Zaven Biberyan: From treasures to cemeteries
I recently had the opportunity to watch the public screening of the Hangardz theater ensemble's digital play Kantsuh (The Treasure) at the Kadıköy Culture House, based on a story in Zaven Biberyan's book Dzovuh (The Sea). Born and raised in Kadıköy, working as a journalist, writing novels and stories, rebelling against the state, going to jail, entering politics, describing the impact of events such as the Twenty Classes and the Wealth Tax on the Armenians of Istanbul and even the conditions we live in today in perhaps the most powerful way, I think that the performance of a story written by Zaven Biberyan in his mother tongue and in Kadıköy, where he was born and raised, takes the play to a very different level, and I wish the Hangardz ensemble continues its Kadıköy screenings. In this article, I will not delve into the play, which gives the story a completely different form by using a range of artistic techniques, but I will invite readers to watch the play and talk here only about the story as it is written by Biberyan.
Kantsuh has three main characters working on a construction site in Beirut: Torkom, the veragatsu (foreman); Levon, sometimes called Kesabtsi (from Kesap), sometimes husgich (supervisor); and finally Jammal, Halebtsi (from Haleb), who lacks a professional title. Torkom and Levon learn that there are burials on the construction site where they work; hearing this, Jammal begs them to take him in and he joins the team. Torkom is the brain of the team, it is not clear what Levon is good for, and Jammal is the manual laborer of the team in accordance with his role on the construction site. Jammal works like an ox driven into a field, without stopping and without speaking. Biberyan describes Jammal's hair, skin, back, shoulders, elbows, muscles, strong arms, chest, unbuttoned shirt. He makes us feel that Jammal is a man who can only participate in life with his body, whose mind no one is interested in. Jammal will open his mouth almost exclusively in the moments when he cries out "Ya allah" while digging in the earth. Jammal has Allah and a shovel and a spade. Later we learn that he does not ask for money if the treasure is found, all he wants is for them to marry him off. Since Jammal is poor, he could not pay the bride price and could not get married. It makes no difference to Jammal whether the girl he marries is blonde, brunette, beautiful or ugly, except for widows. Jammal wants a young girl. Isn't that his "right"?
Jammal digs and digs. When they feel that they are getting closer to the treasure, Torkom suddenly feels the need to warn Levon not to hurt Jammal if he does something wrong, fearing that Jammal might get excited and become blind with ambition. Levon flies into a rage at the prospect of being cut off from the treasure, saying that if he makes the slightest mistake he will bury Jammal where they dug up the treasure. Torkom is frightened and disgusted by Levon. He makes the team call it a night, suggesting that they continue the excavation the next night, and in the morning, when the construction site resumes, he makes concrete pour over the excavation site. He thought "either the treasure or Jammal" and chose Jammal.
As I read the story, I was as excited as Jammal, but whereas he was looking for treasure, I was looking for a cemetery. After all, what else could the Armenians find but a cemetery? Indeed, at one point the excavation team reaches the marble tombstones and Jammal, with Levon's guidance, is about to crush the marble when Torkom intervenes and prevents the tombstones from being damaged. Thus, at the end of the story, he not only says goodbye to the burial, but also essentially covers up the cemetery. If the graveyard had not been mentioned, I think I would have read this story around moral themes such as greed for money, valuing human life over property, and worker solidarity. However, I was not satisfied with the idea that Biberyan could be content with these.
Today we all know very well how Armenian houses, schools, churches and cemeteries were destroyed for the sake of treasure after they were uprooted from their lands. Could it be that Torkom, who lived in Beirut in the 1950s, did not know this? By ending his journey in search of treasure, Torkom is perhaps trying to prevent the disturbance of the dead and not to repeat what was done to Armenian graves, that is, not to become one with the perpetrators, but it is also true that he is trying to avoid facing what will happen if treasure is found or if the dead in the graves are encountered. Like most Armenians in the aftermath of the genocide, Torkom, too, wants to be concerned with nothing but the busyness of life and to block out the past as much as possible. So what is left? Three lifetimes spent working on construction sites and earning a living. Biberyan, on the other hand, has spent his entire life fighting against those who try to pour concrete over the past and risking to pay any price. Moreover, he was able to act on a universal plane to the extent that he was not content with wandering only in his own cemeteries, but could also see the cemeteries of others. I wish his works to be in the hands of good people like Torkom who try to live stormless lives.
