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Armenian-Americans as Political Players
Driven be memories, this tiny ethnic community wields a big political stick, as evidenced every April in U.S. House-sponsored genocide legislation
For Armenian-Americans, April is the cruelest month of all, a reminder of the bloody purge in their ancestral homeland 86 years ago that sent hundreds to their deaths. Fueled by the passion of that memory. Armenian-Americans are united as perhaps few other minority groups, wielding considerable political clout -- from California's Capitol to the halls of Congress.
When Armenian-Americans talk, lawmakers listen. From Capitol Hill to Sacramento, that political reality is all the more note-worthy because, as an ethnic minority, Armenian-Americans are but a blip on the population radar screen. Yet, after decades of diaspora, privation and prejudice, Armenian-Americans have earned a striking reputation for political clout that is often deployed in the service of painful memories. Consider that: Thanks to Armenian-American lobbying and dutiful tending by sympathetic lawmakers, Armenia is now the second leading per-capita recipient of U.S. foreign aid, behind Israel. For six years running, Congress has increased Armenian aid beyond White House requests; this year, the $90 million for Armenia is $15 million more than the administration sought. Legislatures from Sacramento to Paris have, at the behest of Armenia-minded constituents, waded into the business of historical interpretation by officially declaring the murderous period from April 1918 to 1923 to be the "Armenian Genocide." The 70-plus members of the Armenian Caucus in Congress are credited with enacting long-running restrictions on direct U.S. aid to Azerbaijan, a troubled and oil-rich neighbor that has long been at odds with Armenia. "They do a better lobbying job than most," Representative George Radanovich (R-Mariposa) said of Armenian-Americans, comparing their influence to that of other ethnic minorities. That influence is all the more remarkable because, numerically speaking, Armenians are not a sizable ethnic group. There are about 1 million Americans of Armenian descent in the United States, about 500,000 of whom live in California, concentrated primarily in Fresno and the Glendale-Pasadena area of Southern California. While modest in numbers, the reasons behind the political clout of Armenian-Americans illustrate why some populations not only speak louder but are heard better than others. The Armenian-American population is culturally cohesive, bound in part by a distinct religion - the Armenian Apostolic Church, which has at least eight churches in Glendale and six in neighboring Pasadena. That contributes to a common message and a shared interest in the old country. The population is concentrated, which amplifies the message heard by local politicians. The population's major immigration flow to the United States occurred decades ago, enabling assimilation into the political system while still retaining its ethnic identity. "By and large, on issues that relate to Armenia and the Armenian Genocide, Armenians share basic beliefs," said Barlow Der Mugrdechian, professor of Armenian Studies at California State University, Fresno. Plus, "The community has structures in place, (like) the church, the Armenian Assembly (and) the Armenian National Committee, which have become effective voices for the community."
A look at legislation This year, for instance, the state Senate has before it a bill to establish a California trade office in Armenia. The trade office would cost up to $149,000 a year, in a country that in 1999 imported only $10 million worth of California products, less than the likes of Fiji or Qatar. But California's Fijian and Qatarian populations are considerably quieter than the Armenian population concentrated in the district of SB 179's author, Jack Scott (D-Burbank). Explicitly citing the 500,000 Armenians living in California, Scott's bill says the trade office is necessary because "Armenia...continues to privatize small businesses and state-run enterprises, providing opportunities for local and foreign investors." Not that the Armenian-American population wins every fight; just ask Jim Rogan. Make that, former Republican congressman Jim Rogan, the one-time House impeachment manager who was ousted last November by Democrat Adam Schiff. While Rogan and Schiff spent $11.2 million attacking each other in the 27th Congressional District race, there was one issue on which they found common ground: Armenia, a far-away country slightly smaller than the state of Maryland. With at least five Armenian language newspapers and three Armenian-language cable television stations, the 27th Congressional District is rich with voters who maintain strong ethnic ties. So when House Speaker Dennis Hastert last year was stumping for Rogan, he naturally met privately with Armenian-American community leaders. Hastert promised he'd bring to the House floor legislation co-sponsored by Rogan and Radanovich that called public attention to "the Armenian Genocide of 1915-1923." The promise was tactically clever in helping Hastert's efforts to retain a House majority. Ethnic politics, besides, are a Capitol Hill tradition. But this particular promise also plunged the House speaker into a diplomatic muddle involving one of America's most crucially placed allies and the meaning of tragic memories. "Today these memories live in the hearts and minds of many of my friends and thousands of my constituents," Rogan said on the House floor in 1999. "It is our duty not to let these memories fade."
Reliving the genocide Armenian Genocide legislation is a Capitol Hill perennial, going back at least to 1975. Broadly speaking, the legislation summons forth the events that began April 24, 1915, when Armenian leaders were rounded up in the dying years of the Ottoman Empire. Murders, rampage and forced deportations followed. Marshaling considerable evidence and the attestations of professional historians, as well as esteemed Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel, proponents of genocide resolutions contend the resulting deaths of 1.5 million Armenians clearly meet the definition of genocide: the intentional destruction of an entire people. But the question persists: Was it genocide or simply a brutal and chaotic war? Turkish Embassy officials wrote in one summary that "Armenians, indeed, died in the eastern part of the Ottoman Empire, but so did hundreds of thousands of Turks inhabiting the area, as a consequence of the inter-communal violence unleashed by Armenians." "This issue," the State Department's foreign service chief, Marc Grossman, urged lawmakers last year, "should really be in the hands of historians and scholars." Grossman, a former U.S. ambassador to Turkey, was not simply counseling academic detachment. Strategically situated, Turkey borders Syria, Iraq and Iran and is the southernmost member of NATO, home to U.S. warplanes flying out of Turkey's Incirlik Air Force Base. "The Turks have been our friends and allies throughout the Cold War," said Rep. Dan Burton, the volatile Indiana Republican who chairs the House Government Reform Committee. "And so what are we going to do, give them a slap in the face?" San Mateo Democratic Congressman Tom Lantos, a survivor of the World War II Holocaust, similarly termed the genocide measure "singularly counterproductive to our national interest." But Congressman Brad Sherman (D-Sherman Oaks) cast the national interest in a different light, saying that "if we reject this because it's bad for (Turkish military) basing rights, then what credibility do we have in the world?" The diverging opinions come draped in intensely bitter feelings. Newspaper articles raising doubts about the genocide resolution invariably draw heated letters and e-mails from Armenian-Americans. Turkish officials are equally impassioned. In the back of a crowded House International Relations Committee hearing room last year, a Turkish Embassy official quickly drew for a reporter a detailed map of the Russian and Armenian battle lines in 1918: Here, the official said angrily, stabbing at the map, just look at the circumstances back then, the obvious threat to the Ottoman Empire.
A GOP fumble? Bolstered by Hastert's promise to the embattled Rogan, last year's resolution seemed destined for House passage. Until October, when Israelis and Palestinians began killing each other again in earnest. Blood was in the streets, the Middle East peace process was unraveling, and Turkey was attempting to be a peacemaker, utilizing its ties with Israel. Turkey was also considering whether to renew U.S. rights to Incirlik, and whether to buy U.S. military helicopters made in Texas. The timing was entirely inauspicious for the House to consider a resolution that the painfully sensitive Turkish government considered a kick in the teeth. Nonetheless, proponents of the Armenian genocide legislation appeared indifferent to the Middle East circumstances. Turkey, they said, will always find one excuse or another to avoid judgment. But literally minutes before House debate was to begin the night of Oct. 19 - and without bothering to warn Radanovich and others - Hastert responded to a written request from President Clinton and pulled the bill. It was a broken promise by Hastert, who had assured Rogan's constituents the bill would get a House vote. Republicans, though, directed the blame elsewhere. "Clinton/Gore Administration Kills Armenian Genocide Resolution," Radanovich's subsequent press release declared. Radanovich insisted the House speaker "had no choice but to accede to the president's request" based on national security concerns raised by the White House. At the same time, he urged constituents to call the White House to protest, helpfully including the White House's phone number. It's a given that the genocide resolution by Radanovich and others will return this year sometime before April 24, the date that Armenian-Americans consider the anniversary of the tragedy. Meanwhile, Armenian-Americans are adept at deploying traditional political weapons. There are registered lobbyists, including the Armenian Assembly of America, which spent $200,000 in 1998 on its Washington, D.C., lobbying, according to the Center for Responsive Politics. There's an Armenian-American Political Action Committee, which donated $44,750 to federal candidates in the last congressional session. That isn't a large amount among PACS; however, tied with strategically targeted contributions by individual donors, Armenian-Americans make an impact. The Washington Post earlier this year, for instance, reported that Armenian-American donors nationwide had pitched in nearly $200,000 over the past five years to U.S. Senator Mitch McConnell, the Kentucky Republican who chairs the Senate panel overseeing foreign aid.
Still at war Sometimes, the congressional efforts direct aid Armenia's way. Sometimes, those efforts go after Armenia's perceived enemies. In 1996, for instance, the House approved a Radanovich amendment to its annual foreign aid bill reducing U.S. aid to Turkey by $3 million - the estimated amount Turkey spent on lobbying. The money would be withheld, lawmakers said, until the Turkish government acknowledged the Armenian tragedy. Subtle it wasn't, but it clearly sent a signal. "Recognition of the genocide by the Republic of Turkey is the key step," Der Mugrdechian said. "Turkish government policy is to deny the genocide, to finance 'scholarship' to blame the victims, and in general not to accept responsibility for the Armenian Genocide." The amendment, supported by 41 of California's 52 House members, was subsequently deleted during the House and Senate negotiations. Its ultimate defeat, like the defeat of various genocide resolutions, showed how powerful Turkish interests can be in their own right. While they lack the grass-roots power of Armenian-Americans, they make up for it in other ways. To combat last year's genocide resolution, Turkey hired the former chairmen of the House Appropriations Committee and the House Rules Committee, the impeccably connected Robert Livingston and Gerald Solomon, for $700,000 each. Democrat Stephen Solarz, a former member of what is now the House International Relations Committee, received $400,000 for representing Turkey on a variety of issues. This month, the old fight resumes.
The Bush precedent While courting Armenian-American voters a year ago, President George W. Bush declared that "the Armenians were subjected to a genocidal campaign" and promised that as president he "would ensure that our nation properly recognizes the tragic suffering of the Armenian people." The Armenian National Congress has issued some 100,000 postcards, so members in California and elsewhere can remind Bush that only by "clearly and unambiguously characterizing the Armenian Genocide as a genocide" can the president fulfill his promise. Will he? For one possible answer, consider how Bush's own father handled Armenian issues. During his 1988 presidential campaign, the senior George Bush assured the Armenian Assembly of America that "the United States must acknowledge the attempted genocide of the Armenian people." He promised that "the Bush administration will never allow political pressures to prevent our denunciation of crimes against humanity." Once elected, however, the promises given to a domestic political audience were dropped in favor of international realpolitik. The senior Bush back-tracked, big time. Suddenly opposing the genocide resolution, he told the U.S. Senate he was "mindful...of the differing views of how the terrible events of 1915-23 should be characterized" and was "sensitive to the close relationship the United States has with our friend and ally, Turkey." Bush's defense secretary at the time: Dick Cheney. The New Republic reported last year that Cheney, while serving as chief executive officer of the energy service company, Halliburton Co., had urged repealing the aid embargo against Azerbaijan, which had been imposed by Armenia's friends in Congress. Now, Vice President Cheney is advising the younger man, President George W. Bush. "If we push it a little bit harder, maybe we will succeed this time," Radanovich said of his rewritten genocide resolution. "The only thing we have to fear is a call from the president that we remove it from the agenda for strategic reasons."
Michael Doyle is a reporter in the Washington, D.C., bureau of McClatchy Newspapers. Comments may be sent to edit@statenet.com.
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