The Sultan hanged his grandfather in prison... the Young Turks killed his father on the 15th. the picture of the mother of the orphan manch was sent to distant shores with the hope of "delivering" the orphan widow after the picture, but the mother who died near the orphanage, the mother who was faithful to the hearth and was always faithful did not go to America, did not turn the cesarean into an orphan, ruined the future of the young woman and created the shelter from her fragments, the orphan from the urk as a building block of the male clan house a child was about to come into the world.
I won't give the name yet, because there are hundreds of those whose grandfathers went up to the gallows, hundreds of thousands of those whose fathers were killed on the 15th, there are also countless mothers who mourned over the saved remnant and once again nurtured the hope of a better future for humanity and Armenians.
Of course, each of our lives and years that were taken away from the genocide, that is, not hanged, not drowned, not stoned, not shot by bullets, not Muslimized, deserves to be celebrated with applause, to be raised to the jubilee pedestal of honor, but Andranik Tsarukyan from Curin-Halepsi-Beirut, Andranik of "Nairi", "Tught ar Yerevan" and We celebrate the seventieth anniversary of the birth of Andranik, the author of "Old Dreams, New Paths", "People Without Childhood", "Dream Aleppo" and "The Last Innocent", a prominent novelist, journalist, brilliant publicist, editor, not at all as a mere survivor and not even as a talented writer, but as a strong individual who tears us away from despair and doubts about the Diaspora. from the web, an individual who dares to look into the eyes of today's and future reality and extract light and hope for us.
Such people even command the respect of the enemy, the presence of such people keeps evil in the shadows.
There is a Tumanyan-Saroyan-Saryan light spirit in that person, and if these people of different times and realities come close and are very similar to each other, then we have to say that this light spirit is Armenianness itself.
Blessings to him, two by two, work by work, to that young poet who went from issue to issue of his weekly newspaper, the witness and chronicler of tragic times, political scientist, theorist, that truly Andranik who filled the womb of the Diaspora and the Motherland with his building grace, and, the warm light of his eyes is a witness, we will still celebrate his eightieth birthday as well, but, nevertheless, it is sad that Andranik has already everyone has age.
More than winning, of course, you need the power to endure victory, not to be impoverished by the weight of victory, but not to be defiled, to remain human, not to become a prisoner on the threshold of hatred after a crushing defeat, but also to own both your hatred and the unpaid debts of your fathers with love, this superhuman effort is required of the losers. For us, this is how and why Levon-Zaven Surmelyan's light-drenched poems, Saroyan's commanding call: "the indomitability of our spirit will become the world's", Michael Arlen Jr.'s and many others' unbiased, unmemorable essays, Tsarukyan's life and work are precious to us.
All of these seem to have been book lovers among the orphans who surrounded Hovhannes Tumanyan, who had seen the valleys of the Hellespont Armenian ridge from Mesopotamia in the 19th century, who had seen the valleys of the Hellespont from Mesopotamia. impartial, universal culture. This is not a hint about the world view and the position of the artist in front of the world, this is a simple record of the merit of the Tsarukian ideologue and writer, and moreover, in front of that merit, that life and work, you begin to guess the whole depth of Tumanyan's message.
To become such, of course, is incomparably easy for, say, a Saint Exupéry or a Nansen, for every son of an unscathed nation, and to become such in the ruins of desire and reality, and still in daily danger of not being completely exhausted, is impossible, the possible is to go mad. And, then, what a great mind and conscience those of us who are like that have!
Tsarukyan has a political-documentary novel, which is about a son who is surrounded by the ideas inspired by his father, who saw the horror of the collapse of his eminent father, who is no longer a nan, who is unwillingly divided between conflicting political currents and strong individuals, about a man whose heart is dead, deprived of the remoteness of a personal and national future, who has no longer gathered the sails of self-affirmation and self-defense. Sometimes it's a simple debate, sometimes it's a newsletter of Diaspora Armenian political life, the speech is often purged of passions, it becomes a confessional murmur, and sometimes it turns into an evil and biased mockery, always remaining, of course, about certain persons and the time of those persons. a little awareness and effort, and people will find their passport names, that is, Tsarukyan's sympathy and mockery are not directed at us and himself, Tsarukyan the writer-figure, especially since he argues, clarifies, informs and hurts in the novel under a different name. But you don't know what the hidden factor of folk art is, maybe with the spontaneous combination of the fate of Mher orphan begging for advice and protection from his dead father, maybe with our human weakness (power) to sympathize with all the losers, guilty and innocent? is to get lost in the future world, and you want to and are unable to help him from your grave, or your grandfather is lost in the past world and cannot find a way out, and either you are an orphan who lost his mother in the present world. And again, the plot is so clear and palpable and the impasse is presented so precisely that the image of a chased hunt starts unfolding in your mind as you read, and it seems that they are Tsarukyan's personal degeneracy and fragility, it seems that the author has turned his diary of hopes and despair into a novel. But never.
Reality never surprises people like Tsarukyan, because they measure reality by only one thing: reality. The name of Charents is often mentioned in Tsarukyan's works. in the words of his beloved Charents: "Our spirit cannot be a prisoner of twisted words and twisted thoughts."
Once upon a time, seemingly eternal and comprehensive ideas cannot contain the unfolding, changing form and appearance of millennial life, and collapsing molds should not lead to living human lives. It is necessary to survive, to survive every day, constantly to survive. This is what the life and work of Andranik Tsarukyan is aimed at teaching, this is what healthy instinct of the people Tsarukyan opened the doors of his life to.