Speaking to One Another - The International Raoul Wallenberg ...

The Charm of AraratMehmet is a 62-year-old man born in an Azeri village in Iğdır, a city on the slopes of Mount Ararat. Henarrates the history of his village: “My people migrated to this side during the war with the Armenians.My father is from Azerbaijan, and my mother is from Iran. A slaughter, a war took place there, which iswhy my paternal grandfather escaped to this side.” It is the magnificent Mount Ararat, situated at theborders of four countries, that shapes Mehmet’s own life, as much as it did the lives of his ancestors:“During that period there were intense border conflicts. Our village, Iğdır and Mount Ararat were constantlychanging hands. For example, one face of Greater Ararat would come to belong to Russia, theother face to us. One face of Lesser Ararat belonged to the Iranians, and its other face to us. A mountainis not an apple you can divide into two, saying one half is yours and the other mine.”The Aras River was the border of fearMehmet expresses the effect the border had on people on both sides using examples from his own life,making a distinction between old and new generations: “Our people came over to this side because ofthe conflict with the Armenians. These are historical events. But the perpetrators are not alive. I wonderto what extent today’s Armenian generation resembles those of the past, or to what extent we resembleour grandfathers back then. I spent my childhood on the banks of the Aras River. The Aras is all there isbetween us and the Armenians; the border. It was the border of fear. Russia was feared. My mother couldnot say “Russian,” she would say otay. In the Azeri language, otay means “the other side of the water.” TheArmenians were not seen as a source of evil. My mother was always hoeing the cotton fields on the shoreof the Aras. When she stood up, she would see the men and women over on the Armenian side, aboutthis close to her. It was like a neighborhood. Rice used to be grown in Iğdır years ago. We had buffalosto do the heavy work. After working the field with them, my father would say ‘son, go and take them tograze, but be careful, do not let them cross to the Armenian side.’ In the heat of July, after cooling themselvesin the river, our buffaloes would get out and start to graze in fields over on the Armenian side, asif they were born and bred there. You cannot tell them this is Armenia, or about the wars in the past. Wewere scared, of course. We would be crying over on this side. For our father used to beat us. They wouldsee us crying and shrieking from the other side, where they were working in the fields just like us. Theywould drive the buffaloes over to this side and we would jump with joy. Thinking about it now, thosepeople could have just taken the buffaloes. The Armenians that my father used to describe were peoplewho were armed, aggressive, hostile, murderous. I think of the kind of people who would drive the buffaloesover to this side and would have to ask myself if these could really be their sons and daughters.67