Have you ever met someone you really like at a cocktail party only to discover that they are your forsworn mortal enemy by birth? Unless you're from the Middle East, Caucasus, Balkans or Africa, probably not. But I'm Turkish, so there's a good chance that will happen to me. And it did.
It's like an epiphany when you have that connection with someone, because it happens so rarely, and yet it seems like such a natural thing to have happened. The conversation somehow just starts up effortlessly and continues perfectly, your sense of humor and intellects match, you both look good all scrubbed up and dolled out for the party, and the hours fly away as the two of you forget about everyone else and create your own little mini-party. Her breasts press into you when she talks, you're funnier and more charming than you've ever been, she's more fascinating than anyone you've met. Life feels good and exciting and fresh and new. The music is great and it's as if it's playing just for you two. This has become your party... but then you realize that one of you is Turkish and the other is Armenian.
Record scratch. Chirping crickets.
Suddenly you're both awkward because whereas before you were thinking only about awesome sex (well I was anyway), you're now both in the uncomfortable position of having to think about genocide. Genocide is a buzz kill. Genocide is a killer of good moods and good vibes. Genocide is also, incidentally, a killer of entire nations. In this case, the Armenian nation. Fucking stupid useless genocide. Suddenly I feel less chirpy. In fact, I now feel guilty, because I'm from the nation that is believed to have committed genocide against her nation. Not that I killed anyone personally with my own two hands. But then neither did Hitler, when you think about it.
And... oh god, that's exactly what I'm doing. I'm thinking about Hitler. Nice.
There are three things that could happen at this point, and unfortunately none of them involves forgetting everything and reverting back to our previous state of flirtatious merriment. That's gone. Instead, we could get over the looking-at-our-shoes-and-nervously-sipping-our-drinks stage to start a cordial and innocuous conversation about the few good things we have in common from our history of mutual butchery, like food or music -- although that could also backfire and devolve into a bitter discussion about whether tarama salata is Turkish or Armenian. Anyway, that's option one, possibly risky but potentially manageable. Options two and three are far worse. Option two is that she can tell me about how her great-grandmother died in a death march to Syria -- which, thankfully, she decided not to do. Option three is that I mention how my friend's father was a diplomat killed by Armenian terrorists. Again, fortunately, I had the good sense to refrain from that. So instead we proceeded with option one, looking around nervously as we tumbled horribly back down that mountain of good connection we'd been climbing, and found ourselves back in the dreadful valley of small talk.
But there was hope yet. We could climb back up from here, we could put this stuff behind us. After all, wasn't it ridiculous that your nationality determine your personal connection with another human being? Sure it was. But just as we were laughing again, there comes my drunk friend to remind us that one of us was Turkish and the other Armenian. This kind of situation is very amusing to other people, drunk or not, because it is ironic to them. It's ironic that a Turk and an Armenian would be standing there drinking and having fun together when everybody knows that "Turks and Armenians hate each other, really really hate each other!", to quote my drunk friend then and there. And it is funny and ironic for others, but for the Turk and Armenian (or, for that matter, for the Israeli and Arab or the Serb and Croat or the Indian and Pakistani or the Korean and Japanese) those situations are just embarrassing and the last thing you want to do is go into that topic at all.
We both had to be very careful now, because someone had started a conversation about the very topic that we'd been trying desperately to tiptoe around for the last few minutes. But now someone had pointed out the stupid fat elephant in the room and we had to carry a conversation about it while remaining diplomatic. Needless to say, by now the buzz kill was well and truly complete; we were just trying not to let this possibly degenerate into a brawl. But that's almost impossible, especially when the next thing out of your stupid "friend's" mouth is "Why don't Armenians and Turks like each other anyway, how did that all start?"
The obvious answer to this question is "FUCK OFF AND LEAVE US ALONE!" But there were others around and this was a cocktail party, so that would not have been a viable reply, as tempting as it was. Actually, the situation is still salvageable if it's only you two and one other person there. But when another person can't help but overhear and join in with an inquisitive look to await a reply, you sort of have to answer that question.
I look at the Armenian girl, she looks at me. We share an expression that betrays a sense of worry that we're about to lose something forever and that we'll never get it back. There's still a connection there we don't want to lose. So I hazard a brave attempt at fending off this danger to a budding love. I think of the perfect thing to say, neutral, unbiased, objective... in a word, flawless. I prepare to speak, she looks at me with fear in her eyes... She thinks... no, she KNOWS, this cannot be done. It's impossible. Nobody can pull this off. But I can do it. I know I can do it.
"Well, the reason there is such animosity between Turks and Armenians is that..." her face was pale, her eyes were piercing, her whole body and being was focused on what was about to come out of my mouth. "... the reason is that, Armenians claim that in 1915..."
"CLAIM?"
FAIL! Two words in, and I'm fucked. I thought I had the perfect explanation, but I only got as far as "Armenians claim" and it was over. Poof. Magic gone.
So I try and salvage what I can, foolishly. But from here on in all you can do is just dig a deeper ditch in which to bury the carcass of new love. Now I'm thinking of carcasses, damn you genocide!
"Well, what I'm saying is that... uh, they say, they state, they, uh..."
"They?"
"Yeah, the Armenians... uh... they um... they aver that... in 1915 the Turks... I mean the Ottomans... or really actually the Young Turks, who were like the dictators of that time... uh, that they carried out a... well, uh, there was a deportation..."
"Deportation? Just a deportation?"
"Uh, yeah, but the Armenians claim is was a... a... a..."
"Genocide? Is that the word you're looking for?"
"Bingo, yes, that... is, yes, that's the, uh... word... that's a word, for sure and the word is geno..."
"Why are you stuttering?" She was looking at me now with a mixture of spite and anger, though not yet hate. Then the obvious question.
"What do YOU think it was?"
"Uh, me? Weeeellll... hmmm..." I was a dithering moron. And just then the worst thing happened. A Turk had overheard us talking and had now joined our circle, which swelled to five. I continued to babble an attempt at an answer with eyes flitting between the Armenian and the other Turk.
"I think it was, well... some people will say that Armenians revolted against the Turks and..."
"Oh, and what? Some Armenians revolted against the Turks so that's an excuse to uproot a million women and children and old men and send them on a death march into the desert? That's an excuse to wipe out a nation? That's an excuse for genocide?"
"Well... no... of course not... but... hm... uh, Turks will say it...uh..."
She knew exactly what was coming and she was waiting for it like a beast about to pounce on her prey.
"They say it wasn't a g... g... genooooociiiide..."
"WHAT?! AND YOU BELIEVE THAT BULLSHIT YOUR STATE HAS BEEN FEEDING YOU? EVERYBODY RECOGNIZES IT WAS GENOCIDE. THE EVIDENCE..."
"Well yes, ok, I was just telling you what Turks believe..."
This time the Turk was looking at me, incredulous that I would not also state unequivocally that it wasn't a genocide.
"So are you saying it COULD'VE been a genocide?" asked the Turk.
"Well... I mean, I guess the Armenians might have a point... I mean, why would you attack and deport women and children and old men if you're fighting armed rebels? And then there's the American missionary reports, reports from German officers, Henry Morgenthau... Uh... and there are no Armenians there left today... so, I guess..."
The Turk was furious arguing that all of that was propaganda, lies, deceit, the attempts at false information, part of the British and French and American attempts to defeat and destroy Turkey. I gave a summary of what he said because he spoke for a while. In any case, I had begun sweating through my shirt.
"I'm just saying that's what they say..." I said meekly.
"So then, I repeat my question: DO YOU BELIEVE IT WAS A GENOCIDE?" asked the Armenian.
"Yes, do you believe it was a genocide?" chimed in the Turk.
Were they now in league against me? I saw the contempt in their eyes, the contempt of those who are so committed to a belief that they would respect someone committed just as passionately to the opposite view more than they would one who felt no commitment to either. It was an alliance of zealotry between the Turk and the Armenian.
Oh no, another Turk joins in, and another! They're my acquaintances, but right now it's as if that acquaintance is irrelevant. I have to pick a side. Was it or wasn't it? Genocide or not genocide? The eyes all around, six pairs of eyes now all looking at me. The lines were all drawn in the sand, and there I was on the fence... or on the line, in this case... fence or line? Focus!
One of the Turks asked me if I was going to fall for Armenian propaganda and lies. The Armenian girl asked me if I was going to believe my government's propaganda and lies. The Turks said "deportation" and "civil war" and "traitors who fought with the Russians" and "they're the ones who massacred us". The Armenian said "genocide" and "massacres" and "systematic slaughter by the fascist Young Turks". They raised their voices at each other. Now everybody at the party was noticing us, wondering what the commotion was all about.
I looked at the Armenian girl. Despite the loathing in her eyes, she still looked at me like there was a faint, dim, glimmer of a hope for us. If only I would say the right thing. Then I looked at the Turks. They were looking at me as if to say "You can't be serious about this, come on man, decide, are you a traitor, a coward?". My drunk friend who started the whole damn thing was excited about it all and just enjoyed watching the spectacle. Others moved in. What do you believe? WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE? So I answered truthfully.
"I don't know."
There was silence. Then there were some sarcastic pffffffs and sideway glances with scrunched up mouths... The Armenian looked at me like I was spineless and ignorant, like I was on their side. "You don't know? YOU DON'T KNOW?" said her face. The Turks gave me exactly the same look, like I was a traitor. Their faces said "What? How could you? How could you even doubt?"
"I just don't know" I repeated, truthfully. "I do not know."
The people around us started to disperse, the Armenian girl said she had to get up early the next day and left the party. The Turks moved away. Their faces were all so bitter, so twisted, so hateful, both the Armenian's and the Turks'. They became ugly. It was as if a giant lemon had been squeezed all over their faces.
All except for my drunk friend who was to blame for this whole mess, funnily enough. He was Australian and obviously couldn't give a shit, so he found the whole thing amusing. Throughout the conversation I'd noticed his face kept the same sense of good humor and amiability right through to the end. I remember admiring it in the back of my mind as I stood there struggling just moments ago. I admired his detachment. It was just us two standing there now.
He smiled at me then offered me a sip of his whiskey.
"I didn't understand anything," he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. "But that sounded like the right answer."
