ANJEL DİKME When we receive news of death, we generally ask, “How old was s/he?” That is because if the deceased is old enough to die (!) there is nothing to grieve for. To put it in Paulo Coelho´s words: "We leave the old dead behind just like we forget our umbrellas "... In the last couple of years, we have lost our old ones, one by one. This is the loss of a generation who taught us how to stand proudly against hard times, to have the ambition to take up life again and again with courage and dignity.... Harutyun (Artin) Göçer Born in 1926 in Sason, Göçer lived in the Simav district of Kütahya until 1950, after being forced to exile by the government in 1938 (when the government punished both Armenians and Kurds with exile following the Kurdish rebellions). After the conditional pardon issued in 1950, he began living in the Beşiri district of Siirt since he was prohibited to move back to Sason. In this district, they were under threat from their neighbors. They were warned that their wives may be kidnapped. On 5 March 1966, at half past eight, there was a knock on the door, and when Giragos Göçer and Orhan Göçer opened the door, they were shot to death by one of the villagers. The father and son were murdered on the same day. After this incident, the soldiers said: “We cannot protect you from now on. You should leave”. Thus all members of the family were forced to leave by train. Back again in Istanbul In 1966, the family began to establish a new life in Istanbul, opening a grocery store in Gedikpaşa and settling in their new flat.... Artin Göçer tried to make a living by hiding his Armenian identity but the people in the neighborhood soon found out. Once more, he was faced with pressure and discrimination. In 1990, he left everything behind and migrated again... This time, he headed toward France, a land that would hurt him most, since he didn´t speak the language, and was a foreigner. He moved to Paris and settled in Alfortville, known for its high Armenian population. Even at the age of 79, in the hottest hours of the day, with sweat on his forehead and a sledgehammer in his hand, he worked hard, in order to destroy the walls and provide wider spaces for his children to live in. With every blow of the sledgehammer, he seemed to add new soil to the land of Anatolia so that better crops may grow... This generation taught us the motto “Your word is your honor”. This generation taught us that you may begin life again and again by working hard and being honest... Our Uncle Artin was 81. He left 7 children and 12 grandchildren behind, without having the opportunity to plant his seeds in the garden... Lie in peace, Uncle Artin, this is a letter for you on behalf of everyone that loves you. We will plant our seeds in our garden, remembering you. And we will teach our children and grandchildren not to forget the dead in the same way we leave our umbrellas behind. Translated by Ahu Sıla Bayer |
Bu yazi Turkce olarak Agos'ta yayinlanmistir.
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