This is Mannig Dobajian-Kouyoumjian’s spine-tingling testimony of her own experience as a survivor of the Armenian genocide. Last year, she had asked her daughter Aïda Kouyoumjian from Seattle to write her story for the US Holocaust Centre. It is a moving witness, a powerful declaration and a sobering story of the pain and humiliation of one victim of this genocide-driven mass campaign. Yet, it is also a story of how our faith helps us when we are coerced to drink from the bitter cup, a reminder of how the tenacity of hope overcomes deep despair, and evidence of how the compassionate Arab and Muslim worlds helped Armenian victims and welcomed them into their families and hearths across the whole Middle East.

The Armenian Genocide: as historians have asserted on the basis of ample archival evidence, this first genocide of the 20th century was perpetrated by the Ottoman Turkish government between 1915 and 1923 when it systematically and relentlessly targeted and killed Armenians within its Empire. Ultimately, well over one million ethnic Armenians, who incidentally were Ottoman and later Turkish citizens, lost their lives.

As an Armenian born after this grisly period of our history, I often wonder how our forbears managed to persevere in the face of such immense suffering and adversity. Not only did they, their families or friends undergo the most harrowing experiences, they also managed to pick themselves up and rebound from the devastation of their orphaned situations. It is their intrepid steadfastness and their belief in their collective identity as Armenians, that we - the younger generations - can now lead our lives more freely and with more confidence.

But what does this say about modern-day Turkey on the day when Armenians commemorate the 94th anniversary of the genocide? Equally importantly, what does it say of those across the world who still resist tooth and nail the idea of genocide - any acts of genocide, be they the Armenian one or other subsequent ones - with denial, and who debase human life and dignity for spurious political and economic considerations? How can we possibly claim to defend a political order based on human rights and common decency on the one hand only to stifle it on the other? Do denialists not recall George Santayana, a principal figure in classical American philosophy, asserting that “those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it” (in The Life of Reason, Volume 1, 1905).
As the American NPR broadcaster Scott Simon wrote in ‘Genocide’ is a Matter of Opinion, there are times when one has to utter the word ‘genocide’ in order to be accurate about mass murder that tries to extinguish a whole group. That is why the slaughter of a million Tutsis in Rwanda is not called merely mass murder. This is also why any politician who goes to Germany, for instance, and describes the Holocaust of European Jews merely as ‘terrible killings’ would be reviled without mercy and even prosecuted without appeal.

After all, did President Obama not also assume the high moral ground during the US presidential primaries by stating clearly that the Armenian people deserved “a leader who speaks truthfully about the Armenian genocide and responds forcefully to all genocides”? Mind you, despite the high expectations and an air of suspense in the USA, this American president prevaricated in his Armenian Remembrance Day on 24th April when his written statement from the White House referred twice to the Armenian genocide as medz yeghern - translated literally as “great catastrophe” rather than “genocide” - and thereby joined a host of former US presidents who have relented from using the ‘g-word’. Is there a sad moral in this unfortunate recurrence? Is it that in a showdown between realpolitik and the truth, in other words between contemporary political expediency and the burden of past atrocities, the former seems to win most times? And if so, does this not sadly alert us - believers and humanists alike - how the values of our global world today often obviate words such as truth, conscience and honour?

24 April 2009: six years shy of a century and denial - no matter whether individual, collective or institutional - still contaminates the truth. Is it therefore not high time to put the record straight? Is it not time for Turkish officials to put jingoism, let alone misplaced pride or fear aside by recognising this unfortunate chapter of their Ottoman history during WWI? Is it not time for the Turkish judicial system today to stop invoking Article 301 of the Turkish Penal Code and charging reporters or writers, including the Nobel laureate Orthan Pamuk, with the risible crime of ‘insulting Turkish national identity’ simply because they refer to the massacres of Armenians as genocide? Is it not time also for Turkish President Abdullah Gül and Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdoğan to prove their EU-friendly credentials and reformist integrity by mustering the political fortitude let alone moral rectitude to acknowledge past aberrations? Moreover, is it not time for the world community to embark upon a veritable phase of genocide education by underlining the eight stages of genocide that culminate with denial - as elaborated by Dr Gregory H Stanton in his Eight Stages of Genocide in 1998 when he was president of Genocide Watch? Or as the chartered clinical psychologist Aida Alayarian elucidated in her book Consequences of Denial, does the denial of the Armenian genocide not deprive its victims the opportunity to make sense of their experience, as much as render Turkish society unable to come to terms with its past, and therefore with itself?

Such recognition is not solely for the sake of Armenians. After all, I consider this genocide a historically-recognised reality even if some governments dither, equivocate and refuse to admit to it for reasons that have more to do with political weakness than historical truthfulness. Rather, it is also for the memory of all those righteous Turks who assisted, harboured and supported Armenians during this wounded chapter of history. But as a firm believer in forgiveness and reconciliation, it is ultimately for the sake of both Armenians and Turks alike so they can begin the painful but ineluctable journey toward a just closure of this open sore.

I am busy multi-tasking this evening: I am sitting in front of my laptop listening to The Next Step, a weekly pod-cast with Fr Vazken as he leads his listeners into Holy Week and helps us overcome our crosses by understanding Jesus’ desire to walk in our shoes. I am also watching a Journey to Jerusalem, an imaginative Christian Aid project that accompanies thousands of men and women on a virtual journey through the Holy Land. With an input from people who have travelled in the region - and those that live and work there - we cyber-pilgrims have not only been visiting the biblical sites but have also been hearing what it means to live and witness in this broken part of the world and to toil for peace despite innumerable challenges. This virtual journey that culminates this week in Jerusalem began on the first day of Lent, 25th February, from the Mount of Temptation near Jericho and has already stopped in Bethlehem, Hebron, Gaza, Sderot, Jaffa, Tel Aviv and Nazareth amongst many stations. Along the way, there have been reflections on what Jesus’ example can teach us about making a difference in the world, and short You Tube blogs that have underscored the spiritual dimension of peace-building.

But why did Christian Aid undertake this journey? In a nutshell, it provides an opportunity to hear directly, from both Israelis and Palestinians, about their rich narratives of optimism and pessimism, of joy, fear, uncertainty, violence, suffering, frustration or ultimately hope. I suppose viewers would have their own special moments during this virtual pilgrimage. I was particularly gripped, for instance, by the virtual time I spent in Gaza and saw the devastation and discrimination suffered by ordinary Palestinians in this strip of land, or by the way one film-maker, Nour al-Halaby, challenged the stereotypes we bear in our minds of the peoples of this region. But I was equally inspired with hope when I watched a blog visit to Neve Shalom / Wahat al-Salam midway between Tel Aviv and Jerusalem as ordinary people laboured for understanding and reconciliation, or when I heard bereaved families who are part of the Parents Circle - Families Forum sharing their anxieties as Palestinians and Israelis who have lost kith and kin, and yet have come together to struggle for peace.

Let me paraphrase Simon Barrow, co-director of Ekklesia, a leading religion and society think-tank in England, who commented on this Journey to Jerusalem, by pointing out that it will contribute to the movement for hope and change in Israel-Palestine as well as open our eyes and hearts to what is going on in this land and its significance in human and spiritual terms. He also added, and here I quote, “This imaginative initiative captures the true spirit of Lent, which is not just about detaching ourselves from the selfish impulses which end up dividing human communities; it also positively unites us to the dream and struggle of ‘a new world coming’ in the midst of tension and fear.”

For me, Lent reflects multiple facets, but it is principally a period for meditation, mirroring the time Jesus spent in the desert, and on the Mount of Temptation, wrestling with the call on his life. So I see this virtual journey - with its comments, images, witnesses, and prayers from the likes of Revd Naim Ateek in different towns or villages - as another opportunity to introduce largely uninformed “pilgrims” to the faith-based truths and cutting realities in a Holy Land of two peoples and three faiths - Israelis and Palestinians, Jews, Christians and Muslims. In the political hurly-burly of all the regional conflicts, some of us tend to forget that Christians - the Living Stones that St Peter refers to in his first epistle (1 Pet 2:5) - are indigenous to the land, with co-equal rights and obligations, and are an indissoluble part of the wider universal Christian fellowship. We need to wake up to this fact, recognise it, not tuck it away or ignore it, and act accordingly in our lives.

Two thoughts constantly criss-crossed my mind whenever watching this virtual journey. The first is a powerful statement by an Israeli Jewish woman in one blog who underlined the deep-rooted difficulties of peace-building between Israelis and Palestinians but added that we should not give up hope, even if progress is as slow and frustrating ‘as taking water out of the sea with a teaspoon’! The second evocative thought is attributed to St Augustine of Hippo, reminding us that hope has two children: anger and courage, anger at the way things are in the world, and the courage to do something to change it.

Today, my own Lenten faith journey forces me to pause first in front of the daunting shadows of death on Good Friday (or, appropriately enough, al-joum’a al-hazina / Sad Friday in Arabic) to recall, sense and also mourn the heavy significance of the crucifixion. Otherwise, how can I truly move on toward the glorious joy of the Resurrection on Easter Sunday? But even now, the journey does not end with the empty tomb. This perplexing space of nothingness so replete with meaning is a living witness to the reconciliation between God and humankind, and yet also highlights our abject collective failure to date to make peace with each other. No surprise then if I recall Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount as he blessed peacemakers (Mt 5:9) and wish all Palestinian and Arab Christians in the Middle East and elsewhere a real - not virtual - Easter.

Being a peacemaker is part of being surrendered to God, for God brings peace. We abandon the effort to get our needs met through the destruction of enemies. God comes to us in Christ to make peace with us; and we participate in God's grace as we go to our enemies to make peace.
Glen H Stassen & David P Gushee, Kingdom Ethics

25 March 2008: five days ago, the Lebanese Council of Ministers unanimously decreed that this date will henceforth become a Muslim-Christian national feast day so that members of both faith communities come together annually around the theme of Together around Mary: Our Lady and exalt Sitna Mariam (St Mary, mother of Jesus). Given that both Muslims and Christians revere Mary in their respective holy books, albeit in different ways, this feast hopes to draw them together, and in so doing perhaps focus on what unites rather than what separates them. There are also plans to export this feast to Egypt, Morocco, Jordan, Poland, Italy and France next year as an innovative platform for inter-religious and inter-regional dialogue.

I liked this rather unusual idea, and I pray that that this Marian icon will manage to become an apolitical - or at least non-politicised - catalyst providing the foundation for a further coming together of all Lebanese communities. But the irony - and I suppose ultimately the strength - of such a project is that it has found its genesis in a country with so many tectonic confessional plates. It is encouraging that a resilient Lebanon of ever-decreasing cedars, increasingly busy these days gearing itself up toward the parliamentary elections of 7th June, can find the time, space and will to institute this symbolic feast.

Yet, important as religious symbols are for Lebanon, a more crucial symbol looms ahead in the shape of the results of the forthcoming elections. They would elicit the alliances and political forces of the two respective political coalitions of 8th March and 14th March and perhaps even trace a trajectory for the future course, development and possible re-alignments of the whole country as politicians change camps, consolidate their gains or suffer their losses.

This is why a closer look reveals myriad tensions, uncertainties and spats underlying political structures. In fact, feuds can be witnessed during almost every meeting of the Lebanese cabinet whose current template for governance was drafted by a finite Doha Agreement and which at times reflects more a sense of disunion than of union. The two major political blocs busily vie for influence, with the electoral lists of candidates in different constituencies - especially in critical ones such as the Metn - proving hard to put together because everyone pushes their sectarian affiliations at the expense of the larger good.

Interestingly enough, the Armenian Tashnaq party has now assumed the role of kingmaker in this mêlée: their seats in Beirut, the Metn and Zahlé could together tilt the balance of power between the two coalitions. No wonder then that politicians from both blocs, let alone from within the same blocs, have feverishly canvassed for their votes. Armenians, who number around 150,000, would probably sway the results in the Beirut 1 district (including Achrafieh, Saifi and Rmeil) where most Christians live today, However, the three Armenian parties (Tashnaq, Ramgavar and Henchak) who do not always see eye-to-eye politically should also be prudent with their choices and examine the consequences of their alliances or any breach of their historical neutrality and long-standing support for the incumbent presidency.

But the disagreements in the cabinet - whether over the national annual national budget and the amount to be allocated to the Council for South, over judicial appointments, over the national dialogue under the auspices of the president or even over the location of ministerial offices and telephone wiretapping - are all sapping the strength of the country and fomenting quite dangerous polarisations amongst its diverse communities. Lebanon is a tinderbox, and there is always the fear that a minor event could catapult the whole country into a major confrontation. Still, perils notwithstanding, nobody seems capable to take bold visionary decisions or make concessions at this critical stage without the risk of alienating their constituencies.

Interestingly enough, I realise that a majority of the Lebanese population of all hues and backgrounds are well-meaning and hard-working, let alone canny enough to suss out their leaders’ agendas. Yet, their populist hopes are negated not only by the inveterate ambitions and confessional nature of Lebanese politics, but also by this bizarre political setup in a Lebanon whereby the majority and opposition parties are meant to work together consensually. They sit together around the same cabinet table and participate collectively in the decisions of government. Yet, their interventions are more like endless filibusters that simply arrest any decision-making process. Besides, what aggravates the anomalous situation further is that the minority parties within government retain their veto on all decisions through their one-third blocking votes in cabinet. In other words, any cabinet decision can easily be unmade or frozen. One wonders how any constructive democratic decision could then be taken as each side checkmates the other with glib ease. I do not think I have ever come in my constitutional studies across any system of governance that places the winning and losing sides together in government.

But let me go back to the elections. Overall, even when factoring into the equation all those questionable nominations that occur via what the PSP Druze leader Walid Jumblatt described as “asphalt bulldozers” (political favours made to gain voters’ support that include paving roads), the numerical results of the ballots are more or less clear for the Sunni, Shi’i and Druze constituents. But they fall apart quite sharply in relation to the constellation of Christian parties. So what happens with the Christian vote is crucial in defining the future Christian presence in Lebanon - not only as an essential fabric of Lebanese history and plurality but also of regional Eastern Christian presence - and in underlining its future witness. For instance, despite his repeated assertions to the contrary, I believe that the FPM movement led by General Michel Aoun who sees himself as the Christian tsar is losing some ground and seems less likely now to become the undisputed Christian party in the next parliament - certainly not when his former ally, the Greek Orthodox Michel el-Murr, claims that he is no longer with Aoun, and when State Minister Nassib Lahoud busily consolidates his independent but largely pro-14th March platform.
In addition, the outspoken patriarch of the Maronite Church has also been admonishing the parties to be cautious and the voters to be wise with their choices. On 16th March, this ageing and increasingly less relevant church leader warned that “voters must know who they will be choosing to defend their basic rights... They must not forget the proverb, ‘whoever buys you shall sell you.’” But the influence of the church has been in steady decline and Maronite politicians are increasingly breaking ranks with it. As such, it will be interesting to observe how the ballot box will address intra-Christian rivalries and transubstantiate the results of the elections into hard facts that can then be exercised peaceably on the ground.
As important, and arguably more decisive than the parliamentary elections, is the proceedings of the forthcoming Special Tribunal for Lebanon that will convene in The Hague to examine the assassination in 2005 of former Prime Minister Rafik Hariri - father of House Majority Leader Saad Hariri. The four generals in custody suspected of involvement in this assassination are meant to be transferred to the court in The Hague soon so their innocence or guilt is determined by the panel of judges. A Memorandum of Understanding between Lebanon and the Special Tribunal coordinates the flow of communication between both sides. In a rare interview recently, Daniel Bellemare, the Canadian general prosecutor for the Special Tribunal, told the Canadian television programme Envoyé Special that “no phantoms planted the bomb to assassinate Hariri. There were real people behind the bombs, and we are capable of finding them.” As such, the repercussions of this trial - barring any violence - could be quite acute, more so since Rafik Hariri’s murder and of a host of other bombings and assassinations is what put in motion much of the developments in Lebanon over the past four telling years.
When one speaks of Lebanon, of elections and tribunals, one cannot overlook the Syrian influence that has overshadowed this country since the Taëf Agreement (Document of National Accord) of 1989. Despite all the recent international moves to transform Lebanon and Syria into independent states with normal diplomatic relations, the Syrian regime should strive to improve the situation further by facilitating the process of disengagement between the two countries. Although ambassadors have been exchanged for the first time in the history of Syro-Lebanese relations (Michel el-Khoury for Lebanon, and Ali Abdel Karim Ali for Syria), scant effort has been deployed to date to resolve the thorny issues of border demarcation, Lebanese detainees in Syrian custody, and the disputed territory of the Sheba’a Farms. Only today, at the 21st Arab Summit in Qatar, the Syrian president postulated mechanisms on how to manage intra-Arab disagreements but did not define on how to solve them. So many pundits await the next set of Syrian moves as they will not only impact Lebanon but also the geopolitics of the wider region. However, it is clear that the constancy, sharpness and shrewdness of Syrian foreign policy are now yielding dividends. After all, Syria is being courted by France, the USA and Saudi Arabia - which had opposed it vociferously in the past - and has also resumed its role as maker or breaker of deals. What happens in the future is relevant, since the Syrian stance could heavily affect not only Lebanese independence, sovereignty, territorial integrity and prosperity, but also other regional factors including Iran, Palestine and to some lesser extent in Iraq.
Last week, the Lebanese parliament approved a draft law to allow voting rights to 18-year-olds. If the government approves this draft law within the statutory period of four months, it will enable the younger generations to vote in the 2010 municipal elections. Although some key players are concerned that this measure could well create a demographic power imbalance in the country, I still regard it is a positive step and hope that Nabih Berri’s Parliament and Fouad Siniora’s Government would act in concert - and in the same vein - when tackling other pending issues too. Perhaps Lebanese politicians would heed President Suleiman’s recommendation for the establishment of a Senate according to Article 7 of the Taëf Accord - later integrated as Article 22 into the Lebanese Constitution. The Taëf Accord had envisioned a bicameral government, with parliament elected on a non-sectarian basis and sectarian representation being relegated to the second chamber.

In my contacts with Lebanese colleagues and friends, I am constantly amazed by the flexible and enterprising nature of the Lebanese character. Despite bloody wars and a surfeit of doom and gloom - so much so that many younger generations are still traumatised by it - the Lebanese psyche remains quite robust and its entrepreneurship manages to re-build the country after each calamity. Just look at how the Central Bank of Lebanon is managing to sustain the stability of the financial market when richer countries are almost up against the wall as they heap billions into creating uncertain fiscal stimulus packages.

Today, despite my self-confessed pessoptimism, I would argue that the Lebanese file stands a chance for building a peaceful national compact so long as good will and good faith join hands to serve the interest of the Lebanese people and their public institutions. But would realism in Lebanon help set its spirit free, or would it muzzle itself with more tensions?