I forgot the name of a child, for instance. A mother's scream. The day that smoke lingers over a public square... Sometimes people forget pain. Worse still, they forget that they have forgotten it.

The warmth of sorrows entrusted to us

Over the course of my forty-one years, I have witnessed countless disasters in this region and in other corners of the world. Earthquakes, wars, bombed cities, people forced onto the roads of exile, destroyed homes, and children wrapped in white shrouds...

Then there are the sorrows entrusted to me although I have never lived them myself. Events I never witnessed with my own eyes, events that were never broadcast live. They did not reach me through a screen; they seeped into me through a grandmother's unfinished sentence, a trembling hand, a silence that suddenly descended over a dinner table, or a memory told through swallowed tears. Perhaps that is why they remain so vivid. Because they were entrusted not to a database, but from one person's memory to another person's conscience.

Memory's survival reflex

There was a time when I believed every sorrow etched itself into us forever, that we would never truly forget anything that had shaken us to our core. I thought memory was humanity's most faithful refuge. I was mistaken. Because memory is not always faithful; sometimes it is simply trying to survive.

The human mind quietly places burdens it can no longer carry onto the back shelves. As new sorrows arrive, it pushes the old ones a little farther away. It may never deny any of them, but neither can it keep looking at them for as long as they deserve. This is not betrayal; it is memory's way of staying alive. Perhaps forgetting is the oldest reflex the mind has developed to protect us. Yet it is also what slowly changes us.

The speed of circulating sorrows

There was a time when, after a catastrophe, people mourned for months, even years. Today, even mourning has a shorter lifespan. Today not only the number but also circulation speed of disasters has been increasing. Before one screen goes dark, another lights up; before the smoke clears from one city, the sky darkens over another. Before one mother's scream has faded, another mother's lament begins, and before we stop grieving one tragedy, we find ourselves in the middle of the next. Sorrows no longer come one after another; they pile on top of each other. And each new sorrow covers the one before it a little more.

For the first time in human history, we live in an age where nothing is truly lost. Photographs are never erased, videos never disappear, billions of images are stored in the cloud. Yet for that very reason, we are no longer able to carry anything ourselves. We are steadily handing over the burden of memory to digital archives.

Photographs piled on top of one another

In recent years, I have started playing a strange game with myself. Sometimes, for no reason at all, I test my own memory. I say "Roboski" to myself; snow appears before my eyes, mules appear, children appear... But the year does not. Then I try to picture the Ankara Train Station bombing: shoes left behind on the ground, smoke, eyes searching desperately for one another... Who were those people?

Just then, Gaza appears: children wrapped in white shrouds... Without question, those who suffer these horrors directly endure the greatest devastation. But witnessing that horror from behind a screen, powerless to do anything, must also be one of the heaviest punishments inflicted on people of this century. Helplessness turns into a catastrophe that quietly gnaws away at the conscience.

Then a photograph from an earthquake slips into my mind: the tiny hand reaching out from beneath the rubble, refusing to let go of its mother's hand... Immediately afterward comes the mud-covered face of Omayra Sánchez, from years ago. I realize that time and place have begun to blur into one another.

In the dark room of my memory, all these sorrows have become photographs piled on top of one another. I recognize every one of them; each once kept me awake at night. But now I have to stop and think before I can separate their dates from their names.

The name of a single person

Sometimes, too, I step away from the crowd of collective tragedies and seek refuge in the silence of a single human being.

Throughout the Karabakh War, every evening I watched new lists scrolling across the television screen. Who was gone? Who had been found, and who was still missing? In those days, I memorized the names of people I had never met. War was not only being fought on the front lines; it was unfolding on phone screens, in silent kitchens, in the breath of families trapped between hope and despair. I made a point of remembering one particular name, repeating it to myself every day so I would not forget it. Even today, I sometimes say that name silently to myself. I will not write it here. Let it remain with me. Perhaps the most honest way to remember someone is not to invoke their name before everyone else, but to carry them quietly within yourself.

But recently, I realized something... That name no longer comes to my mind as easily as it once did. I have to stop. I have to become still. It is as if I am searching for an old door inside my memory; only after I find it, open it, and step inside does the name finally appear. My sorrow has not diminished. My love has not faded. Only my memory has grown tired.

Questions of conscience

When I cannot remember a detail that comes to me in the middle of the night, I no longer turn to the depths of my memory. Instead, I seek refuge in the cold glow of a search engine. Within milliseconds, dates, times, court rulings, and death tolls spill across my screen. And each time I do, something tightens inside me as I stare at that cold display.

Because what I type into the search bar are not really questions of information; they are questions of conscience. No one can carry every sorrow with equal vividness. The human mind was never made for that. The problem is not forgetting... The problem is yielding a person's scream over to search results and not even realizing that you have forgotten it. Because people can try to pull themselves together again only as long as they are aware of what they lose.

Perhaps forgetting is one of the limits of being human. But forgetting that you have forgotten... That is where it is no longer only our memory that diminishes. Our conscience quietly shifts as well. And perhaps what changes people is not the pain they live through, but the pain they can no longer remember.

At the end of June, Foundation Chairman Yusuf Tabaş and Rev. Fr. Avedis Tabaşyan, the clergyman serving the Hatay churches and spiritual supervisor of the Armenian communities in Anatolia, visited Armenian Patriarch Sahak Maşalyan at his summer residence in Kınalıada. They announced that the Ministry of Culture and Tourism had informed them that 5 million TL (app. $106,000) in financial assistance would be provided for the church's restoration. In a statement to Agos, Yusuf Tabaş announced that the agreement for the 5 million TL grant had been signed.

A church service will be held at Kınalıada Surp Krikor Lusavoriç Church to raise financial support for the İskenderun Church Foundation. The service, to be held on Sunday, August 2, will be officiated by Fr. Tabaşyan. Under the slogan "Let's Protect It Today, Be Proud of It Tomorrow," the foundation's board has shared bank account details for donations through its social media accounts. The foundation is also seeking financial support from Armenians living in the diaspora.

BANK BRANCH / ACCOUNT HOLDER

VAKIFBANK İSKENDERUN / TC KARASUN MANUK ERMENİ KİLİSESİ 

CURRENCY | IBAN

For TRY(TL): TR07 0001 5001 5800 7319 7029 45

For USD: TR28 0001 5001 5804 8022 5338 81

For EURO: TR33 0001 5001 5804 8022 5538 88

For GBP: TR02 0001 5001 5804 8023 1333 47

SWIFT CODE

TVBATR2AXXX

The service was officiated by Rev. Fr. Avedis Tabaşyan, Supervisor of the Armenian Communities of Anatolia. Fr. Tabaşyan emphasized the importance of reopening the church's doors for worship, even if only once a year. He expressed the hope that in the coming years larger groups would gather there, helping to preserve and protect the community's cultural heritage.

Following the service, participants visited the Malatya Armenian Cemetery and the Surp Krikor Lusavoriç Monastery (Vank Church), where prayers were offered for those who had passed away.

The Three Horans Church in Malatya began operating in 2021 under the name "Taşhoran Culture and Arts Center."

Speaking at the opening ceremony, Patriarch Maşalyan stated that although the church functioned as a cultural center, it would still be possible to hold ceremonies such as baptisms, weddings, and church services according to the needs of the Armenians of Malatya. The church had been restored through the initiative of the Malatya Governor's Office.

In his statement to the prosecutor, the 55-year-old defendant, Muharrem Kün, admitted to the attack, stating that he was homeless, had not acted on anyone's instructions, and was remorseful.

An indictment was prepared against the defendant under the Article 153/1 of the Turkish Penal Code for the offense of damaging places of worship and cemeteries. The relevant provision states: "Any person who causes damage by demolishing, destroying, or breaking places of worship, their annexes, property therein, graves, structures built upon them, facilities within cemeteries, or structures built for the protection of cemeteries shall be punished with imprisonment for one to four years."

In a press statement, the Surp Garabet Church Foundation of Üsküdar announced that repairs to the damaged graves and fountain has been completed.

The indictment, prepared by the Istanbul Anatolian Chief Public Prosecutor's Office on July 16, was submitted to the Istanbul Anatolian 46th Criminal Court of First Instance and accepted by the court. The defendant will appear before the judge on August 20.

Providing information to the visiting journalists, Ergüder Toptaş, the Mayor of Akyaka stated that work has begun to restore the infrastructure of the Akyaka–Gyumri railway line and that the goal is to complete it within two to three months. He also announced that the tender for establishing a road connection between Akyaka and Gyumri has been opened.

Speaking to Shant Khlghatyan of Armenpress, who is participating in the exchange program, Mayor Toptaş said he was optimistic about the normalization of Armenia–Turkey relations.

Toptaş also said that once relations between Armenia and Azerbaijan are normalized, he believes there will be no remaining obstacle to opening the Armenia–Turkey border.

The mayor stated that, under the instructions of the President of Turkey and in coordination with the Ministry of Transport, work has also begun to prepare the border crossings and railway infrastructure for the reopening of the border.

At present, the biggest obstacle to the railway becoming operational again is the closed border, although the infrastructure also needs to be renewed. The mayor announced that construction work has begun to restore the railway infrastructure along the Akyaka–Gyumri line, adding that, in his assessment, the work will be completed within two to three months. He also noted that renovation work is ongoing and that public tenders for the construction has already been issued.

Tender for the road

Mayor Toptaş said, "Construction has therefore already begun, and the work is going on." He also emphasized that these efforts are part of the preparations for the reopening of the Armenia–Turkey border.

However, the preparations are not limited to this. A tender has also been launched for the establishment of a road connection between Akyaka and Gyumri.

The mayor said, "The tender process has been initiated for the road extending from Akyaka to Gyumri. We expect work here to begin in the near future as well. This is also part of our government’s policy of developing good-neighborly and friendly relations."

According to the Mayor of Akyaka, reopening the Armenia–Turkey border will bring significant economic benefits to both countries. Stating that there are broad opportunities for cooperation in many areas, especially agriculture and industry, Toptaş added:

"When our President and Armenia's leader make the right decisions regarding state policy, we believe this region will achieve significant gains. I sincerely believe that opening the border and subsequent economic cooperation will bring great benefits to both Armenia and Turkey."

Toptaş also said that with the reopening of the border, Turkey will gain an additional route to the Caucasus, while Armenia will have the opportunity to connect with the Middle East through Turkey.

Meanwhile, the journalists, who also wanted to learn the expectations of residents living in Turkish settlements near the Armenian border regarding the possible reopening of the border, met with local residents of Akyaka. The vast majority expressed their hope that the border will be reopened as soon as possible. According to the residents, reopening the border will create new economic opportunities, particularly for Turkish settlements along the Armenian border.

Farther from Kars, closer to Gyumri

The Armenian journalists traveled from Kars to Akyaka by train. The journey of approximately 57 kilometers took 50 minutes. From Akyaka railway station to Gyumri, the distance by rail is only 18–20 kilometers, which could be covered in 30–40 minutes. However, because the border remains closed, it is currently impossible to travel from Akyaka to Gyumri.

What had happened?

One of the key issues on the agenda of the Armenia–Turkey normalization process is the reopening of the Gyumri–Kars railway. During the visit of Turkey's Special Representative for the Armenia–Turkey Normalization Process, Serdar Kılıç, to Armenia, an agreement was reached to reopen the Armenia–Turkey railway as early as September 2025.

Following the meeting between Kılıç and Armenia's then Special Representative for the Normalization Process, Ruben Rubinyan, the Armenian Ministry of Foreign Affairs announced that the special representatives had agreed that the relevant authorities of the two countries would carry out the necessary technical assessments for the repair and reopening of the Gyumri–Kars railway and the electricity transmission line.

On April 28, 2026, Kars hosted the Armenia–Turkey Joint Working Group meeting on the restoration and reopening of the Gyumri–Kars railway. In the context of expanding regional transport connectivity, both sides emphasized the importance of reopening the railway as soon as possible.

On May 7, Armenian Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan told journalists that technical assessment work for the reopening of the Kars–Gyumri railway was going on.

I was not and did not feel cool at all. None of the above were things that I knew or had tried. I had never read those books and I was new to world cuisine. But whenever I heard any reference to those writers or dishes, I would think to myself, “here we go again...”! The way they would go about Hesse, it was as if he was the last prophet. And a couple of times when I was told about Asimov’s books, they sounded so complicated and so fictional that I think from that time on, I decided that I did not want to read any science fiction or spiritual books. And I kept my word! Of course, with some exceptions...I have read Gibran’s Prophet and a couple of works by Coelho. But by doing so, I got convinced that such writings do not illuminate my spiritual path in life. Self-discovery, if I ever attain it one day, will be from my own experience, everything I have seen and felt around me in real life, and not from some written teachings.

So, the cultural confusion and the estrangement I was feeling as a newly arrived immigrant boy, topped with the longing I felt for back-home (memleket), must have made me reject the popular culture I encountered that first year in school. It was as if everything they liked, I rejected...with minimal sampling on my part. This is typical of hard-headed, I can even say arrogant and ignorant, immigrants. And I believe I myself was one of them first year. I was skeptical about whatever the locals liked without even trying. It was as if, for my inner contentment, I needed to discover my own books, films, music and personal culture. I did not want to become like them because watching them made me feel that there was monotony and an emptiness in the way those kids lived.

In a way, this new path I chose turned out to be easier than you can imagine. I was fortunate to have my two elder brothers there…they had already lived there three years before I arrived. I imagine they must have gone through what we call the “immigrant blues” and had paved their own paths in order to adjust to the new country. Money and security were not their major concern like most of the immigrants there. They were more in search of personal inner harmony. They worked hard but they knew how to enjoy life with quality. I was their companion almost every weekend when they went out…restaurants, cinemas, cafes, shopping for clothes, music records or books and their circle of friends. Most Saturdays we would come home with bags full of clothes and music albums. They were not compulsive shoppers…they put a bit of money on the side of course, but they spent a lot because they liked enjoying their life. The Italian, French or Chinese food and the wines I tasted with them was nothing like what the kids in my school would rave about.

Otherwise, I was a lonely boy. As I have mentioned before, I had only one friend at school…I will tell you about that another time. Nevertheless, I got to know some of the students in my classes. We were not friends, but at least we took our breaks and smoked cigarettes together on the back lawn of the school. Sometimes they were curious about how I spent my weekends and I would tell them all the adventures I had had with my brothers. At first when I would tell them that I spent time sitting in cafes, they would look at me as if I was weird. They spent their time socializing in taverns and parties with friends, drinking beer and smoking weed. What was so interesting about cafes, they would ask. I would tell them that I drank good espresso, listened to the European or Latin music they played there and watched people pass by. They thought that was boring. Still, they were always curious to know what I did and little by little my weekends became something fascinating for them. I could see how, with time, they became less judgmental about me and even a bit envious about my lifestyle. You know, in the end, I became the cool one according to them because my lifestyle looked more interesting than theirs… Not only I drank espresso, but I also smoked French cigarettes without filter instead of Players Light like everyone!

The welcoming delegation included Archbishop Aram Ateşyan, Archpriest Hovagim Seropyan, Rev. Kasbar Garabedyan, Fr. Şirvan Mürzyan, Fr. Teotik Çetinkaya, and Fr. Natan Arabyan, along with administrators of Armenian community foundations and educators, AKP Istanbul MP Assoc. Prof. Dr. Sevan Sıvacıoğlu, Presidential Council for Culture and Arts Policies member Aram Kuran, Bedros Şirinoğlu, Chairman of the Board of the Armenian Foundations Union (ERVAB) and the Surp Pırgiç Armenian Hospital Foundation, and Hrant Moskofyan, Chairman of the Board of the Kumkapı Surp Asdvadzadzin Patriarchal Church Foundation.

Following the welcome, members of the ERVAB Education Commission led by Mari Yancı, foundation presidents, community representatives, and educators serving in Armenian schools attended the meeting held in the Patriarchate Hall.

During the meeting, the current state of Armenian schools, issues encountered in the field of education, and evaluations regarding the new curriculum were discussed, and views were exchanged.

After the meeting at the Patriarchate, Yusuf Tekin visited Kumkapı Bezciyan Primary School and met with representatives of the Armenian community and educators.

"The curriculum is being renewed"

At this gathering, ERVAB Education Commission Chair Mari Yancı delivered a speech. Yancı said:

"Your visit is not merely a courtesy meeting for us; it is also an extremely valuable opportunity that allows us to introduce our schools, our educational staff, and the work we are carrying out more closely to you.

The ERVAB Education Commission, operating under the Armenian Foundations Union, is a collaborative platform that aims to produce solutions to the common educational needs of our community schools and to raise the quality of education to even higher levels.

On this occasion, I would especially like to emphasize that ensuring the continued strong existence of our community schools, which are an important part of our deep-rooted educational tradition extending from the Ottoman period to the present day, and passing this heritage on to future generations is a great responsibility for all of us.

As the Education Commission, this year we are carrying out comprehensive work on the curricula of our Armenian language and religion courses within the framework of the Türkiye Century Education Model, which is of great importance for our community schools.

Our primary goal is to complete this work as soon as possible with the valuable contributions and guidance of our Ministry.

In line with the objectives of our Ministry of National Education, we wish to ensure that our children receive a high-quality education in accordance with the requirements of the modern age while also learning their own language, culture, and faith in a strong way. We sincerely believe that these two goals complement one another and contribute to the cultural richness of our country.

Mr. Minister, we would like to express our heartfelt gratitude for the close attention, constructive approach, and support you have shown our community schools to date. We have full confidence that we will continue to feel the support of our Ministry of National Education throughout our educational journey.

Once again, I thank you for your participation and for the value you have shown us, and I greet you all with respect and affection."

"We are awaiting approval"

Dr. Sevan Karabetoğlu, a member of the Platform of Armenian Academics of Turkey, also addressed Minister Tekin, saying:

"As a member of the Board of Directors of the Beyoğlu Üç Horan Armenian Church Foundation and a faculty member at the ITU Energy Institute, I will present, on behalf of the ERVAB Education Commission, the process and current status of preparing the curricula for Armenian language, Armenian Language and Literature, and Armenian Religion courses taught in our schools in accordance with the Ministry of National Education's 2026 Türkiye Century Education Model.

Work began in August 2025 with a team appointed by the ERVAB Education Commission to prepare the curricula and teaching programs for Armenian language courses at the primary level and Armenian Language and Literature courses at the secondary level in accordance with the Education Model. The team consisted of 17 Armenian language and classroom teachers, 3 coordinating principals, and 1 project coordinator. At the beginning of the project, before the curriculum writing process, workshops were organized to bring our teachers and principals together with academic experts from Faculties of Education, enabling them to gain a thorough understanding of the structure of the Education Model.

On January 23, 2026, the coordinating principals and the related academics met in Ankara with Prof. Dr. Cihad Demirli, who at that time was serving as the Chair of the Ministry of National Education's Board of Education and Discipline and now serves as Deputy Minister of National Education. He received information from the delegation, showed great interest in the subject, and conveyed his valuable support.

The curriculum for primary and secondary religion courses to be taught in Armenian schools in accordance with the 2026 Education Model was prepared under the auspices of the Armenian Patriarchate of Turkey.

In June 2026, the final version of the revised secondary religion curriculum and the Armenian Language and Literature curriculum, which had entered the revision process, were simultaneously submitted to the Ministry of National Education through our district and provincial directorates of national education.

As of July 2026, the curricula for primary and secondary Armenian language courses were likewise submitted for evaluation.

At present, the first feedback regarding the secondary Armenian Language and Literature curriculum has been delivered to our schools. The primary Armenian language curricula are also under evaluation, and feedback is awaited. Approval is also being waited for the high school religion curriculum, whose revision process has been completed."

"We emphasize speaking and listening rather than grammar"

Minister of National Education Tekin stated that no distinction is made among students and that, regarding language instruction, a system emphasizing speaking rather than grammar has been adopted.

Explaining that they have adopted a new approach to language teaching in line with international standards, Tekin said:

"Until now, we taught our children language solely through grammar rules. In our current assessment and evaluation system, we have revised our programs to focus on reading, writing, speaking, and listening. Work is also being carried out to renew the Armenian language programs here in accordance with the framework of the Türkiye Century Education Model."

Tekin noted that since his time as undersecretary, he had never treated the problems of students in minority schools differently from those of other schools, and that these institutions had also been included in initiatives such as incentive programs and interactive smart boards. He also stated that students were given the option of answering questions on their own religion in centralized examinations and that every effort had been made to resolve all solvable issues.

Minister Tekin concluded:

"In our schools, whatever I desire as a Sunni Muslim, I desire the same for our other citizens. Together, we will build a Türkiye that embodies this vision."

The years I moved to Yerevan coincided with the pandemic. I had arrived in a new country, yet it felt as though I had arrived nowhere at all. There was no city, no streets, no squares; life had been compressed into four walls. My world consisted of our home, the garden we shared with our neighbors, and the balconies of the apartment buildings across from us. For days, I watched those same balconies. Women hanging laundry, men smoking cigarettes, children riding bicycles. Like everyone else, I filled in the unknown lives in my imagination. When you cannot truly know a city, your imagination fills its empty spaces.

The pandemic locked people inside their homes; the war that followed drove them into the public squares. With death at the doorstep, the city no longer seemed like something to fear, but like a shared home where grief was carried together. I came to know Yerevan not first through its streets, but through the faces of the women carrying the coffins of boys barely old enough to be called men. Trying to breathe in a place where death was so close and sorrow so fresh, I was overcome by a strange feeling: a sense of refuge intertwined with guilt.

As the city mourned its own losses, it somehow watched over all of us as well.

The vigilance that faded from the streets

I do not remember that first peaceful night in perfect detail, but I have never forgotten what stayed with me from it: the fact that I felt nothing at all.

For a woman, sometimes the greatest freedom is precisely this.

I left the restaurant. The night was calm, with a light breeze. I walked home. Without checking over my shoulder. Without quickening my pace. Without wedging my keys between my fingers and turning them into a weapon. Without gripping my phone tightly in my palm so I could reach someone instantly if danger arose... I simply walked.

Yet for women, being able to walk alone at night should not be an extraordinary act of courage but an ordinary human right.

We, I mean women, however, learn not the shortest way to home but the most illuminated one in vast cities like Istanbul, which necessitates to be on the alert constantly. We know exactly on which streets our pace will quicken, at which bus stops we should never wait, and whom we need to text, "I'm home." Only another woman can truly understand why your heart starts beating faster when your phone battery drops below ten percent.

And we grow up believing this constant state of alertness is normal.

Memorizing the possibility of a gaze

The other day, I was on the Istanbul metro. It was a hot summer day, and I was wearing a light summer dress. Without even realizing it, I caught myself lowering my head to check my skirt. Had it ridden up when I bent over? Was I exposing myself while sitting? Then I adjusted the way I was sitting. Pulled my bag a little farther across my lap. No one had told me to do so. Perhaps no one was even looking at me. But sometimes the body learns before the mind does. After years in the same city, a woman learns not only its streets, but also the possibility of a gaze. The harassing gaze. The judgmental one. Even when those eyes are nowhere to be found, the body remains on watch.

Then one day, after leaving behind Istanbul's relentless rhythm, you arrive in a smaller city that feels like a large neighborhood. Without even noticing it, your body begins to let go of that old, deeply rooted fear. You realize you have changed first through your reflexes.

What was left on the table

In time, that looseness began to seep into other corners of my life. I started working at cafés. One day, when I got up to use the restroom, I realized something: my laptop, my phone, and my headphones were all sitting on the table. I had not gathered any of them, nor had I even asked the person at the next table to keep an eye on my things.

When I came back, everything was exactly where I had left it. At first, I thought the remarkable part was that my belongings had been safe. Later, I understood. What I had left on the table was not my phone or my computer, it was the vigilance I had carried with me for years.

It turns out that one day, quietly, you can leave behind the constant alertness you have worn like protective armor your entire life.

Perhaps that is why being able to walk at night without fear and being able to leave your laptop unattended on a café table always feel like two expressions of the same emotion to me. In one, you forget your body. In the other, you forget your belongings. At the heart of both lies the invisible comfort of not feeling compelled to remain constantly on guard.

The guardians of public space: people

Urban theorist Jane Jacobs described safe cities with the phrase "eyes on the street." She argued that what makes a city safe is not simply police officers, surveillance cameras, or high walls. Rather, real security emerges when people are naturally present in public life. The people sitting in cafés, the shopkeeper locking up for the evening, the neighbor watching the street from a window, the children playing in the park... None of them are security guards, yet all of them become, without realizing it, witnesses to a shared public life.

Perhaps that is why what impressed me most about Yerevan was not the absence of crime. Such a city without crime does not exist anyway. What moved me was that trust has become an ordinary part of everyday life.

Indeed, data published by Armenia's Prosecutor General's Office in recent years point to declines in many categories of crime, along with improvements in crime clearance rates. Statistics alone, of course, cannot capture the soul of a city. But sometimes they offer small clues about how much a society trusts one another.

Perhaps that is why people can leave their laptops on the table and go to the restroom. Perhaps that is why women can lower their shoulders just a little more as they walk at night.

"Go ahead. I'm right behind you."

That feeling of security did not remain confined to my own body; it seeped into my motherhood as well. In Istanbul, the moment my son's hand slipped from mine, almost the same sentence would leave my lips every time: "Don't let go of my hand." In the park, on the sidewalk, in the middle of a crowd… I did not even realize how I was passing the fear that had settled inside me on to my child.

Then one day, in an open square in Yerevan, a completely different sentence came out of my mouth: "Go ahead. I'm right behind you."

The distance between us was only a few meters. But those few meters taught me that sometimes trust is simply a mother being able to let go of her child's hand a little sooner.

There is safety, but what about equality?

Of course, as I write this, I know that the freedom the streets offered me does not mean we live in a perfect society. Because safety and equality do not always lead to the same direction.

Indeed, one of the most significant issues that women's organizations and United Nations agencies have drawn attention to in Armenia for years is domestic violence. According to the latest figures shared by UNFPA, approximately 17 percent of women report having experienced domestic violence at some point in their lives. Experts, however, say this is only the visible tip of the iceberg. Many women never tell anyone what they have endured, and even when they do, they often do not believe they will receive support. The sense of safety experienced in public spaces does not always extend into private life.

This is precisely why we must not confuse safety with equality. A society may give women back the night while still failing to share life with them as equals. In other words, the street may not hurt you but sometimes the place that hurts you most is your own home.

The memory of muscles

Even so, none of this diminishes the significance of the night that Yerevan gave back to me. Because trust is not merely a characteristic of a city; over time, it becomes something the body learns as well.

I notice this most clearly whenever I return to Istanbul. My phone finds its way back into my tightly clenched hand. My son's hand disappears once again into mine. Without realizing it, my steps begin to quicken as evening falls.

It turns out that memory does not live only in photographs, family stories, or old letters. It also settles into our muscles.

Cities do not merely construct buildings; they shape people. They do not merely build roads; they create new reflexes. Sometimes we remember the cities we used to live not by our minds, but by our muscles. Because some cities are simply places where you live. Others become part of your body's memory.

In addition, at a site very close by, opposite the Moscow Cinema, construction work uncovered what is believed to be the grave of a nobleman dating to the Timurid period, along with various artifacts.

The discovery took place in 2003. After the top layer of asphalt was removed from Yerevan's main square, 17th century residential structures, remnants of stone walls, ceramic jars, clay water pipes, and black and red roof tiles emerged beneath it, astonishing construction workers.

Grigor Gharakhanyan, Head of the Department of Medieval Studies at the Institute of Archaeology and Ethnography of the National Academy of Sciences, together with Aghavni Jamkochyan and Frina Babayan, conducted archaeological investigations at the site. According to the archaeologists, these were the remains of buildings destroyed in the earthquake of 1679.

Buildings Destroyed in the Earthquake of 1679

Located directly beneath the Republic Square, this old city, built of black and red tuff stone, stretches beneath Abovyan and Amiryan streets to the old Kond district. Archaeologist Aghavni Jamkochyan said, "The excavations show that the roofs of the buildings collapsed during the earthquake of the 17th century."

In the 17th century, Yerevan was home not only to Armenians but also to Turkish and Persian Muslims. According to the archaeologist, the old city was covered over in the early 20th century, before construction began on Republic Square designed by architect Alexander Tamanyan and remained forgotten until 2003. Jamkochyan, one of the experts who examined the remains unearthed during the renovation of Republic Square, said that the excavations revealed rooms 4.5 meters high connected by internal arches. The foundations of the buildings were so solid that, after the earthquake, people continued living in the surviving lower floors. Based on the archaeological evidence, researchers concluded that the underground structures were part of the 17th century buildings depicted in panoramic drawings of Yerevan by the French travelers Jean-Baptiste Tavernier and Jean Chardin.

A step by Pashinyan

Because Armenia's previous governments lacked the funds to carry out archaeological research, the discovery was covered up. The site was paved over. Armenia's current government appears ready to reveal the treasure to the public and turn the historic site into a tourist attraction. In recent years, Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan announced on his Facebook page that work would begin to uncover the historic layer beneath Republic Square in Old Yerevan and convert part of it into a museum, adding, "As a result, Republic Square will become a much more beautiful place."

"We must know what our memory is"

According to ethnographer Lusine Khalatyan, Armenia's cultural diversity must first be thoroughly studied, and this heritage should be embraced by the Armenian people before the site is opened to tourists. Speaking previously to CivilNet, she said: "What I would do is open this Pandora's box and dig deeper, because we, as the people of Yerevan, must understand our heritage, confront our past, and know what our memory is."

These findings show that 17th and 18th century Yerevan was not merely an ordinary town but also an important center of trade and commerce. However, it has not been possible to carry out a full and comprehensive study of this historical treasure.

Meanwhile, Yerevan's former chief architect Narek Sargsyan commented on the structures unearthed during the excavations: "First of all, these are not monuments but the basements of demolished houses on old Astafyan Street (today's Abovyan Street), the first planned street of Armenia's capital. Secondly, they were not destroyed; they were simply covered with sand for future generations." According to Sargsyan, one of the objectives of the new design project for the square is to transform part of these underground monuments—under the guise of restoration—into a commercial center connected with Hyusisayin Poghota (Northern Avenue).

At present, there is no active project to revive old Yerevan. What will ultimately be preserved for future generations also remains uncertain.

The move to recognize the Armenian Genocide was interpreted by observers and analysts as a diplomatic response to Turkey, which has described Israel's actions in Gaza since 2023 as genocide.

According to an Israeli source, the bill was removed from the Knesset's agenda after Hikmet Hajiyev, foreign policy adviser to Azerbaijani President Ilham Aliyev, contacted Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. According to Haaretz, Netanyahu's personal intervention derailed the process.

The bill was withdrawn shortly before the Knesset entered its recess last Friday ahead of Israel's general elections.

Baku, a close partner of both Israel and Turkey and a longstanding opponent of recognition of the Armenian Genocide, had expressed its dissatisfaction after the Israeli cabinet's initial vote in favor of recognition. Although relations between Israel and Turkey have deteriorated in recent years, Azerbaijan has maintained strong ties with Israel.

Foreign Minister Sa'ar rejected the claims made in the Haaretz report, telling the newspaper: "There is a government decision to recognize the genocide, and it was adopted unanimously... It will not be changed. That is an important and historic fact."

The Haaretz report appears to corroborate recent claims regarding Azerbaijan's role in Israel's decision to withdraw the recognition initiative. Azerbaijan's state news agency APA had previously reported on similar allegations that appeared in the Greek press but avoided discussing the details of Baku's alleged intervention.

Israel and Azerbaijan's "Close" Relationship

A significant share of Israel's oil imports comes from Azerbaijan and is transported through the Azerbaijan-Georgia-Turkey pipeline before being shipped via the Mediterranean. Likewise, Azerbaijan imports Israeli military technology, which played a major role in the 2020 Nagorno-Karabakh war. In addition, CNN reported in June that Israeli forces had operated from Azerbaijani territory during the U.S.-Israel-Iran conflict that began in February.

Although both Turkey and Azerbaijan publicly opposed Israel's move toward recognizing the Armenian Genocide, Azerbaijan's official statement adopted a noticeably more diplomatic tone.

The statement said: "The distortion of the historical facts concerning the events of 1915 and the reduction of a complex historical issue to a political decision without a sound legal or scholarly basis is unacceptable," and added, "We call on the Israeli government to reconsider this decision."

Present at the meeting will be the principals and administrators of Armenian schools, Bedros Şirinoğlu, President of the Yedikule Surp Pırgiç Armenian Hospital Foundation and the Union of Armenian Foundations (ERVAB), as well as members of ERVAB's Education Commission.

During the visit, ERVAB President Şirinoğlu is expected to deliver opening remarks, while Dr. Sevan Karabetoğlu of the Platform of Armenian Academics of Turkey is expected to give a brief presentation on Armenian schools.

Selected participants will take part in a program including expert-led training sessions, field visits in Kars and Gyumri, collaborative research carried out in mixed teams, and the development of digital heritage content that may serve as a foundation for future digital heritage initiatives.

Throughout the project, participants will not only deepen their understanding of cultural heritage but also strengthen their research, collaboration, intercultural communication, and creative storytelling skills.

Anadolu Kültür has announced at its website that applications will be opened next month, August 2026, and potential participants will find the application process, eligibility criteria, and project timeline in their social media channels.

Noteworthy for its stone architecture, arched entrance gate, and wall reliefs, the church carries Dersim’s multicultural past to the present day. However, the structure, which has not been restored for years, is rapidly deteriorating due to natural conditions and excavations by treasure hunters.

The stones of the structure, estimated to have been built in the 19th century, have either been destroyed, stolen, or scribbled with names. Reminding that the church, which stands in a neglected state, was declared a protected site in 2012 but has not yet been taken under protection, village residents want the church to be protected against the destruction caused by treasure hunters and to be restored.

According to news from Rudaw, the villagers want the Armenian Ergen Church to be brought under protection, restored, and brought into both faith and cultural tourism. Hayri Yıldız, one of the villagers, drew attention to the state's indifference, saying, “They should protect it, they should take care of it. As a village, we must take care of this place. The government's perspective is already clear, but it is not taking care of it. We must not allow treasure hunters to enter here. If this place is protected, people will come from Europe, Yerevan, Russia. Our village will come alive.” Another village resident, Mehmet Oğuz, emphasized the importance of cultural heritage with the words, “It is a historic church, a historic faith, a value. It is necessary to protect these values, otherwise they vanish. In fact, we are destroying ourselves and we are not aware of it.”

Well, drugs and heavy drinking were not a choice for me. I was a “good old” Middle-Eastern boy after all. Think of me at fifteen, about fifty two years ago. Back home fingers were usually pointed at drug users and alcoholics. Besides, even though I did not understand it fully at that time, I feel that Canadian youth associated sex, drugs and alcohol with the idea of “rebellion”. Added to it was this sense of escapism that they thought was needed badly. I had done my “rebellion” before immigrating already…thanks to all my benevolent leftist teachers and mentors when I was younger in Beirut. As for escapism, I never believed getting high or intoxicated would solve my problems, of which I had many as a confused new immigrant boy. It just was not a choice for me.

As for girls, I had become so shy and unconfident, even though in Beirut I had been a normal, social boy. It felt as if, once I had moved to Toronto, my tongue got cut off and with the cultural estrangement I was experiencing, an extreme shyness and silence overshadowed my daily life. I was so shy that I would often choose to stay hungry rather than walk into the school cafeteria and line up for lunch. I thought everyone was watching me because I myself did not feel I belonged...I missed back home, and with hardly any English or friends (I had only one), I felt like a fish that regretted having dreamt about jumping out of the river unto land…now it realized water was the essence.

I say regretted because I do not want to lie to you and claim that I never wanted to go to Canada. In fact, I was excited that we were going to move there. But a few weeks or so after arriving there, I realized what I had left behind and my thirty-seven-year-long sorrow and longing, until I left Toronto, began during those early days. Sure, in those thirty seven years I lived comfortably, I got a university degree, I got exposed to many cultures, made friends, fell in love a few times and travelled to many places and so on. The fact is, despite all that the new country eventually offered me, I never felt at home. I always felt that I had to keep the memory of my previous life and all that my elders had taught me. I felt obliged to resist becoming North American. It was a long, exhausting struggle to keep my identity. Not as an Armenian…rather as someone whose roots had been chopped off and needed to wait for them to heal and grow again. I wanted my river back, like that suffocating fish.

Going back to the matter of girls, I still can not figure out why I felt that Canadian girls were unreachable or untouchable. Why was I so shy? Why was it such a big deal to ask any of the girls I liked at school (and I liked many, believe me!) for a date? After all, dating was so common from what I saw and most of the boys had girlfriends. Sometimes I think it was the language barrier. My English was so poor when I arrived in Toronto. I even attended a government sponsored language school for three months. It was for newly arrived young immigrants. For the first time in my life, I met some nationalities like Greeks, Macedonians, Koreans, Chinese and others. Everyone of us spoke little English and with a strong accent particular to their own origins. The majority were Greeks and Macedonians and they fought a lot about history and Alexander the Great. With the little English grammar they knew, they were very funny fights full of explicit swear words they translated from their languages to English and mispronounced them very often. The rest of us would laugh at how ridiculous they sounded. Anyways, after three months, I realized that my English was getting nowhere and on top of it, I was speaking broken English with Greek and Macedonian accent. I quit and registered into a normal High School.

So, here  I was, enrolled in a school where I knew no one, suffering because of language limitations and shyness. You know how demoralizing that combination can be? Let me tell you! There was a very beautiful and charming Italian girl called Gina in one of my classes. She was like fire…energetic and mouthy. Everybody liked her, including me. But I had never talked to her and I never imagined I would dare to…who was I? She probably did not even know I existed.  Well, on one of those rare days when I was eating my lunch alone in the school cafeteria, who comes with her lunch tray and asks, “hi Berge. Can I join you?” She, Gina, even knew my name! Of course she sat down. But that was it. For the next ten minutes that seemed like a hundred years, she munched one bite after another and I munched my own. My tongue was tied. I could not even breathe out of nervousness. I wanted to tell her so many lovely things, that I liked her, that she reminded me of the charm and elegance of the girls back home. But I was mute and sweating almost from the pressure that time was ticking away and soon I would regret not striking up a conversation. I was right! She finished her lunch, got up and before going, she just said, “thanks for the conversation”. She must have thought I was the dumbest guy. I think I was!!

My name is Hasmik Varderesyan, and I am 18 years old. I was born in Yerevan. In 2010, I moved to Istanbul with my mother. My mother began working as an Armenian language teacher at Hrant Dink Armenian School, and I attended the same school until the ninth grade. In 2023, I returned to Armenia. I first continued my education at Hrant Dink School No. 44 in Yerevan and later transferred to the Mkhitar Sebastatsi Educational Complex, where I completed high school. I have not yet decided where I will continue my education or where I want to live. Having spent my life in two different countries, communicating with people from different national backgrounds, and witnessing the Karabakh War and developments in the region up close led me to become interested in Armenia-Turkey-Azerbaijan relations and begin researching these issues. Today, through the content I produce on social media, I try to contribute to constructive and multifaceted discussions on issues affecting the region.

It has been one month since the elections in Armenia. What is the atmosphere like in the country?

To be honest, I expected both the election period and its aftermath to be much tense, but it did not turn out as I had anticipated. So far, because opposition parties have not organized large-scale protests or demonstrations, there has been no noticeable tension in the streets. At least for now, I can say that the overall atmosphere in the country is calm.

You actively use social media, especially Instagram. The videos you produce are generally about Armenian history. Recently, you have also been sharing your personal views on hate speech. What influenced your decision to use social media as a platform for informing people?

The Karabakh War was the main reason I became interested in these issues. I had visited Karabakh before because my grandfather and grandmother lived there. When the war began, I was exposed to intense hate speech on social media from both Armenia and Turkey. After seeing all of that, I asked my mother one day, "Should I start making videos in response to these?" She opposed the idea, saying that during wartime I should not make myself a target and that I did not yet have enough knowledge about these issues. So, I postponed the idea at the time. However, after we lost the war, seeing the atmosphere of hatred in both countries made me feel that I had to do something. I began researching various sources. That is how it all started. My goal was to show what was happening on the other side of the border and to examine the reasons behind these conflicts from different perspectives. I knew that many people would oppose me and that some would even call me a "traitor." But I knew exactly what I was doing and why I was doing it.

When I look at the comments on your videos, I see not only expressions supporting peace between the two countries but also hate speech and racist comments. You do not hesitate to respond to those comments. When you first encountered hate speech, did you ever consider stopping your content?

If the comments under my videos had consisted only of positive feedback, that would actually mean there was no problem at all. But negative comments are connected to the wars that have taken place, the painful past, and the social and psychological effects they have created. I do not take negative comments personally. Everyone is simply reflecting what they know and what they feel. I read every comment on my videos to better understand people's perspectives. If there are negative comments somewhere, then there is a problem. And every problem has a cause. In fact, that is one of the main reasons I create content. I never considered giving up.

You lived in Istanbul for a long time. Could you tell us a little about your experience?

As I came to Istanbul from Armenia, I always looked at the city, and especially the Armenian community there, through the eyes of someone who had come from Armenia. Over time, that perspective changed because I spent a large part of my life there. Living in Istanbul gave me the opportunity to better understand both Turkey and the Armenian community there. At the same time, it encouraged me to explore Turkey-Armenia relations and to better understand how Armenian identity is experienced in different places. Every time I return to Armenia, I tell people about the Armenian community in Istanbul, Armenians in Turkey, and life there. But over time I realized that no matter how much I explain, people can only truly understand it by seeing that environment and experiencing that life themselves. Many people in Armenia are not even aware that there are Armenian schools in Turkey. Sometimes I feel as though I have lived two separate and distant lives.

Recently, we have seen increasing interest from people in Turkey traveling to Armenia. Through various social media platforms, they share their impressions of their trips. Has there been a noticeable increase in the number of tourists from Turkey? Do people share their observations with you personally?

I do see people from Turkey visiting Armenia, but I have not personally encountered Turkish tourists very often. Still, recently I have seen posts from some content creators from Turkey saying they experienced racism while visiting Armenia. In some cases, I think they are right, while in others I believe certain content creators are provocative. As a country, we are going through a post-war period, and there are still sensitivities and tensions within society. For that reason, I think it is important for tourists visiting Armenia to approach the country with understanding. Of course, racism against any nation is wrong. At the same time, however, it is important to remember that the country has lived through years of war and, as a small country, has been deeply affected by that experience. Beyond content creators from Turkey, I also see Armenians from Turkey who visit Armenia facing discrimination simply because they speak Turkish. I have witnessed this myself, and the incident involving Garo Paylan recently was another example. I always say this: just as it is considered natural for people in Armenia to speak both Armenian and Russian, it is equally natural for Armenians from Turkey to speak both Armenian and Turkish. Whenever I encounter such incidents, regardless of which side they occur on, I try to explain that discrimination is wrong and contribute to helping people better understand one another.

You emphasize peace and brotherhood on social media and do not approve of hateful content. Do people your age share similar views?

To be honest, so far I have met very few people who completely share my views. When you speak with both Armenians and Turks, after a certain point most people begin defending their own country's perspective and adopt a more nationalist position. My perspective is shaped primarily by human rights. Whenever I see an injustice, regardless of which side it comes from, I try to speak out. For me, no nation is superior to another. I am also opposed to nationalism. If factors such as state borders, political interests, and nationalism were not so dominant, I believe peoples living in our region would not experience such deep conflicts.

Following the incident, Russia's state news agency TASS confirmed the reports and stated that the Russian Consulate General in Istanbul was investigating the matter. The same report also noted that the Istanbul Governor's Office and the Provincial Directorate of Migration Management did not respond to requests for comment.

"Two people apprehended"

Turkey's state-run news agency Anadolu Agency published the story on its Discrimination Reporting Desk under the headline: "Two people identified as reading the 'Bible' aloud in Hagia Sophia Grand Mosque apprehended." The same report also confirmed that an investigation had been launched against the tourists under Article 216 of the Turkish Penal Code.

No official statement has yet been issued by the Istanbul Governor's Office or the Provincial Directorate of Migration Management.

Originally built as a cathedral during the Byzantine era, Hagia Sophia was later used as a mosque during the Ottoman period. After the establishment of the Republic of Turkey, it served as a museum before being reconverted into a mosque in 2020. With a history spanning approximately 1,500 years, Hagia Sophia holds great religious significance for both Christians and Muslims. It is visited each year by millions of Christian and Muslim tourists.

Jundanian’s primary focus is on communities, why and how they come together and their visual language. He is a collector of communal memories and stories. His two projects, “Once There Was and Was Not” and “In Their Footsteps, an Identity Fractured by Genocide”, focus on how genocide has shaped the identity of Armenians today. Photographs from “Once There Was and Was Not” were included in the 2024 British Journal of Photography Portrait of Humanity publication.

The “Armenians of Whitinsville” archival project, of which he is one of the founders, is a collective effort to preserve and pass on the memories of diaspora communities to future generations.

We met in June 2026, when he was in Istanbul on his way to Arapgir, his family’s ancestral homeland.  He shared his reflections on memory, identity, and belonging.

So, Mr. Jundanian, what brings you to Istanbul? 

I returned to Turkey to meet relatives that I did not know that I had, and to explore the area of Arabgir, my maternal ancestral homeland. I came to Turkey last year for the first time on a tour organized by NAASR, an Armenian research organization in Boston. We covered 3,000 kilometers with three tour buses over two weeks. We saw quite a large part of eastern provinces, but what really stayed with me from that trip was how absolute the destruction was of our culture in Anatolia. The places we visited were haunting. It was somewhat like visiting a home where somebody you know was murdered.

Before I left to go on the tour, my cousin, Paula Aghajanian, gave me a photograph from over a hundred years ago, of this man, Mustafa Çıplak, who had saved her father from the marches. She asked me if I could find his family. The story is that as the women and children were being marched out of Arapbgir, Mustafa Çıplak came and interceded and saved Ginape Aghajanian and 13 of her extended family, one of which was Ginape’s nephew, my uncle Nishan. My great grandfather and Ginape were also first cousins.

While the actual story is more complicated, the simple back story is that Mustafa had been good friends with her husband, Kirkor Arsiniyan. After Kirkor and all of Ginepe's brothers were killed, the woman and children were being deported from Arabkir. This is when Mustafa stepped in to save Ginopae, her children and her extended Aghajanian family. A year later, Mustafa married Ginopae, and they then also had children.

With help from a local scholar, Vural Genç, I was able to find the family.  Mustafa had been the head of a Kurdish clan in the Arapgir area so the name was well known. With Vural’s help I found three of Mustafa and Ginopae’s descendents on my first trip. I met more of my relatives on this trip and was received with enormous hospitality and love.

I came because many Armenian families that I know, including mine, had relatives that were absorbed into Kurdish or Turkish families and just disappeared. Some were forcibly taken and others were given up as small children to neighboring families as the mothers knew that their children would not survive the deportation. So, to me, it's an unresolved part of our history, knowing that these people are out there, that your family is still out there, but you don't know who or where they are.

That's why I was interested in spending a little extra time in Turkey and meeting and finding this particular family. They're distant relations, but it's more of a metaphor for finding people that have been missing and sort of tying the knot back together. And I've always kind of wondered what would have happened if my grandfather or grandmother had been taken into a village family in 1915. What would my life have been like?

You just came back from Arapgir. This is the second time you went there, right?

Yes. I had met three people while there last year. Through these people, I met some other people over Zoom. I researched all the descendants of those people who had been saved and those of the marriages in Turkey. I found many of them, but there's still some missing pieces. My goal was to try to put some of the missing pieces back together, solve this puzzle, and create this history for myself.

I think what's a driving force for me is that, growing up, we really had no history leads, aside from our grandparents. Our grandparents were like Adam and Eve. Before that, there was nothing. So, I wanted to try to figure this out. I've always been interested in this. And since I've been retired, I've spent a lot more time on these issues.

How was it to grow up as a child in that particular Armenian community in Whitinsville? How much of the story of your elders was transferred to you?

Not a lot. I consider myself second generation. First generation would be my parents.

They were born here and their parents were born in Turkey. When I was 8 or 10 years old, my father said, “Look, here's all these books on the Armenian massacres. Why don't you read these and let me know if you have any questions”. That was his explanation. Nothing else. My mother did not tell me anything either. Neither did my grandparents. I know very little from my elders.

I know that you have set up a memory kind of digital museum for the Armenians in your community in Whitinsville. Can you tell us a bit about it?

I was raised in an Armenian community in a small town in New England. It always felt odd culturally. I recently started thinking about how my identity has been influenced by my sense of community. At one point I travelled to Artsakh, and started doing a project there in 2019 called ‘In Their Footsteps’ to think about Armenian identity. Then COVID and war broke out so I could not continue there. I decided to come home to Whitinsville and try to do the same thing. It is what I should have done from the beginning. After a lot of soul searching, I was talking to a couple of friends and we decided to do the Armenians of Whtinsville Project, a digital houshamadyan or memory book. We built the website so the people who didn't have a story or had a partial story, whatever it was, could draw a line in the sand and not be erased and put their story in.

There are a lot of stories that aren't up and it's not always easy to get people to actually do it. But I think it's a healing process. I found that for myself and for others, they felt a relief when they put their story up. So, it's a big collection of stories written or audio-recorded. It's mostly writing. We have maybe about 15 recordings.

The main idea is that a person writes their history out. They have five categories that they can then use to tell their story. One is family photographs. Another is documents, like passports, newspaper articles, whatever they happen to be. Another is recipe cards, which everybody loves. Another would be photographs of memory objects that hold a special place. And then the last one is recordings, oral histories for the most part. There's probably 35-40 families up on the website. Other families are still in process. We hope to give the asset, the collection to a museum as a living history at some point.

Aside from the Armenians of Whitinsville project, you also have something to do with the descendants of the survivors of 1915, older people whose portraits I have seen on your website.

That's the project about looking at identity from where I grew up. These are the people I grew up with. It’s called it ‘Once There Was and Was Not’. I hope to be publishing the work next year. I'm trying to portray a bunch of different things. One most important thing is sort of this emptiness or this loss that sits inside many of us, but then I also wanted to give a sense for what it was like to grow up in a factory town that has changed since the factory moved out. 

Okay. And why do you call it ‘There Was and There Was Not’? I just always liked that title. It's like telling a fairy tale.

Yes, I know. It certainly wasn’t a fairy tale.  Most people who are not Armenian don't understand the context of it. For me it is more about the duality of being Armenian, of living in two different worlds at once, one world real and the other world not so much. It’s something that many people form immigrant families feel acutely.

I'm sure when you do a story like Once There Was and There Was Not, you are dealing with the aspect of memory, right? Can you explain a little bit about what's your perception of memory as an Armenian? 

I think my history, as well as many Armenian people's history, is fragmented. It's all in pieces. And my goal for myself is to try to tie those fragments together to help me understand my own identity.

The Armenians of Whitinsville project is a collection of fragments that somehow tries to, in a collaborative manner, tell a community history. That's the nature of Armenian personal histories. You don't know much and you have to draw conclusions from what little you do know.

Okay, and what about emotional inheritance from your elders? There is something inside me which I feel is genetic. I inherited it from my blood line. As if, I was born within their story, even if I know very little about their past. I have inherited their sadness which has never left me. Why is that? 

I feel strongly that way. I feel that we're all born enlightened, and then we inherit the memories of our parents and grandparents. I think it’s fate that one is born into these memories that await you even before birth. The overall thing shaping a person’s identity, despite their intelligence or the lack of it, is their parents' past. Their community's past. It's hard to get away from it, and it is important to embrace it.

How much of this is helping you with healing? With your personal journey? I mean, do you feel that now you have healed yourself? 

I do. I feel some resolution that I didn't feel before. I understand that I'll never know the actual history. I understand that I'll never really know where or how my ancestors lived in Arapgir. For some reason, I feel at peace now that I've done it. Now that I've tracked this down as far as I have. I've met some incredible people. I've listened to stories. I would like to continue to do the work.

At the time, I was working mostly with adults. Polyphonic choirs, church music, traditional repertoire... My mind and energy were devoted primarily to that world. Then one day, when I started to lead a long-established choir, I realized something: sometimes, before you can conduct a choir, you first have to rebuild it.

Finding voices seems easy enough. Finding people does too. But creating a community that is willing to learn together, able to look in the same direction, and ready to question its habits, even a little, is an entirely different matter. After a while, I found myself asking:

"Is it possible to build the future starting today?"

That is more or less how the idea of a children's choir was born for me. At first, my thinking was very simple. If I worked with children and could raise them from an early age with a solid musical foundation, then perhaps a few years later there would be a youth choir that sang more cleanly, listened more attentively, and was more open to learning—and eventually an even stronger main choir. In other words, the children's choir was not, at first, a romantic idea for me; it was a practical investment in the future.

But once I began working with children, the whole picture changed. Or rather, I changed.

The World Beyond the Voice

It did not take long for me to realize that a children's choir was not simply a stepping stone for training future choristers. It was a remarkable world in its own right. One child was learning, for the first time, how to listen to a friend. Another was learning to sing without always trying to make their own voice stand out.

I will never forget one rehearsal. One of our children, around eight years old, softly hummed an Armenian word I had just taught simply because it fit the melody. Then he paused and quietly asked, "Teacher, what exactly does what we sing mean?" At that moment, I realized that the song was no longer just a sequence of sounds for him; it had become a new room he was curious to enter. Another child was frightened before going on stage, but among friends, in that room, she felt safer.

That was when I understood that a children's choir is about far more than teaching songs.

From the outside, it may look very simple: children come, learn songs, perform on stage, and receive applause. But anyone who spends time in the rehearsal room quickly realizes that this is not what it is really about. Sometimes, a child learning to wait patiently for a friend becomes more important than singing the correct note. Sometimes, learning to be silent together is just as valuable as learning to sing together.

A choir gives a child this feeling: "I have a voice, but I am not alone."

That is an incredibly important feeling. Today, many children are either pressured to shine on their own or disappear into the crowd. A choir creates a healthier space between those two extremes. The child hears their own voice while also learning to make room for someone else's.

Gomidas's Legacy and New Breaths

When it comes to a children's choir singing in Armenian, the significance of this work becomes even greater. Because here, a child does not simply learn a melody. They connect with the sound of a language, the memory of a culture, and sometimes the warmth of a word that is no longer heard very often at home. Some children speak Armenian fluently, while others know almost none of it. Yet a song often opens the door to the language more gently. The child first falls in love with the melody. Then they become curious about the word. Then they begin to understand the emotion that the word carries.

Whenever I hear children breathing life into those words, I deeply feel the invisible connection between us and the legacy of Gomidas Vartabed. His collecting, arranging, and reviving folk songs through choral music was never simply about preserving music; it was about ensuring that the voice of a people would not scatter, disappear, or be lost, but would continue to reach new ears.

Today, when I work on Armenian songs with children, I do not see that legacy as something distant. Of course, I am not speaking of the same historical weight, but on a smaller scale I feel a similar responsibility. Every correctly pronounced word, every carefully placed accent, every word that sparks a child's curiosity becomes another thread connecting that collective memory to the present.

Thinking About the Child, Not the Song

Of course, there is an important misconception here. A children's choir is not simply a scaled-down adult choir.

Sometimes we forget this. We want children to sing the songs we ourselves love. But not every beautiful song is suitable for children. A child's voice is different, their breathing is different, their attention is different, and their world is different. Sometimes a piece has to be adapted for children. Sometimes we have to give up a song we dearly love. Because we must think about the child before we think about the song.

The same is true of the stage. Yes, concerts matter. Children see the results of their efforts, receive applause, and gain confidence. But the true magic of a children's choir usually begins long before the performance. It begins in rehearsals. It begins while repeating, making mistakes, laughing, waiting, and listening.

A child may not sing a single note during the first rehearsal. Then, a few weeks later, that same child begin quietly singing among their friends. One day you look up and see them on stage, their eyes shining as they sing the most difficult passage. Someone in the audience sees only that concert moment. But behind that moment lie trust, patience, and countless invisible small steps.

A Breath Left for the Future

Conducting a children's choir that performs Armenian repertoire in Istanbul carries a special responsibility. In this city, Armenian music is not something heard only on stage; it is a living memory that continues in schools, churches, community associations, homes, and in the voices of new generations of children. It is not enough simply to "teach" this memory to children. It must find meaning in children’s inner world, they must come to love it.

The past is immensely valuable, yes. But a repertoire that does not resonate with children's lives today eventually becomes little more than an obligation. Just as important as faithfully passing on old songs is arranging them for children's voices and renewing the culture in their breath. Because culture survives not only by being preserved, but by being sung.

Looking back today, I smile at the fact that my journey with the children's choir began out of necessity. Sometimes a difficult situation leads a person onto the path they were truly meant to follow. At first, I thought I was building the choir of the future. Then I realized that the voices of children today are already a future in themselves.

When a child sings an Armenian song with genuine joy, there is more than music in that moment. There is language, friendship, dedication, and a life that continues.

That, in many ways, is what a children's choir is: carrying a voice from the past into the future through the breath of children today.

For years, we have been asking the same question: How is peace made? Perhaps we should first ask a different one: How does a society stop being afraid?

No psychiatrist would tell someone who has experienced severe war trauma in their very first session, "You are safe now." Because trust cannot be established by words alone. People only begin to relax gradually when they start believing that the world has once again become predictable. The mind does not merely remember danger; it often constructs its future around the possibility of that danger. That is why, even after a war ends, the state of vigilance within people does not simply disappear. The same is true of societies.

States sign agreements; people live with their memories. Once fear settles into everyday life, even children's birth dates, plans for the future, and the most ordinary conversations at home begin to revolve around it.

Anahit's Departure

One of the most important things I learned during the years I lived in Armenia is this: people in this country are not opposed to peace. Quite the contrary; perhaps those who long for peace the most are those who know best what war means.

I met her shortly after the Karabakh War. She lived in a small house in Erebuni. She worked as a caregiver. I will not share her real name; in this article, I will call her Anahit. Her life was shaped not by grand politics but by the struggle to make ends meet. At the time, one of her daughters had just given birth, and they had welcomed their first grandchild. They also had a seventeen-year-old son. Under normal circumstances, the family's entire attention should have been focused on the newborn baby. Instead, they were talking about their son's eighteenth birthday. Because that date was not simply a birthday; it meant military service, and perhaps another war.

One day she said to me, "I love my grandson so much, but my mind is constantly busy with my son."

Sometimes war sits down at people's kitchen tables before it has even begun, and life starts being reorganized around possibilities that have not yet been lived through.

Escaping What Might Happen

Then they left. They left behind not only their homeland but also their daughter, their newborn grandchild, and the life they had spent years building. Taking their son with them, they sought refuge in France, a country whose language they did not even speak. Leaving was not easy either. To make it possible, they sold everything they owned. The woman who had gone to work every morning back home now found herself waiting within the four walls of a small room in the suburbs of Paris.

Whenever we spoke on the phone, she was often in tears.

"What are we going to do here?"

What uprooted her from her country was not a war that had already happened; it was the thought that another war might happen again. This fear was not imaginary. The losses and displacement of the recent past made it all too real. A real threat and the traces of past trauma can become intertwined in the human mind. In such moments, every decision inevitably leaves something broken behind. That is why Anahit's story is not merely one of migration; it is the story of a family fractured down the middle.

The Traces Left in the Mind

In truth, this is not a story unique to Armenia. The language of war changes, countries change, flags change—but the human mind changes very little. In every society that has experienced war, mothers calculate their children's ages differently, fathers listen to the silence of the night differently, and suitcases are packed differently. Even after the tanks have withdrawn, the defensive positions inside the mind are not easily abandoned.

Over time, fear also becomes embedded in the language of society. It is reproduced in the stories told to children, in school textbooks, in news broadcasts, and in everyday conversations. That is why lasting peace requires not only changing borders but also changing language.

Imagining One Another Again

The space created by political agreements must be filled by people themselves. Sometimes a border crossing does more than connect two countries; it allows two societies to imagine one another anew. Trust grows, in part, through this kind of predictability.

When people begin genuinely listening to one another's stories, fear gradually gives way to curiosity. Journalists working together, student exchange programs, or increasing numbers of people creating things together do not, by themselves, build peace. But such encounters are indispensable if security guarantees are to take root within society. This is how two societies that have imagined each other only as enemies begin to see one another as human beings again.

Of course, such a transformation does not happen on its own. Changing the institutions that sustain fear depends on the existence of independent media, a strong civil society, and critical education. Peace begins with agreements states sign, but it becomes lasting only when it takes hold in people's lives.

Why Shouldn't Trust Be Passed On?

When will the fear that drove Anahit from her country truly come to an end? On the day when a mother no longer looks at her child's birth date and sees the possibility of military service?

We have painfully learned that fear can be passed from one generation to the next. Perhaps trust will not be passed on as quickly; perhaps it will take many more years. But children can inherit not only memories of loss but also the belief that living together is possible.

To achieve this, we need not only new political agreements but also safe public spaces where old wounds can be discussed without being denied. It will not be easy; the truth will sometimes make old wounds ache again. But pain that cannot be spoken about does not disappear, it merely falls silent. The challenge of lasting peace is not to avoid the truth, but to create a just foundation where the truth no longer generates new fears.

Perhaps real peace begins on the day a mother looks at her child's birth date without thinking of the front lines. Only then does war begin to withdraw not only from borders, but also from people's minds.

The following details regarding an incident in Kars were shared in the report:

“In Kars, the 8-year-old child of one of our Christian families declared to their neighborhood friends that they were Christian while chatting about religion. The conversation somehow carried over to school, and when our child became uncomfortable with the chat and behavior of their friends, he wanted to walk away. However, a group of four, which included children from upper classes, assaulted the child while shouting “God exists.” Afterwards, they made statements like “You eat pork.” Due to the embarrassment of the school officials and the families of the students who committed the assault, the family desisted from filing a formal complaint.”

According to the report, the Association of Protestant Churches continues to experience problems regarding places of worship. Stating that different churches could not obtain place of worship status in their applications, the association drew attention to the following details:

-The number of communities worshiping in a rented venue is 115.

-The number of communities worshiping by using their own homes as meeting places is 32.

Code application for foreign clergy continues

Protestant clergy cannot be trained in Turkey due to various reasons. Having no access to an institutional education opportunity within Turkey's national education system to train its own clergy, the Protestant community continues to train a significant portion of its clergy within its own body through the traditional master-apprentice method. According to the report, although there has been a visible increase in the number of local Protestant clergy in recent years, there are not enough local clergy to fully meet current needs. Therefore, spiritual leadership in churches is carried out by clergy carrying foreign passports. However, the application of N-82 and G-87 restriction codes for foreign clergy continues. The codes are issued by the Presidency of Migration Management under the Ministry of Interior. The report stated that in 2025, cases of deportation, denial of entry to Turkey, and non-issuance of residence permits or visas for foreign national clergy and community members continued to occur. Accordingly, in 2025, 46 clergy with foreign passports had to leave Turkey due to situations such as being denied residence permits or non-renewal of their visas. In 2024, this number was 21. In 2025, the number of people who left Turkey together with their families was announced as 77. The association stated that legal processes continue for clergy who received N-82 and G-87 codes.

Residence permit denied to Tilman Geske's daughter

In the report, the information regarding the rejection of the residence permit of Michal Geske, daughter of Pastor Tilmann Geske, who was one of those killed in the Zirve Massacre that took place in Malatya in 2007, was included with the following statements:

“In June, the long-term residence application of Michal Geske, the daughter of our brother Tilmann Geske, who was massacred in the 2007 Malatya Zirve Publishing House massacre, was rejected, her student residence permit was canceled, and she was asked to leave the country within 10 days. Although this is not an N82 case, this incident has deeply wounded the Protestant community of Turkey.”

The association also stated that hate speech against Protestants continues on social media. The following statements were included in the recommendations section of the report: “The practice of forcing foreign national members of the Protestant community to leave our country by issuing codes or not renewing their residency must be abolished. This situation, to which people are subjected solely due to their religious beliefs without any allegation of crime, must be ended. The path for Christians to establish places of worship must also be cleared. Municipalities, the Ministry of Culture, the General Directorate of Foundations, and other official institutions should open the church buildings in their possession, which are used for purposes other than their original intent, to the use of church congregations, at least on Sundays and/or religious holidays. The Ministry of National Education, considering the social pressure and stigmatization that Christian families and children are exposed to and the risk it brings about, is expected to protect the rights of non-Muslim students in schools and classrooms and regularly inform schools about exemptions without waiting for complaints. The mandatory status of the course of Religious Culture and Moral Knowledge should be abolished, and individuals should be freed from the obligation to declare their faith.”

The board of directors noted that the pews in the church were given to the Kandilli Surp Yergodasan Arakelots Church, which needed them, while new pews were brought to the Beykoz Church. The mother-of-pearl altar in the church maintained by mother-of-pearl artisan Erhan Tanyıldızı.

The odzum service to be held on Friday, August 7, will be presided over by the Armenian Patriarch of Turkey, Sahak Mashalian. The first badarak service after the opening will be held on August 9, with hymns performed by the Feriköy Vartanants Choir.

The foundation management shared the following message: “After the opening, our community will not only be reunited with their church in this distant and quiet district of Istanbul, which they have never left empty to this day, but will also have an outdoor section they can use, especially during the summer months, for events such as weddings, baptisms, and youth organizations. As the board of directors, we will strive to use our renovated church more extensively and effectively for the benefit of our people.”

During his education at LMU, Pekayvaz also conducted research at the University of Oxford with the support of the German Academic Scholarship Foundation (Studienstiftung). He received his doctoral degree with an experimental thesis in the field of cardiology.

The award committee reviewed the work of 156 researchers for the Heinz Maier-Leibnitz Prize. The committee deemed 10 scientists, including Pekayvaz, worthy of the award. Along with the award, which is considered the most prestigious distinction given to early-career researchers in Germany, Pekayvaz also received a financial contribution of 200,000 Euros, which he can use for up to three years in his subsequent research activities.

The award was presented to Pekayvaz on June 11 in Berlin. The selection of the researcher to receive the award was made by the relevant committee chaired by DFG Vice President and biochemist Professor Dr. Peter H. Seeberger. The committee emphasized that Pekayvaz examines the direct connection between stress and immune cells and its effect on thrombosis (clot) formation in cardiovascular diseases, and that his research is highly promising for the future.

Also pointing out that Pekayvaz is a clinician-scientist, the award committee noted that he always directly links the treatment experiences he gains with acute cardiovascular patients to his basic research, and that he leads a junior research group at LMU. The committee stated that Pekayvaz's articles in academic journals and his awards also bear testament to his work.

Diyarbakır has been an important city throughout history where different peoples lived together. How do you evaluate the architectural and cultural heritage left by Armenians in the city?

Diyarbakır's greatest wealth is its multicultural history. For centuries, this city was the shared living space of Kurds, Armenians, Syriacs, Arabs, Turkmens, and different faith communities. Armenians also made significant contributions to the trade, craftsmanship, architecture, and cultural life of this city. Today, many structures in the city's memory bear the traces of this shared past.

We do not see this heritage merely as a value belonging to the past. At the same time, we evaluate it as a ground that strengthens the culture of co-existence of the future.

In recent years, it is observed that Diaspora Armenians' interest in Diyarbakır as tourists has increased. How do you evaluate these visits?

We welcome these visits very positively. People want to see the cities where their grandfathers and grandmothers lived. They want to trace their family memories. This is a very natural and humane situation. Every visitor coming to Diyarbakır actually builds a bridge between past and present. These visits also contribute to the reduction of prejudices between societies, the strengthening of cultural ties, and the development of economic relations.

Is there a message you would like to send from Diyarbakır both to the Turkish public and to Armenians worldwide?

We want to send this message from Diyarbakır: the establishment of lasting friendships between peoples, the development of economic relations, and the strengthening of cultural ties are in the interest of all of us. Within this framework, we invite tour operators in Armenia to Diyarbakır. Increasing mutual tourism activity and implementing direct transportation and reciprocal flights will contribute significantly both to the two societies getting to know each other more closely and to the regional economy.

Likewise, we are open to all kinds of cooperation in the economic field. We support the development of joint projects in all mutually beneficial areas, especially in trade, investment, industry, agriculture, food, and tourism.

Today, what our region needs is more dialogue, more democracy, more trade, and more peace. Because this is the prerequisite for both economic development and social tranquility. Diyarbakır, with the multicultural heritage it draws from its history, is ready to contribute to this process and to be one of the important centers of regional cooperation.

In the ongoing case at the Istanbul 13th Criminal Court of First Instance, the prosecutor, who gave their opinion in the previous hearing, argued that freedom of expression has limits, and that the terms "f*** buddy" and "the woman forced the marriage" used in Ulu's show contained sexual humiliation targeting the female body and were of a nature to disrupt public order, demanding the defendant's punishment.

Stating that she applies positive discrimination toward women, Ulu said in her defense today: "Contrary to the indictment, I do not accept the allegations of humiliating women. As a woman living and struggling in every field in Turkey, I do not accept this accusation. It is impossible for me to commit the crime in question. I have never engaged in such an action in my profession either. In my shows, I take the side of women and practice positive discrimination toward them. Although it was written as 'body' in the indictment, what I referred is a phrase I used meaning sexual friendship. There is mutuality in this friendship. There is no commodification of the female body. I request my acquittal."

According to the report by T24 reporter Can Öztürk, when asked for her final words after her lawyer's defense, Ulu said, "As a comedian, I believe I spoke of highly unifying elements rather than divisive or polarizing ones."

In the third hearing of the case heard at the Istanbul 13th Criminal Court of First Instance, Tuba Ulu was sentenced to 5 months in prison on charges of "publicly degrading a segment of the public." The court ruled to defer the announcement of the verdict.

On this feast, which also symbolizes the day Noah sacrificed an offering and released a dove to express his gratitude to God for saving him and his family from the Flood, Armenians splash water on one another or push each other into lakes or rivers to remember the rain. Aside from people soaking each other, traditions like releasing doves and making vows are observed, and large-scale festivals are organized.

The word 'Vartavar', which was a name for a festival in the past just as it is today, is a combination of the words 'vart' (rose) and 'var' (glow/brilliance). In pre-Christian Armenia, cities were founded and festivals were organized in the name of the rose, which was associated with holiness. In different regions of ancient Armenia, nature-oriented festivals were celebrated according to various traditions. Brides and grooms who aligned their wedding dates with Vartavar were presented with baskets full of apricots and cherries, and young girls wore crowns adorned with roses in their hair.

'The Water Festival'

Vartavar is also called 'the water festival'. On the day of Vartavar, doves are released and roses are scattered. In the past, rose petals were distributed, and people would wet each other with rosewater. Jesus Christ told people, "You must become like children." People become like children and have fun during this holiday. On Vartavar day in Armenia, everyone splashes each other in the streets; while walking down the road, a bucket of water might suddenly be dumped on you. In the past, people would ride horses into streams and try to knock each other off the horseback into the water, and the person who stayed on the horse the longest would receive a prize.

Let me make a confession here. I sometimes feel that I am the most ignorant person and other times I feel very content and happy that I know so much. What is the weighing scale for this comparison? It is simply that, regarding many subjects and popular names, I have no clue whatsoever. But throughout my life, I have always followed my curiosity and discovered other ones that gave some meaning to my life and helped me in my search for understanding myself. I confess that I have not read what people call essential books. I have not read for example “Crime and Punishment”, “War and Peace” or “Don Quixote” or...But I have read Fournier’s “the wanderer”, Saroyan’s “Father you are so silly”, Jumpa Lahiri’s “the interpreter of Maladies” and...What is the difference, really? Everyone of these writers, known and unknown, tell something about the human soul in pursuit of the Truth. All of them write about the search for a meaning in life, the agonies and joys of humans and their struggle; the importance of love, conviction, freedom and justice and integrity. Who is to say that Dostoyevsky knew about all of these more than Jumpa Lahiri for example?

The gratification that one gets because of a wonderful discovery that comes out of curious pursuit is like receiving a gift. A year or two ago, I phoned that beloved brother of mine who now lives in Yerevan and said to him, “congratulations to both of us. Our man has won the Nobel Prize for literature!”. He was confused and said, “who is our man”? I was referring to Abdulrazak Gurnah. Maybe thirty years ago, going through the shelves of a bookstore, one day I had found a book called “Paradise” by a writer I did not know. Leafing through some of the pages, I decided to buy it. It turned out to be one of the most impressive novels and I must have read it twice at least. I liked that book by that unknown writer from Zanzibar so much that I had passed it to my brother. We always shared books, music and films with each other. He loved it also and like many other things we shared, we discussed it at length. I somehow lost that book because of a flood that destroyed a lot of our books and music records, and I have never read the book again. But I did buy one of his other books called “By the Sea” and I have it in my collection now.

So here I was, thirty years later, happy at the prize that unknown writer from Zanzibar had won. A writer whom I had discovered simply by reading a synopsis of the story on the back cover. It told about the longings of a child taken on a merchant caravan in the desert...Just like the child I had been when I had first arrived in Canada. That’s a discovery that I would call Destiny.

This year, the documentary project “Seeds of the Same Pomegranate” from Turkey has also been invited to the festival’s Work in Progress section, which brings together projects in post-production with international film professionals. Previously honored at the Istanbul Film Festival’s Meetings on the Bridge platform, the project is now preparing to be presented to an international community of cinema professionals.

We spoke with director Şeyla Korkut, whose work focuses on identity, memory, belonging, and intergenerational transmission, about both her film and this personal journey. Korkut’s story is about being able to look at each other’s stories not with hatred, but with love. Many Agos readers grew up with similar stories. As Ms. Şeyla tells her own story, we find ourselves buried in our own memories. This is not only her story; it is the story of everyone who has been othered, everywhere and anywhere.

How did you learn that you had Armenian roots, and could you tell us about your family’s story?

My mother is from Kulp, Diyarbakır, and my father is from Hakkâri. I was born in Hakkâri, and we moved to Van when I was ten. As a child, I thought we were simply a Kurdish family. But over time I learned that my mother’s family was Armenian. It wasn’t a secret, but it was only during my adolescence that I understood Armenian identity as something distinct from Kurdish identity. My maternal grandfather, Dikran, was an Armenian from Kulp who lost his entire family as a child in 1915 and survived only by chance. The Kurdish village headman of Serde (Lice) took him in to work in his orchard, saving his life, and gave him the name Hasan. My grandmother’s family was also an Armenian family from Kulp that had suffered enormous losses. Both families were Islamized. Even so, my grandfather and grandmother somehow grew up knowing they were Armenian, and they were married with that awareness in mind.

In fact, we did not discover our Armenian identity later in life. What we did not know was what being Armenian actually meant; we only knew fragments of what had happened. Nothing remained of this identity except traces as its language and religious practices had disappeared, while certain cultural remnants continued to live on. In a sense, all we had left were traces and stories. As a child, I listened to them as though they were fairy tales told by my elders. As I grew older, I began to realize that they were not just family memories, but also a part of my own identity.

Severe trauma can transmit fear and anxiety across generations. Were there similar traces in your family? For example, how were words like “infidel,” “orphan,” or “lost” received in your household?

I feel this very strongly. For example, as my grandfather had been orphaned the word “orphan” was never an ordinary word in our home. He had a deep sense of compassion and protectiveness toward children. Especially when I hear anti-Armenian hate speech, phrases like “they deserved it” or “they were infidels” , I cannot experience it as an ordinary debate. It creates a tension inside me that is difficult to describe. Sometimes I argue passionately; other times I choose to walk away. But perhaps what affected me most was the silence of my mother and my aunts in such moments. I could always sense the tension they experienced when hearing such remarks, yet they usually said nothing. Years later, that silence came to mean so much to me. I think it was not simply a matter of remaining silent; it was the result of spending years unable to find a place for oneself, of being invisible.

Why did you decide to take a DNA test, and what happened afterward?

I carried a small hope that someone from a family torn apart a hundred years ago might still be alive. Throughout my life I often wondered: could we have relatives somewhere in the world? My grandfather had survived as a child all alone. No one knew what had happened to the rest of his family. My grandmother’s family had also lost many relatives. Perhaps it was the realization that my own sense of limbo and emptiness had filtered down from their stories that led me to this search.

In 2023, I took a DNA test. To be honest, I did not have great expectations. But when the results arrived, I had one of the most life-changing experiences of my life. I discovered that I had many second-, third-, and fourth-generation relatives living around the world. The first people to contact me were my cousin Zohrab and his mother, Anahit, who live in the United States. They told me they had found a relative in their ancestral homeland for the first time and wanted to come to Diyarbakır to meet us. I will never forget the excitement I felt at that moment. Two families separated a century ago were about to reunite for the first time in a hundred years. We gathered our entire family, my aunts and cousins, and the great reunion took place in Diyarbakır. In this way, 85-year-old Aunt Anahit’s final wish came true. For hours we shared our stories and emotions in the courtyard of Surp Giragos Church. No one in our family spoke Armenian. Our greatest blessing was that Aunt Anahit still knew Kurdish.

To see that a family story left unfinished a hundred years ago could still continue today was both deeply moving and hopeful. For the first time, the pieces were beginning to come together. The film tells precisely the story of that journey.

How did “Seeds of the Same Pomegranate” come about?

The seed of this journey was my lifelong feeling that I never fully belonged anywhere. We spoke Turkish at home. I never learned Kurdish or Armenian. So, there were times in Hakkâri and during our summer visits to Kulp when I was excluded for not speaking Kurdish. Later, I faced prejudice because I was Kurdish among Turks, because I spoke Turkish in Armenia, and because I spoke openly about my Armenian identity in Turkey. All of this left me with a constant feeling of not belonging anywhere and never feeling completely safe.

For years, I had wanted to document my family’s story. As our elders passed away, memory disappeared with them. When I was studying filmmaking, and I felt that documentary cinema was the most appropriate form to tell this story. I also believed the process would help heal my own feeling of being suspended between worlds. What began as a desire not to fight my past but to understand it, and to love myself in my wholeness, gradually became the question: “How do we learn to love each other?” I hope this film can become a way of looking at one another’s stories not with hatred, but with love.

The film includes scenes from your family’s story. You, your mother, and your aunt remember the past together. What was it like to revisit these memories in front of the camera?

What struck me most while making this film was realizing that the stories I had listened to throughout my childhood were not fairy tales. The stories my grandmother and my aunts told always felt like they belonged to a distant past. But when we began talking about them again in front of the camera, I felt for the first time, with their full weight, that these had been real lives.

The emotions my mother and aunt experienced while telling these stories affected me deeply as well. Sometimes memories that had gone unspoken for years surfaced. Sometimes there were long silences. Sometimes we cried together. In truth, we were not only remembering the past; we were passing through a grief that had never been named. Perhaps, thanks to this film, that grief found its name for the first time. For me, the process also allowed me to reconsider my family with a fresh look. I began to better understand their silences, their fears, and their behavior. That is why the film does not simply tell the story of the past; it also creates a transformation within our family.

You visited the Tsitsernakaberd Genocide Memorial in Armenia with your mother and your aunt. What kind of impression did that journey leave on you?

That journey was a profoundly moving experience for all of us. It was the first time my mother and my aunt had ever been to Armenia, and the first time they had entered active Armenian churches. To stand in a land they had heard about in stories since their childhood but had never seen was an indescribable feeling for them. On one hand, there was a powerful sense of belonging; on the other, there was a deep feeling of alienation. We were in a place whose language we did not know, yet where our roots lay. We felt both very close and very distant.

It was a difficult but very real confrontation. The moment we visited the Tsitsernakaberd Genocide Memorial was especially overwhelming for all of us. Together we laid flowers, and in that moment I felt that we were mourning not only for our own family but for everyone who had endured the same suffering. Even though we could not speak the same language, we shared the grief of the same loss. Perhaps that is what this film has taught me most of all: sometimes a shared memory is far more powerful than a shared language.

In a statement on his social media account, Dindar said: "We have brought before the TBMM the attacks on Armenian schools, cemeteries, and historical heritage in Üsküdar, Istanbul, which have been left unpunished, as well as hate speech and hate practices. We condemn this attack, which constitutes a crime against the values of humanity."

In the justification accompanying the parliamentary inquiry motion submitted to the Speaker of the TBMM, Dindar stated that the attack on the Surp Garabet Armenian Cemetery was not an isolated incident, adding: "These attacks, which appear isolated but are in fact repeated very frequently due to impunity and lack of oversight, are the result of a particular mindset and approach."

"The perception of impunity is growing"

The motion emphasized that these attacks "constitute serious hate crimes directly targeting the right to respect for the dead, freedom of religion and conscience, the protection of cultural heritage, and the sense of security of Christian citizens living in Turkey." It also noted that perpetrators of attacks on cemeteries, churches, and historic structures belonging to Armenian, Greek, Syriac, and other Christian communities are often not identified or are not subjected to effective investigations, reinforcing the perception of impunity.

In the parliamentary question submitted to the Ministry of Interior, Dindar asked about the number of attacks on Christian cemeteries, churches, and other historic structures over the past 10 years, how many perpetrators had been identified, the investigation into the attack on the Surp Garabet Armenian Cemetery, and security policies for protecting minority places of worship. He also requested clarification on whether new administrative, legal, and security measures are being planned to prevent hate crimes.

In a statement, the Istanbul Anatolian Chief Public Prosecutor’s Office said that an investigation was launched after authorities were notified on July 8 that damage had been done at the Surp Garabed Armenian Cemetery in Üsküdar.

The statement said that, following instructions from the prosecutor’s office, police identified the suspect through their investigation. The suspect, identified by the initials M.K., was detained by police yesterday and, after giving a statement to prosecutors today, was referred to the criminal peace judgeship with a request that he be formally arrested pending trial.

What happened?

According to information sent by the Board of Trustees of the Üsküdar Surp Garabet Church Foundation to the Armenian Patriarchate, an attack took place at the Bağlarbaşı Surp Garabet Cemetery during the night between July 7 and July 8.

After climbing over the cemetery wall, an individual entered the grounds and damaged six graves and a fountain. The Foundation’s Board of Trustees reported the attack to the police, who subsequently launched an investigation.

Speaking to Agos, Rafi Kirkoryan, president of the Üsküdar Surp Garabet Church Foundation, said that the basin beneath the fountain had been broken, along with the cross motifs carved into six gravestones.

At the mention of L.A. one waiter grinned saying, “Los Angeles Lakers.” At the mention of Armenia, the other waiter declared “Ermeni Altini” which means “Armenian Gold” in Turkish. My smile shriveled into the roll of the eye and that feeling of slight indigestion caused by bad taste. 

For the uninitiated, since the Armenian Genocide, to this day there are several metastasized myths perpetuated by the Turkish and Kurdish communities currently living in Eastern Turkey on lands that were Armenian towns, villages and prefectures during the Ottoman centuries.

With the erasure and ethnic cleansing of the Western Armenian millennial-old populations during the Armenian Genocide of 1915, quite a few generations of treasure hunters began desecrating Armenian churches and architectural monuments looking for vast troves of mythical gold that apparently the Armenians buried to hide while their entire families and populations were being slaughtered.

For more than a century, continuing to this very day, these treasure hunters exist in various facets of Turkish society, fully convinced that there are endless deposits of Armenian gold worth zillions and that the jackpot is within reach. There were, at one point, even internet groups sharing notes and maps of the Armenian El Dorado. 

The statement that our kind-faced waiters and restaurant staff made as the delicious plates of food were being served soured in my soul, if I am being perfectly honest.  Their well-intentioned behavior was unwittingly indicative of a much larger problem caused by the lingering stereotypes of Armenians in the consciousness of a segment of Turkish society hailing from the eastern provinces closer to Armenia.

The other staff member from the management side even went so far as to say that there is a lot of gold in Armenia today to which my sister in law rolled her eyes and declared that what he was saying was mere legend. I don’t speak Turkish otherwise I would have given him a colorfully worded lecture that would have lasted well past dessert time. 

If I had to explain — to paraphrase Hrant Dink — that the real treasure remains above ground in the ruins of churches and last vestiges of the Armenian presence in eastern Turkey, would they understand?

Over a decade ago when I was traveling across eastern Turkey, this statement resurfaced in Yalnizkoy in Kharpert (Harput) province and in Bitlis where William Saroyan’s family was from. It surfaced also in Chunkush and Van as we saw with our own eyes the desecrations to the ancient sites by treasure hunters who even dug up the skull of an Armenian priest in Van, probably thinking there may have been gold inside. 

In this existentially strange time for Armenia as it continues to wade its way through the disasters of the war in Artsakh (Nagorno-Karabakh) and finalize whatever will be of a so-called peace process that continues to ignore the fate of the 130,000 Armenians from Artsakh ethnically cleansed from their ancestral homeland, the echoes of deportation and Genocide remain front and center of the Armenian consciousness in the Diaspora and Armenia even though the current Yerevan administration is self-censoring itself to appease the denialist position of Turkey and Azerbaijan. 

Add to that, Ilham Aliyev’s irredentist declaration that the Republic of Armenia is “Western Azerbaijan” and for Azeris to return in convoys of cars to reclaim their lands, only adds bitter diesel to the stinging burn of a population still coming to terms with what the future of this peace initiative will mean for Armenia and her neighbors.  

All this came spilling out of my thoughts as I stared at the grilled calamari and the polite waiters saying “Ermeni Altini” at the fish restaurant.  However, I digress. Such is part and parcel of discussing anything relating to the uncomfortable politics of all things Armenian and Turkish.

As Leonard Cohen sings in Anthem, “You can strike up the march…there is no drum.” This march for peace is being planned with endless closed-door meetings and phone calls between the leaders of all three countries - Armenia, Azerbaijan and Turkey, but the drum beat is unclear concerning the long-term vision of what peace will mean for the thousands of moms and dads of Armenia and Azerbaijan who lost their sons to the war.

Their greatest and most priceless “treasures” were their children, now underground killed by bombs and bullets as bureaucrats above ground carve out deals that will first benefit the economics of the ruling class. Hopefully they will see the potential for a much more equitable “gold” standard of diplomacy that goes far beyond the metrics of economics and real estate stained by war and will help the populations understand the true meaning of a just if uncomfortable peace that will endure…hopefully.

I did not think it would open after the elections. Instead, small steps have been taken in parallel with changes in regional geopolitics. In other words, for every negative step Russia has taken, Turkey has responded with a new step. For example, when Russia banned Armenian products, Turkey allowed direct trade with Armenia. Or when Russia said, "You need to leave the Eurasian Economic Union," Turkey decided that Armenia could be listed as the country of origin in trade. Turkey found well-planned, incremental steps. Now, however, I would say the election results have complicated matters somewhat.

Why did make it more complicated?

Because the current government in Armenia did not secure the majority needed to amend the constitution. We know that the ruling party wants constitutional amendments, not only because Azerbaijan demands them, but also because there are domestic expectations for such changes. But these election results make that impossible. That is, of course, a problem. Neither Turkey nor Azerbaijan has yet fully assessed what comes next. I think Turkey will return to this issue once its own domestic agenda has cooled down somewhat.

The first impression we have received from Azerbaijan is: "We will normalize relations, but we will not sign the peace agreement until the constitution is amended." Turkey also appears to have tied the opening of the border to this. The emerging picture is that Turkey may keep the border closed while continuing the normalization process. We will have a better sense in fall whether things will proceed this way. Once Turkey's domestic agenda becomes calmer, its new position will likely become clear. It is not possible today to say on what timetable the border might open. But we can at least say that it is unlikely to happen before fall.

What would Turkey lose by opening the Armenian border?

If you consider Turkey alone, it loses nothing. However, during the previous Turkey-Armenia normalization process, there was a very negative period in relations with Azerbaijan. At that time, then-Prime Minister Erdoğan went to the Azerbaijani parliament and made a speech in which he gave a promise: "The border with Armenia will not be opened until the occupation of Karabakh ends."

On the other hand, Azerbaijan is strategically very important for Turkey. Energy connections, security cooperation in the Caucasus, its relationship with Israel, and so on. Turkey will not want to damage the relationship again or provoke a negative reaction. Moreover, it appears that Turkey simply does not see an urgent need to open the border.

Secondly, we know that Turkey has always operated within very delicate balances in the Caucasus. Under no circumstances would it want to confront Russia or take steps that directly target Russia. In other words: "Why is Armenia trying to move closer to the European Union? Why is it trying to distance itself from Russia? And should we facilitate that?" I am sure these questions are on the minds of Turkey's decision-makers. Under these circumstances, saying "let's give it a little more time" seems to be the easier and less costly option.

In Turkey's statement following the elections, it said: "We expect Armenia to take bolder steps." A country that is already trying to amend its constitution at Azerbaijan's request—what is it expected to do more? What else is Azerbaijan waiting for?

Ultimately, the draft agreement that was initialed in Washington had already been agreed upon between Azerbaijan and Armenia much earlier and had even been made public. The Washington event was largely a show designed to draw Trump into the Caucasus. Otherwise, both countries had already stated several times that they had reached agreement on the text and would sign it when the time was right.

In fact, Azerbaijan's position has not changed from the very beginning: "This is the text, but I will wait for the constitution to be amended before signing it." There has been no change in that position. Looking at the arguments within Armenia, however, there is concern that "if we give them this as well, what else will they ask for?" Of course, politics offers no guarantees. Azerbaijanis remain insistent on this point. At the moment, we have nothing except trust to rely on.

Moreover, the peace agreement itself is not all that important. In practical terms, there is already a ceasefire. Both countries have demonstrated a commitment not to go to war. They have established conditions for peace. Trade cooperation has begun and continues to deepen. Azerbaijan is supplying Armenia with natural gas after Russia cut supplies, while Armenia has offered the railway controlled by Russia to the Kazakhs—which was probably arranged by the Azerbaijanis. In other words, cooperation is developing even in unexpected areas. All of this is happening without a formal peace agreement. That also shows us that this period of uncertainty can be managed for some time. Politicians, however, tend to prefer uncertainty if it can be managed. In political science, this is called "constructive ambiguity." From a political perspective, it is not necessarily viewed negatively.

While relations with Turkey and Azerbaijan are improving to some extent, Armenia's relations with Russia are becoming more strained. Russia appears to be resorting to economic and political coercion. Where is this story heading?

Previous governments in Armenia wanted to move forward together with Russia. Pashinyan, now elected for the third time, has instead chosen to position Armenia alongside the West rather than Russia. But Armenia is a small country, and when your neighbor is Russia, that choice is not the only determining factor. We have seen the example of Ukraine, and before that Russia also went to war with Georgia over a similar issue.

Of course, this does not mean that Russia will go to war directly with Armenia, but the situation needs to be managed carefully. Russia does not want countries that have been so close to it to move entirely into the opposing camp. Since Russia is currently preoccupied with Ukraine, there is room for Armenia, or for Pashinyan, to maneuver. But we do not yet know the exact limits of that room. Azerbaijan is playing a similar game. They do not want to move as close to the West as Armenia does, but neither do they want to be that close to Russia. They seem to have carved out such a space for themselves. Armenia, too, will have to create that space gradually through trial and error.

The relationship between Armenia and Russia is highly intertwined. I do not think the economic dimension will be as problematic as some think. Untying that complex relationship and re-Armenization the infrastructure will take both time and considerable effort. Armenia faces a difficult period in that regard. Because the most difficult phase is always the transition itself. It will undoubtedly be difficult, but it will happen.

Indeed, when Odysseus finally reaches Ithaca after twenty years, no one recognizes him except his old dog, Argos. He has become a stranger in his own home. Sometimes people reach the place they have longed for over the years, only to realize they do not belong there as much as they once believed.

A few days ago, when an Iranian friend told me, "You are diaspora too," I instinctively objected. "No," I said. "I am not diaspora." I tried to explain why I did not consider myself part of the diaspora. My father is from Malatya. My mother is from Sivas. I was born in Istanbul. My family has lived for centuries on lands that today lie within the borders of the Republic of Turkey. We did not migrate from somewhere else. That is why I have never defined myself as diaspora.

Returning to the homeland or embarking on a new journey?

There is a commonly used word in Armenia: hayrenatarts. One who returns to the land of their ancestors. It is a beautiful, deeply rooted word. Yet, despite living in Yerevan, I cannot find myself within it. Because in our language, hayrenik is the ancestral land, the homeland; the place where roots, ancestors, and memory are buried. If the land of my ancestors is Malatya and Sivas, then is coming to Yerevan a "return" for me, or an entirely new journey?

But if I absolutely had to give it a name, I would call Armenia my second home. Not the place where I was born, but the place where I built a life.

Armenia does not carry the same meaning for every Armenian. For some, it is the embodiment of the stories they have heard since childhood; for others, it is a safe harbor. Some were born and raised here and have never known another place; others are trying to rebuild their connection with this country after spending most of their lives elsewhere. For some it is home, for others longing, and for still others a question that has yet to be answered. Perhaps this is Armenia's most fascinating quality: its ability to hold different stories of belonging at the same time.

Two cities, two rearview mirrors

The paradox of belonging is best told through the rearview mirrors of two cities.

Whenever I get into a taxi in Istanbul, my accent sometimes gives me away, and that familiar question comes: "Where are you from?" Knowing the real curiosity beneath the question, I answer without beating around the bush: "My father is from Malatya, my mother is from Sivas, and I'm Armenian." The taxi driver is not satisfied; as if wanting to uproot my origins from those lands and attach them to another geography, he insists: "So where did your ancestors come to Malatya from? When did they arrive?"

I smile: "They came three thousand years ago. I don't know anything before that."

Despite all the othering they have endured, despite being treated as second-class citizens, and sometimes even becoming the targets of hatred, for Armenians of Turkey, Anatolia is the homeland itself. Even if a person is made to feel like a stranger in their own home, home is still home.

Then I get into a taxi in Yerevan.

"Where are you from?"

"An Armenian from Istanbul. My father is from Malatya, my mother from Sivas."

The driver turns around from the rearview mirror and asks:

"Are there still Armenians in Istanbul?"

And every single time, I find myself trying to prove my own existence. I begin explaining: we have our schools, our churches, our newspapers...

One person treats me as a newcomer in the land that has been my homeland for thousands of years and turns me into a stranger; another forgets my existence in the city where I was born and raised and assumes I belong to a history that disappeared long ago.

Perhaps this is what made me object to the word diaspora. Because that word always suggested to me being uprooted from one place and scattered to another. Yet my story was not a story of rupture. It was the story of learning to live between two different forms of belonging.

A new home and new neighbors

One of the things that living in Yerevan has taught me is this: being Armenian sometimes means living at the crossroads of lives scattered across the world.

In my first year here, I met a young woman from Beirut who shared my name. Later she returned to Lebanon. When the massive explosion at the Port of Beirut happened, I followed the news for days. I tried to reach her. That was the day I realized that living in a city sometimes means becoming connected not only to its people, but also to the worlds they have left behind.

A few weeks ago, another message arrived on my phone in the middle of the night. It was from my Iranian neighbor who lives in the same apartment complex.

"Maral, could you come downstairs? I'd like to take a walk with my daughter. My husband is in Iran. I haven't heard from him for three days."

I went downstairs. We walked side by side in the apartment garden. We didn't speak much.

Sometimes the world becomes very small. A war that appears hundreds of kilometers away on the map reaches your apartment garden in the middle of the night. Perhaps that is why Yerevan no longer feels like just a city to me. Here, the stories of people who come from different corners of the world meet again on the same streets. After a while, a disaster anywhere in the world ceases to be distant news.

Where does one return?

There may not be a single answer to this question.

Mythology tells us about Odysseus's arrival in Ithaca, but the story does not end there. According to the prophecy, his destiny is to one day shoulder his oar and set out once more, traveling until he finds people who know neither sea nor salt nor even the names of ships. For some journeys change a person so profoundly that return is no longer an ending, but a new beginning.

Perhaps the matter is never simply where we return. People carry the places they went, the people they loved, those they lost, and everything they learned with them along the way. Perhaps this is what we call return: learning to live with the homes that multiply throughout your journey.

The hearing was held at Istanbul's 13th Criminal Court of First Instance. In her defense, comedian Tuba Ulu said: "I repeat the statements I made at the previous hearing. In addition to those statements, as a comedian I have performed all over Turkey and connected with people. In the joke and satire I made, I had no intention of insulting anyone or offending anyone's values. I request my acquittal."

According to the Media and Law Studies Association (MLSA), Ulu's lawyers, arguing that freedom of expression may be disturbing, emphasized that Ulu's remarks did not constitute criminal intent, and requested her acquittal.

The prosecutor argued that, under Turkish law and the European Convention on Human Rights, freedom of expression has limits; that Ulu's use of the phrases "fuck buddy" and "the woman pushed for marriage" in her performance constituted a sexually degrading characterization of woman through her body, regardless of her character, and that these remarks were of a nature to disturb public order. The prosecutor therefore requested that the defendant be punished.

Ulu and her lawyers requested additional time to respond to the prosecutor's opinion. The judge granted time for the defense and adjourned the hearing until July 14 at 11:00 a.m.

Emphasizing that Turkey has become one of the most important centers of global diplomacy, Kurtulmuş pointed to the progress achieved in the process aimed at establishing lasting peace in the South Caucasus.

Kurtulmuş said that the border delimitation efforts and peace talks between Armenia and Azerbaijan are progressing positively, adding that Turkey supports the process with a constructive vision. Stating that the key to regional prosperity lies in a trilateral mechanism, the TBMM Speaker said:

"The basis for an agreement between Armenia and Azerbaijan in the Caucasus has now reached a certain point. God willing, with Turkey's participation, Turkey, Armenia and Azerbaijan will establish a center here and become a power. Turkey's constructive vision is making major contributions to all of this."

The Ankara-Yerevan track in normalization

The "trilateral vision" referred to by Kurtulmuş actually reflects the recent normalization process between Turkey and Armenia.

In the recent period of the Turkey-Armenia Normalization Process, steps have been taken such as Turkish Airlines launching direct flights to Yerevan, listing Armenia as the destination country for imports and exports, and reciprocal visits by businesspeople from both countries.

On the other hand, although the reopening of the Alican-Margara border crossing, which has been closed for 30 years, is repeatedly brought up, no concrete step has yet been taken in this direction. In particular, Pashinyan's victory once again in the June 7 election in Armenia has increased hopes that the border crossing will be reopened.

It is not possible to write down here the list of ten that have inspired hope and strength in my life. But I sometimes consider writing separate stories about films, music, photographs, paintings and books that have given me a thirst for life. Books and reading in general would be a good start. As I stated in my story, ‘The Library’, last time, I did not discover the importance of books and reading until I moved to Toronto even though as a student in Beirut, I had to read a lot of Armenian, Arabic and English literature because they were part of the curriculum. I do not know if it was because I was a teenager who was busy with typical pastimes at that age or it was because of our oral story tradition (adults told stories and the young listened), somehow reading books did not take up much of my daily life.

But there are a few little exceptions during this period of my life in Beirut when I discovered certain books that made me stay up reading till late many many nights. Gibran’s Broken Wings was so captivating that I finished it, I think, in a night or two. I still carry the ache I felt at that age for the fate of the star-crossed lovers. Until today whenever I hear the name Salma (the heroine of the story) or the words Druze or Beqaa Valley, a melancholic sadness pricks my heart. Odyan’s Inger Panchuni and Baronyan’s Kaghakavarutyan Vnassneri and Medzabadiv Muratsganneri, were also some discoveries I made at that age of thirteen or so. How I used to laugh in bed while reading their comic stories! Sometimes hearing my hard laughter, my mother would barge into my room and ask smiling, “what happened my son? Is it Baronyan again…?”

That, luckily or unluckily, was a short-lived period of my life. I was growing up fast…that’s the fate of children in the Middle East. Thanks to our new leftist teachers at Yepremian Varjaran, our eyes were starting to open. We were becoming serious about the world and inequalities. As if Baronyan’s satirical approach about poor and rich and class system were not enough, our new teachers introduced us to serious leftist literature. And my friends and I welcomed it enthusiastically. One of my teachers asked me to carry out weekly reading discussions based on this new literature within our young group. So, the weekly gatherings began and he would pass me some stenciled copies of chapters from certain books discussing class system and economic disparities between rich and poor. But because all this was to be done clandestinely, he would put the weekly material inside rolled up magazines.

There was a funny twist to this story I am telling you. The magazines were always old issues of Playboy. The reason was that if the principle or one of my parents got curious about what was the rolled up magazine, they would blame it on my raging hormones as a teenager…my punishment would be nothing compared to one given to a boy going on the wrong path of socialism. So, what happened is that at the meetings, we would unroll the magazine, take out the given literature copies, read and discuss some issues and then put them back inside the magazine. I would take the rolled up magazine home and when no one was looking, throw it up on the big clothes wardrobe in our bedroom. I was sure no one would look there. It was piled with stored away luggage and boxes.

Well, one day our application to immigrate to Canada got accepted and we were ready to move to Toronto. This was a long time since the days of our weekly gatherings and by that time, I had separated from my teachers and political colleagues. It is a long story fit for another time. But what was funny was that one day I arrived home and saw my father on top of a ladder, cleaning the top of the famous wardrobe. I panicked about the magazines. After all, they were pornographic, even if the soft kind. But he had already finished cleaning and was coming down the ladder. I looked at my parents and they looked at me for a moment that felt like an eternity. In the end, my mother said, “thank God we finished. We threw out so much stuff. We can sell the wardrobe now!”

Until today, I wonder what they thought when they found those rolled up Playboy magazines and the other literature copies inside them. I never dared to open the subject while they were alive.

During the operations in Istanbul, Ankara, İzmir, Kocaeli, Çanakkale, Antalya, and Bursa, lawyers, members of the Revolutionary Youth Association, staff and readers of the Revolutionary Movement magazine, and law students were detained. It was also reported that 11 members of the People's Houses (Halkevleri), including Antalya People's House Chair Gülcan Şahin and the entire branch executive board, as well as officials from the Workers' Party of Turkey (TİP) Antalya Provincial Organization, a provincial official of the Labor Party (Emek Partisi) in Kocaeli, and members of Labor Youth (Emek Gençliği), were detained after police raided their homes and broke down their doors.

Academic Sibel Özbudun and writer Temel Demirer were also detained in Istanbul this morning. It was learned that Özbudun and Demirer were detained as part of an investigation conducted by the Muğla Chief Public Prosecutor's Office concerning their social media posts.

Progressive Lawyers Association Istanbul Branch President Also Detained

Progressive Lawyers Association (ÇHD) announced that Istanbul Branch President attorney Ezgi Önalan and branch member Attorney Yunusemre Işık were detained in a police operation carried out before dawn. The association also stated that it had received information that many of their clients had been detained in simultaneous operations.

In its statement, ÇHD said: "Our Istanbul Branch President, attorney Ezgi Önalan, was detained in a police operation carried out at her home before dawn. We have also learned that many of her clients were detained simultaneously. These political operations, which promise NATO a rose garden without thorns, must come to an end."

It was also reported that law students Boran Işıldak and Burhan Can were detained yesterday in Ankara's Tuzluçayır neighborhood, while Odatv editor Ceren Erdoğdu was detained this morning.

"Turquoise" Operation

Authorities also reported that, as part of the "Turquoise" operations conducted in Ankara ahead of the NATO Summit, 46 suspects identified as having shared images or content involving firearms were detained.

According to the Demirören News Agency (DHA), the detainees were individuals with numerous prior criminal records who were taken into custody as part of an investigation being conducted by the Ankara Chief Public Prosecutor's Office.

In recent years, I have frequently come across taxi drivers from Karabakh in Yerevan. Realizing from my accent that I am not from there, they ask, "Where are you from?" I reply, "I'm from Istanbul." "I'm from Karabakh too. So both you and I are living far from home," they answer. Every time, the same objection crosses my mind. I chose to live here. In fact, I do not even feel like I am living in exile. They, on the other hand, were forced to leave the place where they used to live. Then I ask, "How are you? Have you gotten used to living here?"

Most of the time, I receive a similar answer: "People here don't like us."

The first time I heard this, I was surprised. Apparently, the sentence did not make much sense. The people of Karabakh were Armenian, and so were the people of Armenia. So, who did not like whom?

I do not know how widespread this feeling is. Perhaps it was simply something shared by the people I happened to meet. But over the years, in different taxis and from different people, I heard similar sentences. Gradually, I began to reflect on what they meant.

Perhaps the issue was less about who liked whom than about how displaced people saw themselves in their new lives. Sometimes it is impossible to understand an entire society, but when the same sentence is repeated over and over by different voices, one cannot help but follow where it leads.

Solidarity and disappointment

In the autumn of 2023, tens of thousands of people arriving from Karabakh became part of Armenia's everyday life within just a few days. The city changed. More people were looking for housing. Rents increased. Schools became more crowded. For the first time, people began hitting with one another's lives on the same buses, in the same supermarket queues, and in the same apartment buildings.

The issue was not only about the economy. When people from Karabakh spoke, they were immediately recognized by their accent. Although they seemed to speak the same language, the marks left by years and different histories became apparent in the very first sentence. Language does not always bring people closer; sometimes it reminds them who belongs and who does not. Perhaps, for many people from Karabakh, the feeling of alienation had not begun when they crossed the border. It continued even after they had crossed it.

But that was not the whole story. I remember the first days after the people of Karabakh arrived. I saw those who opened their homes, organized aid campaigns, and tried to find jobs for the newcomers. Everyone was doing whatever they could in a remarkable display of solidarity. Perhaps that is why the expressions of resentment I hear today strike me even more deeply. It seems that solidarity and alienation can coexist in the same city.

Alienation twice

Sometimes a person is alienated twice: once in the place they left behind, and once again in the new home they expected would welcome them. As I listened, I realized that at the center of the Karabakh story stood the same ancient question: What remains when a person loses his/her home?

From outside, what happened may appear to some as nothing more than a story of relocation. Armenians of Karabakh came to Armenia—that is, to their own state. But home is also our childhood, our street, our neighbors, the cemetery where our loved ones are buried. When people lose their home, they lose not only a place but also the continuity of their lives.

As Thomas de Waal, one of the leading scholars of Karabakh issue, has argued for years, the Karabakh issue has never been only about territory; it has always been about the places to which people belong. Because Karabakh was never simply a question of who would possess which land. It was a question of where people felt they belonged, which place they called home, and what they truly lost when they lost it.

Name of the loss

Moreover, the memory awaiting them in the place they arrived was not a single one. The people of Karabakh had lost their homes. Thousands of families in Armenia had lost their children.

After the 2020 war, Karabakh was no longer merely the name of a place. It had become the name of a loss that had touched almost everyone's life in one way or another. There were very few people who did not know someone who had lost a son, a brother, a student, or a neighbor. The war had ended on the battlefield, but its consequences had settled into everyday life. In many homes there was an empty chair; in many families, an unfinished life.

For three years after the 2020 war, uncertainty continued. Karabakh lived under a blockade that lasted for months. Negotiations were held; hope and disappointment followed one another. Finally, in the autumn of 2023, nearly the entire Armenian population of the region left Karabakh.

May no one die again

I got very close to a mother who lost her son in the 2020 war. I did not observe her grief from afar; I witnessed her passing through it.

It was in the months after the war had ended. Those were the days when peace and the opening of the borders were being discussed. Imagining myself in the place of this woman, who spent fifty days going from one morgue to another to identify her son's burned body, was deeply painful. I found it unbearably difficult that peace was being discussed so soon after the war, especially for those who had lost children they had sent to fulfill compulsory military service.

One day, I asked her hesitantly, "They are talking about a peace agreement. What do you think?"

Her answer surprised me: "Let peace come and let the border be opened. Let them open, so that no one dies ever again."

Then she added: "Besides, my son did not die for his own country; he died for Karabakh."

Two wounds of the same war

The complaint of the taxi driver from Karabakh—"People here don't like us"—and the words of this mother were, in fact, part of the same story. Both were wounded. One was mourning the child she had lost whereas the other was mourning the home he had lost. The problem was that whenever one spoke of a home, the other remembered a graveyard. That is why people who had lived through the same war sometimes found it difficult to hear one another. Wars do not only take away land but also shatter a society's shared memory.

Perhaps one of the greatest challenges Armenia faces today is enabling people who have paid different prices in the same war to hear one another again.

Neither the home lost by the taxi driver from Karabakh nor the son lost by the grieving mother appears on any map. Maps can show where people live, but they cannot show what people have lost. Maps divide countries. The borders that divide people, however, cannot be drawn on maps.

The College Board administers the SAT, PSAT, and Advanced Placement (AP) programs. It is an internationally recognized educational organization that guides millions of students worldwide in preparing for university and whose programs are recognized by higher education institutions around the world. Following an application and evaluation process that lasted approximately one year, the school administration announced that the College Board had determined that Tbrevank High School's institutional structure, academic vision, and compliance with international standards met its requirements.

The school administration issued the following statement:

"With this approval, Private Surp Haç Armenian High School has officially earned the right to become part of the College Board's international network of schools. As a result, our school is now authorized to implement Advanced Placement (AP) programs, provide students with stronger academic guidance throughout the international university application process, operate as an authorized institution within College Board programs, and, upon meeting the necessary requirements, apply to become an official SAT Test Center.

Private Surp Haç Armenian High School is also the first Armenian high school in Istanbul to attain this status. This development is significant and encouraging not only for our school but also for the international visibility of the Armenian community in the field of education. We hope this achievement will pave the way for new international partnerships, academic opportunities, and shared successes for all of our community schools.

This accomplishment is the result of the vision and support of our Board of Directors, the determined efforts of our school administration, and the dedicated work of our teaching staff. As Surp Haç Armenian High School, our goal is to combine our long-established educational tradition with a universal approach to education, providing our students with opportunities that will enable them to secure a strong place not only in today's world but also in the world of the future."

The Church was among the buildings damaged in the earthquakes that struck Marash and Hatay on 6 February 2023. The Foundation subsequently applied to the Ministry of Culture and Tourism for support to repair the church.

During the visit to Patriarch Maşalyan on Tuesday, 23 June, İskenderun Church Foundation Chairman Yusuf Tabaş stated that the Ministry had notified the Foundation that it would receive 5 million TL to support the church's restoration, and that once the necessary permits were completed as quickly as possible, restoration work would begin.

Tabaş also explained during the meeting that completing the restoration projects would require a budget more than ten times greater than the amount allocated. Patriarch Maşalyan welcomed the state's willingness to help initiate the process despite its limited resources and pledged to provide every possible form of support to secure additional contributions from other community foundations, philanthropists, and international funding sources. He also recommended preparing a public presentation explaining the restoration projects in greater detail so that they could be communicated more effectively to the public and potential donors in the search for additional financial support.

For the decision to become final, the bill must be submitted to the Israeli Parliament, the Knesset, and approved by lawmakers.

The text of the decision states that Israel recognizes the genocide committed against the Armenian people during the final years of the Ottoman Empire "on the basis of its moral and historical duty." It also calls for the condemnation of any denial, minimization, or distortion of the historical reality of these events.

The text states that approximately 1.5 million Armenians were killed and that the centuries-old Armenian cultural and historical heritage in Anatolia was destroyed.

It further states that, despite extensive historical documentation, the Armenian Genocide continues to be the subject of an organized campaign of denial, particularly by Turkey. The proposal notes that 32 countries have recognized the genocide in various forms.

Reaction from Turkey

Following the development, Turkey's Ministry of Foreign Affairs issued a statement. It said: "The Israeli government, which is carrying out systematic oppression against the Palestinian people before the eyes of the entire world and is being tried before the International Court of Justice on charges of committing genocide against the people of Gaza, aims to cover up its own crimes through the political decision it has adopted regarding the events of 1915."

The Azerbaijani Ministry of Foreign Affairs described the decision as "a source of serious concern" and "a distortion of historical facts."

"There is only compassion in our history"

President Erdoğan responded to the decision with the following remarks: "There is neither genocide, nor massacre, nor oppression, nor colonialism in our history. Throughout our thousands of years of glorious history, there has only been justice and compassion. We have always extended a helping hand to all the oppressed, regardless of their religion, origin, or identity. We have shown the virtue of protecting those fleeing the Inquisition and Nazi persecution."

"We should not become part of its instrumentalization"

Following the decision, Armenian Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan said that they did not feel the need to respond to the recognition of the Armenian Genocide.

Speaking to journalists after a meeting of the Civil Contract Party Board, Pashinyan said: "We do not feel the need to respond. We believe that it is in the interests of the Republic of Armenia not to become involved in discussions surrounding the instrumentalization of the Armenian Genocide issue."

David Petrosyan, co-founder and researcher at the Yerevan Center for Foreign and Security Policy, said that Israel is using the Armenian Genocide issue as a "bargaining chip" to exert pressure on Turkey. Speaking to Armenian Public Radio, Petrosyan said: "This agenda emerged in Israel. The Armenian side played no role in initiating this process, neither through diplomatic channels nor lobbying efforts. I believe it is the right approach for Armenia to stay out of this process." Petrosyan added that, in some cases, remaining silent can be more meaningful than making a statement.

The meeting marked the first visit from Armenia to Van since the Van Chamber's visit to Armenia in 2019.

"We faced criticism, but we did not give up"

Artur Ghazaryan, Vice President of the Union of Manufacturers and Businessmen of Armenia, stated that they had been working for many years to improve relations between the two countries and that, despite facing various criticisms during the process, they had never abandoned their goals. Ghazaryan said they continue to work to strengthen economic relations, facilitate border crossings, and increase trade, adding that the Van Chamber of Commerce and Industry occupies an important position in this process.

Stating that they launched the project first with the Van Chamber, Ghazaryan emphasized that Van holds a special place for them because of historical and cultural ties. He added that they would like the Van Chamber to assume a coordinating role in future work involving Kars, Iğdır, and other provinces.

Ghazaryan explained that the European Union-funded project is a civil society initiative aimed at improving economic, cultural, and social relations between Turkey and Armenia.

He noted that the project is being implemented through the cooperation of the Union of Manufacturers and Businessmen of Armenia, the Eurasia Partnership Foundation, the Hrant Dink Foundation, and the Economic Policy Research Foundation of Turkey. He added that positive developments are taking place between the two countries and that the opening of the border crossings is on the agenda.

Will the first crossing be through Alican?

Commenting on the current stage of the process, Ghazaryan said:

"The leaders of our two countries view these relations very positively and warmly. After the elections in our country, the process continues in the same manner. The opening of the border remains on the agenda. However, I must emphasize that we still have a lot of work to do. We now want the border to be opened so that we can work with you through direct connections. In September, we would like to host an important meeting in Yerevan with your participation. We are expecting guests from Kars, Iğdır, and Van. But I would like to stress once again that we want you to lead this delegation. We are holding discussions with the Ministries of Foreign Affairs of Armenia and Turkey. For the September meeting, we would like to welcome you through the Alican Border Gate. This will be a symbolic border crossing. And it will be businesspeople who make the first crossing."

Providing information about the purpose of their visit, Ghazaryan continued:

"We came here with a delegation of 16 people. However, we would like to host you with an even larger delegation. Our main goal here is to build a ship and travel together on that ship. We want joint companies to be established and for our business communities to trade together. This morning we had breakfast together. We began our first day by sharing bread."

Necdet Takva, Chairman of the Board of the Van Chamber of Commerce and Industry, expressed his satisfaction at the strengthening of the historical ties between the two countries. Stressing that trade is one of the most important instruments of peace and solidarity, Takva said that the role entrusted to the Van Chamber is a source of pride.

Stating that the Van Chamber is ready to assume every responsibility necessary to improve relations between the two countries, Takva told the Armenian delegation: "We have turned our face toward the East. The Van Chamber of Commerce and Industry is your home. We believe that through this cooperation, which we will build together, we will reach much broader geographies."

The delegation also visited Iğdır

As part of the visit, the Union of Manufacturers and Businessmen of Armenia also visited the Iğdır Chamber of Commerce and Industry. During the meeting chaired by Board Chairman Kamil Arslan, participants discussed the investment potential of the Organized Industrial Zone, the development of border trade, and possible cooperation between the business communities of the two countries.

During the visit, the Iğdır Chamber of Commerce and Industry was officially invited to the Turkey–Armenia Business Conference to be held in Armenia in September. The delegations concluded the program with visits to companies located in the Organized Industrial Zone.

About one month earlier, as part of the Armenia–Turkey normalization process, representatives of the Armenian business community crossed the Armenia–Turkey land border to travel to Kars, where they met with representatives of the Turkish business community.

My love for football swelled up with those publications. They were full of pictures and detailed captions depicting club matches in Europe. Names like Real Madrid and Dynamo, I first learned from there. Of course, like most children, I already loved and had played football on the streets of Qamishly long before seeing those printed pictures. It’s just that the magazines put a face on the players whose techniques we were imitating during our street matches, without knowing their existence. And their names!! Gente, Puskás , Yashin... Legends who became my personal heroes because of those pictures. I can not describe to you, for example, that image of Gente in mid-air doing what they called a double kick, a word that I learned from reading those captions.

I began this story with the intention of writing a second part about my grandfather Boghos. But midway, I feel that what I have written so far, has swayed me away from his story towards the topic of reading. So, I prefer telling about my grandfather another time.

I want to confess that books and reading in general were not of any extraordinary presence in my life as I was growing up, until I arrived in Canada at the age of 15 or so. Of course throughout my school years books were there and I read intensively because I was obliged to as a student. And I loved all the fiction and poetry I was asked to read. But, I wish my curiosity for books, and especially the classics, had began at a very early age just like many of my favourite writers claim it to have been in their case. Why? Because books nurture your imagination and constantly remind you about how sacred life and the human soul are. The earlier you discover that, the faster you come to appreciate the importance of human integrity. But I was more of a visual kind of boy. Outside school, films and pictorial publications or magazines filled up my free time, rather than serious fiction and poetry.

I want to tell a short story related to all this. My mother loved reading and during those last few years in Beirut, before our move to Canada, she used to go through books very quickly. We were alone...my brothers had left for Canada and my father had returned to Qamishly to work because his business in Beirut had gone bankrupt. My mother was sad with longing for my brothers. Reading had become a kind of consolation for her. Also she had more time, now that the family was smaller and her house chores less. I used to get her books from the library in the Azadamard Armenian club in our neighbourhood. They were all hardcover novels, mostly by Armenian writers but also there were sometimes French or Russian novels translated into Armenian. It is thanks to her reading passion that I first heard names such as Tolstoy, Hugo, and Dostoyevski. She loved Raffi most of all and especially his ‘Tavit Beg’ and ‘Khentı’. At the same time, I used to take out books for myself. They were mostly abbreviated/summarized Armenian translations of foreign novels. They were very intersesting as a discovery at my age...King Lear, Journey to the Bottom Of the Sea, Gulliver’s Travels, the adventures of Huckleberry Finn, etc, etc...

The young girl who used to take care of the library was very fond of me. I must have been her best ‘customer’ because of all the volumes I so often took out for my mother. She used to recommend many of the books for me to take home, every time I visited the library. I think I even had a crush on her at that age of 11 or 12 because of her attentiveness towards me. Also she was a beautiful young  woman. One day, as I was going to leave the library, she came around the desk with a tender smile and caressing my head she said, ‘you are a very impressive boy. I admire your passion for books. I don’t know any other boy who goes through so many books so fast’. I felt as if a bucket of hot water was poured over me. I must have turned totally red, first blushing because of her warm caress and then because of feeling responsible for this wrong image she had of me. I had never told her that the books were for my mother. I was shocked with the guilt I felt. After a long silence, I blurted out, ‘most of the books are for my mother. She is lonely and reading makes her feel better’! Lost in all the shame I felt, all of a sudden she raised my chin with her hand and gently said, ‘still, you are an admireable boy because you care about your mother!’

That’s what I call kindness.

The recognition by Isreal of the Armenian Genocide has nothing to do with the Armenians. In fact, Israel has been actively hostile against the Armenians, and especially in the context of the Armenia-Azerbaijan conflict over Nagorno-Karabakh, where it sided with Azerbaijan. Israeli government provided massive amount of armament that were decisive in the 2020 war, enabling Azerbaijani forces to destroy obsolete Armenian anti-air defences. Israel also provided Azerbaijan with lobbying in the US capital, introducing Azerbaijan to higher spheres of American decision-making circles. Only three years back, Israel was actively supporting Azerbaijan in its policies of conquest, destruction, and ethnic cleansing of Nagorno-Karabakh.

Nor does the Israeli recognition of the Armenian Genocide have anything to do with sense of justice. In a time when Israeli government is engaged in genocidal destruction of Gaza, ethnic cleansing in the West Bank, and destruction of hundreds of villages in South Lebanon, recognition of a past genocide sounds hollow and hypocritical, to say the least.

Then, what is this belated and strange recognition about? To unpack, one must understand why Israel resisted the recognition of the Armenian Genocide for so long. It had two reasons: one was Israeli alliance with Turkey. For decades, Israel provided lobbying service to Turkish government, especially in the US, at the detriment of Armenian demands for recognition and justice. Second and more important was internal politics, as Israeli leaders insisted that nothing should be compared to the Holocaust. Recognition of the Armenian Genocide, then, meant that Israel was not “unique”, that the suffering of European Jewry was preceded by comparable historic events.

Therefore, the recognition of the Israeli government of the Armenian Genocide is meant to serve as a weapon by Israel against Turkey in the context of rapid deterioration of their mutual relations. This means that Israel has declared that it will no longer lobby in favour of Turkish denialist policies, on the contrary, it might use the Armenian Genocide as an additional means to put pressure on Ankara. But this policy turn comes with a price: Israel is abandoning its “Holocaust-only” policy by recognizing Armenian Genocide, with unknown long-term consequences.

Whatever the impact of the Israeli policy choices, Armenian politicians have no interest in associating with them in any form. Israel is using the victimhood of the Armenians in its new power-struggle with Turkey, a policy that might change with changing circumstances. On the other hand, this shift reveals the limits of Turkish denialist policies. Turkish leaders had several occasions in addressing their own past record, during the rule of Turgut Ozal, or when Recep Tayyip Erdogan addressed his 2014 “condolences” to Armenian victims. Each time, Turkish leaders backed away and returned to their denialist policies, preserving this major problem to future opportunists to exploit.  

Dildilyans' migration to Greece

In 1922, when the Armenians who remained in Anatolia were forced to leave their homeland, the brothers Tsolak and Aram Dildilyan also permanently departed Anatolia. With less than 24 hours to prepare, they, hurrying to pack their belongings, chose to leave behind their personal possessions so they could fit hundreds of glass negatives into their suitcases. Traveling via Odesa and Istanbul, they arrived in Piraeus as refugees during the second week of November 1922. A few months later, Dildilyan brothers opened their first photography studio in the refugee settlement of Nea Kokkinia and successfully established themselves in the broader Piraeus market.

Activities in Greece between the two world wars

Having lost everything except their archive and expertise, Dildilyans began their photographic work by documenting the refugee settlements of Piraeus. Through their lenses, they recorded the daily lives, social events, and integration of thousands of Anatolian and Armenian refugees in newly established neighborhoods such as Kokkinia and Drapetsona. Dildilyan brothers did not limit themselves to studio portrait photography. They immortalized scenes of orphaned children arriving in waves and being placed in refugee camps, as well as their long wait for hours in Athens' Zappeion Park. Adopting a photojournalistic style, they documented the volcanic eruptions on the island of Santorini in late 1925 and early 1926. This was followed by a series of photographs taken after the devastating earthquake that destroyed the city of Corinth on April 22, 1928.

Following the death of the family's master photographer, Tsolak Dildilyan, in 1935, responsibility passed to the next generation, his son Hmayag and daughter Alice. Equipped with the craftsmanship and aesthetic values inherited from their father, they successfully operated the studio in Piraeus until the early 1950s, continuing to preserve the memories of both the city's Armenian community and the local population. Toward the end of the 1930s, with the opening of a modern studio on Panayi Tsaldari Avenue in Nea Kokkinia, the two siblings continued their work during a turbulent era marked by the rise of dictatorship in Greece and the spread of Nazism across Europe. World War II proved particularly difficult for Dildilyan family. During the great famine of the winter of 1941–42, the family struggled to obtain food. While the Gestapo arrested men between the ages of 14 and 60 throughout occupied Greece, Dildilyan’s studio managed to survive, although the years that followed exacted a heavy toll.

The final generation of photographers then moved to the United States. The family dispersed. While some members remained in Greece, others emigrated to France and the United States, taking the archive with them. The complete archive consists of more than 900–1,000 historical photographs and glass negatives. Spanning half a century of life (1888–1940), the archive reveals the lost world of Asia Minor, the horrors of the genocide, and the emergence of a Greece transformed by the arrival of refugees. With the retirement of Aram and Hmayag, Dildilyan family's nearly century-long photographic legacy came to an end.

A Photograph from the Archive: Miss Kokkinia 1931

One of the most fascinating photographs in Dildilyan Brothers exhibition hosted by the Yerevan History Museum is the portrait of Miss Kokkinia 1931.

Beauty pageants were among the most popular public events in Athens and Piraeus during the 1930s, frequently appearing on the front pages of newspapers and magazines. In the early 1930s, refugee settlements in Athens and Piraeus, including Kokkinia, Tambouria, Drapetsona, and Nea Ionia, organized local beauty contests. Young women sought not only to win local titles but also to claim the crown of "Miss Greece" as a way of escaping the refugee neighborhoods. Although living conditions in the Kokkinia refugee settlement were difficult, beauty pageants served as an avenue of escape, entertainment, and social advancement for young women newly arrived from Anatolia. While the people of Greece, caught between war and poverty, selected neighborhood beauty queens to the accompaniment of rebetiko music, it fell to Dildilyan Brothers to preserve these moments through photography. In 1931, the title of "Miss Kokkinia" was awarded to Georgia Hacistilyanu. Her photograph appeared on the commercial business cards used by the Dildilyan brothers.

At the summit, which aimed to strengthen logistical links between the two neighboring countries, both sides emphasized their determination to reopen trade routes that had been active in the past. In a post on his X account, Uraloğlu stated:

“While we have initiated the necessary maintenance works on our side, we also assessed the stage the Armenian side has reached in its preparations and tender processes. We discussed the process concerning the restoration of the Historic Ani Bridge, located on the Silk Road in Kars-Ani, and considered steps that will revive one of the important traces of our shared history.”

The Minister of Transport later made statements to journalists in Brussels.

Noting that he had also met with Armenia’s Minister of Territorial Administration and Infrastructure Davit Khudatyan, Uraloğlu recalled that they had met previously in Turkey, in Georgia, and subsequently in Brussels.

Uraloğlu said, “First and foremost, we have railway and highway crossings that were active in the past. We are increasing our cooperation day by day in order to bring these back into operation as soon as possible. There were maintenance works that needed to be carried out on both the roads and the railways. We have begun these works on our side. The Armenian side particularly stated that certain preparations have been made, tenders have been completed, and the projects are at the stage of commencing work.”

Recalling that Vice President Cevdet Yılmaz signed an agreement regarding the restoration of the historic Ani Bridge during his visit to Yerevan last month, Uraloğlu said, “Initial discussions on this matter have been held. We would like to hold a second meeting and move immediately to the tender stage. We are truly talking about a project that will also highlight the historical connection between our two countries.”

(Source: Anadolu Agency, Public Radio of Armenia)

Held at St. Antoine Church in Beyoğlu with the accompaniment of a chamber orchestra, the concert once again demonstrated the valuable support that the Ortaköy Foundation, the main sponsor, provides to the arts and made its contribution distinctly felt and appreciated.

Founded in 1909, the choir continues to bring both sacred and secular choral works from the past to the present through its distinguished conductors, musicians, and choristers. As someone who has followed its concerts for many years, witnessing its growth in both quality and scale is a great pleasure. This concert, too, was in many respects a cohesive event that offered its audience a genuine experience.

The concert’s title, graphic design, venue, and selected repertoire together created the atmosphere of a medieval night. As the Latin echoes of Carmina Burana and Requiem drifted among the church’s Gothic columns, the dim glow of candlelight made the experience even more complete. The chamber orchestra’s accompaniment added a distinct depth to the evening.

Works performed in Istanbul for the first time

The meaningful, innovative, and risk-taking part of the evening consisted of David Haladjian’s Im Luys (My Light) and Siro u Mahvan Yerkı (Song of Love and Death), integrated with the poetry of Rupen Sevag. One performed by the orchestra and the other by the choir, these works introduced us to contemporary Hay (Armenian) choral music through their emotional intensity and minimalist elements. The fact that both pieces were performed in Istanbul for the first time turned the occasion into a true moment of discovery for the audience.

Sibil Arsenyan, who has served as the choir’s conductor since 2022 and has earned affection and respect through her education, professionalism, and character, deserves thanks if only for including David Haladjian in the program and taking this courageous step.

Carmina Burana and Requiem

Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s Requiem were, of course, the highlights of the evening and the works in which the audience was most intensely engaged. Although they belonged to different periods, works by Gabriel Fauré, Johann Sebastian Bach, and Ahmet Adnan Saygun progressed in a fluid line throughout the night. Admittedly, the church’s acoustics and the balance between the orchestra and choir were more favorable to some works than others, and the seating arrangement occasionally made it difficult to connect with the choir. Particularly on the night of Thursday, June 18, the frequent interruptions for applause felt excessive for both the audience and the musicians. Nevertheless, none of this diminished the overall integrity of the concert experience.

“Can I applaud now?”

I have reflected upon, discussed, and internalized what it means to be a listener of classical music ever since my years at Boğaziçi University, my lessons with Evin İlyasoğlu, and my regular attendance at the Albert Long Hall Wednesday classical music concerts. That brief question that appears in one’s mind at the end of every piece, “Can I applaud now?”, and the small glances exchanged around the hall are an inevitable part of these concerts.

There is no need to make too much of it. Even in the program booklet of the ongoing Istanbul Foundation for Culture and Arts (İKSV) Music Festival, applause points are indicated with applause emojis, and pre-concert announcements remind audiences to follow this arrangement. In classical music, this approach involves perceiving a work as a whole and accepting that silences and pauses are also part of music’s breath, moments for reflection and preparation. Of course, there can also be exceptional moments when collective enthusiasm takes precedence.

At the beginning of the concert, Conductor Sibil, with a very appropriate reminder, asked the audience to be attentive during transitions between composers, while also emphasizing that enthusiastic and spontaneous applause should not be suppressed when it arises. At the end of the concert, it would be incomplete not to say that my ears longed to hear a prayer in Hayeren (Armenian) echo within those walls as well.

I remember, as a small child, falling asleep on the steps of the church’s vernadun (mezzanine) during my elders’ Friday evening rehearsals. I am one of those who know how much labor lies behind every beautiful concert night. Dance, music, song... For some of us, even the rehearsal itself is a blessing and a source of happiness because it makes artistic performance possible.

After that, making certain evenings unforgettable through special effort and sharing them with those who appreciate them is an entirely different kind of joy. The organization of this evening was completed thanks to the contributions of the individuals and institutions involved, the devoted work of the Vartanants Choir Administration and the Board of the Surp Vartanants Foundation, an engaged audience, and prayers and appreciation of our Patriarch. The Board of the Surp Vartanants Foundation made its gratitude and appreciation toward the Vartanants Choir visible through a commemorative plaque, while the Vartanants Choir similarly expressed its gratitude to the Ortaköy Foundation with a plaque presentation. When all these elements came together, the result was both a cohesive and impressive concert experience.

Congratulations.

Kurtulmuş also spoke about relations between Armenia and Azerbaijan. Drawing attention to developments in the Caucasus, he said the following:

“Karabakh, a territory of Azerbaijan, was unlawfully occupied by Armenians for more than 30 years. As a result of the victory achieved by Azerbaijan with great success, these lands have been liberated, and now the doors to a new era have opened in the Caucasus as well. I would like to express that we welcome and appreciate the peace negotiations being conducted between Azerbaijan and Armenia, which have achieved significant progress. We support this peace process in the Caucasus to the very end. I hope that, just as in the peace between the United States and Iran, a permanent, final peace will be achieved between Azerbaijan and Armenia in the Caucasus, and that these lands will remain a region where peace and prosperity prevail forever.”

(Source: Anadolu Agency)

States sometimes have exactly this kind of relationship with memory. When they cannot eliminate the truth, they push it beyond the borders of curricula, public memory, and everyday conversations, quite literally beyond a geographical frontier. Yet just like death eventually returns to the country in Saramago’s novel, truth sent into exile inevitably returns as well. Sometimes in a grandmother’s story, sometimes in a taxi driver’s question, sometimes in a friend’s anger. Or one day, in a question asked by your seven-year-old son.

One day, my son, who was in first grade, came home from school.

“Mom, we were born in Turkey, right?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Both you and me?”

“Yes.”

He was silent for a while.

Then he asked:

“Mom, Turkey is our enemy, isn’t it?”

For a few seconds, I could not answer.

“Who says that?” was all I could manage.

“Everyone,” he said. “My classmates, the older kids, their grandmothers and grandfathers... everyone.”

I tried to explain that countries can have problems and disagreements with one another, but people do not have to be enemies. He listened but did not say a word.

Time passed.

After returning from a trip to Istanbul, I asked him when he came home from school:

“Did you tell your friends about your vacation in Istanbul?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged.

“Just because.”

Peace, right now!

The burden on his shoulders became a burden in my heart. Because I could not say anything to him, I desperately shared this moment on my social media account. And at the end, like an incurable romantic, I added: “Peace, right now!”

Most of my friends agreed with me, but one friend, who also had a son of a similar age, responded:

“You may have been born in Turkey. You may not see them as enemies. But I will always tell my son who his enemy is.”

I could not be angry at this sentence. Because in this geography, people do not speak to teach hatred to their children; they speak to pass on the pain they themselves have lived through and to protect them from invisible dangers. It is, in other words, an effort to survive, rooted in deep trauma.

As I write these words, some of you may be thinking, “See? Armenians are raising their children to see us as enemies.” I attended an Armenian school in Istanbul. I learned Turkish history from official history textbooks. In those books, Armenians were described as people who betrayed the state and collaborated with the Russians. The deportation decision had been made for “security” reasons. You know the story: as circumstances changed, small “improvements” were made to the narrative. It was said that deaths occurred “naturally” along the way due to hunger or exhaustion; from time to time, “mutual suffering” was also mentioned. In fact, Armenians continued to be coded as a security problem for Turkey throughout the Republican period. I am talking about the few Armenians who remained, whose numbers steadily dwindled. But that is not our subject. Our subject is how memory is transmitted to children.

Just as the Armenia–Turkey normalization process and the opening of borders are being discussed; as mutual visits between peoples have become more frequent, and Armenian Prime Minister Pashinyan has softened his language in his April 24 speeches and taken risky steps that touch the raw nerves of society, such as removing the silhouette of Ararat from passport stamps; some of you may ask, “Why are you bringing up 1915 now?” Because the fact that official recognition of the genocide has been removed from the table as a prerequisite for starting relations is a tremendous opportunity. Now we can discuss the genocide not as a matter of political bargaining, but as an issue of humanity.

How did you survive?

As an Armenian from Turkey living in Yerevan, I experience a similar dialogue almost every time I get into a taxi.

“Where are you from?” they ask.

“I am an Armenian from Istanbul,” I say.

Then comes the inevitable second question:

“But you are Armenian, right?”

“Yes.”

Then, sometimes hesitantly, sometimes directly, they ask:

“So, how did you survive?”

Behind this question, there is always something else hidden:

“How did your family escape?”

Sometimes there is an even heavier implication:

“Did they survive because they were collaborators?”

Yet no genocide is total. Some people fled to the mountains, some survived by chance, and some were hidden by their neighbors. Perhaps we can begin the conversation precisely with these “good people.” No one should fear that these stories will overshadow the magnitude of the suffering that took place; the existence of good people does not make evil insignificant. On the contrary, it makes it even more visible. If there were people who hid others, then there were also people who had to hide. If some people saved lives, then there was organized persecution threatening those lives.

Without leaving hatred as an inheritance

States can sometimes behave like those people in Saramago’s novel who were helpless in the face of death. As in the novel, painful memories may be pushed out of the public sphere, and memory may be sterilized by state power. But covering up the truth does not make it disappear; it merely leaves the problem as a festering secret in the laps of future generations.

The question is very simple:

How many more generations are we willing to watch crushed under this heavy burden?

By the way, those who think that our primary motivation in asking Turkey to confront its past is only land or compensation are deeply mistaken. Of course, there are different opinions on these issues. There will always be small groups among Armenians who demand territory; there will also be broader segments that advocate compensation. These are matters that belong to the realms of law, politics, and international relations.

But beneath all these debates lies a deeper question: How will justice be achieved?

Because justice is not only about court decisions or documents signed between states. It is also about creating a sense, within society’s conscience, that what happened has been seen, heard, and taken seriously. And the path to that lies in being able to talk about it.

Perhaps one of the next steps should be for educators, historians, and people who work on memory from both countries to come together and discuss these difficult questions. There must be a way to tell the truth without denying it and without passing hatred on as an inheritance. Because sometimes the very act of being able to talk is more valuable than the outcome itself. Peace is not built only at border crossings; it begins in the lines of a textbook, inside a classroom, in a sentence spoken by a child. I want my child to spend his energy building the future, not defending or explaining the past. An honorable and lasting peace is the most natural right of the children of these two countries; for us, it is a debt long overdue. If a seven-year-old child is hesitant to tell his friends the country where he was born, then peace is still not an agreement to be signed by politicians, it is a problem that must be resolved in the lives of children.