Report/canadian Parlement Vote.

[DominO123]

OK guys, I have translated a French report writen by some Haytoug Chamlian guy into English that is really worth reading.

 

 

 

Friday, 23 April, report-Armenews

 

It is a dark grey, gloomy, cold and rainy day. The frontages of the various Canadian Parliament buildings, of Gothic style, gathered on a hill, are darker than usual. The stones, wet by the rain, are almost black by places. The walls are high, filled with too many decorative outgrowths, perched high, and cutting themselves with a threatening look on the leaded sky. The attic windows are rare, and narrow. The roof has this color characteristic to old Canadian official buildings, roughly turquoise, which is in fact that of rust on the type of metal used. The place resembles to an impassive fortress. We advance, by small groups, towards the principal entry. Wearing our coats, with arched back, we walk silently. There are sometimes abrupt overflows of words, which nobody listens, and then everyone shut up. The waste-gas mains watch us passing, without stumbling. Or then, did I see one of them, whom shook its head, but whom is immediately petrified as soon as it sees me looking at it, from the droplets of rain in my raised eyes? But it is especially the sky which I looked at... Far away, we see now those who wait us in front of the entry. They are there, in station, since the morning, early. Some, even since the day before. The last hours were terrible. The whole machine, all the machines, functioned, unstop, without slackening, in full mode. Only a hundred meter or so is left to reach the entry, but suddenly, our steps are weighed down. A strange tiredness overpowers us one moment. And yet, we did not walk for a long time. And after two hours of ride by car, it was rather good, to revive our legs a little, in this vaguely medieval decoration. But here it is, this walk, it was nevertheless very long. Almost 90 years. And then, there are all these shadows which we bring with us, that rest on us, on our shoulders... It is not only the statues looks whom watch us walking, from the top... We raise the collar of our coat. This damned wind, you know which one, that of the damned desert, still and always strew of bloody and bones memory, yet again this wind raises itself, this time on this parliamentary hill. In front of the entry, again speechless, we shake our comrades’ hands.

 

With glance only, we try to obtain an indication, a forecast, any sign. Nothing. All the faces are closed. Until the last minute, literally, nothing will be sure. Nobody will know really what was going to happen. Too much optimism, and the disappointment could be stunning. Skepticism, and that is likely to waste the moment, preventing us to fully enjoy it. We choose to try to not think about it as much as possible. We’ll see then. But a thing is certain, until the last minute; literally, no effort will have been spared. Whatever the result, it will thus not be regretful. We will endure the shock, as usual. It will simply be for the next time. And we will start all over again. As many times as it will be needed. It is especially for that reason, that everyone is also calm. We enter. Inside, it is obviously even darker. And always the same pompous architectural style, same excessive decorations. And in addition, it is completely overheated. The environment starts to become unreal. We subject ourselves, patiently, to various formalities and safety measures. The day before, at the time of the debates, a deputy, consulting his notes in a sorter carrying the Turkish crescent, lengthily exposed all the denialist theses, and he crowned the whole by the evocation of a so-called "Armenian terrorists"... In some corridors, there are safety agents on each three meters. A part of the Armenians are already installed in one of the two principal galleries, on top of the large room of the House of Commons. The Turks were placed in the other galleries. We join our compatriots, we sit silently. These galleries are symmetrically face-to-face separated by the room of the Parliament, bellow, which they overhang.

 

During the whole waiting hour before the vote we were looking at each others, those opposing us, this group, the children and grandchildren of those whom subjected our parents and our grandparents to the Genocide. And who came there, to take care that this unimaginable crime be still not recognized. We look at eachothers, from far, fixedly, each one seeking the glance of the other facing us. And always this strange silence. Fixing, intensely, avoiding blinking our eyes, until the other lowers his. Or that he turns his head by making a grimace which he believes being a smile. Calms, calms... It is not the moment. They also played, inter alia, the traditional chart of the disturbance of the relations between the communities... A considerable part of the deputies are still undecided, hesitant, the slightest incident can result to a failure. It is necessary to fear a planned provocation. It is certainly difficult to contain ourselves. But we finally do. We have only to not think to ourselves, but rather to us, and especially, to those, for whom we are precisely here for. The safety guards are everywhere. Some are camped in the corners, their hands crossed in their back, in a supposedly intimidating stationary position. Others circulate unstop between our seats. Calms, calms... During one moment, the room of the deputies remained almost empty. Some people dispatched apparently minor current businesses. We wait. And then, suddenly, the room start filling. The deputies come from all sides; enter the room by drawing aside the multiple curtains which skirt the side walls. One of the strategies of last minute had consisted in trying to convince the recalcitrants, the soft ones not to present themselves, rather than to vote against the Resolution. Those who were obviously bought, those who had been sold, those, nobody could do anything. Those will vote with a lowered head... But there were several, whose position was not justified by personal interests, but by strictly political considerations. The Minister of foreign affairs was vigorously agitated during last days, to put all the possible pressure, against this step. And then, like always, there had been the usual warnings of the large companies and their amazing contracts, supposedly in danger... Finally, there will be very few absent. But there will be one of them, of size. The Prime Minister Paul Martin. His absence is highly significant. He will have chosen not to come, to not have to vote no...

 

The leaders of the other three political parties will vote all in favour of the Resolution. The leader of the party in power will choose to be elsewhere. Message understood, Ankara? Undoubtedly. And the vote starts. The President of the Room proceeds ranks by ranks. There are five on each side. It is initially the "yes" which rises, one by one. Starting with the ranks of the opposition. There are many that remains sited... They all are of the Conservative Party. And then, the ranks of the party in power, starting with the last one. It is there that all will be decided. Will the deputies finally yield to the pressures of the Minister of foreign affairs? Was there an order to vote all together, in the same direction? - according to this famous "party line", which too often governs the parliamentary system in this country, by transforming the democracy into a masquerade -. When the back ranks deputies of the liberal party rises, in a vast majority, we notice suddenly that we had stopped breathing for a few minutes. And it is in a howl that we release ourselves. The safety agents are in panic, and start moving, dispersing among us, intimating us to keep our calms. We still try to control ourselves. Because it is not finished yet... Arriving to the first two ranks, where the ministers are. There is less and less "yea" which rise... Undulation among us. Silence is back. Our breath again is retained. Some are still upright. Others fell down on their seats; others are leaning in front of all their body, as if they wanted to jump in the room, in the bottom.

 

The emotion, the tension, are at their peak. Nobody thought of counting the votes! We do not know anymore where we are at, now the "ney" rise, arranged by ranks. Our hearts are tightened. With each negative vote, it is like a stab... we silently say terrible curses on the head of these deputies who rise, one by one, to spit on the memory of our martyrs, to assassinate them, cut them up once again, violate them and mutilate them, 89 years later... And then, suddenly, it is the gallery which opposes us which explodes in applause. The Turks seem to shout victory... We understand later that it was to underline the negative vote of the ministers. But at the time, doubt is installed, on the counting of the votes. Nobody says anything any more. We even avoid looking at eachothers. The microphone is cut for a few seconds. The clerks count the votes. And then the neutral and detached voice of the President of the Room announces the results... When we hear the number of yes, we don’t listen to anything anymore. The House of Commons is overflowed by our screams, our vociferations, our sobs. We intertwines, we embraces eachothers, we dry our tears on the cheeks of the other, and reciprocally. For some, we do not even know eachothers! Time stopped. We won. This is victory, too. In prediction for so much of others to come, of course...

 

The doors of the gallery remain closed, they prevents us from leaving immediately. It is that it is necessary that the Turks be the first to leave, and prevent that our groups cross... That is to say. We waited 89 years; we can wait ten more minutes we tell to the guard who comes to explain us politely the reason of our waiting. With their looks which they hope to be authoritative, they do not manage to repress their smile. We leave now to the free air. We have the impression to fly. We do not know where to go anymore, what to do. Receptions, cocktails are prepared. We don’t care. We will meet the many deputies who firmly supported us, even by disputing with the members of their own caucus, facing their own government. That, we really want to do it, we want to speak with them. Where is this room of reception? Some young Turks still trails in trimmings. You can imagine in which state they are. Always outside, before the Parliament, we gather around our priests and prelates, for some prayers, in front of a kind of flame in a sculpture, which really evokes Didsernagapert, in miniature. While we pray, some Turks pass by. One of them shouts us that all this is not important, all that, because the true Judge is in the sky. And he points his finger towards the sky... It is him whom calls upon God! Those that were praying continued to pray, without hearing them. But there was one who crossed their way, and he shouted, with a calm and impassible voice: "wait, we did not finish yet with you. Do not believe that you will get away only with this. This is only a start... You will see " They did not say anything. They diverted their glances, and pressed their step, to disappear as fast as possible. The cellulars haven’t stopped wringing all the day long. In the streets of Montreal (Toronto also, I suppose), the youngsters circulated while hooting and shouting, leaning on the window of the cars, holding up enormous flags of Armenia. In all the Community centers, it was the festivities, until the small hours of the morning. Wrapped in the tricolour, shoulder against shoulder, hand in the hand, the youngsters danced without respite. The following day, in the schools, it continued, all the day. The schoolboys, in jubilation, sang in the corridors, drew and stuck yerakouyns everywhere, hustled themselves to explain to their non-Armenian teachers - amazed - what had just occurred. We will still celebrate few more days. The demonstration in Ottawa will be memorable, Saturday. The other events of April 24 too. And then, each one will return to his position, and we will continue this fight.

Edited April 24, 2004 by Fadix