As I reflected on the Great Catastrophe—the Armenian Genocide—and its ruins, remains, and residues, I was reminded of a small incident from my junior high school days in Ankara. One morning, while arriving at school, a group of us noticed a beautifully carved marble tombstone being uncovered at a construction site. Excited, we informed the school director, thinking we had stumbled upon Roman ruins. However, upon returning to the site, we saw workers cleaning the stone, revealing a Christian cross, a name, and a date. It was the gravestone of a child from the late 19th century. I was struck and confused by the idea of Christians living in 19th-century Ankara—a Turkish town in the middle of nowhere.
Official Turkish nationalist historical narratives systematically ignore the existence of non-Muslims or depict them as traitors. At the start of the 20th century, there were over four million Christians and Jews in Anatolia, out of a population of 14 million. As the Anatolian landscape was Turkified, many non-Muslim remains were erased, built over, or appropriated by the state and its collaborators, both Turkish and Kurdish.
History is a travesty. The past is constantly reinvented through religious and nationalistic narratives, reinforced by sectarian and ethnic divides. A land must belong to someone, and nation-states use history to justify the displacement of millions—in Turkey, Israel, and beyond.
One of the earliest political lessons my parents taught me was that we were Alevis. They told me never to disclose this—not even to my closest friends. Although secular and believers in republican ideals of equality, my parents knew we were not equals. Alevis don’t follow orthodox Islam: they lack mosques, don’t pray five times daily, and don’t fast during Ramadan.
Alevism, a distinct branch of Islam found mainly in Turkey, incorporates Sufi traditions and Turkic shamanistic rituals such as the ceremonial cem, which includes music, dance, and shared meals. Alevis emphasize social justice, equality, and community over power, setting them apart from mainstream Sunni practices. They’ve faced systemic violence, discrimination, and massacres throughout history—a trauma that continues to haunt the Alevi community today.
Turkish secularism, much like U.S. secularism shaped by Judeo-Christian values or French secularism influenced by Catholicism, is deeply intertwined with Sunnism.
Growing up, I was obsessed with historical documentaries, especially those on World War II. Haunted by the scale of destruction and genocide, I identified with the Jews and often wondered what I would have done if I had lived during those times.
At the Middle East Technical University, I found a training ground for activism and intellectual growth. Baraka, a space for student organizations, became our hub. Through discussions with Kurdish friends, feminists, and activists, I learned about the Southeast’s struggles, unlearned patriarchal norms, and came to terms with the historical reality of the Armenian Genocide.
The Middle East is a sustained tragedy. To build a better future, we must break free from nationalist and fundamentalist cycles. Is justice possible? Can we transcend victimhood, revenge, and oppression to achieve true equality?
Germany once seemed a model for confronting a dark past, with its radical institutional transformations after World War II. Defeat was seen as an opportunity. German President Richard von Weizsäcker famously called Germany’s loss a “Day of Liberation.” Yet recent developments reveal flaws in this model.
Germany’s alignment with violent state apparatuses, especially regarding Gaza, highlights a moral collapse. The narrative of a “troubled past” has become a tool for self-righteous victimhood, justifying ongoing violence. Prominent Jewish intellectuals like Judith Butler, Masha Gessen, and Nancy Fraser have been accused of anti-Semitism for their critiques.
As an Alevi and a student of Jewish intellectual traditions, I had the privilege of studying with remarkable scholars like Nancy Fraser. I’ll conclude with her powerful words:
“Over a hundred professors have been killed there [Gaza]. Nine university presidents have been killed… These are people whose very Jewishness took them to defend universal rights, not a narrow tribal identity.”