According to yerkir.am, Istanbul-based journalist Osman Baljigil has published an article, cursing those who decided to demolish the Armenian orphanage of Tuzla and those who demolished it.

May God make you undergo trials and tribulations

I love the Armenians,

I love them a lot, and I have a lot of reasons to love them.

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I grew up at Gedikpasha street, which has a population of four Turkish families and 50-60 Armenian families. I have had numerous Armenian brothers and sisters.

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For instance, I took my first lessons of the mandolin from my brother Avetis. When he noticed the progress, he took me by the hand and took me to the Holy Mesropian Church where he made me a member of his choir and orchestra. *** At the time, my father and my grandmother were still alive, and all the adults in my family were even wondering if I would remain under the influence of Christians.

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I remember how happy I felt when I would view the puppet shows that uncle Akob (Hakob) would organize in front of his house. I loved the wooden dolls made by him and the clothes that his wife had sewn for the puppets. The master would earn a living by repairing the water pipelines on rooftops.

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One day, while he was working on a rooftop in the district, he fell off the roof and died. Perhaps I would have felt the same sadness, if a close one had died.

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When my grandfather died, our Armenian neighbors would bring us food for a week. I don’t know if that was a Turkish or Armenian custom, but I don’t even want to know. The concept of “us” and “them” never crossed my mind when I was a child.

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On Easter, our house would be filled with painted eggs and Easter pastries. I can still remember the smell and taste.

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I can never forget the egg hunt at corners of the street and our attempts to make eggs that wouldn’t break from plaster.

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When I was in school, we formed a band that performed at wedding ceremonies. I was the only Turk. We would perform at Turkish and Armenian weddings. For some reason, I remember the song “Sut Eh, Sut Eh”, which was a famous song at the time, and we would perform it very well.

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Hey, man, doesn’t one feel that he belongs to a different nation or has a different religion? I never felt that. We loved each other, and it wasn’t enough for us.

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The days went by…I have become a young man and have left home. Every time I would visit my father’s house, I would learn that another one of our Armenian neighbors had sold his or her house and had moved. Our neighbors would mainly move to Kurtulush (Independence Street in Constantinople). Each loss would make my parents sad.

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It wasn’t too long before my family also went after their Armenian neighbors and moved to Kurtulush. I saw the good mood and happiness in my parents’ eyes. They would drink coffee in the mornings and tea in the evenings once again. And of course, they would have pleasant conversations and remember the old days.

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Recently, I read that bulldozers had been used to demolish the Armenian orphanage of Tuzla District. It was as if someone shot me in the head. “May God lead you to trials and tribulations”-I screamed (we’ve been using this phrase so much recently…).

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I immediately thought of Hrant Dink’s article entitled “I’m Rebelling, Mankind!” In his article, Dink briefly said: “One morning, they took us 13 children and made us walk from Gedikpasha to Sirkej, after which we got on a ship and traveled to Haidarpasha, and then from Haidarpasha to the station in Tuzla in a train. After making us walk for a couple of hours from Tuzla, they took us to a flat, large and spacious area located at the edge of the lake and sea. Waking up early in the morning and finishing at late night, we finished construction of the camp building.

At nights, we would be so tired that we would do it in our pants. I was 8 when I went to Tuzla. I worked hard there for exactly 20 years. I met my future wife, Raquel there. We grew up together and got married. Our children were born there…One day, we were handed a court decision stating that “You organizations of a minority have no right to purchase territory. We were wrong when we allowed you to do that in the past. From now on, this territory will belong to its former owner.”

After our five-year struggle, we lost…What could we have done? We were dealing with the state. I have a complaint, mankind! They drove us out of our civilization. They accommodated themselves in the camp that 1,500 children had worked hard to build and seized the work that we children had done. If they had turned it into another orphanage for poverty-stricken children, regardless of identity and if they had used it as a camp for poor or disabled children, I would say they deserve to take my right from me, but I’m not saying that.

And now, the camp that we created for the poor children of Tuzla and our “civilization of Antlantida” is in ruins…Now when nobody can hear the sounds of children, the water in the ditch has dried as well…The “shoulders” of the building are hanging low…The land is dry…The trees are “discontent”…The leaps to the climax of my indignation are so sharp, like those of a swallow whose nest was destroyed by a strike. But in vain…”

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After reading this article, I obviously got sad and thought he had also grown up in Gedikpasha like me. Like me, he had learned to swim in Kumkap, had played ball at Jinji Square, had ridden a bike and had probably sled from the top of Gedikpasha to Cifte Gelinler (Twin Brides) Street.

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Now, they’re destroying the Armenian orphanage of Tuzla built by the small Hrant Dink…My God, what a shame! Should I be ashamed of being a human being, a Muslim, or a Turk?

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After a while, the “businessmen” standing close to the overtly Islamic political authorities will build luxurious villas, malls and skyscrapers here and will become wealthier. They’ll make more dirty money.

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May it stand on your eye and knees (Turkish saying used as ingrate for people).

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I damn and curse you with all the words that I know.

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May God lead you to trials and tribulations! May the land make you feel full (used to describe greedy people in Turkish).

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What else can I say?

Translation from Turkish by Araz Gaimagamian

P.S.: Journalist and writer Osman Baljigil was born in 1955 in Constantinople. For many years, he has worked for Hurriyet, Cumhuriyet and other famous Turkish newspapers and television stations. In 1988, he received the Journalist of the Year Award of the Turkish Association of Journalists.