TALAAT TELLS WHY HE “ANNIHILATES” THE ARMENIANS

It was some time before the story of the Armenian atrocities reached the American Embassy in all their horrible details. In January and February fragmentary reports began to filter in, but the tendency was at first to regard them as mere manifestations of the disorders that had prevailed in the Armenian provinces for many years. When the reports came from Urumia both Enver and Talaat dismissed them as wild exaggerations, and when for the first time we heard of the disturbances at Van, these Turkish officials declared that they were nothing more than a mob uprising which they would soon have under control. I now see what was not apparent in those early months, that the Turkish Government was determined to keep the news, as long as possible, from the outside world. It was clearly the intention that Europe and America should hear of the annihilation of the Armenian race only after that annihilation had been accomplished. As the country which the Turks particularly wished to keep in ignorance was the United States, they resorted to most shameless prevarications when discussing the situation with myself and with my staff.

In early April the authorities arrested about two hundred Armenians in Constantinople and sent them into the interior. Many of those who were then deported were educational and social leaders and men who were prominent in industry and in finance. I knew many of these men and therefore felt a personal interest in their misfortunes. But when I spoke to Talaat about their expulsion, he replied that the Government was acting in self-defence. The Armenians at Van, he said, had already shown their abilities as revolutionists; he knew that these leaders in Constantinople were corresponding with the Russians, and he had every reason to fear that they would start an insurrection against the Central Government. The safest plan, therefore, was to send them to Angora and other interior towns. Talaat denied that this was part of any general concerted scheme to rid the city of its Armenian population, and insisted that the Armenian masses in Constantinople would not be disturbed.{216}

But soon the accounts from the interior became more specific and more disquieting. The withdrawal of the Allied fleet from the Dardanelles produced a distinct change in the atmosphere. Until then there were numerous indications that all was not going well in the Armenian provinces; when it at last became definitely established, however, that the traditional friends of Armenia, Great Britain, France, and Russia, could do nothing to help that suffering people, the mask began to disappear. In April I was suddenly deprived of the privilege of using the cipher for communicating with American Consuls. The most rigorous censorship also was applied to letters. Such measures could mean only that things were happening in Asia Minor which the authorities were determined to conceal. But they did not succeed. Though all sorts of impediments were placed to travelling, certain Americans, chiefly missionaries, succeeded in getting through. For hours they would sit in my office and, with tears streaming down their faces, tell me of the horrors through which they had passed. Many of these, both men and women, were almost broken in health from the scenes which they had witnessed. In many cases they brought me letters from American Consuls, confirming the most dreadful of their narrations and adding many unprintable details. The general purport of all these first-hand reports was that the utter depravity and fiendishness of the Turkish nature, already sufficiently celebrated through the centuries, had now surpassed itself. There was only one hope of saving nearly 2,000,000 people from massacre, starvation, and even worse, I was told—that was the moral power of the United States. These spokesmen of a condemned nation declared that, unless the American Ambassador could persuade the Turk to stay his destroying arm, the whole Armenian nation must disappear. It was not only American and Canadian missionaries who made this personal appeal. Several of their German associates begged me to intercede. These men and women confirmed all the worst things which I had heard, and they were unsparing in denouncing their own Fatherland. They did net conceal the humiliation which they felt as Germans in the fact that their own nation was allied with a people that could perpetrate such infamies, but they understood German policy well enough to know that Germany would not intercede. There was no use in expecting aid from the Kaiser, they said—America must stop the massacres, or they would go on.

Technically, of course, I had no right to interfere. According to the cold-blooded legalities of the situation, the treatment of Turkish subjects by the Turkish Government was purely a{217} domestic affair; unless it directly affected American lives and American interests it was outside the concern of the American Government. When I first approached Talaat on the subject he called my attention to this fact in no uncertain terms. This interview was one of the most exciting which I had had up to that time. Two missionaries had just called upon me, giving the full details of the frightful happenings at Konia. After listening to their stories I could not restrain myself, and went immediately to the Sublime Porte. I saw at once that Talaat was in one of his most ferocious states of mind. For months he had been attempting to secure the release of two of his closest friends, Ayoub Sabri and Zinnoun, who were held as prisoners by the English at Malta. His failure in this matter was a constant grievance and irritation; he was always talking about it, always making new suggestions for getting his friends back to Turkey, and always appealing to me for help. So furious did the Turkish Boss become when thinking about his absent friends that we usually referred to these manifestations as Talaat in his “Ayoub Sabri moods.” This particular morning the Minister of the Interior was in one of his worst “Ayoub Sabri moods.” Once more he had been working for the release of the exiles, and once more he had failed. As usual, he attempted to preserve outer calm and courtesy to me, but his short, snappy phrases, his bull-dog rigidity, and his wrists planted on the table showed that it was an unfavourable moment to stir him to any sense of pity or remorse. I first spoke to him about a Canadian missionary, Dr. McNaughton, who was receiving harsh treatment in Asia Minor.

“The man is an English agent,” he replied, “and we have the evidence for it.”

“Let me see it,” I asked.

“We’ll do nothing for any Englishman or any Canadian,” he replied, “until they release Ayoub and Zinnoun.”

“But you promised to treat English in the employ of Americans as Americans,” I replied.

“That may be,” rejoined the Minister, “but a promise is not made to be kept for ever. I withdraw that promise now. There is a time limit on a promise.”

“But if a promise is not binding, what is?” I asked.

“A guarantee,” Talaat answered quickly.

This fine Turkish distinction had a certain metaphysical interest, but I had more practical matters to discuss at that time. So I began to talk about the Armenians at Konia. I had started, when Talaat’s attitude became even more belligerent. His eyes{218} lighted up, he brought his jaws together, leaned over toward me, and snapped out:

“Are they Americans?”

The implications of this question were hardly diplomatic; it was merely a way of telling me that the matter was none of my business. In a moment Talaat said this in so many words.

“The Armenians are not to be trusted,” he said; “besides, what we do with them does not concern the United States.”

I replied that I regarded myself as the friend of the Armenians and was shocked at the way that they were being treated. But he shook his head and refused to discuss the matter. I saw that nothing could be gained by forcing the issue at that time. I spoke on behalf of another British subject who was not being treated properly.

“He’s English, isn’t he?” answered Talaat. “Then I shall do as I like with him!”

“Eat him, if you wish!” I replied.

“Oh,” said Talaat, “he would go against my digestion.” He was altogether in a reckless mood. “Gott strafe England!” he shouted, using one of the few German phrases that he knew. “As to your Armenians, we don’t give a rap for the future! We live only in the present! As to the English, I wish you would telegraph Washington that we shall not do a thing for them until they let out Ayoub Sabri and Zinnoun!”

Then, leaning over, he struck a pose, pressed his hand to his head, and said in English—I think this must have been almost all the English he knew:

“Ayoub Sabri—he—my—brudder!”

Despite this, I made another plea for Dr. McNaughton.

“He’s not American,” said Talaat, “he’s a Canadian.”

“It’s almost the same thing,” I said.

“Well,” replied Talaat, “if I let him go will you promise that the United States will annex Canada?”

“I promise,” said I, and we both laughed at this little joke.

“Every time you come here,” Talaat finally said, “you always steal something from me. All right, you can have your McNaughton!”

Certainly this interview was not an encouraging beginning, so far as the Armenians were concerned. But Talaat was not always in an “Ayoub Sabri mood.” He went from one emotion to another as lightly as a child; I would find him fierce and unyielding one day, and uproariously good-natured and accommodating the next. Prudence indicated, therefore, that I should await one of his more congenial moments before approaching him{219} on the subject that aroused all the barbarity in his nature. Such an opportunity soon presented itself. One day, soon after the interview chronicled above, I called on Talaat again. The first thing he did was to open his desk and pull out a handful of yellow cablegrams.

“Why don’t you give this money to us?” he said, with a grin.

“What money?” I asked.

“Here is a cablegram for you from America, sending you a lot of money for the Armenians. You ought not to use it that way; give it to us Turks, we need it as badly as they do.”

“I have not received any such cablegram,” I replied.

“Oh no, but you will,” he answered. “I always get all your cablegrams first, you know. After I have finished reading them I send them around to you.”

This statement was the literal truth. Every morning all the open cablegrams received in Constantinople were forwarded to Talaat, who read them all before consenting to their being forwarded to their destination. Even the cablegrams of the Ambassadors were apparently not exempt, though, of course, the ciphered messages were not interfered with. Ordinarily I might have protested against this infringement of my rights, but Talaat’s engaging frankness in pilfering my correspondence, and in even waving my own cablegrams in my face, gave me an excellent opening to introduce the forbidden subject.

I thought I would be a little tactful, and so began by suggesting that the Central Government was probably not to blame for the massacres.

But on this occasion, as on many others, Talaat was evasive and non-committal, and showed much hostility to the interest which the American people were manifesting in the Armenians. He explained his policy on the ground that the Armenians were in constant correspondence with the Russians. The definite impression which these conversations left upon me was that Talaat was the most implacable enemy of this persecuted race. “He gave me the impression,” such is the entry which I find in my diary on August 3rd, “that Talaat is the one who desires to crush the poor Armenians.” He told me that the union and Progress Committee had carefully considered the matter in all its details, and that the policy which was being pursued was that which they had officially adopted. He said that I must not get the idea that the deportations had been decided upon hastily; in reality they were the result of prolonged and careful deliberation. To my repeated appeals that he should show mercy to{220} these people he sometimes responded seriously, sometimes angrily, and sometimes flippantly.

“Some day,” he once said, “I will come and discuss the whole Armenian subject with you,” and then he added in a low tone in Turkish, “But that day will never come.”

“Why are you interested in the Armenians, anyway?” he said on another occasion. “You are a Jew; these people are Christians. The Mohammedans and the Jews always get on harmoniously. We are treating the Jews here all right. What have you to complain of? Why can’t you let us do with these Christians as we please?”

I had always remarked that the Turks regard practically every question as a personal matter, yet this point of view rather stunned me. It was, however, a complete revelation of Turkish mentality; the fact that, above all consideration............