Conscience and History

Justice, Martin Luther King, and the Armenian Genocide.

by ARAM GOUDSOUZIAN

“Conscience asks the question, is it right?" —Martin Luther King, Jr.

Sometimes it confuses people. Honestly, sometimes it confuses me. How did an Armenian guy from the suburbs of Boston become a historian of the black experience, living in the South? The short answer: partly by accident, partly by luck, and mostly out of an impulse to tell stories. What makes us who we are? African American history helps answer that question.

While helping to tell Karnig’s story,
I thought about the lessons of the civil rights movement.

Lately, I have been considering the connections between African American and Armenian history. On one level, these histories are nothing alike. They both have tragic watershed events— slavery in one case, genocide in the other—but they occurred at different historical moments, stemmed from different kinds of exploitation, and had different impacts. In such cases, historians are generally cautious to make sweeping comparisons.

And yet—what makes us who we are? I am not a historian of Armenia, but I am a historian, and I am Armenian. I jumped at the chance to serve as editor of Karnig Panian’s Goodbye, Antoura: A Memoir of the Armenian Genocide. I bore a personal burden to do so, but I also saw the great possibilities in Karnig’s evocative language, resilient spirit, and incredible journey. It speaks to us today, a full century after he was uprooted from his village, marched to the deserts of Syria, watched his family die, and somehow preserved his body and soul through a long stint in an abusive orphanage.

While helping to tell Karnig’s story, I thought about the lessons of the civil rights movement. By the 1960s, black protestors had built upon a legacy of resistance, finally capitalizing on a particular historical moment. They compelled a public reaction that shook Congress and the White House, ultimately reshaping American culture and politics. One of the most remarkable aspects of this movement is how it inspired other quests for social justice, both within and beyond the United States. It can do the same for the mission to compel official government recognition of the Armenian Genocide, whether in the United States, Israel, Turkey, or elsewhere.

By recognizing the Genocide, we do so not for Armenians, but for all humanity.

I recently stumbled across a speech by Martin Luther King called “Remaining Awake Through a Great Revolution.” He delivered it at the National Cathedral in Washington D.C., just four days before he was assassinated. Now, scholars of the civil rights movement often labor to shift the focus away from King, but there are lessons that King can teach us. It is King who most effectively shaped the language of the civil rights movement, infusing it with such powerful moral authority. His speech is an eloquent, chilling call to recognize the historical moment, and to act upon it.

“First, we are challenged to develop a world perspective,” said King. “No individual can live alone, no nation can live alone, and anyone who feels that he can live alone is sleeping through a revolution.” Here is our first lesson: by recognizing the Genocide, we do so not for Armenians, but for all humanity. We bind ourselves to any people that have been threatened with mass destruction, whether Jewish or Cambodian or Bosnian or Tutsi. Governments around the world must recognize the Armenian Genocide not out of respect to Armenians, but out of respect for humankind.

“I submit that nothing will be done until people of goodwill put their bodies and their souls in motion,” continued King. “And it will be the kind of soul force brought into being as a result of this confrontation that I believe will make the difference.” Here is our second lesson: great historical changes start at the bottom before they reach the top, and they depend not just on words and grievances, but on the collective action of people driven by the same big cause. The 100^th anniversary has given the cause of Genocide recognition a sense of historic momentum, a new and widespread visibility, and an ethical and honorable image. The success of this effort must include action at all levels: the moral street theater of public demonstrations, the lobbying of pro-Armenian officials, the support of public figures as diverse as Pope Francis and Kanye West, and ultimately the statements of our world leaders.

Goodbye, Antoura » by Karnig Panian is a full-throated story of loss, resistance, and survival during the Armenian Genocide.

And here is King’s third lesson—not for the outright denialists of the Armenian Genocide, but for those who realize the facts, yet still shy away from official recognition. “One day we will have to stand before the God of history and we will talk in terms of things we’ve done,” he stated. When confronted with a difficult truth, “cowardice asks the question, is it expedient? And then expedience comes along and asks the question, is it politic? Vanity asks the question, is it popular?” Those are the questions, perhaps, asked by members of Congress who have failed to vote for an official resolution condemning the Ottoman crimes against Armenians. They are the questions, perhaps, asked by President Obama when he refuses to utter the word “genocide.”

But these are not the right questions. King knew that humans were essentially sinful, but we could be compelled to act upon our finer instincts. We have only to consider our consciences.

“Conscience asks the question, is it right? There comes a time when one must take the position that is neither safe nor politic nor popular, but he must do it because conscience tells him it is right.” Martin Luther King spoke many enduring words, but perhaps no words wiser than these. They are valuable for any people whose cause is on the right side of history.

Aram Goudsouzian is the chair of the Department of History at the University of Memphis. His most recent book is Down to the Crossroads: Civil Rights, Black Power, and the Meredith March Against Fear (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2014). He is the editor of Goodbye, Antoura: A Memoir of the Armenian Genocide by Karnig Panian.