Çidem İnç: Driving into Van

 

I have a friend on Facebook.  His name is Stepan and he is an Armenian living in Turkey.  He is a musician.  He plays the saz and sings.  He is quite talented.  I enjoy seeing his posts, with his family, with his friends, and especially of him playing.

Stepan’s family never left or had to leave occupied Western Armenia.  He grew up there and is simultaneously Armenian and Turkish just as growing up in the US made us Armenian and American.  The main difference is that he is he is there and free to roam and enjoy the countryside and all aspects of the culture.

It is always the little things that make me realize I am in the diaspora.  On my first trip to the Republic of Armenia at a café on the first day, we ordered Cokes.  The waiter brought bottles and opened them at the table.  One of the caps flip-flopped right to where I was seated.  On the underside of the cap, written in Armenian, were the words “Grgin Portsir” or “Try Again.”  It was a stupid little product promotion thing, meaningless in any large scheme of things, but it was a reminder that I was in a place where the culture, the people, the government, and, well, everything was Armenian.  It was changing and evolving influenced by the more dominant neighbors like Russia, Iran, and even Turkey.  For good or bad, it was Armenian.  It was the perhaps the only and certainly the most Armenian place in the world.  I felt at home in the only Armenia that exists today, even though too many people oddly considered me an odar or foreigner.

On my one visit to Turkey, I was in Istanbul speaking at a conference on Supply Chain Management.  Upon arrival and just after checking in to the hotel, I walked around the neighborhood.  I saw shops that sold lokhum, Turkish delight, stacked in pyramids of every color and flavor imaginable.  I saw bakeries with fresh suboregi displayed in the windows with other boregs and breads.  I felt equally at home in the great city in a country that could have been where I was born.  I was not only considered a foreigner but also, if it were ever revealed I was Armenian, I might have also been viewed as scum.

Living as an Armenian in the diaspora, we are aware of the big things we are missing in our quest to maintain our Armenian heritage.  We are lacking and missing Armenian universities, self-determination, industries, and such that make and define a nation.  We are not living our culture fully as we might on our lands.  We are not evolving our culture as fast or vibrantly if we were in our own lands.  But, it is these little things, the everyday things, that always catch me by surprise.  These little things cause the most angst.

In a recent post, Stepan posted a video driving into or around Van.  There was a bridge with Van spelled out in neon or LED lights.  It was another one of those little moments. 

Van was a great and historic Armenian city.  First known as Tushpa, it was the capital of the Urartu Kingdom.  As the Urartu became Armenians, Tushpa became Van and a major province of greater Armenian.  It was a separate kingdom, called Vaspouragan, in the Middle Ages.  The Armenians of Van heroically defended themselves during the Genocide but suffered the same end as other Armenian cities:  massacre and exile.  Some of those who survived the exile made their way to America and many of those settled in Detroit where I grew up.  They were proud of their heritage and the Vaspouragan Society was a vibrant part of the Arnenian community

Seeing the Van displayed on the bridge reminded me that Van is no longer an Armenian city.  It is mostly a Kurdish city of a half-million people today.  There are no doubt crypto and hidden Armenians there whom I am sure that Stepan knows who they are.

Living here, it is so easy to think of the Armenian cities as they once were.  The reality is there are a scant few Armenians there and the population in any of these cities have moved on without us.  They have grown and thrived, since the Genocide.  Would we have erected the bridge?  Would we have adorned it with a sign?  We never had that chance.  But if we did it would probably read… Վան.