For Want of a Reckoning

By Lelag Vosguian

I thought that our people would only be able to live freely once the genocidal crime was acknowledged by its author. Today, I choose to believe instead that the key to our future lies in our hand, and that we alone must be responsible for our survival.

Five years ago, in the early weeks of the COVID-19 pandemic, amid the generalized fear and confusion, I attempted to articulate the importance of talking about the Armenian genocide despite the passage of time – and despite everything else. Today, half a decade later, this same task is proving infinitely more difficult. As I write these very words, I struggle to come up with a valid reason why we collectively don’t just let sleeping dogs lie.

Since 2020, we witnessed a global pandemic and a number of crises, including the Russian invasion of the Ukraine and ongoing Russo-Ukrainian War, the Fall of Kabul and the reinstatement of the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan under the control of the Taliban, Israel’s invasion of the Gaza Strip and its crimes against humanity following Hamas’s attack on October 7th, the repeated bombings of Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, the reelection of President Trump and subsequent tariff wars, not to mention the Second Nagorno-Karabakh War, the devastating ceasefire agreement, and, unbelievably, the end of a millennia-old Armenian presence in Artsakh.

Five years passed. Earthquakes and protests shook the world. We all aged, except for those who died. Uncertainty, distrust, and disillusionment set in. We grew weary. We are tired.

*

A quick search into the origin of the idiom dating from the 14th century informs me that the “sleeping dogs” in question could refer to the watchdogs that have been used since time immemorial to guard people and property. As I wonder why my watchdog would attack me, I remember that animals, including humans, are unpredictable, not to be trusted.

Letting sleeping dogs lie is the same as not stirring the pot, not rocking the boat and not making waves. Letting sleeping dogs lie is leaving well enough alone. I wonder, what is “well enough”? In the context of genocide, is the fact that some of us survived “well enough”? Is the fact that we went on to build communities, churches, schools and families across the globe “well enough”? It is uncomfortable, but let’s break forth: is the fact that we ended up in Canada, living lives of abundance and privilege “well enough”? Should the fact that there now exists a Republic of Armenia be enough?

Let’s go back to our lying dogs. Is it well enough to know that we have truth on our side? that our cause is righteous and just? Is it well enough to know that we are not the accused? that we are not the haunted? Sleeping dogs, like humans, can be deceptive. Can dogs fake sleep? Could our sleeping dogs be pretending, lying low until the storm passes? (Will the storm ever come?) Or maybe not. It’s possible that our dogs haven’t a care in the world, or that they have a million worries of which none has to do with us. Perhaps they do not think about us the way we imagine they do, the way we think about them. Perhaps our one hundred and ten year old story interests only us. Perhaps there are no dogs at all and we are alone, imagining shifting shapes by the blazing fireplace. Perhaps we are scared of fantoms and spectres that exist in our mind only. Maybe we are the haunted after all.

Now on to our sleeping Gods. Now on to our immense solitude. On to the vast indifference of the world. Will any good come from our marching and chanting? Will anything come from our protesting? Does anyone care? Is anyone there?

*

I used to believe with a child’s belief that good always triumphs over evil. I used to believe that, in the end, a just cause would always prevail. I used to believe that we are all doing the best we can. I used to believe that, deep down, we are all the same. The past five years changed me, and I think they may have changed you, too.

Five years ago, I thought that our people would only be able to live freely once the genocidal crime was acknowledged by its author. Today, I choose to believe instead that the key to our future lies in our hand, and that we alone must be responsible for our survival.

This April 24th, I will let sleeping dogs sleep. Let lying dogs lie. I will not try to reason, I will not fight.

I find it helpful that this remembrance day coincides with our Easter celebrations this year. Images of Resurrection and Eternal Life help. Faith despite fear helps. Hope despite reason helps.

This April 24th, I will light a candle and I will speak Armenian. I will take example on my ancestors and walk with my head held high. I will commune with my family, share a meal with my loved ones, and I will look ahead with both humility and pride.