Hrag Vartanian who took the photo above wrote in his blog about the first year anniversary of the assassination of Hrant Dink. Hrag was the last person to interview Hrant before he was killed.

It’s a difficult thing. My background is fully ensconced in what this assassination represents. My Armenian family is from Istanbul, and left the country to flee a kind of persecution that is boiling under a seemingly placid surface, and rears its ugly head in tragic and violent moments like these.

I met Hrant Dink at an Armenian function in San Francisco a year before he was murdered and am outraged that his voice has been silenced. To speak up in Turkey can mean the signing of your own death warrant. But in remaining silent, you die a little each day, allowing the memory of your past to vanish into thin wisps of air.

Delays, delays. I have been away for a while, and just returned from a two week stay in Istanbul, Turkey. An extraordinary visit to the city where my family is from. I can say that I have an understanding as to how my family came to be the way they are. And why, in the end, they chose to leave and start fresh in America.

Istanbul is truly beautiful. I liken it to a massive San Francisco, with what some might call an exotic twist. I was surprised to find that I did not feel like a foreigner there. I’ve grown up saturated with elements of this culture — the language although I don’t speak it, the music, the food, the way people are. Armenians (Bolseh Hyes) living in this city are plentiful, and I found myself back home, in a sense. Loose edges in my minds were mended, and my identity makes more sense to me.

There is so much to talk about and share. But I’ll whet your appetite with a picture of the inside of the Hagia Sophia. (Pronounce it “Aya Sophia” please.) The Turks are realizing what a incredible historical treasure this old Greek Orthodox Cathedral-turned-mosque is, and they are now attemping to slowly restore the magnificent mosaics that they carelessly plastered over so long ago.

The 90th anniversary of the Armenian Genocide is approaching. On April 24th, 1915, the Ottoman Turks began their plan of systematic extermination of the Armenian people. 1.5 million Armenians were murdered, or sent on death marches. The atrocites that took place cannot even be described here. To this day, the Turkish government denies the Young Turk Party of the Ottoman Empire ever perpetrated the first genocide of the 20th century.

The US government at the time acknowledged the atrocities that were taking place. However, they have since backtracked and refuse to use the term Genocide to describe what took place. Reams and reams of international historical texts show eyewitness accounts and government documents which prove the horrors that took place were in fact Genocide. Yet foreign relations and strategic military bases take precedence over serious human rights issues.

At this time, France is the only country which has formally recognized the Armenian Genocide. Other European countries are calling for Turkey to admit the Armenian Genocide took place, before it can be considered for admission into the European Union. Turkey, in response, is stepping up its denial to even more astronomical levels.

Please take a moment to view iWitness, a short flash presentation of those who survived the Armenian Genocide. Links to stand alone versions for Mac and PC are also available on the site.

The environment ministry of Turkey has said it will change the Latin names of three native animals found on its territory, to remove references to Armenia and Kurdistan. It seems Armenians were linked to the wild sheep and the roe deer, while Kurds were compared to the red fox.

An Armenian girlfriend of mine, Sona, is taking Turkish language lessons in college. Like me, she was born here and her family is from Istanbul. There are two teachers that she is studying with, both Turks. One with whom she gets along with smashingly — and the other seems to not like her too much. Sona is rather fiery in personality, and isn’t afraid to bring up those issues that are often smoldering under the skin when it comes to Turkish/Armenian relations.

This past week when the not-so-likable teacher was in for the day, another student asked what the Turkish word for Christian was. Sona chimed in immediately, exclaiming, “Giavour!” Giavour in Turkish means infidel, or unbeliever, and has a particularly negative and degenerate tone. Christian minorities in Turkey, (Armenians, Greeks, etc.) are often placed in this category, and labeled as such. For Sona to bring up this issue so boldly, and in a class full of students generally ignorant of the history of the region, caught the teacher off-guard. She harrumphed and paused and blurted out, “Well……actually…….the correct term is…. Hristian.” However, Sona had succeeded in unveiling the blemished face of religious differences within the Turkish region.

You know it’s a damn good party when you don’t stumble into bed until 5:30 in the morning. Istanbul Armenians really know how to have a good time — how lucky am I! After having spent the last couple of New Year’s parties with non-Armenian friends, I had forgotten how much unabashed fun it is partying with “the clan.” Or, I realize that I had at least taken it for granted.

New Year’s was spent in Los Angeles at the party the Organization of Istanbul Armenians threw — or Bolseh-Hye Myoutyoun as it is more affectionately called. Quite fitting since some of my relatives from Istanbul are also here to visit, and it was a small reunion of sorts.

It really was the absolute perfect evening as far as these things go: fabulous plates of every kind of meze you could possibly imagine, coupled with the obligatory glasses of rakı. This followed by plates of kufte, pilaf, chicken and lamb. However I never made it past the meze, since the music had started and it was time to dance! First ones on the floor, of course. Leave it to Bolseh-Hyes to bring some Brazilian dancers to join and enhance the intoxication. Brushed up on my salsa and samba a little — I need more practice but, man! does it help having an excellent partner! The musical selections for the evening were superb with the perfect blend of Armenian, Arabic, Greek, Spanish, Brazilian, and YES, Turkish. Not one style was played more than the other, and we drank up every moment on the dance floor.

At an Istanbul Armenian New Year’s party, there comes a time late in the evening (1am?), when the steaming bowls of işkembe çorba arrive for your gastric pleasure. This potent soup of beef tripe, vinegar and garlic is supposed to clear your system, and prevent a floor-dropping hangover. Fantastic stuff, but may I warn you, it is to say the least, an acquired taste. Lap it up! Of course we also had the traditional New Year’s Armenian dessert anoush abour, with tea and a soothingly smooth, 15 year old cognac that my uncle brought for the celebration. Oh… the sweet contentment all of this brings!

The Bolseh-Hye party lasted until 3am when we were finally the last one’s on the dance floor. We finished up the evening at my uncle’s house, gathered round a roaring fire. My brother and Shant played some piano and guitar and, of course, there was more işkembe çorba to be had by all. And chocolate, and more cognac, and alour helvah, and yes, even left-over pizza.

There’s really not much more you could ask for when celebrating the new year. All I can say is, I’m damn lucky to have this family, and have this culture and history saturate my life.