| Pontic Greek genocide and a woman’s survival |
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For all the ages the crossroads of civilization at the
eastern end of the Mediterranean – the “middle of the
world” – is a place called Asia Minor. National borders
may be drawn, but nationalities exist across them. Sometimes
the intermingling of Turks, Greeks, Armenians, Syrians
and others has been peaceful and beneficial to all
of humanity. But there have been terrible times too,
and even today this part of the world faces both hope
and ethnic conflict.
In the years following World War I Turkey experienced
tremendous upheaval. The once-mighty Ottoman monarchy
was overthrown and a new Turkish republic led by the
western-oriented Mustafa Kemal Atatürk embarked on
a campaign that a later time might call “ethnic cleansing”. Among
the most unfortunate of groups to be banished from
Turkish soil were Greek Christians who lived in the
Pontian Mountains near the Black Sea.
Although the story of the banishment, death marches
and dispersal of Pontic Greeks was reported at the time, this tragic
history has been often overlooked or denied. But one
of the most powerful accounts came eighty years after
the fact in the book Not Even My Name by Thea
Halo. It is the story of Thea’s mother, who was originally
named Themía, from the village of Iondone. At about
the age of ten she was forced from her happy home and
childhood and sent off on a death march with the rest
of the Pontic Greek population. Her
parents and siblings died but somehow she survived
and was given shelter and sustenance under both caring
and harsh circumstances.
“Bint [Arabic for ‘girl’],” Ruth
said to me…, “You must have a real name. I can’t
pronounce that name you have now. I have decided
to call you Sano. It’s a good Kurdish name. I think
it suits you.”
“But I have a name,” I
said.
--from
Not Even My Name
Sano arrive in exile in Syria where, at the age of 15
she was married to a man she hardly knew who was three
times her age. Her husband, Abraham Halo, was an Assyrian
who had been living in America and in 1925 he took
his new bride back with him. Not Even My Name is really a sequence of stories: Sano’s horrendous
experience during the persecution of the Pontic Greek
people and her life as an immigrant in America. Bracketing
them is the account of Sano’s return to Turkey with
Thea in a pilgrimage to find a remnant of Iondone and
the Pontic Greek land. Thea Halo tells the whole story
in the first-person, so it is her mother’s spirit that
dominates the pages.
I found my
voice with Abraham, the voice I had lost when I found
myself alone in a strange land, surrounded by strangers. It
was not a strong voice at first, but at least I could
speak my mind. I belonged somewhere, or at least
to someone. And someone belonged to me.
Sano Themía is now 95 years old. She and Abraham were together
for 45 years and raised ten children. Thea Halo is an artist,
poet and broadcaster, whose book Not Even My Name has become an important
testimony of ethnic cleansing and a valued document
within the Pontic Greek community. Thea joins Bill
Jaker on OFF THE PAGE to share her mother’s life
and her own experiences, and to discuss the tragic
history of the Pontic Greek people. To join in the
conversation, call during the live broadcast to 1-888/359-9754
or post a comment to WSKG.Radio@Gmail.com.
Listen to the program
now
in RealAudio© format
(requires free RealAudio© player)
|
On September 20th Bill Jaker’s guest on OFF THE PAGE will
be Shelly Reuben, mystery writer and professional
fire investigator who lives in Chenango County. Her newest
novel is Tabula Rasa,
a story of arson and murder, based in part on a notorious
infanticide case from the Southern Tier.
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This page updated
Wednesday, September 7, 2005 9:12 AM
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