Killer Kids from 1895

"This brave population, who for a while had been forced to show restraint voluntarily came to our call. A great number of Zeitunites came to join us in the mountains where we had been hiding. . . . They had all come with arms; there were even children who carried a knife or a gun."

Diary of Aghasi (Aghassi), leader of the 1895 Zeitun rebellion, p. 189; as cited in The Armenian File.

"Part of the Boyish Company of Volunteers Who Tramped
 from Artemid to Van; Armenia"

As we returned one day from our tasks to the modest mud house which was the which was the humble home of government, we were confronted by a grotesque group of tiny lads whose ages fan from eight to twelve.

Two Privates in the Artemid Army of Small Boys

The Governor saluted the small, but dignified, commander gravely and asked:

“What can the Governor do for these loyal citizens?”

“We have come to exchange these wooden guns which we have made for real guns. We want to protect our country.”

“We have great need for all our guns, my men, said the Governor. “We only issue rifles to those who can drill.”

The reply was immediate:

“We can drill, sir!’’ The busy man’s eyes twinkled a little at this delay, but he said:

“Let me see what you can do.”

The 12-year-old leader gave a sharp command, and 28 wooden guns, carved from light boards, came to the snowy street with a thud.

Up until they came again to “present arms,” back to “right shoulder arms,” and then to “charge bayonets.” Not a smile showed on the youthful faces.

Then the untanned skin moccasins shuffled back and forth in fours and around to “company front”— just such play at soldiering as makes us smile proudly, but with a little catch at the throat, whenever we see this youthful imitation of a world at war.

But most of these small lads had a murdered father or a suicide mother, hounded to her death by Kurdish fiends, as his background.

The Governor was deeply moved. “Where are your homes?” he asked, expecting that they came from some near section of the city.

“We come from Artemid, sir!‘‘ was the challenging reply. mentioning a lakeside village six miles distant on the road to the Turkish lines.

The day before there had been a heavy snow and the afternoon shadows were already lengthening. Even a strong man would have difficulty in reaching Artemid that night.

So Governor Hambartsoumiantz called in the youthful commandant and myself to a council, which resulted in the issue of an army ration of black bread, tea, and sugar to the boys, while a room was provided for them in the headquarters of the city troops. Still the lads said they would not return to their homes unless they were given guns.

Relief work is not a matter of stomachs alone, but of morale. So in the morning my head carpenter set to work on the choicest board we could find, and while he was fashioning it into a blade with all the curves of Saladin’s sword, the boyish company inspected the varied industries.. which American relief had established, and each received a pair of heavy woolen socks.

Then the lads drew up at attention on the flat mud roof of our premises.

There the young commandant, son of one of Armenia’s famous poets, gracefully presented the 12-year-old captain with a saber, whose wooden fabric could not conceal the lines which were smilingly, yet tearfully, worked into it by the master carpenter, who entered with all his heart into this simple commission of love.

“This time we can only give your leader a sword,” said the Governor, who had left an important conference to wish these lads farewell.

“But I wish you to keep up your discipline and training, for the time may come when we shall need your aid. Hold your command in readiness Captain, for your country may call on you.”

“We shall be ready, sir!” said the proud possessor of the new sword.

Then he turned to his motley gang:

“Right shoulder arms! Column right, march!” And the volunteer army of Artemid started proudly on their long tramp to the village through which, a month later, the Turkish hordes passed on their way to massacre in Van.



Holdwater Reflects

"The Turkish hordes." Apparently, Turks were not even in the human category for this awful bigot.

(Nor, for that matter, were the Kurds, whom Williams regarded as "fiends." While history accounts for the murderousness of Kurds — many of the massacred Armenians died in the hands of Kurds — no peep from him as to the greater number of Kurds that the Armenians had slaughtered.)

 Interestingly, we are first told that the boys "were self-trained and set out on their six-mile tramp without the permission or knowledge of their guardians in Artemid," and next we are told most were without parents. Anything to tug at our heartstrings in this extremely romanticized telling, the facts for which Williams needed to rely entirely upon the translations of his Armenian friends. (Don't you love the way Williams keeps referring to these kids as though they were a real army, "captain" and all?)

While these children were thankfully not allowed to join the ranks of actual soldiers, the article demonstrates the burning desire fed into Armenian male youth to kill. For example, in an example of "Armenian oral history," as soon as a son is born, grandpa shows signs that the infant should be weaned to kill. ("...[M]y grandfather put the sword beside me, saying: 'Let him be a fedayi.'")

(Is it any wonder there was little shortage of Armenian terrorists who went on their terribly murderous spree between 1973-1987? The glamorization of the "fedayi" is embedded in Armenian culture.)

Around a year before this article appeared, Avetis Aharonian wrote in a Sept. 9, 1918 telegram to Prime Minister Hovhannes Katchaznouni: "...[T]he Armenian nation would never forget that it was the Ottoman Government which first conceived the idea of founding an independent Armenia, and recognized it." Now this was the Ottoman government accused of trying to exterminate the Armenians. And the government that replaced the CUP regime was a practical non-entity in 1919, devastated and occupied by the Allies. So I wonder who these hostile "Turkish hordes" were, on their way to "massacre" these poor, defenseless Armenians? (Ataturk's forces would not come into play against the Armenians until the following year.)

While this variety of reportage was the norm, its racism is no less repugnant... particularly from a publication that should have known better.  (National Geographic is ideally perceived as apolitical in nature. These days, perhaps because an Armenian sits in their editorial board, the magazine has become yet another mouthpiece for propaganda, when articles about Armenia are featured.) While the Armenians were occupying eastern Anatolia, they were committing frightful acts of massive ethnic cleansing, against defenseless Turks and other Muslims. If Williams was hanging out with these Armenians, he could not have avoided witnessing signs of Armenian criminality. (Didn't he wonder what happened to the Turks of Van, an Ottoman possession for centuries, regardless of how much Williams insists that Van was the "capital of Armenia"?) Yet he must have been so prejudiced, he ignored the plight of the Turks completely, and did his best to force his fellow Americans' tears for the Armenians.


(With thanks to reader M. Mersinoglu.)




The proud tradition continues today; 11-12 year-old children from Yerevan undergoing military training. “We learn how to crawl round enemies and kill them,” beamed Sarkis, 11. His grandmother said parents had heartily welcomed the scheme. The school’s military instructor says it is best to start as young as possible: “A child is like unbaked dough, and you should teach them things from a very early age.” Read "Armenian Pupils March to New Step." (Thanks to Gokalp.)