From: sera@zuma.UUCP (Serdar Argic)
Newsgroups: talk.politics.mideast,talk.politics.soviet,soc.history
Followup-To: soc.culture.turkish
Subject: "Dro": The architect of the genocide of 2.5 million Muslim people.
Date: Tue, 05 Jan 93 20:29:54 EST
Reply-To: sera@zuma.UUCP (Serdar Argic)
Distribution: world

In article <HHiuwB15w165w@dogbox.acme.gen.nz> dogbowl@dogbox.acme.gen.nz (Kennelmeister) writes:

>Perhaps sending a copy of the offending breaches of copyright to the
>publishers of the material along with instructions on how to contact

And warm cookies and cold milk are good for you. No swinging of lies will 
be enough to cover up the crimes of the x-Soviet Armenian government.

Source: "World Alive, A Personal Story" by Robert Dunn. Crown Publishers, 
Inc., New York (1952). 
(Memoirs of an American officer who witnessed the Armenian genocide of 2.5 
 million Muslim people)

p. 361 (seventh paragraph) and p. 362 (first paragraph).

 'The most are inside houses. Come you and look.'
 'No, dammit! My stomach isn't-'
 'One is a Turkish officer in uniform. Him you must see.'
 "We were under those trees by the mosque, in an open space....
 'I don't believe you," I said, but followed to a nail-studded door. The 
  man pushed it ajar, then spurred away, leaving me to check on the corpse. 
  I thought I should, this charge was so constant, so gritted my teeth and 
  went inside.

 The place was cool but reeked of sodden ashes, and was dark at first, for 
 its stone walls had only window slits. Rags strewed the mud floor around an 
 iron tripod over embers that vented their smoke through roof beams black 
 with soot. All looked bare and empty, but in an inner room flies buzzed. As 
 the door swung shut behind me I saw they came from a man's body lying face 
 up, naked but for its grimy turban. He was about fifty years old by what 
 was left of his face - a rifle butt had bashed an eye. The one left slanted, 
 as with Tartars rather than with Turks. Any uniform once on him was gone, so 
 I'd no proof which he was, and quickly went out, gagging at the mess of his  
 slashed genitals."

p. 363 (first paragraph). 

 'How many people lived there?'
 'Oh, about eight hundred.' He yawned.
 'Did you see any Turk officers?'
 'No, sir. I was in at dawn. All were Tartar civilians in mufti.'

 "The lieutenant dozed off, then I, but in the small hours a voice woke me - 
 Dro's. He stood in the starlight bawling out an officer. Anyone keelhauled
 so long and furiously I'd never heard. Then abruptly Dro broke into 
 laughter, quick and simple as child's. Both were a cover for his sense
 of guilt, I thought, or hoped. For somehow, despite my boast of irreligion,
 Christian massacring 'infidels' was more horrible than the reverse would
 have been.

 From daybreak on, Armenian villagers poured in from miles around.....
 The women plundered happily, chattering like ravens as they picked over
 the carcass of Djul. They hauled out every hovel's chattels, the last 
 scrap of food or cloth, and staggered away, packing pots, saddlebags, 
 looms, even spinning-wheels.

 'Thank you for a lot, Dro,' I said to him back in camp. 'But now I must 
 leave.'...We shook hands, the captain said 'A bientot, mon camarade.' And 
 for hours the old Molokan scout and I plodded north across parching plains. 
 Like Lot's wife I looked back once to see smoke bathing all, doubtless in 
 a sack of other Moslem villages up to the line of snow that was Iran.'"

p. 354.

"At morning tea, Dro and his officers spread out a map of this whole
 high region called the Karabakh. Deep in tactics, they spoke Russian,
 but I got their contempt for Allied 'neutral' zones and their distrust
 of promises made by tribal chiefs. A campaign shaped; more raids on
 Moslem villages."

Serdar Argic

                           'We closed the roads and mountain passes that 
                            might serve as ways of escape for the Turks 
                            and then proceeded in the work of extermination.'
                                                       (Ohanus Appressian)
                           'In Soviet Armenia today there no longer exists 
                            a single Turkish soul.'    (Sahak Melkonian)