Shaping historical consciousness: the language of Armenian genocide denial in Turkish school textbooks

ABSTRACT

This paper investigates the depiction of the Armenian Genocide in Turkish textbooks and examines correlations between changes in Turkish political dynamics and their impact on these educational resources. It analyzes concepts, methodologies, and linguistic constructs used to describe the ‘1915 incident,’ tracking their evolution from 1980 to the present. The study also considers how events like the 1980 coup d’état, rising nationalism, and the Islamization of politics influenced textbook content, alongside changes during Turkey’s bid for European Union membership. Despite a stated aim of historical accuracy in these textbooks, the research hypothesizes that their content is significantly shaped by the prevailing political climate. This work provides insights into the complex relationship between politics and historical representation in educational materials.

KEYWORDS:

• Armenian genocide
• Turkish history
• memory politics
• school textbooks
• genocide denial

Introduction

For decades, Turkish politics and public sentiment have been deeply influenced by the lingering shadow of the Armenian Genocide. Armenians, both in Armenia and in the diaspora, have actively pursued international recognition of the genocide, while the Turkish state has sought to downplay and overlook these events in its national memory. The struggle for acknowledgment reached its apex in the 1980s, particularly with the emergence of the Armenian Secret Army for the Liberation of Armenia (ASALA), a military organization that orchestrated a systematic retaliatory campaign against Turkish diplomats with the strategic goal of thrusting the Armenian genocide onto the international agenda.¹

This paper presents a critical examination of denial as a defense mechanism, which historically has assumed various forms and evolved through distinct phases. Specifically, it traces the denial of the Armenian genocide within Turkey, delving into its origins and examining how it has been perpetuated, particularly through the public education system. Central to my analysis is a critical evaluation of Turkish public-school textbooks, which are instrumental in shaping the contours of national memory and collective identity. This research, therefore, provides a historical overview of genocide denial while offering an incisive critique of its current embodiment in educational discourse.

This investigation focuses on textbooks authorized by the Turkish Directorate of Education, examining editions published in the years 1985, 2005, and 2020. Although the ostensible goal of history textbook authors is to provide an authentic portrayal of historical events, the central hypothesis of this study suggests that the depiction of such events is substantially influenced by prevailing political narratives. The research presented herein aims to elucidate the complex dynamics between political ideology and historical discourse as manifested in educational texts.

Theoretical background: school textbooks and memory politics

Maurice Halbwachs (1877–1945), a seminal scholar in the field of collective memory, posited that the communal recollection of the past is not static but is dynamically shaped by the prevailing societal context. According to Halbwachs, collective memory is in a state of constant evolution, recalibrated to resonate with the exigencies and perspectives of contemporary society.² It is worth noting that subsequent advancements in the theory of memory have expanded our comprehension of the intricate interplay between social groups and their collective memories, providing deeper insight into the processes by which communities construct and reconstruct historical narratives.

Aleida Assmann, esteemed in both English literature and cultural anthropology, offers a critical examination of the ‘collective memory’ concept. She delineates various memory types – social, political, and cultural – and articulates that these collective memories are not immutable but evolve with shifting generational viewpoints. She maintains that memory is an active process of reconstruction, influenced by the interconnectedness of language, symbols, and events within a society. Assmann thus extends Halbwachs’ foundational theories, asserting that the act of remembering is inherently political, with the power to shape, suppress, or omit elements of history. She introduces the term ‘memory politics’ to describe how institutions and states wield historical narratives to forge national identities and engage in political discourse.³ Unlike personal recollections, the collective memory of social groups is deliberately crafted through cultural institutions such as libraries, museums, and memorials, which stand as testimonies across generations.⁴

History textbooks serve as a crucial window into the ways nations construct and convey their historical narratives, often being instrumental in the state-sponsored formation of a unified national consciousness. My assertion is that these textbooks are not just repositories of historical facts but are vital tools for cultivating a sense of collective identity among citizens. This is a global phenomenon, yet Turkish textbooks are especially significant for their influential role in crafting and perpetuating idealized identity narratives within the country. They stand out as powerful mediums through which the state articulates and reinforces its version of national history.

Recently, the content of Turkish textbooks has garnered the interest of scholars from various fields. Sociologist Kenan Çayir, in particular, has thoroughly reviewed these textbooks from the past several decades, focusing on how they address issues of identity, citizenship, and rights. His research highlights a notable trend: the centralized nature of Turkey’s education system appears to cultivate a uniform national identity. This is reflected in a wide array of textbooks, regardless of the author or subject matter. Çayir observes that lessons in subjects as varied as music, literature, and English are crafted with the intent to reinforce a shared sense of national identity among students.⁵

While governmental efforts ostensibly aim to address the myriad challenges faced by ethnic and religious communities within the nation, educational materials concurrently propagate an exclusionary and essentialist historical narrative, primarily focused on the Turkish experience.⁶ This dichotomy is also elucidated by Tuba Kancı and Ayşe Altınay, who assert that Turkish educational texts have historically adopted a markedly militaristic discourse and thematic framework. The pervasive militarization evident in these materials reflects a worldview that perceives multiculturalism as a destabilizing force rather than an aspirational societal ethos.⁷

Notably, these textbooks are targeted at the nation’s youth, who are tasked with assimilating their contents and espousing the associated ideologies. However, it is imperative to acknowledge that a textual analysis alone cannot definitively ascertain the collective societal perception of historical events, such as the Armenian genocide. To comprehend the populace’s understanding of such events, methodologies like surveys or ethnographic studies are indispensable. Consequently, an examination of textbook language and content offers insights primarily into the perspectives of the state, delineating their conceptualization of national identity vis-à-vis younger generations’ perspectives on the same.⁸

Ümït Üngör delves into the intricacies of how Turkish society grapples with the Armenian genocide within its collective social memory. Despite the Turkish state’s official denial of the genocide, societal recollections reflect a divergent narrative. Through interviews with elderly individuals in Eastern Turkey, Üngör highlights the persistence of oral traditions recounting familial and communal experiences of the genocide, underscoring the endurance of memories despite concerted efforts to suppress them.⁹

Lastly on this matter I would also like to draw attention to the scholarly work of political scientist Jennifer Dixon. She examines the various determinants shaping the Turkish narrative surrounding the genocide within educational materials. She delineates four distinct phases spanning from the early 1970s to the early 2000s.¹⁰ Commencing with the initial phase, Dixon identifies the emergence of terrorist activities perpetrated by the ASALA, alongside the mounting pressure exerted by international Armenian organizations during the 1970s and 1980s, which contributed to a heightened public awareness of the genocide. Transitioning to the subsequent phase, Dixon underscores the escalating pressure from both domestic and international entities, positing that this period instigated alterations within the content of textbooks.¹¹ The third phase, according to Dixon, correlates the textbook revisions with the conclusion of the Cold War and the concomitant diminution in Turkey’s geopolitical significance, thereby facilitating amplified international scrutiny. In the final phase, spanning the 1990s to the early 2000s, Dixon contends that the burgeoning acknowledgment of the genocide on the international stage, coupled with the gradual dissolution of taboos surrounding internal discourse within Turkey, engendered a climate conducive to challenging and debating the prevailing Turkish narrative concerning the genocide. Dixon suggests that as media outlets and academics became increasingly involved in this discourse, newer editions of textbooks adopted a language purportedly more neutral in describing Armenians.¹²

However, I posit that while Dixon’s analysis highlights pivotal factors precipitating these shifts, the language employed in recent textbooks has not necessarily evolved towards greater objectivity or neutrality. On the contrary, I contend that contemporary discourse often manifests a more acerbic tone towards Armenians, characterized at times by cynicism and artifice in its semantic construction. I intend to expound upon this perspective in subsequent sections.

Before we delve into the methodology of this thesis, it is essential to address a pivotal element of Turkish historiography: the power of founding myths. These narratives, particularly those concerning the establishment of the Turkish Republic after the fall of the Ottoman Empire, are deeply ingrained in the nation’s collective memory and identity. They are delicate yet potent, influencing both public consciousness and scholarly discourse, thereby shaping the nation’s historical self-conception.¹³ Philosopher Jeffrey Blustein characterizes these founding myths as significant narratives within a group’s historical self-understanding. While they may not always be historically accurate, they provide symbolic elements drawn from the collective past that resonate with the group’s present identity. According to Blustein, these myths often function to reaffirm and reignite commitment to a group’s core values, especially when those values or the group’s way of life seem under threat. The true power of such myths is their ability to draw from their own historical reservoir rather than that of others.¹⁴ The Turkish founding myth is particularly instrumental in crafting a distinct ‘us’ and ‘the other’ by delineating who is considered part of the Turkish identity and who lies outside it, creating a narrative that is uniquely and exclusively Turkish.

The theoretical framework and concepts presented in this chapter will serve as the foundation for the subsequent analysis and discussion in the remainder of the paper. In their pivotal work Kanunların Ruhu, historians Taner Akçam and Uğur Kurt offer an incisive examination of the legal aspects surrounding the Armenian Genocide. They argue that the establishment of the Turkish Republic was significantly predicated on the expropriation of property belonging to minorities and the systematic removal of these groups from the population.¹⁵ According to Akçam and Kurt, the once diverse society of the Ottoman Empire, consisting of a notable 25 percent Christian and Jewish minorities in 1914, was deliberately dismantled. The authors suggest that the Turkish Republic was, to a substantial degree, built on the aftermath of this demographic restructuring.¹⁶ While this perspective has stirred controversy in Turkey, Akçam and Üngör back their assertions with robust evidence and argumentation.

The contentious aspect here lies in the reluctance to reconcile with this narrative due to its divergence from the prevailing account, which extols heroic battles and portrays the Ottoman Empire’s defense against formidable adversaries seeking its partition. As an example of this, the sociologist Baris Ünlü has introduced two concepts, Turkishness and the Turkishness contract, to examine ethnicity and the historical evolution of the Turkish Republic through the lens of privilege. Ünlü posits that the genesis of Turkishness can be traced to implicit agreements forged among Muslims residing in Anatolia between 1915 and 1925, termed the Muslimness contract and the Turkishness contract, respectively.¹⁷

The loss of Anatolian territory in the spring of 1915 precipitated seven years of conflict, encompassing World War I and the Turkish War of Independence. These events culminated in the signing of the Treaty of Lausanne in 1923, which formally ended hostilities between Turkey and the Allied powers and established the boundaries of the modern Turkish state. Throughout these tumultuous years, Muslims rallied to safeguard Anatolia from indigenous Christian populations, such as Armenians and Greeks, as well as external powers like the British and Russians.¹⁸ Ünlü contends that these conflicts, particularly the Armenian genocide, unfolded within a framework of tacit agreements, negotiations, and intense emotions among Anatolian Muslims, including anger, fear, and envy. These dynamics laid the groundwork for what he labels the ‘Muslim contract,’ wherein adherence to Islam ensured security, rights, privileges, and prospects for the future in Turkey. A corollary of this contract was a collective suppression of knowledge regarding the fate of non-Muslims in Anatolia, coupled with the appropriation and redistribution of their assets among Muslims nationwide. Following the triumph in the war, the Turkish Republic was established between 1924 and 1925, and Ünlü contends that Mustafa Kemal and his adherents assimilated this contract into a Turkified framework. In practical terms, this entailed that every Muslim within the nation needed to embrace Turkish identity to avail themselves of the contract’s benefits. Ünlü elucidates:

The door of Turkishness was open to each and every Muslim group and individual as long as they did not resist assimilation. Accordingly, millions of Muslims of different ethnic origins (Kurdish, Circassian, Bosnian, Albanian, etc.) became Turks and stopped being ‘something else’ in order to be included in the new contract. After all, for Muslims, Turkishness was (and still is) a matter of performance.¹⁹

This contract was entrenched through the state’s legislative, economic, and ideological apparatus. However, alongside concrete state policies, individuals developed subconscious mechanisms to evade knowledge and acknowledgment of the Armenian and Kurdish issues. In essence, as long as the genocide against Armenians or other ethnic minorities, such as Kurds, remained unspoken, a predefined path within the socio-economic spectrum was available for exploitation; this phenomenon permeated all sectors, spanning politics, commerce, academia, and the arts.²⁰

It is important to contextualize these events, understanding that the Ottoman Empire, and later Turkey, was not unique in experiencing the forced removal or destruction of significant minority groups. History is replete with similar tragedies. The contentious issue in the Turkish context is the marginalization of this historical account, which confronts the dominant narrative of valiantly defending the empire’s borders against external adversaries during that era. The theoretical framework and concepts introduced above will underpin the ensuing analysis and discussion.

Methodology and source material

To understand how national historical narratives are presented in textbooks, I have utilized the model established by educational psychologists Mario Carretero and Angela Bermúdez Vélez, who identify six key elements in such narratives:²¹

1.	A unified, idealized historical subject that often excludes minority voices.
2.	Language that fosters national identity, using ‘we’ and ‘they’ to connect the present with the past.
3.	Celebrated figures that are depicted as national exemplars, removed from their complex histories.
4.	A narrative that suggests history is driven by singular, noble goals.
5.	Moral judgments that glorify national actions and vilify the ‘other.’
6.	The portrayal of the nation and national identity as timeless, with territorial claims seen as natural.

This article scrutinizes these elements in Turkish historical narratives, with particular focus on:

• The portrayal of the Turks as a monolithic protagonist, particularly in the context of the Ottoman Empire, and how this narrative overlooks the experiences of groups like the Armenians during the formation of the Turkish Republic.

• How language within the textbooks creates an ‘us versus them’ dichotomy, often alienating minorities, especially Armenians, from the national identity.

• The depiction of the Turkish War of Independence and its perceived destiny, and how this narrative integrates with the portrayal of the Armenian experience.

• An exploration of the inherent value judgments and the essentialist view of nationhood and territorial integrity, especially regarding how national interests are justified and how out-groups are characterized.²²

Through these lenses, this article critically analyzes the textbooks’ portrayal of nationhood, identity, and historical events to understand the broader implications for national identity and minority representation in Turkey.

In examining the portrayal of the Armenian Genocide in Turkish textbooks, I have selected three pivotal works for analysis, translated from Turkish to English with an emphasis on interpretative accuracy. Translating the texts yielded a nuanced understanding and substantially informed the trajectory of my analysis, constituting a pivotal aspect of scholarly inquiry. I assert that the preparatory translation work preceding the thesis is integral to the ensuing analytical framework. Throughout this endeavor, I engaged in deliberate assessments and reflective practices concerning my source material. Embracing the dual roles of analyst and translator facilitated the cultivation of a discerning perspective in the assignment, thereby fostering a heightened sensitivity to potential interpretive biases. This dialectic engagement underscored the scholarly rigor inherent in the investigative process.

My research is anchored in three textbooks: Milli Tarih (1985) by Niyazi Aksit, the 2005 edition of T.C. Inkılap Tarihi ve Atatürkçülük, for upper secondary students, which explores Turkey’s revolutionary history and Kemalist ideology; and its 2020 counterpart, prescribed for use through 2023, which distinctively addresses the events of 1915 over three pages and provides a narrative on the precursors and repercussions, including the ASALA-related conflicts of the later twentieth century. The rationale behind this selection lies in the absence of substantive content pertaining to the Armenian Genocide within history textbooks predating the 1980s. This gap can be attributed to the limited international attention afforded to the Armenian uprising on the subject during that period.

Educational strategies in historical continuity in the 1980s

The 12 September 1980, coup d’état by General Kenan Evren marked a dramatic escalation in the existing conflict between the Turkish state and the ASALA.²³ The early 1980s were witness to the most intense period of ASALA’s campaign against Turkish targets, a fact that precipitated the Turkish government’s development of more centralized and robust political countermeasures. In the immediate aftermath of the coup, the military government assumed direct control of the education system, strategically promoting Islam and Turkish nationalism to enforce ideological conformity. Between 1980 and 1986, Ankara was the source of 126 multilingual publications promoting the ‘Turkish thesis’ of the 1915 events, a clear effort to oppose Armenian narratives.²⁴ Additionally, a revised encyclopedia series was published, framing the 1915 incidents as the ‘so-called genocide,’ a term designed to question and diminish the international perception of these events as genocide.²⁵

In July 1981, Turkey’s National Education Council, a key player since 1939 in shaping educational policies, affirmed the role of national education in perpetuating cultural continuity and societal modernization, principles deeply rooted in Atatürk’s vision of nationalism and progressive reform. Central to this vision was the importance of the Turkish language as the cultural cornerstone, necessitating its study alongside Turkish history and geography, even in foreign schools within the country as per the Lausanne Treaty. The Council’s directives were clear: educational programs must place greater emphasis on Turkish cultural elements, employing modern pedagogies. This approach not only aimed at instilling a sense of historical pride but also at reinforcing a nationalistic educational narrative that aligns with Turkey’s efforts to forge a unified national identity.²⁶ The cornerstone of the country’s educational philosophy is immediately apparent from this meeting report: it prioritizes unity and the perpetuation of cultural heritage. It becomes clear that within this framework, there is a concerted push to enrich the curricula with a deeper exploration of Turkish language, literature, history, geography, and cultural studies.

This strategic emphasis in education is twofold.²⁷ First, it serves to cultivate national pride by emphasizing the selected heritage of the Turks as heirs to a glorious and honorable history. Second, it shapes the pedagogical approach for history education, aiming to instill in students not only a repository of historical data but also the intellectual tools for analytical thinking. The focus is on understanding historical causality – the factors leading to conflicts and how they influence outcomes – rather than rote memorization of facts and figures. A significant insight from the president of the Istanbul Public Education Center highlights this approach, revealing an ideological bent towards fostering national pride and a deterministic view of history in the educational narrative. The method steers clear of promoting independent critical thinking or the impartial assessment of historical events. This framework sets the stage for analyzing its manifestation in concurrent textbooks, particularly in the handling of sensitive historical topics.

Analysis of textbook 1: Milli Tarih

Among the five textbooks evaluated from the period of 1980–1985, it is notable that only one, published in 1985, addresses the topic of the Armenian genocide. The absence of this historical event in the others is a silence in itself that speaks volumes. For example, in the 1980 history textbook Tarih by Emin Oktay, which describes the Ottoman Empire’s role in World War I, there is a marked omission of any mention of the genocide. The text delves deeply into the Ottoman military campaigns in the Caucasus against the Russians, yet the Armenian Genocide remains unacknowledged. This raises a pivotal question: Was the Armenian Genocide considered extraneous within the broader historical narrative of that time, or was it expected that the international pressures from the Armenian diaspora and other nations would eventually wane? A conceivable rationale is that the Turkish state’s official narrative had not yet been firmly established for impartation to the younger generation, perhaps waiting for the geopolitical climate to stabilize before cementing an official position.

From the year 1985 onward, the references to the Armenian problem (Ermeni meselesi) start to surface with greater frequency within educational materials. In the 1985 history textbook penned by Niyazi Aksit, the following excerpt can be found:

Throughout their history, Armenians have primarily lived in Armenia, Iran, Syria, and partially in East Anatolia, within the borders of what today constitutes the Soviet Union. The Armenians have never been able to establish an independent country in their history. They have lived under the rule of Rome, Iran, Byzantium, Arabia, the Seljuks, and the Ottoman State. When the Seljuks defeated the forces of Byzantium and gained control over East Anatolia, the dispersed Armenians, in this territory, came under Turkish rule. Armenians, who were weary of the pressure from Byzantium, welcomed the Seljuks as saviors. Neither during the Seljuk era or during the Ottoman period were Armenian language, customs, religion, and traditions ever interfered with. This tolerance ensured by the state allowed the Armenians to live closely and harmoniously with the Turks²⁸

In the textbook’s introduction to the Armenian narrative, the language employed is conspicuously restrained, eschewing emotive adjectives to project an air of objectivity. However, a closer examination reveals a subtext that subtly steers the portrayal of Armenians. They are depicted as historically stateless, living under the dominion of other powers, which subtly suggests a lack of self-determination. This depiction, almost imperceptibly, conveys an impression of the Armenians as inherently unsuited to self-rule. The narrative goes so far as to insinuate a natural incapacity for independence, akin to a child’s reliance on adult supervision. This analogy extends to portray the Turks as custodians, bringing Armenians into their fold. The text implies not just a state of security under this guardianship but also posits Armenian contentment, crafting an image of Armenians as dependents, grateful for the protection and guidance of the Turks.

The text also presents a narrative where Armenians are seemingly stripped of their rich historical tapestry within the Ottoman Empire, casting them as a people without a legacy of sovereignty. This portrayal is encapsulated in the depiction of their reception of the Seljuks as saviors, implying an escape from previous subjugation. The choice of ‘tolerance’ (Hoşgörü) by the state, while ostensibly positive, carries an undercurrent of begrudging acceptance, especially when one considers the religious context within the empire where Muslims enjoyed privileges not extended to non-Muslims.

Historian Etienne Copeaux, renowned for his seminal work on Turkish historiography, has accurately observed that Armenian presence in Turkish textbooks predominantly occurs within the context of conflict with Turks. Consequently, Armenians are not depicted as a community with a rich historical legacy stretching back to antiquity, unlike other Anatolian peoples.²⁹ This pattern is evident here as well. Armenians are depicted as lacking a substantial historical presence within the Ottoman Empire, while simultaneously the author implies a reluctance on their part toward sovereignty. This section culminates with a depiction of harmonious coexistence between Armenians and Turks, reinforcing the narrative of benevolent Turkish oversight. Yet, as we progress to the subsequent section, the tone shifts, and a more complex interethnic dynamic is unveiled:

After the Treaty of Berlin, some Armenians became a tool for the politics of the great powers with interests in the Ottoman Empire. Provoked by these states, they initiated very bloody rebellions in Ottoman lands leading up to World War I. These rebellions were suppressed. The Entente powers, wishing to encircle the Turks, then armed some Armenians. For the Turks, the Armenian problem became a security problem and additionally a question of preserving the very existence of the state. Because of this, the Ottoman state enacted a law that subjected the rebellious Armenians to forced migration.³⁰

In this section, the previously harmonious narrative of amicable Armenians and tolerant Turks is overturned. The Turks, once presented as benevolent, are now portrayed as threatened within their own realm by a minority. The once-content Armenians are now depicted as a pressing security concern, jeopardizing the very foundation of the Ottoman Empire. They have become, as the text suggests, a ‘problem’ – specifically, the ‘Armenian problem.’ But what does it mean to label an entire ethnic group as a ‘problem’ by another? The term in itself is ambiguous, providing little explicit detail yet implying much. This vagueness gives the term a linguistic potency over its audience. The term’s influence is further augmented by its definite singular form, ‘the Armenian problem,’ as opposed to a more indefinite ‘an Armenian problem.’ The definitive phrasing lends weight to the issue, making it seem like a clear-cut, universally acknowledged concern, even if it isn’t elaborated upon in the text.

Students who engage with this material are not prompted to question if the Armenians genuinely created disturbances or if they were indeed an issue within the Ottoman Empire, as this perspective has already been established for them. The term ‘the Armenian problem’ subtly influences all student reflections on this topic, incorporating everything they might have previously learned or heard and what they’re currently being taught. This term holds weight without requiring justification, operating almost seamlessly. One could liken this ‘problem’ in educational material to a mathematical equation. A student, when presented with an equation in a book, would not doubt its validity but would instead seek a solution. ‘The Armenian problem’ thus serves as a self-contained linguistic construct in the textbook, requiring no external validation to exert influence or command over its readers.

Furthermore, students encounter information regarding certain agreements and treaties, which the textbook does not previously elaborate upon. It is possible that the intended outcome is for students to perceive these as unwavering external frameworks to which they must adapt. Amplifying these claims, the text suggests that even an Armenian committee member eventually conceded the existence of a plot against the Turkish state.

On a closer examination of the diction, we see a contrast between the Armenians’ portrayal in the initial segments versus the later sections. Do the Armenians possess greater agency, leading revolts, or are they mere pawns in the geopolitical strategies of other nations? The language leans towards the latter, suggesting that Armenians were subjected to external mandates, deprived of self-determination, and used as tools in the political ambitions of other countries. According to this narrative, external powers both incited and armed the Armenians, implying their rebellion was not even of their own volition.

A continuing metaphor from earlier discussions likens the Armenians to a child. Initially, as a child incapable of self-sustenance, they are under the protective tolerance of the Turks. However, they later evolve into an adolescent yearning for independence – a sentiment often observed in teenagers seeking autonomy. Yet this aspiration is harshly suppressed by the authoritative figure, represented here by the Ottoman Empire. The Armenians are portrayed as being swayed or misled by outsiders since they purportedly lack the discernment to make significant decisions independently. This narrative culminates in labeling their situation as ‘the Armenian problem.’

Returning to Carretero and Bermudez’s perspective, the narrative presented displays a singular, homogenous historical perspective devoid of diverse voices or roles. The Armenians in this account seem passive, acting out a preordained role from history. Minorities’ perspectives are almost entirely absent, except for the singular voice of Papazyan, who is depicted as aligning with the Turkish viewpoint. As this voice is introduced, it brings with it conditions of inclusion and exclusion, as Carretero and Bermudez discuss in their first point. Further, a distinct process of identification is evident, mirroring their second point, wherein an ‘us vs. them’ dichotomy emerges from the onset. Even without explicit use of such divisive pronouns, the narrative creates a clear distinction between the Armenians and Turks, despite their shared homeland and intertwined histories.

Carretero and Bermudez’s first and second points interconnect, suggesting that as the national identity of the Turks and Turkey is birthed, there’s no space or necessity to acknowledge the narratives of minorities within the realm. The ultimate aim here seems singular. Reflecting on their fourth point, the narrative adopts a monocausal or teleological stance, attributing historical events to a primary objective like defending national interests. This viewpoint surfaces multiple times in the provided text, emphasizing that the empire’s safety is at stake with enemies both outside and within its borders. Such internal threats, as the narrative suggests, must be expelled to safeguard the nation and the empire’s very existence.

In assessing the narrative’s impact on secondary school students, it becomes evident that not only are the voices of Armenians conspicuously absent and marginalized, as previously demonstrated, but Armenians are also largely depicted as an internal threat. Subsequent sections of the textbook transition to the portrayal of the so-called Turkish War of Independence. While historical accounts typically progress chronologically, it is conceivable that students may infer a causal relationship between the preceding genocide and the subsequent war, perceiving the latter as a necessary struggle waged by Turks against numerous adversaries to establish the Turkish Republic. Consequently, the overarching depiction conveyed to students implies that Turks initially rescued Armenians perceived as incapable of self-governance – initially akin to dependent children, then rebellious youths, and ultimately unruly subjects necessitating expulsion for the security and harmony of the empire.

Returning to the theoretical framework of memory, particularly as elucidated by Aleida Assmann, it is imperative to examine how political constructs of memory influence the interplay between individual and collective recollections. While the description of the Armenian genocide in the textbook exhibits traits of memory policy, it diverges from Assmann’s notion by gravitating toward a homogeneous narrative rather than interlinked memories. Nonetheless, it retains significant emotional resonance, effectively conveying a predetermined message that shapes students’ historical comprehension and their capacity for critical analysis. Moreover, it remains rooted in tangible material – the text or textbook itself – thus perpetuating a political memory transmitted across generations.

The European Union and new textbooks

We will now delve into the subsequent timeframe I have demarcated, primarily focusing on the post-2000 years. Offering a backdrop to this era is imperative. A significant event from this time period involves France’s endeavor to enact the lois mémorielles (Memorial Laws) to penalize, among other issues, the denial of the Holocaust and other grave crimes against humanity.³¹ On 29 January 2001, the Armenian Genocide of 1915 was officially acknowledged in France. This acknowledgment bore weight in the Turkish milieu, not merely due to the genocide’s association with Turkey and its citizens but also because Turkey felt the compulsion to earnestly educate its populace about the 1915 occurrences. Subsequently, the Turkish National Assembly proposed the incorporation of the ‘Armenian issue’ into the school curriculum, starting from primary levels.³² In April 2002, it was resolved to revise and update educational materials concerning this topic.³³ Concurrently, Turkey’s aspirations for European Union (EU) integration intensified, leading to several administrative and legal educational reforms in 2005. These modifications, targeting upper secondary school curricula and textbooks, stemmed from Turkey’s EU membership application and the consequent prerequisites for accession.³⁴

In the early 2000s, Turkey’s Justice and Development Party (Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi, AKP) signaled a notable departure from its Islamic underpinnings of the 1990s, embarking on a path toward closer alignment with the EU. This pivot was accompanied by sweeping reforms in public administration, financial governance, and judicial processes, all aimed at meeting the European benchmarks. Central to this reformative wave was the radical transformation of educational content, marked by the adoption of learner-focused pedagogies in newly introduced textbooks. At the crux of the educational reform was the 2006 Education Council meeting, which not only accentuated the EU’s growing influence but also shed light on the evolving nature of Turkey’s educational strategies. Resolutions passed at the council stressed the need for educators to remain attuned to their intrinsic cultural values while simultaneously cultivating the acumen to acknowledge and integrate other cultural perspectives, paving the way for seamless intercultural dialogue.³⁵

With escalating international scrutiny on the genocide narrative, predominantly from the United States and Europe, the collective historical consciousness of Turkey underwent another phase of introspection. This recalibration aimed to equip forthcoming Turkish generations with the wherewithal to navigate potential historical indictments they might confront in European nations.

The educational reforms in Turkey prompt critical questions regarding their impact on historical narratives, particularly the portrayal of the Armenian genocide. It is necessary to explore whether these reforms led to significant changes in the narrative to reflect new pedagogical approaches and the shifting geopolitical context or if they simply perpetuated the established historical discourse. Despite these reformative efforts, historical contentions remained resonant. This was also underscored by the Turkish Education Council’s pointed response to France’s formal recognition of the Armenian genocide.³⁶ This condemnation was not merely a defensive stance but part of a broader, multifaceted response to growing international scrutiny, particularly from the United States and Europe. It represented a phase of introspective reassessment within Turkey’s collective historical consciousness, intent on preparing future generations to critically engage with historical challenges posed by external narratives.

In the 2005 textbook, the authors notably emphasize the delineation of Armenians as ‘the other,’ presenting them as a distinct and separate entity within the selected historical narrative. Particularly under the section entitled ‘The Armenian Issue and Conflicts with Armenians,’ the text adopts a tone and language that reinforces this separation. For instance, the initial passages in this section underscore the portrayal of Armenians as a separate entity, distinct from the larger historical context. This portrayal not only highlights the perpetuation of stereotypes but also serves to marginalize the Armenian perspective within the broader narrative. The subsequent analysis elucidates the implications derived from the initial passage:

After the Armistice in Moudros, the Turkish people, who on the one hand fought against the Entente powers that had unjustly occupied the country, also had to struggle on the other hand with the minorities with whom we lived together. One of these minority groups was the Armenians.³⁷

And later:

While the Turkish-Islamic people of the Ottoman Empire were conscripted into the army and served in the defense of the state, the Armenians, like other minorities, were not enlisted in the military, and because they did not leave their businesses, they became rich. Like the other minorities in the state, the Armenians had very large economic opportunities. Because they were faithful to the state, during this period they were called the faithful people (Millet-i Sadika).³⁸

Herein lies another quintessential illustration of the construction of ‘the other’ within the text, characterized by a deliberate juxtaposition of the Turkish-Islamic populace against other minority groups, notably Armenians. This dichotomy is conspicuously delineated, setting the stage for the subsequent demonization of Armenians, implicitly suggesting a transgression of loyalty to the state. The narrative tactfully insinuates a contrast between the Armenians’ pursuit of economic prosperity and the majority’s purported dedication to safeguarding the kingdom from external threats, thus exacerbating the perceived divergence between Turks and Armenians.

In parallel, the text fosters the cultivation of a cohesive ‘us community’ predicated upon a shared national identity among Turks, forged through collective resistance against a common adversary. Notably, the closing statement of the passage intimates the portrayal of Armenians as disloyal, with the temporal reference of ‘this period’ insinuating a subsequent loss of fidelity. Moreover, this narrative strategy resonates with the enduring legacy of the Young Turks’ fervent economic nationalism, wherein non-Muslims within the Ottoman Empire were vilified as exploitative agents, culpable for the nation’s woes. This ideological underpinning advocated for the exclusive Muslim control of the economy, casting non-Muslims as malevolent forces detrimental to national prosperity.

In essence, the vilification of non-Muslims within this discourse serves as a continuum of the Young Turks’ ideological framework, which sought to scapegoat minority populations for the empire’s predicaments while advancing the narrative of economic empowerment through Muslim hegemony. This narrative trajectory not only elucidates the rationale for the inclusion of such topics in the curriculum but also anticipates the subsequent discourse surrounding accusations of genocide.

The textbook’s discourse on ‘the Armenian problem’ frequently utilizes a lexicon replete with emotionally charged terms such as ‘rebellion,’ ‘provocation,’ and ‘revolt,’ strategically framing these phenomena as causally linked, where perceived provocations invariably culminate in uprisings against the state. This narrative extends its purview of international intrigue beyond the earlier focus on Russia in the nineteenth century, now implicating Western powers and the United States as co-conspirators in fomenting unrest within Anatolia. Armenians are portrayed not as independent agents but rather as pawns manipulated by global forces with vested interests in the fragmentation of the Ottoman Empire. The text posits that Armenian insurrections within the Empire were facilitated solely through the backing of Russia, Europe, and America.

This portrayal reinforces a narrative that contrasts the supposed tolerance of the Ottoman authorities with the disloyalty and insurgence of Armenian subjects. The subtext of this narrative is the portrayal of the Ottoman Empire as a generous and forbearing sovereign, extending its beneficence to a minority that, despite being the recipient of its largesse, repeatedly engaged in treacherous acts. This recurrent theme implies a reductive historical interpretation: the Empire is cast as a magnanimous overseer betrayed by those it sheltered, who seized upon foreign instigation to sow discord. To further substantiate my argument, let us consider an additional excerpt from the 2005 textbook:

When the Ottoman Empire entered the war in 1914, all Armenian organizations informed about the situation with encrypted telegrams. Here came the decision that when the Russians took Ottoman land the Ottoman army would retreat, and the Armenians taking advantage of this would then start riots everywhere. The Turkish army would be caught between two fires, government buildings would be bombed, food and weapons convoys would be raided. If the Turkish army were to withdraw, the Armenians were to join the retreating Russian army. The Armenians in the Ottoman army would then desert to form gangs and conduct espionage on behalf of the Central Powers.³⁹

Othering of the Armenians are here, once again, at full force, purportedly conspiring with Russian forces and orchestrating insurrections to debilitate the Ottoman military effort. The narrative marks a point of no return where Armenians, once depicted as a prosperous and contented minority, are now framed as the adversary. The text continually emphasizes this alliance between the Russians and the Armenians – the former as the external aggressor and the latter as the internal saboteur. It is noteworthy that these same Armenians, previously in the same chapter are characterized as ineffectual and in need of assistance for societal issues, are now depicted as adept organizers and collaborators, provided their actions undermine the Turks. Regarding the discrepancies in the depiction of the genocide’s historical narrative across editions, a discernible shift in emphasis is evident. The 1985 textbook places greater emphasis on portraying Armenians and Turks coexisting harmoniously. Conversely, the 2005 textbook amplifies these disparities. Here, the author underscores the Armenians’ alleged ‘disloyalty to the state,’ accentuating the perceived advantages they gained by abstaining from military service, a contrast to the actions of the Turks. This narrative aligns with Carretero and Bermudez’s fifth characteristic, wherein actions perceived to benefit the nation are exalted, even if they involve sacrifices such as death or the elimination of other groups.⁴⁰ Consequently, individuals, notably the Armenians in this instance, depicted as diverging from the communal or national interest as prescribed by the textbooks, are readily cast as adversaries or ‘the other.’ In the subsequent section of this paper, I will illustrate the evolution of the curriculum in this field up to the present day.

Educational shift and political dynamics in the period 2006–2020

The span from 2006 to 2020 witnessed a surge in nationalism, however, more prominently, it marked a phase of pronounced Islamization of Turkish politics. During this period, the AKP remained resolute in its endeavor to recast Turkey as a predominantly Muslim nation.⁴¹ Before exploring the contents of the 2020 history textbook, it is pertinent to reflect on specific milestones from the 2000s. This reflection will provide insight into the evolving discourse surrounding the genocide during this period and its potential impact on the curriculum. Notably, on 19 January 2007, the esteemed Armenian-Turkish journalist, Hrant Dink, was assassinated in Turkey. Dink had previously faced a conviction in April 2004 for allegedly undermining Turkish identity as per Article 301 of the penal code. This infamous article, under which celebrated writers Elif Shafak and Orhan Pamuk were also prosecuted, incited a media-led lynching campaign against Dink. The European Court of Human Rights subsequently deduced that Dink was indirectly penalized for challenging the state’s refusal to label the 1915 events as genocide. In his writings, Dink frequently aimed to forge a path of reconciliation, seeking an alternative perspective to the longstanding animosity between Turks and Armenians. Further illustrating the states persistency to hold a collective amnesia and concealment tactics, the state orchestrated lieux de silence⁴² surrounding Armenian mass graves in Turkey. However, a pertinent question arises: what transpires when the national inclination leans more towards oblivion? Ümit Üngör underscores that tangible remnants of this genocide are manifested in the myriad mass graves dispersed across the Turkish landscape, which have emerged in contemporary times. One such instance transpired in 2006 when Kurdish villagers in the southeast of Mardin province stumbled upon a mass grave. Yet, when the Armenian diaspora sought forensic investigations, the Turkish military promptly obliterated the site.⁴³

Numerous Turkish scholars have engaged in this discourse. For example, Ayşe Parla and Ceren Özgül highlight that the stairs in Istanbul’s renowned Gezi Park were constructed from the remnants of an Armenian church that previously stood there, accompanied by a vast cemetery spanning fourteen acres. The authors further postulate that Gezi Park, which became the epicenter of significant anti-government demonstrations in 2013, epitomizes not merely a parcel of state-confiscated land but also a symbolic testament to a political landscape marred by a conspicuous void.⁴⁴ A discerning analysis of the fate of such mass graves or properties of uprooted minorities can shed light on the fluctuating treatment of citizenship in Turkey over the years.

2015 bore particular significance as it commemorated a century since the perpetration of the genocide. In a noteworthy occurrence, a year prior to the stated events, Turkish President Recep T. Erdoğan expressed condolences to the victims of what he labeled as the ‘Armenian relocation,’ albeit without acknowledging the state’s culpability in the mass killings. The stage was ostensibly set for the Turkish state to proffer a formal apology, with many anticipating a recalibration of the prevailing denialist stance in favor of a revamped diplomatic approach. However, this anticipated contrition remained elusive, and political machinations intertwined inextricably with historical interpretations. The absence of acknowledgment of the state’s culpability in the mass killings poses legal obstacles to achieving justice and accountability, hindering avenues for legal redress such as reparations and prosecutions.

Following the unsuccessful military coup in 2016, Turkey endured a state of emergency until 2018. During this interim, the educational sector witnessed a series of curricular revisions set to be operationalized by 2018. The reformed curriculum drew criticism from diverse quarters, including secularists, educational rights advocates, and women’s collectives, for its pronounced Islamist inclination, disregard for religious pluralism, and equitable representation.

What can we say about changes in how Armenians ware portrayed in Turkish textbooks? On the one hand, we can say that the consistent theme of the anti-state nature of the Armenian movement within the Ottoman Empire was mainted. The authors of the 2020 book Türkiye Cumhuriyeti İnkılâp Tarihi ve Atatürkçülük (The History of the Revolution of the Turkish Republic and Atatürkism) strategically chose to delve into the genocide under the heading ‘The Caucasian Front and the 1915 Incident,’ accompanied by an illustration of Enver Pasha, a revered commander of the Ottoman military and a prominent figure among the Young Turks. The chapter commences with a comprehensive elucidation of the Ottoman Empire’s involvement in the First World War. It is documented that, confronted with harsh winter conditions and a devastating plague that inflicted significant casualties on the Turkish forces, the Russians, with Armenian support, successfully captured several cities in the region. Notably, Van stands out as one such city where the catastrophic events have come to symbolize the gravity and magnitude of the genocide. Subsequent sections of the text unveil:

Russia, Great Britain and France, who had a plan to divide the Ottoman Empire, provoked the Armenians to start a movement to establish an independent state in Eastern Anatolia. During the First World War, on the Caucasus front, while the Ottoman army was fighting against the Russians in very difficult conditions, at the same time some Armenian gangs (çeteler) rebelled against the state. This development also facilitated the advance of the Russian army. Armenian gangs, led by the Hinchak and Dashnak Committees, carried out massacres against the Muslim population in many places in Anatolia, including Van, Erzurum, Bitlis, Diyarbakır and Elazığ.⁴⁵

In this portrayal, a familiar historical narrative unfolds, highlighting the geopolitical ambitions of major powers aiming to partition the Ottoman Empire. The Armenians are depicted as allegedly contributing to the destabilization of the Ottoman state through provocations, ultimately reinforcing their purported desire for an independent state in eastern Anatolia. This narrative further casts the Armenians as collaborators with adversaries, facilitating the advance of the Russian army. The account concludes by asserting that the actions of ‘Armenian gangs’ led to massacres against the eastern Muslim population.

Two noteworthy elements in this narrative warrant specific attention. Firstly, the term ‘Armenian gangs’ (çeteler) appears twice in this excerpt and later in another instance. This term, which can be translated into English as gang, mob, or bandits, has been the subject of a historical conceptual study by historian Polat Safi, who explains that the term ‘gangs,’ despite its widespread usage over time, is adaptable and varies based on its contextual setting.⁴⁶ Safi also clarifies that, from the Ottoman administrative perspective, a crucial distinction existed between mere bandits and gangs associated with a specific nationality, such as Bulgarian, Serbian, or Armenian. These terms were employed to denote groups whose transgressions were perceived by the Ottoman mindset as politically motivated or driven by vendetta.⁴⁷ Examining the contemporary textbook’s use of the term, one can discern a continuation of this approach. While earlier narratives implicated Armenians collectively, the current discourse employs a collective designation: the Armenian gangs.

The portrayal of Armenians and their alleged ‘gangs’ and uprisings stands in stark contrast, symbolizing everything the state perceives as disorderly and illegitimate. A meticulous analysis of the language employed to characterize both sides in this historical narrative unveils a series of contradictions that not only coexist but also mutually reinforce each other. The actions ascribed to Armenian factions are presented as direct challenges to the state’s authority, underscoring the dichotomy between orderliness and chaos, sanctioned versus unsanctioned power, and the enduring struggle between good and evil. The subsequent section offers a concrete illustration of this dynamic.

The textbook passage also reveals a nuanced shift in the attribution of responsibility for the massacres. In earlier depictions, the focus was on Armenians targeting Turks exclusively, but now they are presented as aggressors against the broader Muslim population. This rhetorical change aligns with the increasingly Islamic character prevalent in government-sanctioned textbooks. Notably, the reference to Anatolia – often regarded as the cradle of Turkic origins, historically home to diverse ethnicities, including Armenians for millennia – holds significant implications. The narrative establishes a dualistic ‘us-versus-them’ dichotomy: Muslims versus Christians, simultaneously erasing the historical ties of Armenians to the region. In his doctoral dissertation, Yektan Turkyilmaz discerns a resurgence of scholarly attention since the early 1990s, specifically focusing on the region of Anatolia. Turkyilmaz explicates that narratives elucidating victimhood exhibit a dynamic quality, intricately interwoven with the political landscapes that give rise to them.⁴⁸ Within the historical purview of Turkish nationalist discourse, the portrayal of the ‘Muslim Turk’ as a victim has been a persistent motif, attributing victimization to both major global powers and ostensibly disloyal constituents, particularly non-Muslims, extending back to the era of the Ottoman Empire. Turkyilmaz posits that this portrayal of Turks and Muslims as victims has played a pivotal role in shaping radical, exclusionary, and nationalist ideologies throughout the early twentieth century.⁴⁹

I would like to present one final example that elucidates the textbooks’ role in reinforcing the marginalization of Armenians:

The Ottoman Empire took the necessary measures so that the displaced Armenians would be able to establish their old order in the places where they would be settled. Commissions were established to deal with the immigration procedures. Some of the aggressors who attacked the Armenians during the migration were captured and tried by court-martial (Divan-ı Harp). Despite all the measures taken by the Ottoman state, there were also Armenians who lost their lives during the deportation due to reasons such as transport difficulties, unfavorable weather conditions and epidemic diseases.

The narrative consistently highlights that the Ottoman Empire enacted what it considers ‘necessary measures.’ This framing is designed to cultivate trust among students, suggesting that the state consistently acts in the best interests of its citizens. The omission of specific details about these ‘necessary measures’ implies that the state comprehensively addressed the situation, regardless of the resulting outcomes. The term ‘measure,’ especially when preceded by ‘necessary,’ conveys a benign connotation, portraying any action labeled as such as essential and thereby exempt from negative implications. The text then alludes to Turkish assaults on Armenians without explicitly identifying the assailants, using the vague term ‘attackers’ to create distance and evade accountability. The repetitive use of the term ‘despite’ reinforces the narrative that the state undertook every conceivable action given the circumstances. Commissions established by the state are cited as additional reasons for Armenian fatalities during forced relocations, alongside challenges like transportation, adverse weather, and disease outbreaks.

This textbook, like the others, vehemently refutes genocide allegations, employing references to Armenian ‘supporters’ to discredit such claims. The deliberate omission of specifics regarding these ‘supporters’ allows for interpretation, enabling shifting attributions based on the prevailing political climate. In contemporary Turkey, for instance, the West is often implicated as these ‘supporters,’ whereas older texts may have pointed to Russia. This shift in identifying adversaries and allies is noteworthy.

Interestingly, the textbook engages in a debate over the Armenian death toll but refrains from providing the authors’ estimates of casualties during that period. The narrative suggests that labeling the events as ‘genocide’ is merely an accusation, contending that if the Ottoman Empire had intended such an act, they would have foregone precautions during the deportations. Before proceeding with its historical account, the textbook inserts a concise epilogue-like segment to conclude the chapter.

The authors adopt a cautious approach to conclude the discussion on the alleged genocide. There is a palpable reluctance to delve into the profound grief and suffering endured during the deportations, suggesting that the topic is addressed merely for acknowledgment and subsequent dismissal. The depiction of the Armenian exiles suggests a narrative in which their return appears relatively unimpeded, a portrayal that contrasts sharply with the historical realities documented by scholars like Müge Göcek in Denial of Violence Ottoman Past.⁵⁰ It appears that the authors are more invested in providing justifications and refuting historical events than attributing responsibility to any Turkish entities for the incidents on Ottoman territories. The primary objective seems to engage with current discourses rather than offering an accurate portrayal of history.

Conclusion and some final remarks

This paper has examined the representation of the Armenian Genocide in Turkish textbooks from 1980 to 2020. Initially, I traced the development of the official Turkish stance on the genocide throughout the 1980s, a perspective shaped under the dual pressures of Armenian advocacy and the domestic upheaval of Turkey’s own coup d’état, which had a direct influence on the educational curriculum of the period. The objective of this study was to uncover the range of factors influencing the content of these textbooks and to chart their evolution over time. Here, I have emphasized the significance of the Turkish origin myth. The genocide narrative poses a substantial challenge to this mythos, given the conflicting historical views held by the displaced minorities in contrast to the Turkish state’s officially sanctioned version of history.

This investigation into historical narrative dissemination raises significant questions regarding the framework presented by Carretero and Bermudez, specifically their six-point outline of how basic and master narratives are constructed. Their theory is highly exemplified in these textbooks, which present a highly uniform historical narrative, strictly from the perspective of Turkish protagonists. This approach significantly marginalizes other groups who have historically inhabited the same regions. The narrative surrounding the events in the city of Van, for example, starkly delineates an ‘us versus them’ dichotomy, systematically silencing Armenian perspectives by not providing them with a voice and casting their actions as inherently subversive and a threat to state security.

Additionally, the state’s actions – whether in the era of the Ottoman Empire or the Republic of Turkey – are portrayed as invariably beneficial to the majority. As Carretero and van Alphen assert, this represents a teleological and monolithic interpretation of historical events, with the ultimate goal being the preservation of the state against perceived enemies, wherein every state-sanctioned act is rendered unimpeachable. Moral judgments within these narratives invariably align with nationalistic objectives; for instance, women and children who opposed Armenians near Van are posthumously venerated as martyrs, underscoring the notion that any action taken in defense of national identity – be it tied to territory, ethnicity, or religion – is inherently virtuous.

On 6 February 2023, Turkey was struck by a devastating earthquake that resulted in over 50 000 fatalities. This tragedy elicited international aid, with Armenia being one of the countries that extended humanitarian assistance to the impacted regions. This gesture was not straightforward, given that the 328-km border, established in 1920, has been closed since 1993. Much analysis has focused on the negative economic repercussions, especially for Armenia. However, there is also a compelling argument to be made regarding the psychological impact of this enforced separation. The closure of the border negates the realities experienced by people on both sides, preventing the exchange of cultural, traditional, and historical knowledge, which has dire consequences. The enforced isolation not only denies the existence of the other but also erects a psychological barrier that hinders the acknowledgment of shared histories and collective suffering. The lingering anguish of the Armenian Genocide, perpetrated by the Ottoman Empire in the early twentieth century, is at risk of being relegated to myth if this disconnect persists. Conversely, opening the border and facilitating free movement can be instrumental in acknowledging the truth of these historical events, ensuring that the memory of the genocide is incorporated into the acknowledged historical narrative. I contend that the sealed border between Armenia and Turkey represents an impediment to understanding and reconciliation, and its reopening could foster healing and perhaps a modicum of recovery.

In the potential journey toward reconciliation, educational institutions, particularly through history textbooks, can play a pivotal role. If these textbooks endeavor to offer more balanced and factual representations of historical events, they can foster a more profound collective understanding and nurture empathy for the other nation’s tribulations. Incorporating diverse perspectives from both nations, recognizing cultural and historical commonalities and differences, can help dismantle entrenched stereotypes and prejudices, paving the way for informed mutual comprehension. Additionally, textbooks can serve as conduits for dialogue, enabling Armenian and Turkish students to exchange views and experiences, learning from one another in the process. Through fostering open and respectful communication, we can lay the groundwork for future collaboration and interaction between the citizens of both nations.

It is imperative, however, that such textbooks are crafted with contributions from experts from both countries and are devoid of bias, propaganda, and political manipulation – as this thesis has strived to demonstrate. By doing so, they can facilitate the creation of a shared narrative that acknowledges the sorrows and struggles on both sides, thus contributing to a process of healing and reconciliation.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Additional information

Notes on contributors

Ekim Diren Safak

Ekim Diren Safak earned a Master’s Degree in European Culture from the University of Oslo, where he currently works. His research interests revolve around issues of idetity, collective memory and memory politics, with a focus on Turkish cultural history and the portrayal of historical events in Turkish history textbooks.

Notes

1 Turan and Öztan, Devlet Aklı ve 1915, 218.

2 Halbwachs and Coser, On Collective Memory, 25.

3 Assmann, “Re-framing Memory,” 42.

4 Ibid., 43.

5 Çayir, Who Are We?, 9.

6 Ibid., 10.

7 Kanci and Altinay, “Educating Little Soldiers,” 63.

8 Krawatzek and Friess, Youth and Memor, 22.

9 Üngör, “Lost in Commemoration,” 157.

10 Dixon, “Education and National Narrative,” 118.

11 Ibid.

12 Ibid., 119–20.

13 Blustein, The Moral Demands of Memory, 197.

14 Ibid.

15 Akçam and Kurt, Kanunların Ruhu, 12.

16 Ibid.

17 Ünlü, “The Kurdish Struggle,” 398.

18 Ibid., 399.

19 Ünlü, “The Kurdish Struggle.”

20 Ibid., 400.

21 Carretero and Bermudez, Constructing Histories, 631.

22 Carretero and van Alphen, History, Collective Memories, 294.

23 Yılmaz, 21. Yüzyılda Ermeni, 163.

24 Nohl and Somel, “Education Policy,” 8.

25 Gürpınar, “The Manufacturing of Denial,” 225.

26 T.C. Millî Eğitim Bakanlığı., “Onuncu Millî Eğitim Şûrası,” 58.

27 Ibid.

28 Aksit, Milli Tarih, 134.

29 Copeaux, Tarih Ders, 388.

30 Aksit, Milli Tarih, 134.

31 Koposov, Memory Laws, Memory Wars, 1.

32 Turan and Öztan, Devlet Aklı ve 1915, 299.

33 Ibid.

34 Çayir, “Preparing Turkey,” 40.

35 T. C. Milli Eğitim Bakanliğı, “On Yedinci Millî Eğitim Şûrası Kararları,”9.

36 Ibid.

37 Akdin, Muhittin, and Genc, Inkilap Tarihi, 103.

38 Ibid., 105.

39 Ibid., 106.

40 Carretero and Bermudez, Constructing Histories, 294.

41 Çınar, “Turkey’s ‘Western’,” 177.

42 This phenomenon can be interpreted against the backdrop of Pierre Nora's coined term “Lieux de Mémoire,” a French phrase denoting memory sites. Nora posits that a foundational prerequisite for such memorial landmarks is an intrinsic desire to remember

43 Üngör, “Lost in Commemoration,” 166.

44 Parla and Özgül, “Property,” 617.

45 Cevik, Koc, and Serbetci, Türkiye Cumhuriyeti İnkılâp Tarihi, 35.

46 Safi, “Üç Tarz-ı Çete,” 87.

47 Ibid., 93.

48 Turkyilmaz, “Rethinking Genocide,” 330.

49 Ibid., 334.

50 Göçek, Denial of Violence.