our own self-interest, we must rise above this. We must remember what happened, and take careful note, because we dare not forget. Ignorance will triumph if we forget; hatred, intolerance, bigotry, discrimination and thuggery will again become fashionable if we forget. Above all, democracy will become vulnerable if we forget. A fragile democracy is not an effective democracy. In a society where pessimistic values predominate, citizens can lose hope for the future, and seek simple solutions to complex questions. Where such solutions are offered, there are always going to be people whose opinions are shouted down. A community valuing a plurality of viewpoints can become transformed into one in which only a single viewpoint is permitted. And we all know where that can lead; we know, too, that the dangers continue.

    Every hand raised in an extremist salute is a warning.

    Every ethnic, racial or religious joke, regardless of who tells it, is a slur.

    Every graffiti daubing or cemetery desecration is a defeat.

    Every letter to the editor or newspaper editorial denying the reality of genocide, or arguing that “the other side” has an equally valid point, is an admission of ignorance.

    Every person insulted, harassed, assaulted or killed because of their origin is a reminder of what happens when the ideals of humanity crumble, are chipped away at, or are abused.

Quite clearly: unspeakable evil can reappear, and has reappeared, in our own day. It can happen elsewhere, and it can happen here. The experiences of the past must never, ever be forgotten – and we must show our children and their children why it is also in their interest never to forget. If we hold back, if we turn a deaf ear, if we look the other way, we betray democracy, human dignity, and our own destiny.

    Ladies and gentlemen – friends – I am a scholar and teacher, not a political activist. I do not see myself as one who can dictate to governments or politicians. But as one with a commitment to truth and accuracy, I detest dishonesty and deception, and I seek to combat it whenever I see it.

    With this in mind, and in the spirit of this evening, I have no hesitation in directing my final comments to the federal government of the Commonwealth of Australia. In the spirit of the courageous decision of the parliament of NSW in 1997 to recognise the Armenian Genocide, and in the spirit of the action of the parliament of South Australia just a few weeks ago, when it, too, recognised the Armenian genocide, I call on our federal government to live up to the ideals of honesty and decency of which this great country is so proud, and so renowned throughout the world. I call on Mr Rudd, as Prime Minister of this nation, to stand up to those who would bully Australia; to oppose those who would presume to tell the people of this country what to think; and to honour the truth, regardless of the consequences.

    On this night of solemn remembrance, in which we recall a most terrible human catastrophe which gave its stamp to the entire century in which we have all lived, I have but one appeal to make. As a committed and loyal citizen of this multicultural nation, and as a member of the International Association of Genocide Scholars, I now call on Mr Rudd and his government: face history head-on and with dignity, and officially recognise the reality of the Armenian Genocide.

    The nobility of this nation has much to gain if it can stand alongside the other countries of the world that have already done so. It’s a question of honour, and it will be a sign of strength – moral strength – that will place this country in the forefront of those seeking truth and justice in the world.

    On this solemn night of remembrance, we recall the victims, but we also look to their legacy. We look to a future in which the circumstances that can lead to victimhood are removed from society. Sincere respect for the past must always be the first step on the road to a brighter future; this is my aim, and the hope that I commend to you all tonight.