The ground is trembling beneath our feet, yet we are still dancing

The world is once again in turmoil: in multiple locales, war is provoked by powerful states; elsewhere, nations face the threat of new wars. In yet another place, there is a massacre on display before the eyes of the world: a genocide against defenseless Palestinians, who have lived for nearly 80 years as captives on their own ancestral land. Within me lives the never-fading presence of the genocide committed with the same savagery against my own nation, awakening disgust at both the perpetrators and indifferent bystanders.

Disgust at a world that watches silently as unarmed, peaceful people are killed, starved and humiliated on their own soil. Children cry for a drop of some solution called “food,” waving empty pots in the air, their eyes filled with horror, their dignity stripped away, their humanity annihilated. The merciless slaughter extends even to those who stretch out a helping hand — foreign doctors, distributors of international aid, journalists and photographers — who reveal the true details of daily mass killings.

This disgust is not directed at those suffering — the people whose homes are bombed, who flee for safety, who endure unimaginable loss — but at those who orchestrate this destruction, who claim power over nations, who decide the fate of peoples and who proclaim themselves almighty. 

I feel particular revulsion when I see Armenia, a nation that endured genocide 110 years ago and only five years ago suffered massacres and territorial loss, remains largely silent as Palestinians are slaughtered. Have we not endured the same catastrophe within our cells, that unquenchable pain of our ancestors? Every farsighted Armenian understands that we too face threats to our lands, our rights and our future. 

In the memory that lives within me is the genocide committed by the Turks against my ancestors: driving us like herds of animals from place to place, subjecting us to the same starvation and humiliation. It still lives within me, even though 110 years have passed and I did not personally endure that horror. What my family lived through has become an inseparable part of my being. And since I am Armenian, I am the heir of my people’s distorted national identity, a legacy forged by great powers — one I cannot escape no matter how much I may wish.

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It turns out that centuries are powerless to erase lived horrors from the memory of human cells — that cellular memory is stronger and more enduring than the dictates of the brain or the demands of the stomach. This is why the biography of the descendants of the genocide begins instinctively before their birth and continues, extending into the lives of their offspring. It is no accident that people remain interested in each other’s nationality, for it carries within itself both a face and a history.

Though I was born at the end of the Second World War, I already had a biography before my birth, independent of my own will, and I have always felt obliged to begin from there.

I was born in Aleppo. Though I have never reconciled myself with that fact, I remain grateful both to that country, to that city and to its people, for it was the first refuge of the survivors of the genocide of my nation, of my family. That country, despite its indescribably harsh economic and political circumstances, received, aided and restored to life my half-dead, starving people.

I cannot reconcile myself with being born there, because in truth, in a peaceful world, I should have been born in Marash, that ancient city of Cilicia, where my mother and her father’s family were born. Or in my father’s birthplace, Alexandretta. Or in the birthplace of my grandmother’s family, Sebastia (Sivas).

Yet, the policies of the great powers: Germany, England, France, Russia, the U.S. — designed to protect their own interests and those of Turkey — not only deprived my people and their descendants of living on their native land, but also deprived me and my future generations of the right to live on our ancestral soil.

I know that in today’s world, my accusation or my irreconcilability may seem strange to many, especially to those born outside the homeland. For today, the very concept of the influence of land and place has vanished, though the destructive politics of the powerful, guided by their own interests, have not disappeared.

Humanity has become rootless, landless, like a single-celled organism, growing wherever it is displaced. Even if it lands in one of the great powers that have wrought destruction on its homeland, it forgets its vanishing roots — its nationality, its land, the life-giving sap that nourishes it. It feels blessed under the protection of that powerful state, even if it remains a victim, stripped of its national face, its inner essence and most often, its language.

Whether consciously or not, displaced people often align with powerful states that once harmed their homeland, accepting new identities and the surface-level narratives of “improvement” or “democracy,” while losing touch with their roots. I do not belong to that group. I reject becoming merely a number in a foreign land and the justifications offered for the destruction and displacement of peoples.

Had there been no genocide against my people, had my parents not been born during the years of genocide and had our land, Western Armenia, not been seized by Turks, naturally, both my birthplace and my essence would have been different. I would have been born in my own country, and my being, my way of thinking, would have been shaped by the steadfast determination of belonging to and possessing that land. That feeling is foreign to me now.

The treacherous policies of the great powers deprived me of that feeling. Therefore, I ceaselessly and restlessly probe both our history and world history, searching within their “justifications” for even a single convincing argument for subjecting us to deprivation, for believing their promises of “peace treaties.” Finding none, I remain true to my principle, clinging to my roots.

Today, the nation that deprives an entire people and their descendants of their identity is Israel. It is appropriate here to recall the Armenian proverb, “Let me get my footing, and then see what I will bring down on your head.” Yet, Palestine had nothing whatsoever to do with the holocaust of the Jewish people, and instead of Germany, it is Palestinians who have become the target of their vengeance. As the saying goes, “For the strong, it is always the weak who is guilty.” This has been, and remains, the slogan of the powerful.

Will this slaughter and humiliation, aided by those self-proclaimed “humanitarian” states that claim to defend the rights of peoples, be erased from the cellular memory of the Palestinian people who, like us, survive only by chance?

When asked why especially Palestinian children are being killed, Israel’s Minister of Defense openly declared before the world: “We kill them so that our children may have a safe life in the future.”

So that their children may have a safe life in the future. Do you hear this, Alen Simonyan, Nikol Pashiyan and your followers? They are certain that this terrible massacre and humiliation will not be erased from each surviving Palestinian child, orphan and youth and generation yet to come. It is already in their cells and, one day, it will rise and take revenge. The genocide committed jointly by the Turks, the English, Germans and French against my ancestors lives on in me, stored deep in my memory and as strong as ever, even after 110 years.

This is why, within me, this memory has also taken root, becoming a sticky sediment — the massacre committed 37 years ago against our compatriots in Artsakh, Sumgait and Baku, with the same humiliations and savagery that went unpunished.

And now, erupting like a volcano, comes the massacre agreed upon just five years ago between our country’s hired ruler and the enemy: the shameful surrender of Artsakh, liberated at great cost, to the adversary. That same enemy had for 34 years groaned, searched for means and carried out futile assaults to tear away even a fragment of its coveted Artsakh — until, by the command and direct assistance of the powerful West, a semi-literate, power-hungry, treacherous nonentity appeared, declaring his readiness to offer unconditional service to those who wish to destroy us.

Israel destroys the indigenous Palestinians and drives out the survivors so that it may have land to expand and grow stronger. We, Armenians, hand our country over to the enemy as if it were its centuries-old possession. How is our country’s leader different from the perpetrators of genocide? His crime against his own nation is no less a form of destruction and is worthy of the highest condemnation.

Is it accidental that no country pays attention to the complaints of our humanitarian organizations, to the pleas to punish Azerbaijan or to free prisoners? Everyone knows the truth: that it was our authorities who surrendered the country to remain in power; that they handed over Artsakh’s political leaders and displaced its people.

They also know the origin and the “victory” of this pitiable regime’s so-called “Velvet Revolution,” how it seized power. Our people must understand that in a country like ours, taken captive, it is the masters who choose, not the people. There is no need to look for new ones. I advise our society to sober up and follow the enemy’s news more closely than the lies concealing our government’s reality. The enemy does not need to lie.

110 years ago, we also did not believe the declarations of the Turks who planned our destruction. Instead of thinking and organizing, we continued our celebrations.

Today, our people are terrorized, brought to their knees and silenced by the threat of war. Few notice that the enemy no longer needs to wage open conflict to achieve its aims because the current government satisfies many external demands immediately and beyond.

Fortunately, new media outlets and independent journalists, risking their lives, along with progressive thinkers, professors, lecturers, military figures and commentators, defy every danger and expose the realities of wars instigated under false pretexts to serve dominant states. They reveal previously committed and ongoing crimes to the world: destroyed countries, hundreds of thousands killed, displaced populations torn from their land — creating a new breed of wandering humanity.

All this is done to awaken the bewildered, to rouse people in general, so that they will no longer believe the justifications for deceitful wars, will not be persuaded by toxic propaganda, and will stand by their identities and their countries — especially those, like us, who have already fallen into the enemy’s trap.

The emergence of newly powerful countries and their alliances for peaceful prosperity has begun to shake the foundations of the former great powers, who will use every means to retain their influence. And that means new wars, new losses.

This warmongering logic, of which we are successive victims, spares even its own citizens when convenient. For many years, it has slowly undermined our state, imposing a destructive Armenian leadership. Now, for the sake of its aims — the destruction of its greatest rival — it drags us into surrendering the last scrap of our territory, the Zangezur corridor and into our final annihilation.

And what are we doing?

Perhaps the serious thinkers have vanished from the country, leaving the field to a herd of opportunists whom we, their captives, meekly follow to see what further devastation they will wreak and what new orders they will carry out.

No matter how the current regime uses the law to silence those who expose its anti-national policies, warn the people of danger or seek to unite the nation — and no matter what sanctions it imposes to stay in power — the people still see it. It can no longer be hidden: the authorities serve the enemy, and it is unforgivable that people remain silent.

It is unforgivable that the nation has been silent — and remains silent — about its justifications for changing the country’s Declaration of Independence. The present Turkey-friendly regime has allegedly attempted to alter the Republic of Armenia’s Declaration of Independence of August 23, 1990, the cornerstone of our restored Second Republic. The people do not ask what right the enemy has to demand changes to the Republic’s Declaration, its Constitution or the nation’s symbols.

After all, the Republic of Armenia has not fought a war ending in defeat and surrender. According to government statements, the country’s borders have not been “changed” and the current government insists that the state is sovereign.

Although, since 1990, one of the national goals recorded in the Declaration has been the international recognition of the Armenian Genocide, this priority was disregarded by the first president, Levon Ter-Petrosyan, and that neglect continues to this day.

Naturally, the current Turkey-pleasing regime, in line with its internal aims and at the enemy’s demand, is gradually erasing the fundamental provisions forming the indissoluble part of our independent state to free itself from responsibility. This is why people have no right to remain indifferent — it concerns the integrity of their country.

I want to emphasize that Artsakh is an inseparable part of Armenia; it is Armenia and nothing else, as are Syunik, Armavir, Ararat — all that has belonged to the Armenian people for centuries. Enough of declaring a pretext of war against Artsakh.

The enemy does not fear what it has obtained easily and calls its homeland. We, however, immediately renounce our age-old homeland, for which hundreds of thousands of lives were sacrificed to liberate, turning war into a cause to ignite.

Wake up. Enough with covering the actions of these traitors with a veil of concealment.

Until we bring the guilty to justice, the condition of our country will remain the same. No matter who comes to power, they will continue the same policy. In 2008, we witnessed the humiliation of attempts to reconcile with Turkey without conditions. Though the reconciliation was prevented — thanks to the resistance of the people, especially the diaspora — it nonetheless resulted in “Football Diplomacy,” when the Armenian football team played at home without the Ararat emblem on their uniforms.

We did not experience national outrage; no one was held accountable, no one demanded an explanation. The people swallowed it and quietly continued their daily lives, growing day by day more resentful of their leader from Artsakh.

If, in 2008, it was a voluntary act of flattering Turkey, which the people accepted with indifference, then 17 years later, another leader — no longer a hated Artsakhtsi — proved his unquestioning loyalty to his superiors, carrying out orders with precision and removing the national Armenian symbol Ararat from passport stamps. Yet, with his arrogance, he dares to justify the implementation of the imposed order with trivial pretexts.

I grieve even more for our mountain, which is not only occupied but subjected to endless tugging and torment by its own country, in its own soil, much like our fate. It turns out that not only is it difficult to be Armenian, but it is also equally hard to be part of Armenian nature, full of trials.

It is terrifying that the people have made peace with all this and calmly continue their dances and celebrations. Meanwhile, the world is in restless commotion: old terrorist groups and new power vacuums create states of lawlessness in formerly stable regions. We still have a widespread diaspora in those countries. We have institutions, wealth and a growing generation. How can we ignore all this? Who will look after our compatriots if not our own country? Certainly not the current enemy-serving authorities.

The world is witnessing a new form of captivity and destruction offered to Palestinians under the name of peace. The three-year war in Ukraine, driven by geopolitical rivalry, continues and raises the danger of a third world war.

Everyone is arming, except us. At the enemy’s command, our already pitifully equipped military capacity is being reduced, further proof of our captive condition. From the perspective of those who benefit, they act correctly: we do not need defense if guardianship from outside powers replaces it. The enemy is an enemy, and that is that.

Our country’s leader fears raising the issue of prisoners on international platforms, refuses to pronounce the true name of our most important territory — the Zangezur Corridor — and denies it, all to demonstrate his unreserved loyalty to new masters by publicly displaying political, state, human and national ignorance. Even then, he remains intoxicated with recognition from those masters, who themselves confuse the name of our country with Albania.

Do our people not understand all this? Do they not feel that we are no longer an independent state? Under the current authorities, and therefore for all of us, our very breath is in the enemy’s hands.

The founders of our first state did not sacrifice their lives or endure prisons and exile for us to hand ourselves over to the enemy today through dancing. Enough of waiting for salvation from Europe or the mighty U.S.; we are their immediate victims.

Who are these hired hands who freely undermine and destroy the country that belongs to us, to our children and grandchildren? And an entire nation, rendered powerless, waits for its fate.

Are we not tired of being the victim? Who are we waiting for now?

I cannot allow my grandchild, who grew up Armenian with great difficulty in a foreign land, to continue living there like me — forever searching for his identity, sinking into himself, unable to feel the power of his native soil under his feet.

Enough. Stop and feel the movement of the earth sliding beneath your feet. Hear the country’s plea. Fear the curse of future generations. We are depriving them of the irreplaceable national strength of having a country and feeling ownership of it.