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"Kostas Faltaits, a war correspondent during the Holocaust of the Greek and other Christian populations of Asia Minor (Anatolia) in 1920-1922, records eyewitness testimonies of survivors describing the horror of the massacres and the destruction of entire cities and villages"--Provided by publisher.
This book is a gripping collection of American naval war diaries recently found in the National Archives about what was happening on the northern coast of Turkey in 1921-1922. At the time, a series of American destroyers were continuously stationed at the port of Samsun, and the destroyer captains describe here many of the atrocities then being perpetrated upon the Asia Minor Greek minority by the ruling Nationalist Turks, along with local Greek reactions.
During and after World War I, over one million Ottoman Greeks were expelled from Turkey, a watershed moment in Greek history that resulted in hundreds of thousands of deaths. And while few dispute the expulsion’s tragic scope, it remains the subject of fierce controversy, as activists have fought for international recognition of an atrocity they consider comparable to the Armenian genocide. This book provides a much-needed analysis of the Greek genocide as cultural trauma. Neither taking the genocide narrative for granted nor dismissing it outright, Erik Sjöberg instead recounts how it emerged as a meaningful but contested collective memory with both nationalist and cosmopolitan dimensions.
Transcribed newspaper accounts of the treatment of Christians in Asia Minor (today's Turkey) primarily from 1914 to 1923.
Die Vertreibung der armenischen Bevölkerung von Bergkarabach im Herbst 2023 sorgte nur kurzzeitig für internationale Schlagzeilen. In den deutschsprachigen Massenmedien wurden die historischen, politischen und völkerrechtlichen Hintergründe kaum berücksichtigt. Man beschränkte sich weitgehend auf die mantraartig wiederholte Phrase, Bergkarabach gehöre völkerrechtlich zu Aserbaidschan, sei aber überwiegend von Armeniern bewohnt. Es wurde der Eindruck erweckt, Aserbaidschan hole sich nur sein widerrechtlich besetztes Territorium zurück. Das kriegerische Vorgehen wurde zwar zunehmend gerügt, aber aus wirtschaftlichen Interessen nicht mit Sanktionen verbunden. Der Karabachkonflikt beg...
Does injustice have an expiration date? Is it possible to wipe the slate clean of crimes of such magnitude, simply because the victims who suffered them are long dead? What stance is civilized humanity obliged to take towards Turkey, who denies the fact that the actions they perpetrated against Armenians, Pontian Greeks and Assyrians amount to genocide? Does not the absence of severe world condemnation entail a share in the guilt? If responsibility is neither attributed nor admitted regarding the butchery of entire peoples on the fringes of Europe in the opening decades of the 20th century, then political expediency has corrupted the very meaning of justice in the world. What obligation do we citizens of the world have in such a case? In the house of the hanged man, we must examine the rope. And we must pursue the crime, so that no one will again dare to set up the gallows.
“The harrowing story of the slaughter of two million Pontic Greeks and Armenians in Turkey after WWI comes to vivid life. . . . eloquent and powerful.” —Publishers Weekly Not Even My Name exposes the genocide carried out during and after WWI in Turkey, which brought to a tragic end the 3000-year history of the Pontic Greeks (named for the Pontic Mountain range below the Black Sea). During this time, almost 2 million Pontic Greeks and Armenians were slaughtered and millions of others were exiled. Not Even My Name is the unforgettable story of Sano Halo’s survival, as told to her daughter, Thea, and of their trip to Turkey in search of Sano’s home seventy years after her exile. Sano ...
'The more we learn about the original production of tragedies and comedies in Athens the more it seems wrong even to call them plays in the modern sense of the word, ' write the editors in this collection of critically diverse innovative essays aimed at restoring the social context of ancient Greek drama.
It is common for survivors of ethnic cleansing and even genocide to speak nostalgically about earlier times of intercommunal harmony and brotherhood. After being driven from their Anatolian homelands, Greek Orthodox refugees insisted that they 'lived well with the Turks', and yearned for the days when they worked and drank coffee together, participated in each other's festivals, and even prayed to the same saints. Historians have never showed serious regard to these memories, given the refugees had fled from horrific 'ethnic' violence that appeared to reflect deep-seated and pre-existing animosities. Refugee nostalgia seemed pure fantasy; perhaps contrived to lessen the pain and humiliations...