By LUSYEN KOPA
Exactly three months ago, I wrote an article titled “Let the Door Open! Let the Roads Shorten! Let Time Flow…” It was about Armenia—and my meeting with Armenian Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan. The emotions I felt, my hope for peace, the dream of the border opening—all still feel as warm and fresh as if it were yesterday.
So when I heard the news that “Armenian Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan will visit Turkey”, my heart immediately asked: “Can things really move this fast?”
Three months ago, when I told skeptics, “I believe it can happen,” they replied, “You’re being a Pollyanna. These things are hard. If it were going to happen, it would have already.”
Today, my response is even clearer: I believe it will happen—soon.
I truly believe that the borders will open, roads will shorten, and people will build relationships. But I still can’t believe what happened on Friday, June 20. It felt like a dream—one I’d like to interpret as a good omen.
But how can I see him again?
If only I could see Pashinyan again—but how? I watched his meeting with representatives of the Armenian community and Armenian press at the Conrad Hotel in Beşiktaş from my home. Our editor-in-chief and Armenian pages editor were there. I was lounging in my comfortable home clothes when my phone rang. The editor-in-chief said, “Lusyen, Pashinyan is heading to Kumkapı. He’ll be lighting a candle. You should go—take your chance.”
Of course I wanted to go! I would never forgive myself if I didn’t try. For the first time ever, the Armenian Prime Minister was visiting my country!
Twenty-five minutes later, I was standing at the entrance to the street where the Kumkapı Patriarchal Church is located. I explained my case to every security guard and official. They all eventually said, “Okay,” and I joyfully entered.
Hrant Moskofyan, President of the Kumkapı Bezciyan School Foundation, along with foundation officials Tavit Damla and Minas Aslan, were already stationed by the door, engaged in cheerful conversation.
Why was I alone in the church?
As I stepped into the church courtyard and saw Talin, the beloved wife of our choir conductor Edvin Galpoğlu, my heart was eased. She was rushing around, doing final checks to ensure everything would go smoothly. I entered the church and took a seat near the front. Then I thought, if Pashinyan doesn’t walk all the way to the front, I should be in the middle. So I moved. But I was alone. No one else.
Was this real? Was I the only one there? Why was I alone?
A hymn played from a recording. I mumbled a makeshift prayer. I sat and waited. Surely someone else would come.
Suddenly, movement. Members of the administration passed by. Talin was with them. I kept my eyes on the door. I saw him—Pashinyan!
A staff member opened the door, and in walked Armenian Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan, Foreign Minister Ararat Mirzoyan, Turkey-Armenia Normalization Process Representative Ruben Rubinyan, Deputy Foreign Minister Vahan Kostanyan, and Armenia’s Permanent Representative to the Black Sea Economic Cooperation Organization in Istanbul, Nairi Bedrosyan. With them were board members of the Bezciyan School and Meryem Ana Church, and of course, Talin.
I watched from afar as he lit a candle and prayed. Later, when he came forward, we exchanged greetings. I was so alone, I actually got to greet him.
And I understood… All the things I couldn’t say—I understood them in that moment.
More precisely, I was forced to understand everything I didn’t want to.
Hrant Moskofyan, Tavit Damla, and Minas Aslan were seated next to the Prime Minister, engaged in conversation. Pashinyan listened, asked questions about the history of the church. His jacket remained buttoned—out of respect.
In this vast country, the Prime Minister and high-ranking officials of another nation came to visit a small community—and aside from those three, there was no one else in the church.
I closed my eyes and imagined…
I imagined him entering with church bells ringing.
I imagined a mixed choir welcoming him.
I imagined children from the Bezciyan School reciting poems.
I imagined two students holding flowers beside Clodya Demir, the school principal, who stood there today representing her school all alone.
I imagined the church filled to the brim with Istanbul’s Armenian community.
Yes, I imagined it all…
Today, I write not just as a member of the Armenian community, but as the wife of a priest affiliated with the Armenian Patriarchate. Let what I couldn’t say speak louder than what I could.
I’m sorry.
“AGOS”
*Translated from Turkish with Chatgpt
