Once Upon a Genocide

[crimson]

ONCE UPON A GENOCIDE

Los Angeles City Beat

by Natalie Nichols

A whole race genocide,

taken away all of our pride,

a whole race genocide

taken away, watch them all fall down.

-System of a Down, `P.L.U.C.K.'

`P.L.U.C.K.' stands for `Politically Lying, Unholy,Cowardly Killers' -

which neatly sums up System of a Down's feelings regarding the Ottoman

Empire's massacre of 1.5 million Armenians in 1915, and modern

Turkey's refusal to admit to what scholars widely consider one of the

20th century's first genocides.

The distant past still echoes loudly for the superstar L.A. rock

quartet, as singer Serj Tankian, guitarist Daron Malakian, bassist

Shavo Odadjian, and drummer John Dolmayan all have Armenian heritage.

The song, from System's 1998 debut album, is not a history lesson. Its

minimal lyrics and grinding music instead telegraph complex, visceral,

and wide-ranging emotions: vengeful, anguished, defiant. Part of the

anger stems from frustration - not just because these killings

happened, scattering Armenians all over the globe, but also because

Turkey resists calling them `genocide,' maintaining that it wasn't an

organized campaign and that the Empire was defending itself from

Armenians' alliance with its then-enemy, Russia. This denial has kept

the United States from officially recognizing the Armenian massacre,

for what Tankian terms `geopolitical reasons.' That is, whenever a

resolution to acknowledge the genocide comes up in Congress, Turkey

objects strenuously by, say, threatening to withhold U.S. access to

military bases within its borders.

`Geopolitics is no longer an excuse,' says Tankian, sittingwith

Odadjian on a funky, rug-upholstered couch in a woody NoHo rehearsal

studio, where they' re working out songs for their first album of new

material since 200's Toxicity. (They hope to release it by

year's end.) `Something similar would be, let' s say we want Germany's

help in the Iraq war, and Germany says, `OK, we'll help

you. However, first you gotta go destroy all the Holocaust

museums.' That would be absurd.' The Armenian genocide is an old

injustice in a world busy making new ones every day, but the band

members feel that one way to prevent new massacres is to remember

those that time or circumstance would have us forget. To that end,

this Saturday at the Greek Theatre, they'll headline the

sold-out`Souls 2004,' a benefit concert to raise awareness of what

happened to the Armenians. The date - April 24 - is significant as the

annual commemoration of the genocide worldwide, marking the day in

1915 when more than 200 Armenian leaders in Constantinople (now

Istanbul) were arrested, setting mass murder in motion.The show also

aims to support passage of House Resolution 193 and Senate Resolution

164, affirming U.S. commitment to the international Genocide

Convention, recognizing planned carnage in Ottoman Turkey, Nazi

Germany, Rwanda, Cambodia, and other regions. (Proceeds will go to

various groups focused on genocides, including the Armenian National

Committee of America.) `No matter when it [occurred], if it's an

injustice, it needs to be addressed,' Tankian says. A postcard

campaign on System's website urges visitors to contact their

representatives about these resolutions. `We've been in touch with

over half a million of our fans, and we've got 75, 80 thousandpeople

who have actually sent postcards to the Speaker of the House and the

Senate Majority Leader,' he says. `It's like a whole grassroots

activism tied into the Souls show.' Most fans may be more motivated

to see SOAD in a relatively intimate venue.

This is the second time the band has staged this type of benefit; the

firstwas before it recorded Toxicity. `We played some of those tunes

with [different] titles and lyrics,' Dolmayan recalls of that show,

which took placeat the Palace (now Avalon). Similarly, this time,

Malakian says, `We mightplay a couple new songs, but you might hear

some changes by the time we record them.' And that possibility

should spark as much excitement in System's fans as the massacre

sparks outrage in their heroes.

As genocides go, this one wasn't the biggest. Or the worst. Probably

it's not even the most overlooked. But to these guys, it's

personal. `The point of it was so I wouldn't exist right now,'

says Malakian, jabbing a thumb toward himself as he and Dolmayan take

their turn on the couch.

All four had ancestors perish and/or survive, and their own potential

futures altered. Thus, the genocide even shaped System itself. The

knowledge had a powerful formative impact on Tankian, the group's

charismatic mouthpiece. To him, the massacre is emblematic of all

truths left unsaid.

`It's one of the things that made me think, `Look, this is a

truth that's there, that is being denied, even in a democratic country

like America,' he says, widening his dark brown eyes. `How many

other truths are being denied for geopolitical reasons, for profit

reasons?' Although SOAD has a big Armenian following here - Glendale

is home to the world's second-largest Armenian community - most fans,

obviously, are not Armenian. Indeed, its tunes deal far more with

universal subjects its young followers can relate to: love, sex,

alienation, drug abuse, suicide, even other political flashpoints,

such as LAPD crackdowns during the 2000 Democratic National

Convention, criticized in Toxicity's `Deer Dance.' So why tap the

activist potential of its audience for this relatively obscure cause?

Well, why not? Rock has a grand tradition of activism (and promoting

pet causes), and System's personal connection lets the genocide's

broader implications resonate with listeners. As Odadjian points out,

`The world is getting more political.' The issues surrounding this

long-ago massacre hold lessons for today, which such current

nightmares as Sudan vividly prove. Plus, at a time when Turkey's

moderate leadership aspires to join the European Union (which has

concerns about the nation's human-rights track record), some (mostly

expatriate) Turkish scholars are calling for a soul-cleansing look at

what the Ottoman Empire really did. Thanks to the easing of

free-speech restrictions, it's now easier for Turks to bring the

matter into public discourse.

Even if the time were not so ripe for reassessing this unrepented

atrocity, the band would still feel duty-bound to, as Dolmayan puts

it, `contribute back to our people.' The absence of grandparents,

great aunts and uncles, distant cousins, and their potential

descendants is palpable, a history these third-generation survivors

can almost touch. Like the Holocaust or the slaughters in

Bosnia-Herzegovina, the Armenian genocide is still a force at work on

its target. Indeed, in one simple exchange, Dolmayan and Malakian

demonstrate the strange mixture of painful knowledge, bitter humor,

and resigned fatalism that this writhing worm of collective memory has

created.

Dolmayan: Actually, I wouldn't be here if my grandmother's first

husband had not been killed. She remarried my grandfather, who [begat]

my father - and here I am.

Malakian: So¦ so, the genocide helped you.

Dolmayan: In a way.

Malakian laughs, a parched, sardonic cackle.

Dolmayan: No, but, I mean, that's the reality. I wouldn't exist, but I

would gladly give up my existence to have that not have happened. Who

knows, maybe I would've been born some other way.

Genocide may be a phantom threat now, but the shock still

ricochets. `They tried to wipe out our whole culture so we

wouldn't even be here,' Malakian says. `And in some ways they

have, because a lot of Armenian kids lost touch with tradition and

heritage and language and alphabet.' He sobers. `But the one

thing they didn't erase was our will and our character. I mean,

there's something about Armenian people; we're very fiery.' He laughs

again, an acidic guffaw. `You can't bring us down that easy, I

guess.'

http://groong.usc.edu/news/msg85389.html

[avjyan]

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