Reflections on the Series ‘Re-Introducing Ani 900-2021’
One of our projects here at AI is the Armenian Studies Group, a safe, welcoming space for scholars, writers and artists to share their work-in-progress, and get constructive feedback. Back in March I gave a talk to the ASG, sharing for the first time an overview of the results from my current research project, a social, political and economic history of the medieval city of Ani 900-1400, seen in its global context. The response from the participants was so positive and encouraging, that it became clear that there’s a real appetite for a fresh look at this famous and familiar site, as well as a pressing need for long-term projects of various kinds to ensure its preservation, and enable further study. So, I began to get in touch with scholars and organisations working on Ani, and we began to discuss.
These discussions led to a series of talks held this last July, titled ‘Re-Introducing Ani 900-2021’ and co-hosted with our friends at the Association for the Protection of Cultural Heritage in Turkey (Kültürel Mirası Koruma Derneği, KMKD). Founded in 2014 on the initiative of philanthropist and humanitarian Osman Kavala, KMKD’s mission is to document and preserve cultural heritage within Turkish borders, on the understanding that ‘the cultural assets created by all communities of Anatolia is the wealth of Turkey and the legacy of humanity.’ The series’ title indicated our desire to look with fresh eyes at one of the most spectacular, and perhaps most emotive and contentious, of Armenian sites within modern Turkish borders. We also wanted to honour and continue Osman’s crucial role in initiatives around the site since 2011, following his politically-motivated imprisonment, as seen in our Hrant Dink memorial lecture earlier this year. I think it’s safe to say we achieved both goals.
A symbolically broken bridge over the Akhurian river, half in the Republic of Turkey, half the Republic of Armenia.
I first visited Ani in the summer of 2015. It was the end of my first year as a PhD student, and I wanted to see the landscapes and sites described in the eleventh-century history of Aristakes Lastivertsi, the focus of my doctoral research. Following an intensive course in the history and material culture of medieval Cappadocia, I travelled east, first to Van, and then up to Kars. My plan was to drive out to Ani, and then to go up to Erzerum and Artvin, to see the historic Armenian-Georgian region of Tao/Tayk, with its spectacular tenth-century churches. This whole region, from Van/Vaspurakan up to Tao/Tayk, formed Aristakes’ world.
On the road to Ani.
So I arrived in Kars, went to my hostel, and started planning car hire for the next day. Driving out along the brand new road from Kars airport, I was overwhelmed by joy—as well as a little trepidation at driving on the right for the first time. The landscape between Kars and Ani is like a piece of the central Eurasian steppe, transported to the point where eastern Anatolia, northern Mesopotamia, and south-western Caucasia meet and intermingle. I passed Kurdish-speaking pastoralists with their herds, many of whom are Yezidis in this region, and experienced a sense of pure freedom at the prospect of discovering the city for myself. I was here, alone, equipped with bread, basturma, cheese and olives, and ready to explore.
Through the Gate to Ani.
Arriving at Ocaklı village, you’re immediately confronted by Ani’s famous double-circuit of walls. Walking through the Lion’s Gate for the first time, the sudden vista of the city space expanding before you is an experience no one can forget, let alone adequately describe. Of course, there’s a sense of melancholy, too. The information boards describing Ani’s history talk of kings with no mention of the fact that the Bagratuni rulers described themselves as shahanshahs of the Armenians, and, indeed, the Georgians. The legacy of the Genocide, and the consequent erasure of Armenianness from these lands in official historical memory, forms an inevitable subtext to any visit, underlined by occasional groups of Armenians on pilgrimage, and the sight of the Republic of Armenia just across the river. In fact Armenia was a financially tangible reality during my visit, as my phone connected to Armenian networks and incurred exorbitant charges for leaving the provider’s “Europe Zone”—a telling claim in itself. And this erasure and silence emphasises all the more Osman’s bravery in pursuing inter-communal initiatives for preserving Ani, provoking the fury of Turkey’s nationalist establishment, and contributing to his current persecution.
Inscriptions on the Cathedral of Ani.
Aside from Aghtamar which I’d visited two days earlier, this was my first time at a medieval Armenian site, and I was struck by one thing above all else: the sheer density of inscriptions covering the walls of surviving buildings. My undergraduate degree was in ancient and medieval history, so the potential of inscriptions for uncovering unique aspects of social, political and economic history was clear. I had walked into an archive-in-stone, and my mind buzzed with curiosity at the stories Ani’s stones waited to tell, the worlds of which they might speak.
These inscriptions formed the basis of my contribution to the series, which gave an overview of Ani’s development from 900 to the 1300s, using the inscriptions to tell a social and economic history beyond the familiar tale of the rise and fall of the Bagratuni kingdom of Great Armenia. Following this historical overview, in our second session Christina Maranci discussed the archaeology of the site, and focused in on the citadel with an enticing interpretation of the cathedral’s placement and decoration in relation to the city’s royal centre. Our third session with Heghnar Watenpaugh moved from Ani itself, to its reception and representation in art and literature of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, an emotional tour that revealed how the city assumed its proportions in contemporary Armenian worldviews. The fourth and final session from Yavuz Özkaya, chair of the KMKD board, turned to the situation of the site today, and preservation efforts to ensure its survival into the future. This session was perhaps the most affecting and poignant, not least the story of how stone for the preservation of the eleventh-century church, Surp Amenaprkich, was sourced from Armenia, and worked onsite by an Armenian master mason.
Osman Kavala at the site of Ani.
The series had more than 150 participants in our Zoom sessions, with hundreds more watching on Facebook and YouTube afterwards. The level of participation has confirmed our view that there’s a big appetite out there for collaborative, transnational projects around the city of Ani, and, with our friends at KMKD, we’re planning exactly that. No new projects have been permitted by the Turkish Ministry of Culture since 2014, and Osman’s now more than three-year long imprisonment and persecution doesn’t suggest that things will change any time soon. What’s really needed is a transnational network of scholars, organisations and interested persons, who can come together to form the basis for new collaborations and projects that will preserve the site for future research and generations. Ani’s stones can speak to us, and, maybe, they might be able to bring us together too.