History, Memory, and Iranian-Armenian Memoirs of the Iranian Constitutional Revolution

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History, Memory and Iranian-ArmenianMemoirs of the Iranian ConstitutionalRevolution

HOURI BERBERIANCalifornia State University, Long Beach, California,USA

. . . the present generation may rewrite history but it

does not write it on a blank page.1

To some degree, history and what is remembered about the past depends on memory and

the representation of that memory in the form of memoirs. This is certainly the case when

exploring the political and ideological activism of Iranian-Armenians at the end of the

nineteenth century and during the Iranian Constitutional Revolution, 1905–11. In this

article, I explore the close and almost indistinguishable relationship between memory and

history through an examination of the memoirs of Iranian-Armenians active in the

revolution. I deal with the relationship between memory of individual, private lives and

the very public act of re/constructing and writing history. Drawing on several memoirs and

autobiographies, selected theoretical works, and Armenian historical narratives, I contend

that the authors in writing their memories were cognizant of their own role as historical

actors and as presenters of their experiences. Through the act of committing their

memories to paper for a public audience, they and their readers perceived them to be

worthy of recollection. They attempted to shape the memory of others while at the same

time receiving group confirmation. I propose, next, that the authors of these memoirs

recollected and retold the past very much affected by contemporary circumstances and

needs. This issue is tied closely to the third concept, that is, that to a certain extent, these

memoirs contribute to the collective memory of the Iranian-Armenian past and the

collective Iranian-Armenian identity. Moreover, these memoirs intimately influence

history-writing on the Iranian-Armenian community precisely because they never were

merely private recollections of activists but in fact always part of the public space.

Therefore, as a genre, autobiographies and memoirs carry within them a claim to public

space. These narratives challenge us to interrogate the ways that these activists/authors

ISSN 1066-9922 Print/1473-9666 Online/08/030261-32 q 2008 Editors of Critique

DOI: 10.1080/10669920802405456

Correspondence Address: Prof. Houri Berberian, History Department, California State University at Long Beach,

1250 Bellflower Blvd., Long Beach, CA 90840, USA. Email: [email protected] Maurice Halbwachs, On Collective Memory, ed. and trans. with an introduction by Lewis A. Coser

(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), p. 34.

Critique: Critical Middle Eastern StudiesVol. 17, No. 3, 261–292, Fall 2008

Downloaded By: [Berberian, Houri] At: 14:12 2 October 2008

created a public space in which narratives of individual and national creation coincided

and overlapped, thus bringing into existence a new form in which two seemingly

dissimilar elements, private and public, meld into a powerful and inseparable narrative of

empowerment and commemoration. In fact, I will argue that, to a great degree, little if any

distinction exists between Armenian memory of its role in the Iranian Constitutional

Revolution, with few exceptions, and the history of it. In sum, I conclude that these

narratives challenge the dichotomy between private and public spheres, as anecdotal

experiences of individuals translate into historical memory and historical narrative.

This article is comprised of four parts. The first section outlines some of the more

pertinent theoretical issues informing the study. The use of theoretical perspectives on

memory and memoirs is limited by my interest to situate the themes of Iranian-Armenian

memoir and historical writings in a wider context that not only addresses the specifics of

the Iranian-Armenian case in relation to such theories, but equally important, to place

them in a framework that acknowledges and appreciates the commonality of the Iranian-

Armenian case with others. The second section provides a historical overview and context

by examining the Iranian-Armenian community and its role in the Iranian Constitutional

Revolution. The third section brings together the theory of section one with the Iranian-

Armenian and revolutionary historical context. The article concludes with a final section

on national historiographic representations and the inseparable bond between memory and

history.

Theoretical Perspectives

It is important to review briefly distinctions between memoirs and autobiography although

they share much in common and, therefore, contain similar elements and pose the same

potential problems for the historian. Generally, memoirs seem to place a greater emphasis

on external rather than personal events even if the memorialists have been an integral part

of those events; autobiographies, however, focus more closely on the author as subject

matter. Some memoirs fall between a memoir and an autobiography. William Howarth

provides an interesting and useful analogy between autobiography and self-portrait:

[A]n autobiography is a self-portrait. Each of those italicized words suggests a

double entity, expressed as a series of reciprocal transactions. The self thinks and

acts; it knows that it exists alone and with others. A portrait is space and time,

illusion and reality, painter and model—each element places a demand, yields a

concession. A self-portrait is even more uniquely transactional. No longer distinctly

separate, the artist-model must alternately pose and paint. He composes the

composition, in both senses of that verb; his costume and setting form the picture

and also depict its form. In a mirror he studies reversed images, familiar to himself

but not to others. A single mirror restricts him to full or three-quarter faces; he may

not paint his profile, because he cannot see it. The image resists visual analysis; as he

moves to paint a hand, the hand must also move. The image is also complete, and

entirely superficial; yet he must begin with the invisible, with lines more raw than

bone or flesh, building volume and tone, sketch and underpaint, into a finished

replica of himself. So he works from memory as well as sight, in two levels of time,

on two planes of space, while reaching for those other dimensions, depth and the

262 H. Berberian


future. The process is alternately reductive and expansive; it imparts to a single

picture the force of universal implications.2

Howarth’s comparison emphasizes several noteworthy aspects of memoirs and

memorialists. He underscores the role of the memorialist as both author and subject

matter whose full image of himself is obstructed or thwarted by the very fact that he is the

creator and source of his own study. As Howarth explains, the artist or author works from

memory, that is, the past, and from the current view of himself, that is, the present.

Some scholars have tried to establish rules for what defines a memoir or an

autobiography; however, it seems they have enough in common to be treated similarly. For

example, Elizabeth Bruss has delineated three rules about autobiographies that also can be

applied to memoirs. She states, first, that the author is acting as both the ‘source of the

subject matter and the source for the structure to be found in his text’; second, the author is

expected to be reporting the truth, whether ascertainable or not; and third, that the author

‘purports to believe in what he asserts.’3 In addition to the conviction that what is

remembered is true to the actual past, the recording of one’s memoirs and seeing to its

publication indicate that the author is conscious of his/her importance as well as the force

and weight of experiences and the era presented. What Georges Gusdorf, one of the most

important thinkers of autobiography and memoirs, says for autobiographies can be applied

to memoirs: ‘The man who takes delight in thus drawing his own image believes himself

worthy of a special interest.’4 Moreover, Gusdorf adds, such an author is driven to explain,

rationalize, and to some extent plead his case: ‘The man who recounts himself is himself

searching his self through his history; he is not engaged in an objective and disinterested

pursuit but in a work of personal justification . . . he undertakes his own apologia.’5

To this end, memorialists are in a sense attempting to persuade and shape the memory of

others while at the same time receiving group confirmation, without which individual

memoirs would have withered away and contributed little to history, identity, or collective

memory. It is now a fairly common perception, thanks to Maurice Halbwachs, arguably the

most important scholar of collective memory, that memory of the past is socially constructed

under the heavy weight of the recollector’s presence, that is, within certain social frameworks

(cadreaux socials). Halbwachs maintains that ‘the mind reconstructs its memories under the

pressure of society . . . [R]remembrance is in very large measure a reconstruction of the past

achieved with data borrowed from the present, a reconstruction prepared, furthermore, by

reconstructions of earlier periods wherein past images had already been altered.’6

Drawing on Halbwachs, David Thelen also privileges the concept of ‘constructed’

memory over ‘reproduced’ memory, emphasizing that ‘this construction is not made in

isolation but in conversations with others that occur in the contexts of community, broader

2 William L. Howarth, ‘Some principles of autobiography,’ in: James Olney (Ed.), Autobiography: Essays

Theoretical and Critical (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1980), p. 85.3 Elizabeth W. Bruss, Autobiographical Acts: The Changing Situation of a Literary Genre (Baltimore, MD:

Johns Hopkins University Press, 1976), p. 11.4 Georges Gusdorf, ‘Conditions and limits of autobiography,’ trans. by James Olney in: James Olney (Ed.),

Autobiography: Essays Theoretical and Critical (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1980), p. 29.5 Gusdorf, ‘Conditions and limits’, p. 39.6 Maurice Halbwachs, The Collective Memory, trans. by Francis J. Ditter, Jr. & Vida Yazdi Ditter (New York:

Harper and Rowe, 1980), p. 69. See also Halbwachs, On Collective Memory, pp. 51, 188 and 189.

History, Memory and Iranian-Armenian Memoirs 263


politics, and social dynamics . . . In each construction of a memory, people reshape, omit,

distort, combine, and reorganize details from the past in an active and subjective way.’7

Thelen and others have argued as well, with differing degrees of determination, by

referring to the ‘moment of creativity,’ that is, the actual timeframe of the writing of the

memoir as being far more important and essential in the outcome than the actual past,

which is the subject of the memoir itself.8 Barret Mandel, for example, in his discussion of

autobiography, argues that the autobiographer may seem to be writing on the past fully

entrenched in it but that, in reality, it is the present that overshadows and informs the

writing of his past.9 We come across a similar reasoning by Lucien Febvre, co-founder of

the influential Annales school of historiography, with regard to the writing of history. He

maintains that history fulfills its ‘social function’ by privileging or ‘organiz[ing] the past in

relation to the present.’10

Moreover, not only are memoirs informed primarily by the present, but also they serve a

purpose other than taking down the ruminations of an aging ego. For many memorialists,

memoirs are about rectifying an injustice, whether personal or historical. As Gusdorf

eloquently states, ‘No one can better do justice to himself than the interested party, and it is

precisely in order to do away with misunderstanding, to restore an incomplete or deformed

truth, that the autobiographer himself takes up the telling of his story.’11 Gusdorf tends to

use memoirs and autobiography interchangeably, adding that ‘memoirs are always, to a

certain degree, a revenge on history.’12

Memoir as vengeance also may be explained by Gabriel Motzkin’s contention that

memorialists are acutely aware of the role of memoirs in the construction of history. He

explains, ‘The writers of memoirs were not oblivious to their tense relation to history . . .

Memoirs were written with the idea of contributing to a future history, of influencing

future historians, of winning the battles in history that had been lost in life. Behind the

impulse to write memoirs lay the notion that memory becomes history.’13 And within

that concept lies also the notion that memoirs are significant in constructing a shared

vision of the past, a collective memory. While there are many definitions or

interpretations of what collective memory is, Alon Confino’s characterization of it is

suitable for our purpose. He describes collective memory as ‘an exploration of a shared

identity that unites a social group, be it family or a nation, whose members nonetheless

7 David Thelen, ‘Memory and American history,’ The Journal of American History 75(4) (March 1989),

p. 1120.8 Barret J. Mandel, ‘Full of life now,’ in: Olney, Autobiography, pp. 64–65.9 Ibid.; see also, Thelen, ‘Memory and American history’, p. 1121. Kenneth D. Barkin emphasizes the

importance for the historian of being cognizant of the context of memoirs: ‘Thus the historian would do well

to remember that the autobiographer exemplifies in his work the shared cultural assumptions of his society,

which are rarely to be discovered in more traditional historical sources’ (see Barkin, ‘Autobiography and

history,’ Societas 6(2) (1976), p. 93. According to Natalie Zemon Davis & Randolph Starn, ‘ . . . one’s

memory of any given situation is multiform and that its many forms are situated in time and place from the

perspective of the present’ (see Davis & Starn, ‘Introduction,’ Representations, 26 (Spring 1989), p. 2.).10 Lucien Febvre, Combats pour l’histoire (Paris: 1933), p. 438; cited in Jacques Le Goff, History and Memory,

trans. Steven Rendall & Elizabeth Claman (New York: Columbia University Press, 1992), p. 109.11 Gusdorf, ‘Conditions and limits,’ p. 36.12 Ibid.13 Gabriel Motzkin, ‘Memoirs, memory and historical experience,’ Science in Context, 7(1) (1994), p. 106.

264 H. Berberian


have different interests and motivations’ as well as at times contradictory and opposing

memories and real conflicts.14

Despite or because of differences in memory or remembering, the collective memory

gives at the very least the ‘illusion of community’ with a common past and common

destiny. Both Confino and Halbwachs point to the significance of collective or national

memory in creating a unified front or image, a self-assured and shared vision of a

community’s past, its destiny, and its self-image despite the seemingly obvious

differences. In the same way that Pierre Nora argues that the main purpose of sites of

memory (les lieux de memoire) ‘where memory crystallizes and secretes’15 . . . ‘is to stop

time, to block the work of forgetting, to establish a state of things, to immortalize death, to

materialize the immaterial,’ so too memoirs serve as attempts to thwart historical and

collective amnesia and preserve memory.16 According to Confino, ‘national memory

succeeds to represent, for a broad section of the population, a common destiny that

overcomes symbolically real social and political conflicts in order to give the illusion of a

community to people who in fact have very different interests.’17

Who better to preserve this national memory than the scholar of the past? Nathan

Wachtel neatly captures the role of the historian before the professionalization of history:

the historian was a kind of delegate or guarantor of this memory: it was his duty to

reconstruct history for the entire community . . . Faced with a multiplicity of

individual memories or recollections the historian compelled recognition as a

professional of memory and sole arbiter, since he has at his disposal the method and

documents that allowed him to sift the truth from error in order to propose the accurate

version of the pa[s]t. Historical memory constituted in this manner was thus univocal,

unitary and unifying: it invited all the members of a society, however diverse their

situations and respective points of view, to be united in a collective past.18

Similarly, Pierre Nora contends that ‘Until the recent period, in effect, history and memory

were more or less merged. In the distant past, collective memories were hardly perceptible

from the level of their historiographic elaboration. It is history that showed us the

collective memory of a group.’19 For Patrick Geary, however, historical scholarship put

forth by professional historians, in a sense, is not necessarily different from what historians

used to do, that is, ‘if the writing of modern historians appears analytic, critical, and

rational, the reason is that these are the rhetorical tools that promise the best chance of

influencing the collective memory of our age.’20

14 Alon Confino, ‘Collective memory and cultural history: problems of method,’ American Historical Review,

102(5) (December 1997), p. 1390. The problem here, according to Confino, is that by focusing on the politics

of memory, that is, ‘who wants whom to remember what and why’, we tend to overlook the social and

cultural; ibid., pp. 1393, 1394.15 Pierre Nora, ‘Between memory and history: les lieux de memoire,’ Representations 26 (Spring, 1989), p. 7.16 Ibid., p. 19.17 Confino, ‘Collective memory,’ p. 1400; see also Halbwachs, The Collective Memory, p. 85.18 Nathan Wachtel, ‘Memory and history: an introduction,’ in: History and Anthropology, 2 (1986), p. 217.19 Pierre Nora, ‘Memoire collective,’ in: Jacques Le Goff, Roger Chartier & Jacques Reval (Eds), La Nouvelle

Histoire (Paris: CEPL, 1978), p. 399; see also Nora, ‘Between memory and history,’ p. 18.20 Patrick J. Geary, Phantoms of Remembrance: Memory and Oblivion at the End of the First Millennium

(Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994), p. 12.



Arguably, memory and memoirs in particular have contributed significantly to history

writing, and collective memory itself also has been influenced by history writing. As will

become apparent in the following analysis, the relationship between memory and history

or memoirs and historical writing has become strikingly and conspicuously intimate in the

case of Iranian-Armenian memory, memoirs, and historical writing.

Historical Overview

The Armenian community in Iran traces its roots to Shah Abbas I’s (r. 1587–1629) early

seventeenth-century, forced migrations from Julfa in the Nakhijevan area of the frontier

zone between the Ottoman (Turkish) and Safavi (Iranian) empires to the new capital of

Isfahan in central Iran. New Julfa (in Isfahan) and Tabriz (in Iranian Azerbaijan) became

cultural and intellectual centers for the community, particularly from in the mid-

nineteenth century when the Iranian-Armenian communities experienced a major

transition in terms of education and politicization. A new generation of youth acquired a

secular education in new schools, established partly in response to missionary activity,

and they were exposed to a new political consciousness, influenced largely by newly-

arriving Caucasian intellectuals and political activists who became their teachers.21

Cultural, intellectual, and political influences also came from the influx of Caucasian

members of the Armenian political parties, particularly the nationalist/socialist

Dashnaktsutiun and internationalist/socialist Hnchakian parties, which began operations

in Iran in the 1890s and subsequently took part in the Iranian Constitutional Revolution.22

Before participation in the Constitutional Revolution, they secretly organized small

military groups to cross the border into the Ottoman Empire, where they established party

branches and disseminated party ideology, all with the purpose of liberating to one degree

or another, Ottoman Armenians. They also transported arms from regions in the Russian

Empire to be sent across the border into the Ottoman Empire. Arms, revolutionary

literature, and fighters also traveled from Iran to Baku, especially during the Russian

Revolution of 1905, and during the violent clashes between Caucasian-Armenians and

Muslims from 1905 to 1906.23

The Constitutional Revolution, which was a movement for parliamentary represen-

tation, constitutional government, reform, centralization, and a struggle to form a new

nation in the face of increasingly threatening British and especially Russian imperialism,

appealed to Caucasian and Iranian-Armenian activists. After the terrible violence of

1905–06 with Caucasian Muslims, Armenian political parties began to reexamine their

policies and their actions and also their active role in the strikes and insurrections during

21 For a more detailed discussion, see Houri Berberian, Armenians and the Iranian Constitutional Revolution of

1905–1911: ‘The Love for Freedom Has No Fatherland’ (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 2001), chap. 2,

pp. 34–66.22 Dashnaktsutiun and Hnchakian refer to the political parties themselves while Dashnak and Hnchak refer to

members of these organizations.23 An abundance of information and detail regarding transportation of arms and literature and the traffic of

fighters may be found in the correspondence, reports, and minutes of Dashnak bodies and members in the

Archives of the Armenian Revolutionary Federation (Dashnaktsutiun) located in Watertown, Massachusetts.

See also Andre Amurian, H. H. Dashnaktsutiune Parskastanum, 1890–1918 [The A. R. Federation in Persia,

1890–1918] (Tehran: Alik, 1950), pp. 12–13.

266 H. Berberian


the Russian Revolution of 1905. In addition, the desire, ability, and opportunity to

participate in the Iranian Constitutional Revolution and joint ventures with Iranian and

Caucasian constitutionalists in Iran became possible for Iranian-Armenians for several

reasons: a reevaluation of policy and tactics that stressed socialism and solidarity in the

face of Russian persecution; communal violence in the Caucasus, which was successfully

prevented from spreading to Iran; Ottoman aggression in Iran; and the Young Turk coup of

1908 and its promises of constitutional rule and all it implied. Moreover, a new political

situation wherein Iranian-Armenian parties found their operations in Iran threatened, a

new insecurity of life and property in Iranian-Armenian communities, and the greater

influence of socialists in the revolution, further propelled them into serious deliberation

regarding the nature and extent of participation. Iranian-Armenians felt that their own

existence, survival, and success in Iran were all intimately tied to the situation of the

majority Iranian populace.24 However multi-layered this list of causes may seem, one

more factor played into it, that is, identity. A segment of Armenians, who became

politically and intellectually active in the constitutional movement, adopted a fluid

identity, highly influenced by contemporary circumstances and needs, that was clearly

multi-layered and allowed for adoption of a wider and more inclusive Iranian nationalism

over exclusive Iranian and Armenian nationalisms.25 This new identity, in tandem with

other factors, facilitated involvement, collaboration, and commitment to the Constitutional

Revolution and Iran’s future.

Despite apprehensions and concerns regarding security of the Iranian-Armenian

communities and ideological and political issues, talks between Armenian (Dashnak)

and Iranian constitutionalists that began in 1907 led to collaboration in mid-1908,

when Mohammad Ali Shah used the Cossack Brigade (army) to carry out a coup

against the newly-established constitutional government; Tabriz, the economic and

political center of Iran’s northwestern province of Azerbaijan, became the major site of

resistance to the royalists.26 During the civil war in Azerbaijan, meetings between

Dashnaks and the leader of the Tabriz resistance, Sattar Khan, led to collaborative

efforts.27

24 For a detailed discussion of motivations and reasons for participation and supporting evidence, see Berberian,

Armenians and the Iranian Constitutional Revolution, chap. 3, pp. 67–115.25 For a fuller discussion of this phenomenon, see Houri Berberian, ‘Traversing boundaries and selves: Iranian-

Armenian identities in the Iranian Constitutional Revolution,’ Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa, and

the Middle East 25(2) (2005), pp. 279–296.26 For example, early in 1906, the Tehran Committee of the Dashnaktsutiun sent five boxes of sugar for tea to

those taking sanctuary in the British legation. After the royal decree to allow an assembly and the drafting of

the constitution, the Tehran Committee prepared a great welcome for the returning bastis (those who had

taken sanctuary); they raised large tents, served sweets, fruits, lemonade and tea as Armenian clerics and 100

Armenians greeted the bastis (see Shavarsh to Vrezh [Azerbaijan] Central Committee, 9 August 1906,

Archives of the Armenian Revolutionary Federation [Dashnaktsutiun], Watertown, Massachusetts, File 581,

Document 28).27 Minutes of Azerbaijan Central Committee, Session 35, 30 July 1908, Archives of the Armenian

Revolutionary Federation, 540/b. Regarding Sattar Khan’s concern over discipline, see Isma’il Amirkhizi,

Qeyam-e Azerbaijan va Sattar Khan [The Azerbaijani revolt and Sattar Khan] (Tehran: Tehran Press, 1960),

pp. 218, 240–241; the full text of suggestions made by the Dashnaks to Sattar Khan may be found in Minutes

of Azerbaijan Central Committee, Session 36, 31 July 1908, Archives of the Armenian Revolutionary

Federation, 540/b.



Caucasian and Iranian social democrats also took an active and important role in the

revolution.28 Armenian social democrats not affiliated with Armenian political parties

initiated the formation of a new and subsequently influential Iranian political party, the

Democrat Party, in 1909, which included within its membership social democrats and

liberals.29 The social-democratic Hnchaks, in addition to taking part in military activities

with Iranian revolutionaries, attempted to contribute ideologically to the revolution,

leading to the translation of the Hnchak program into Persian.30

Armenian fighters, Hnchaks and especially Dashnaks under the command of Yeprem

Khan (Davitian), Keri (Arshak Gavafian), and Nikol Duman (Nikoghayos Ter

Hovhannesian) were helpful, and at times critical, in many military operations, including

the Tabriz resistance (July 1908–April 1909), the takeover of Rasht, Qazvin, and Tehran

(February–July 1909), the battles to defeat the returning Mohammed Ali Shah and his

28 Janet Afary, The Iranian Constitutional Revolution, 1906–1911: Grassroots Democracy, Social

Democracy, and the Origins of Feminism (New York: Columbia University Press, 1996); see also

Mangol Bayat, Iran’s First Revolution: Shi’ism and the Constitutional Revolution of 1905–1909 (Oxford:

Oxford University Press, 1991). The pamphlet that the Georgian activist, Tria, presented at the Socialist

International Congress in Copenhagen also sheds light on the social democratic element; Tria (Vlass

Mgeladze) was a Georgian social democrat who had taken part in the Russian Revolution of 1905 and the

Tabriz resistance. Tria, ‘La Caucase et la Revolution persane,’ Revue du monde musulman, 13(2)

(February 1911), pp. 324–333. For discussions of Armenian social democrats in Iran, see also Afary,

Iranian Constitutional Revolution, pp. 241–248, 267–269, 293–298; Cosroe Chaqueri, ‘The role and

impact of Armenian intellectuals in Iranian politics, 1905–1911,’ Armenian Review 41(2) (Summer 1988),

pp. 1–51; Mansoureh Ettehadieh Nezam Mafi, Paidayesh va tahavvol-e ahzab-e siyasi-ye mashrutiyat:

dowreh-ye avval va dovvom-e majles-e showra-ye melli [Appearance and evolution of political parties of

constitutionalism: the first and second period of the National Consultative Assembly] (Tehran: Gostardeh

Press, 1982), pp. 212–214, 220–221.29 Armenian Social Democrat Tigran Ter Hakobian initiated the idea of a multiparty conference, National

Salvation Committee (Komiteh-ye nejat-e melli), to unite the forces of Iranian and Armenian parties against

reactionary elements; see, for example, Democrat Party to Dashnaktsutiun, 22 Zihajjah 1328/1910, Archives

of the Armenian Revolutionary Federation, 586/89, wherein the Democrat Party confirms the

Dashnaktsutiun’s affirmative response to the formation of the Committee of National Salvation; see also

Ter Hacobian [Hakobian] to Taqizadeh, 1 November 1910, in Iraj Afshar (Ed.), Awraq-e tazehyab-e

mashrutiyat va naqsh-e Taqizadeh [Newly-found constitutional papers and the role of Taqizadeh] (Tehran:

Bahman, 1980), p. 320.30 There is yet no evidence that the Hnchakian party took any action in the revolution before autumn 1908, except

for a gift of 80 guns to Sattar Khan in July 1908 at the start of the Tabriz resistance. See further Arsen Kitur,

Patmutiun S. D. Hnchakian kusaktsutian [History of the S. D. Hnchakian Party] (Beirut: Shirak Press, 1962),

vol. 1, p. 400; G. Astghuni [Grigor Yeghikian], ‘Inchpes kazmvets Parskastani S. D. Kusaktsutiune’[How

Persia’s S. D. Party was organized], in Hushardzan nvirvats Sotsial Demokrat Hnchakian Kusaktsutian

karasunamiakin [Commemorative volume dedicated to the fortieth anniversary of the Hnchakian Party], S. D.

Hnchakian Kusaktsutian Fransayi Shrjan (Ed.), (Paris: H. B. Tiurapian, 1930), pp. 192–193; and Aram Arkun,

‘Ełikean (Yaqikiyan), Grigor E.,’ in: Encyclopædia Iranica, Ehsan Yarshater (Ed.), (Costa Mesa, CA: Mazda

Publishers, 1998), 3, pp. 364–365; also available online:,http://www.iranica.com/newsite. . The Hnchakian

party also began talks with the Organization of Social Democrats (Firqeh-ye Ejtimaiyun Amiyun) in the latter

half of 1908 during the Tabriz resistance and formed an alliance with them in November 1908; the committee

saw to the transport of arms and men from Baku to Anzali. See further Kitur, Patmutiun, 1, pp. 399–400. For

complete text of agreement, see Sokrat Khan Gelofiants, Kayts: S. D. Hnch. Kusaktsutian gortsuneutiunits togh

pastere khosin [Spark: let the evidence from the S. D. Hnch. Party activity speak] (Providence: Yeritasard

Hayastan, 1915), pp. 4–6. For partial text, see Kitur, Patmutiun, 1, p. 399; Hrand Gangruni, Hay

heghapokhutiune Osmanian brnatirutian dem (1890–1910) [The Armenian revolution against Ottoman

despotism (1890–1910)] (Beirut: n.p., 1973), p. 195.

268 H. Berberian


brother, Salar al-Dowleh (June–August 1911 and mid-1912), and other battles against the

anticonstitutionalist forces of Rahim Khan and the Shahsevan tribes. Yeprem Khan

(1868–1912) was one of the leading figures of the Constitutional Revolution and certainly

the most visible figure of the Armenian role in the struggle. He had a long history of

political and militant activism in the Caucasus and Iran and became a successful military

leader on the side of constitutionalists and later chief of the Tehran police. The Hnchakian

and Dashnaktsutiun parties as well as individual Armenian social democrats collaborated

ideologically and militarily with Iranian and Caucasian constitutionalists and

revolutionaries to influence the direction of the movement toward greater democracy

and to safeguard gains already achieved.31

Iranian-Armenian Activists and Their Memoirs

Iranian-Armenian activists in the revolution began to recollect their participation in

memoirs, most of which appeared as serial articles, soon after the revolution (in 1913) and

continued until the 1960s. The last one appeared posthumously in 1995, although written

between 1958 and 1959. The majority of the memoirs appeared in the Dashnaktsutiun’s

monthly, Hayrenik Amsagir (Fatherland monthly), published in Boston but with a

worldwide circulation. At least one other appeared in the early 1960s in the pages of Alik

(Wave), published in Tehran. The most important memorialists were Grigor Yeghikian

(pseudonym: Astghuni), Samson (Stepan Tadeosian), Grisha Khan (Grish Ter Danielian),

Hayrapet Panirian, and Hovsep Hovhannisian (pseudonyms: Elmar, Farro). All were

leading military, ideological, and/or party figures who took part in the revolution under the

leadership of the Dashnaktsutiun, except Grigor Yeghikian, who was a leading figure in

the Hnchakian party. The following gallery of ‘who’s who’ of Armenian activists of the

Iranian Constitutional Revolution will help the reader understand their roles in the

subsequent analysis of memoirs and historical writing.

Samson (Stepan Tadeosian, 1870–1945), the nephew of the co-founder of the

Dashnaktsutiun, Kristapor Mikayelian, headed the Salmas branch of the party and,

because of his experience as a gunsmith, was placed in charge of Dashnak armories in

Tbilisi, Georgia, and later in the province of Azerbaijan in Iran. Samson left the Caucasus

in 1897 and settled in Iran, where he forged good relations between Armenians and

Iranians, thus setting the stage for solidarity in the Constitutional Revolution. He was a

strong proponent of collaboration and Armenian participation and thus led the Salmas

Dashnak branch in battle preparations as early as October 1908.32

Grisha Khan (Grish Ter Danielian, 1886–1933)33 was Yeprem Khan’s second-in-

command starting in 1909 and fought alongside him until Yeprem’s death in 1912. He

took part in disarming the mojahedin under Yeprem Khan’s command in 1910. We know

31 For example, Dashnaks continued to defend their position regarding the revolution even as late as 1911. In

response to articles appearing in the important Armenian-language newspapers Mshak (Cultivator) and

Horizon, Aravot responded to critics of participation by restating the importance of Armenian collaboration

and contribution. See Aravot, no. 109 (14 August 1911) and no. 113 (28 August 1911).32 Berberian, Armenians and the Iranian Constitutional Revolution, pp. 129–130.33 Dates of life and death from Janet D. Lazarian, comp., Daneshnameh-e Iranian-e Armani [Encyclopedia of

Iranian Armenians] (Tehran: Hirmand Publishers, 2003), p. 174.



very little about him, as his memoirs are more about battles in which he took part with

Yeprem Khan than about himself and his life.34

Hayrapet Panirian (1880s–?) was a high-ranking Dashnak and teacher in Tabriz. He

edited the Dashnak organ Aravot (Morning) in Tabriz and was an opponent of Armenian

participation in the Constitutional Revolution.35

Hovsep Hovhannisian (1881–1975) was a close associate of Yeprem Khan and a high-

ranking Dashnak, whose employment in telegraph offices became quite useful during the

Constitutional Revolution despite his own opposition to Armenian participation.

Hovhannisian served on the editorial board of Aravot and most probably was the founder

of the paper.

Grigor Yeghikian (1880–1951, pseudonym: Astghuni) is the only Hnchak whose

memoirs are readily available. Yeghikian was a very important political activist and social

democrat of Ottoman-Armenian descent. He arrived in Iran in 1902 and formed the first

Hnchak group in Rasht in 1904. Among his many activities, Yeghikian, with the help of

Kay Ostovan, who later became a delegate in the Iranian assembly, translated the Hnchak

party program into Persian and helped to found an Iranian branch of the Hnchakian party

in 1910.36

All of the above cited persons wrote about their memories of events and, of course, their

own roles, very much aware of their own part in the historical episode they were

recollecting and imparting. Hovsep Hovhannisian, for example, admits that he has high

expectations for his memoirs, not only anticipating publication but also stating that he

believes his work to be more than just recollections but a larger work ‘from which one can

take advantage in many ways,’ which he himself does when he uses it to write about his

comrade Yeprem Khan, the successful military leader on the side of constitutionalists and

Tehran police chief, who died battling anti-constitutional forces.37 Because these

memorialists, like others, recast or restored their past highly influenced, consciously or

not, by their present needs and situation, it is important to explore what contemporary

circumstances and needs were shaping their remembrances, and moreover not only why

34 Grisha Khan’s memoirs also appeared in Arshaluys (Tehran: Twilight, 1912); extracts from it may be found in

Isma’il Ra’in, Yeprem Khan-e Sardar [Commander Yeprem Khan] (Tehran: Zarin, 1971), pp. 439–442, and

in Kasravi, Tarikh-e hijdah saleh-ye Azerbaijan [The eighteen-year history of Azerbaijan] (Tehran: Amir

Kabir, 1978), vol. 2, pp. 518–522.35 Hayrenik Amsagir 30(10) (October 1952), pp. 77–86. For more on Aravot and its role in the shaping of

Iranian-Armenian identity, see Berberian ‘Traversing boundaries and selves,’ pp. 279–296.36 Arkun, ‘Ełikean,’ 3, pp. 364–365.37 Hovsep Hovhannisian, Husher [Memoirs] (Yerevan: Abolon, 1995), pp. 3, 6. For discussions of Yeprem

Khan, see A[ndre] Amurian, H. H. Dashnaktsutiun, Yeprem, parskakan sahmanadrutiun, H. H. D.

kendronakan arkhiv [A. R. Federation, Yeprem, Persian constitution, A. R. F. central archives], 2 vols.

(Tehran: Alik, 1976–79); A[ndre] Amurian (Ed.), Heghapokhakan yepremi vodisakane [Revolutionary

Yeprem’s odyssey] (Tehran: Alik, 1972); A[ndre] Amurian, Hamasah-e Yeprem [The epic of Yeprem]

(Tehran: Javid Press, 1976); Ra’in, Yeprem Khan-e Sardar; H. Elmar [Hovsep Hovhannisian], Yeprem

(Tehran: Modern, 1964); Farro [Hovsep Hovhannisian], comp. ‘Yepremi gortsuneutiune Parskastanum

(Grishayi hushere)’ [Yeprem’s activity in Persia (Grisha’s memoirs)], Hayrenik Amsagir 3(1) (November

1924) through 3, 7 (May 1925); Hayrik, comp., ‘Heghapokhakan banaki arshave Tehrani vray yev Yepremi

gndi dere (khmbapeti hushere)’ [March of the revolutionary army on Tehran and the role of Yeprem’s

regiment (memoirs of the commander)], Hayrenik Amsagir 3, 7 (May 1925), pp. 26–38; and Yeprem Khan,

Az Anzali ta Tehran: Yaddashtha-ye khususi-ye Yeprem Khan mojahed-earmani [From Anzali to Tehran:

personal memoirs of Yeprem Khan, Armenian mojahed], trans. Narus (Tehran: Babak, 1977).

270 H. Berberian


they chose to write but also why they chose to write or make public their memoirs when

they did.38

In the case of these memorialists, one finds that they write with the future in mind, not

necessarily with the assumption or wish that future generations would learn, but with the

hope or belief that their memoirs will affect the way in which future readers viewed them.

In his exploration of seventeenth-century memorialists like Saint Simon, Gabriel Motzkin

makes a similar claim. He writes, ‘Their prime motive for writing, then, was not the notion

that the future could learn from the past what to do; rather, they sought to affect the way

that they were viewed irrespective of what the future would learn from them: in other

words they sought to structure the future memory of the past irrespective of any norms that

the future itself would have.’39 For example, Hovsep Hovhannisian, in the preface to his

posthumously published memoirs, instructs his heirs to publish his memoirs if deemed

appropriate, for the public may wish to know about his public life. While he declares that

nothing can be learned from past trials, he entertains the thought that his recollections will

be the ‘best guide for heirs and friends.’40 This indicates not only his awareness of the

importance of what he has to impart, but also his desire to form the opinion of his readers

and be well-regarded by them.41

Hovhannisian and other memorialists wrote in the context of their contemporary

circumstances and their contact with people who shared their past experiences. Therefore,

certain memories could have been reinforced while others were not. To a certain extent,

some degree of selection takes place as memorialists select what is ‘worthy’ of memory.

Halbwachs explains, ‘ . . . our reflections, assisted by others’ stories, admissions, and

evidence, make a determination of what our past must have been’ to the extent that once

having taken root, it is no longer possible to distinguish between which is one’s own

memory and which are someone else’s additions.42 Gusdorf seems to disagree; although

he recognizes some outside influence on the self, he believes ultimately that ‘essential

themes . . . are constituent elements of the personality.’43 In any case, one can assume

reasonably that to some degree memorialists selected, excluded, and modified details of

their private lives according to the appropriateness of their appearance in the public space.

38 For example, in the preface to his memoirs, he admits, ‘I want to reconstruct them in my memory, to write

about them in a succinct way, and relive those episodes completely once more whether they be sweet, painful

or pleasant’ (Hovhannisian, Husher, p. 5.)39 Motzkin, ‘Memoirs’, p. 108.40 Hovhannisian, Husher, p. 3.41 Motzkin, ‘Memoirs,’ p. 108. What is different about Motzkin’s seventeenth-century memorialists is that,

according to him, ‘Their innovation lies in the notion that this structuring of the future is an action to be

performed through the private meditation on public events rather than through the medium of official

organizations. Their subversiveness was facilitated by the peculiarly private position vis-a-vis public

institutions, one of intimacy with the events without any obligation to the institutions—a privacy that the later

histories written by professors do not really possess, although they often seem to do so perhaps deriving this

rhetorical combination of intimacy and detachment from their origin in memoirs.’ In the case of our memoirs,

there is not merely a ‘private mediation’ on and in the public space, but rather a conflation of private and

public as the memorialists’ ‘intimacy with events’ is accompanied by ‘obligation to institutions,’ particularly

political parties (Motzkin, p. 108). Therefore, unlike Motzkin’s cases there is no ‘detachment.’ We will return

to this later.42 Halbwachs, The Collective Memory, pp. 51, 69, 76.43 Gusdorf, ‘Conditions and limits,’ p. 36.



In that case, memory is not a private reproduction, but a rather public construction, which

takes its cues from the memorialist’s milieu. Not only are private and public strongly

linked, but their connection is clear in the mind of the memorialist who exposes his private

life to public scrutiny and public consumption.

How, then, did the authors of these memoirs recast their private pasts to suit their

contemporary context? Soon after the end of the Iranian Constitutional Revolution,

starting in 1915, Iran and the rest of the Middle East became a haven for Armenian

refugees fleeing deportations and genocidal massacres in the Ottoman Empire. In

1918, a small, independent Armenian republic was formed in the southern Caucasus.

This republic, which was ruled by Dashnaks, soon was sovietized (at the end of

1920) and became a source of great controversy among diaspora Armenians who

were divided in their support for or opposition to the Soviet republic. While providing

some form of physical stability, Soviet Armenia was also quite repressive in many

aspects.

It is within this context that the earliest memoirs appeared in the mid-1920s. (The first

memoir appeared in 1913, but, as I will explain later, it is an exception to the

conclusions I discuss below.) Two memoirs are by Dashnak activists and participants in

the Iranian Constitutional Revolution, Samson and Grisha Khan, and both memoirs

either were taken down and/or compiled by others. Thus, we can not know whether or to

what extent they may have been edited or modified. It is probable that since these two

memoirs have recorders and compilers other than the ‘authors,’ the latter may have been

asked to recollect their experiences and make them available for publication. In that

case, they take on an even more interesting aspect. According to Paul Connerton,

individuals recast and retell their past in response to appeals to do so or in response to

questions individuals imagine they would be asked in the context of telling their stories.

Therefore, the possibility that these two memoirs are actual responses to ‘incit[ations] to

recall’ makes the connection between the individuals doing the recalling and the

individuals or groups provoking them to recall an even stronger one.44 Interestingly, the

compiler of Samson’s memoirs is Nikol Aghbalian, a Dashnak theoretician, also known

by the pseudonym N. Hanguyts and the Minister of Education in the short-lived

independent Armenian Republic of 1918–20. The compiler of Grisha Khan’s memoirs

is Farro, a pseudonym of Hovsep Hovhannisian, whose memoirs will be discussed later.

A third memoir by Hayrapet Panirian, while written in the 1920s, was not published

until the 1950s. In all cases, these memoirs are really about recording or recollecting for

the sake of posterity.

In the case of Samson, his focus is the Dashnak activities in the pre-revolutionary years,

especially the 1890s, and his own role, which was quite significant, in this early stage of

organization and spread of party influence in Iran. Despite his significant participation in

the Constitutional Revolution as the head of the Dashnak branch in Salmas and leading

proponent of collaboration between Iranians and Armenians, his memoirs stop abruptly at

1907 without discussion of the revolution.45 (Samson died in 1945, two decades after his

44 Paul Connerton, How Societies Remember (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), p. 36.45 N. Hanguyts [Nikol Aghbalian], comp., ‘Samsoni hushere’ [Samson’s memoirs], Hayrenik Amsagir 1(10)

(August 1923) through 2(10) (August 1924).

272 H. Berberian


memoirs appeared.) He is very much aware of his role yet does not seem as self-absorbed

as some of the later authors. This may be, of course, just a particular character trait and

contain within it no larger significance.

Grisha Khan, also an important figure, fought alongside Yeprem Khan from 1909 to

1912. His memoir, interestingly, is more about Yeprem’s activities than his own role

and, in fact, his tone and his explanations regarding Yeprem are rather apologetic. He

portrays Yeprem as a modest, caring, and beloved man whose intentions either have been

misunderstood or have not been presented. Grisha Khan then becomes the person who

knew him best because he was his deputy and, therefore, the one with the authority to set

the record straight (although, many memorialists are both apologists for and ‘authorities’

on Yeprem’s character). Grisha Khan’s narrative on Yeprem’s role in the disarmament of

revolutionary militias is an excellent example. On 4 August 1910, the Iranian

constitutional government gave orders for the disarmament of those mojahedin

(voluntary military force) who were not in the service of the government. These

mojahedin had joined the misnamed conservative Moderate party opposed to the ruling

Democrats and Bakhtiaris. Both of these factors were perceived as quite threatening by

the new cabinet made up of Bakhtiari tribal leaders and Democrat party members who

had come to power only a month earlier.46 Although the mojahedin had played a crucial

role in the takeover of Tehran from non-constitutional royalist forces, by August 1910

they were unemployed and came to be perceived to be dangerous. In the eyes of the new

national government, they no longer could be allowed to function as soldiers independent

of the government but rather needed to become ‘citizens.’ In addition, pressured by the

Russian government’s ultimatum to disarm the mojahedin or face Russian troops and

confronted by the escalating intra-party political violence within Iran, the Bakhtiari-

Democrat government ordered the disarmament. Government-employed forces under the

command of Yeprem Khan, Democrat Haidar Khan Amu Oghlu, and Bakhtiari Sardar

Bahadur carried out the disarmament. The attack left 30 dead and 300 injured. Popular

constitutional leader Sattar Khan was shot in the leg and remained disabled until his

death a few years later.47 According to Grisha, Sattar Khan’s leg injury was a result of

friendly fire and not inflicted by Yeprem’s Armenian fighters who had come to disarm

him and his men.48

Yeprem Khan’s position as Tehran police chief and his subsequent role in the

disarmament of mojahedin and closing of the assembly prompted many debates among

46 The Bakhtiari was a largely nomadic pastoralist tribal confederation inhabiting west central Iran; it played an

important role in the Iranian Constitutional Revolution. See, for example, Arash Khazeni, ‘The Bakhtiyari

Tribes in the Iranian Constitutional Revolution,’ Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa, and the Middle

East 25(2) (2005), pp. 377–398.47 See Afary, Iranian Constitutional Revolution, pp. 299–302; Kasravi, Tarikh-e hijdah saleh, vol. 1,

pp. 137–146; Mehdi Malekzadeh, Tarikh-e enqelab-e mashrutiyat-e Iran [History of the constitutional

revolution of Iran] (Tehran: Soqrat, 1949–53), vol. 6, pp. 232–236. Aravot provided details of the

disarmament and Sattar Khan’s injury to its readers on 28 July 1910. See no. 49 (28 July 1910).48 Farro, ‘Yepremi gortsuneutiune Parskastanum (Grishayi hushere)’ [Yeprem’s activity in Persia (Grisha’s

memoirs)], Hayrenik Amsagir 3(1) (November 1924) through 3(7) (May 1925).



Dashnaks and the severance of ties between Yeprem and the Tehran Dashnak leadership.49

Some, including Dashnak leader and co-founder of the party, Rostom (Stepan Zorian),

wanted Yeprem to resign his post. They felt that, as a Dashnak, a socialist, and a

revolutionary, he could not occupy such a position.50 Grisha Khan tried to lessen the

burden of blame on Yeprem by insisting that Yeprem had felt it was wrong to use force in

disarming the mojahedin in 1910 and had sought other means to communicate with them.

Panirian’s memoirs provide a very different and less idealized picture. Panirian was a

teacher and editor of the Dashnak organ in Tabriz, Aravot (Morning, 1909–11).51

Panirian’s memoirs, written in 1923, were not published until 1952, although a booklet

written by him on the Iranian Constitutional Revolution appeared in 1917 in Tabriz.52 It is

not clear why publication was delayed for so long, i.e., whether this was the result of a

concerted effort to keep his memoirs from publication, or whether it was an editorial

decision, or whether the memoirs were not submitted until the 1950s. There are some

elements that set Panirian’s memoirs apart from the other two and may help us understand

why his memoirs probably would not have been received well in the 1920s. Panirian’s

memoirs emphasize his activities and those of the Dashnaktsutiun during the constitutional

revolutionary days.53 What sets his memoirs apart from those of Samson and Grisha is the

additional focus on internal conflicts and problems associated with well-known Armenian

individuals such as Yeprem’s wife, Anahit, Dashnak revolutionary and commander of

Armenian troops in the Iranian revolution, Keri, and Armenian Majles delegate, Hovsep

49 While the cabinet, led by the Bakhtiari leader Samsam al-Saltanah and the foreign minister Vosuq al-Dowleh,

unanimously accepted the ultimatum, the Majles would not submit. Mass protests and boycotts took place in

Tehran and other regions in opposition to the ultimatum and in support of the Majles. In addition, a military

coalition of the Dashnaktsutiun, Yeprem Khan, the Conservative Moderates, the Democrats, the Union and

Progress party, Bakhtiaris, 300 Armenians, and 1,100 of Morgan Shuster’s treasury gendarmerie was

organized to resist Russian incursion. On Shuster’s advice, the coalition leaders decided not to oppose openly

the Russians whose force was too strong and who would have crushed the Iranian populace along with the

troops (see Shuster, The Strangling of Persia [New York: The Century Co., 1912], pp. 190–191). The Majles

continued to hold out against the cabinet’s attempts. The cabinet, unable to suspend the Majles itself,

requested the assistance of regent Naser al-Molk who carried out the closing of the assembly with Russian

and British support. In the meantime, Sardar As_

ad convinced Yeprem Khan to change sides and on 24

December 1911 Yeprem Khan led the troops who closed down the Majles (see Afary, Iranian Constitutional

Revolution, pp. 330–336; and Kasravi, Tarikh-e hijdah saleh, 1, pp. 255–260.50 Aleksandr Khachatrian to Yeprem, 14 July 1909, Archives of the Armenian Revolutionary Federation

[Dashnaktsutiun], Watertown, Massachusetts, file 1728g, document 162; Isahak Ter Zakarian to Yeprem, 29

July 1909, file 1728g, document 93, also in A[ndre] Amurian [Ter Ohanian], H. H. Dashnaktsutiun, Yeprem,

parskakan sahmanadrutiun, H. H. D. kendronakan arkhiv [A. R. Federation, Yeprem, Persian constitution,

A. R.F. central archives] vol. 1 (Tehran: Alik, 1976), pp. 359–360; and Azerbaijan Central Committee to

Western Bureaus, 5 April 1910, Archives of the Armenian Revolutionary Federation, 477/28. After his death

in battle against Salar al-Dowleh’s forces (6 May 1912), for most Armenians and Dashnaks, Yeprem Khan

became an irreproachable martyr to the constitutional cause; see, for example, a booklet of compilations by

Armenian poets and activists, published right after his death. It had at least three printings in 1912 alone and

then it appears as part of larger works. Sgapsak Yepremin [Wreath for Yeprem] (Istanbul, 1912), file 1728e,

document 45. See also text in Elmar, Yeprem, pp. 637–660; and Amurian, Arkhiv, 1, pp. 132–159.51 For a discussion of Aravot, see Berberian, ‘Traversing boundaries and selves’.52 H. Panirian, Heghapokhakan sharzhumnere parskastanum [Revolutionary movements in Persia] (Tabriz:

Paros, 1917).53 H[ayrapet] Panirian, ‘Hayrapet Paniriani Husherits’ [From the memoirs of Hayrapet Panirian], Hayrenik

Amsagir 30(6) (June 1952) through 31(7) (July 1953).

274 H. Berberian


Mirzayan. In the case of Anahit, he writes that despite ‘swimming in the wealth (I think

close to 60,000 tomans) Yeprem had left her,’ she refused to assist Yeprem’s good friend

and Dashnak comrade, Samson, even when Panirian, acting as Samson’s intermediary,

requested her help.54 In the case of Keri, he mentions the latter’s possession of a significant

amount of money, which he had acquired through ‘various means on the battlefield.’55 As

for Mirzayan, he mentions his conflict with the party and his possible insubordination in

becoming commander of an Armenian regiment, even after the Dashnaktsutiun had

ordered the dismantling of the troops at the end of 1912 when it withdrew its support from

the constitutional government.56 Moreover, he asserts that Mirzayan was elected to the

second Majles without Dashnak support and by a small margin because of the efforts of his

relatives and friends.57 His treatment is also more critical of Yeprem than anything that

had appeared earlier (with the exception of Yeghikian to be discussed later). For example,

he maintains that Dashnak comrades Keri and Khecho were Yeprem’s opponents and as

such lived under the ‘terror’ of Yeprem’s police surveillance.58 These passages suggest the

possibility that Panirian’s memoirs may have not been received well if published in the

1920s, considering the post-First World War context of devastating circumstances for

Armenians, including the legacy of genocide in Turkey, an uncertain future, and even a

‘threatened or uncertain identity.’59 Pierre Nora’s contention that ‘The defense, by certain

minorities, of a privileged memory that has retreated to jealously protected enclaves in this

sense intensely illuminates the truth of lieux de memoire–that without commemorative

vigilance, history would soon sweep them away.’60 Furthermore, the idea that ‘memory

. . . is connected with insecurities concerning the present-day identity constructing those

memories,’ might help explain why Panirian could not be published in the 1920s but why

the others were.61 Samson’s and Grisha’s memoirs celebrated better times when Armenian

activists made a difference, when they were not merely victims but serious contributors to

a revolution. Moreover, the publication of those memoirs attempted to preserve the

memory of events that might otherwise have been forgotten or set aside.

Hovhannisian, who also wrote a historical work on Yeprem Khan, complains that nothing

appeared in the Iranian press regarding Armenian participation until 20 years after the

revolution and only after he wrote in protest.62 In a sense, then, the published memoirs are

attempts to contribute to what is being remembered, to history, to identity, and to collective

memory. Moreover, they serve as a means to receive confirmation from readers as they

‘appeal for popular support by claiming the sanction of the past,’ thereby contributing

54 Panirian, ‘Hayrapet Paniriani Husherits,’ 31(4) (April 1953), p. 88.55 Ibid., 31(3) (March 1953), p. 64.56 Ibid., pp. 65–66.57 Ibid., p. 65; Hovhannisian makes similar claims, questioning Mirzayan’s tactics in obtaining votes (see his

Husher, pp. 312–313, 383).58 Panirian, ‘Hayrapet Paniriani Husherits,’ 31(3) (March 1953), p. 64.59 Alan Megill, ‘History, memory, identity,’ History of the Human Sciences, 11(3) (August 1998), p. 42.60 Nora, however, does admit that ‘Those who have long been marginalized in traditional history are not the

only ones haunted by the need to recover their buried pasts’ (see further Nora, ‘Between memory and history,’

pp. 12, 15).61 Megill, ‘History, memory, identity,’ p. 45.62 Elmar, Yeprem, pp. 604–606.



to ‘traditions, legends, myths, rituals, and more formalized cultural expressions of

collective memory.’63

The memoirs of Hnchak theoretician Grigor Yeghikian, who became an associate of

Kuchek Khan, leader of the Jangali64 movement, are an exception to some of the points

brought about earlier in the discussion, but they are also the only ones written a few months

before the end of the revolution, in September 1911, and published less than two years after

in May 1913. The passing of time and all that it may have brought have not influenced

Yeghikian’s memoir. What has affected them, however, is the deep sense of disillusion and

embitterment, although he claims, ‘I am narrating only the truth without being inspired by

the . . . movements and without being disillusioned with their consequences.’65 Needless to

say, all the memorialists either make the same claim directly or at the very least imply it.66

Hovhannisian, for example, believes, as his preface indicates, that he will write of ‘events

that happened,’67 in the assumed tradition of a chronicler, without embellishment nor

interpretation, very much like George Gusdorf’s explanation of the memorialist who

imagines himself a historian who prevails over all problems ‘through exercise of critical

objectivity and impartiality,’ thus ‘reestablish[ing] the factual truth.’68

Yeghikian was a social democratic ideologue and a keen observer whose inferences and

judgments regarding factional strife and the failures of the revolution were very much on

the mark. While Yeghikian accepts the significance of the revolution and its influence on

the ‘world view and consciousness’ of people, he concludes that no real social democrat,

by extension including him, would call this a ‘truly populist’ revolution.69 He argues that

the revolution was masterminded in Petersburg or London (a common problematic

interpretation of the revolution’s origins), that the revolutionary leaders were exploited,

knowingly or unknowingly, by one or the other, and that the Iranian people have been

mercilessly betrayed and robbed by the constitutional government.70

Yeghikian is especially critical of disarmament leaders Yeprem Khan and Sardar

Bahadur Bakhtiari but also of popular revolutionaries Sattar Khan and Baqer Khan. He

accuses all of them of a ‘new kind of oppression’71 and, in the case of Yeprem and Sardar

Bahadur, of persecuting their comrades once they achieved power.72 According to

Yeghikian, Yeprem was not a true revolutionary; while at times he was a democrat, at

other times he was a ‘real tyrant.’73 He adds, ‘They were the heroes of Persian freedom;

Sattar and Yeprem were even likened to Garibaldi. The press wove songs of admiration for

them. But whoever is familiar with the Persian reality . . . knows very well that all those

63 Thelen, ‘Memory and American history,’ p. 1127.64 The Jangalis established the short-lived Soviet Socialist Republic of Gilan (1920–21).65 G. Astghuni, ‘Chshmartutiunner Parskastani heghapokhakan sharzhumneri masin (akanatesi

hishoghutiunnerits)’ [Truths about the Persian revolutionary movements (from the memoirs of an

eyewitness)], Yeritasard Hayastan, 9(33) (13 May 1913).66 As Elizabeth Bruss maintains, ‘the autobiographer purports to believe in what he asserts.’ Bruss,

Autobiographical Acts, p. 11.67 Hovhannisian, Husher, p. 3.68 Gusdorf, ‘Conditions and limits,’ pp. 39–40.69 Astghuni, ‘Chshmartutiunner,’ 9(33) (13 May 1913).70 Ibid., 9(36) (13 June 1913) and 9(50) (9 September 1913).71 Ibid., 9(40) (1 July 1913).72 Ibid., 9(39) (24 June 1913).73 Ibid., 9(50) (9 September 1913).

276 H. Berberian


heroes did everything to strengthen their own positions and firm up their own pockets.’74

(Yeprem as Italian national hero Giuseppe Garibaldi and even as Emperor of France

Napoleon Bonaparte was a common way to describe him even in historical narratives.)75

In addition, while Yeghikian is critical to different degrees of all political parties in the

revolution, stating that they had no lofty ideological goals and principles (except his own

Hnchakian party), he is most opposed to the rival Dashnaktsutiun party, which he calls

‘opportunistic.’76 (He is, however, much kinder to the Dashnaktsutiun when he writes of

the revolution less than 20 years later.)77 While the playing out of party rivalries in this

manner is not uncommon in memoirs or histories, Yeghikian’s critical approach to the

revolution is rare.78 In fact, the more time passed between the events and the writing of

memoirs, the more romantic and nostalgic they became.

The next set of memoirs appeared or was written in the 1950s and 1960s.79 Only that of

Hovsep Hovhannisian, which appeared posthumously in 1995, is a book, unlike the others

which all appeared as a series of articles. The author died in 1975, and, according to the

preface of the published memoir that he signed in 1959, he wrote the memoir in the course of

two years, 1958–59. The memoir ends abruptly with no conclusion, leaving the impression,

perhaps mistaken, that the author might have believed he would go back to them.

What is the context in which these authors wrote? The 1940s were both a time of hope and

disappointment for Armenians in the diaspora. After the Second World War, the Soviet

Armenian republic and even Stalin himself called on diaspora Armenians to ‘return’ to the

homeland. In all, 150,000 Armenians from Iran and other parts of the Middle East, Europe,

and the United States answered the call for ‘repatriation.’ In many respects, however, the

Soviet reality did not come close to the aspirations and dreams attached to it. Furthermore,

repatriation brought to the surface or reinvigorated conflicting feelings about the Soviet

Armenian republic and caused further division among diaspora communities about the role

of the republic and the extent of support that it should garner from them.80 In Iran, by the end

of Reza Shah’s reign in 1941, the Armenian community had become one of the targets of his

homogenization and nationalist policies, which brought limitations on Armenian cultural,

linguistic, and educational programs. The 1950s, marked by de-Stalinization, was also a

period of revived cultural contact between Soviet and diaspora Armenians, as artists,

musicians, dancers, writers, and others toured major Armenian communities outside the

republic. In the 1950s, but especially in the 1960s, Armenian communities began to come to

terms with the reality of the permanence of the diaspora (a population rivaling that of Soviet

Armenia), the inability of the diaspora to act in any significant political way, the threat of

assimilation and thus the threat to identity, and the continued international disinterest in

74 Ibid., 49 (2 September 1913).75 Tigran Deoyiants writes, ‘Yeprem was Persia’s Napoleon.’ See Deoyiants, ‘Kiankis drvagnerits’ [Episodes

from my life], Hayrenik Amsagir, 22(1) (240), (January–February 1944), p. 84; for historical narratives, see

Amurian, Arkhiv, 1, p. 13; Elmar, Yeprem, p. 617; see also Babken and Seta Balian Ter-Hakobian, Patmutiun

Iranahayeri [History of Iranian Armenians] (Glendale: Alco, 1985), p. 90.76 Astghuni, ‘Chshmartutiunner,’ 9(48) (26 August 1913).77 Astghuni, ‘Inchpes kazmvets,’ pp. 191–197.78 See Astghuni, ‘Chshmartutiunner,’ 9(48) (26 August 1913).79 A non-serialized memoir appeared in 1941: Nikol Odabashian, ‘Im kianki patmutiune’ [My life story],

Hayrenik Amsagir, 19(9) (225), (July 1941), pp. 159–168.80 For an excellent study on repatriation, see Claire Mouradian, ‘L’Immigration des Armeniens de la diaspora

vers la RSS d’Armenie, 1946-1962,’ Cahiers du monde russe et sovietique 10(1) (1979), pp. 79–110.



dealing with the genocidal crimes of the First World War.81 As for Soviet Armenia, 1965

was marked by nationalist demonstrations commemorating the 1915 massacres and

protesting Soviet policy toward Turkey. According to Mark Saroyan, starting in the 1960s

and picking up pace in the 1970s and 1980s, Soviet Armenian publications began to appear

on the genocide as well as the history of Ottoman Armenian communities, literature, and

even the Ottoman Armenian revolutionary movement. In addition, studies on the worldwide

Armenian diaspora also became increasingly popular.82

It is in this context that we can explore the memoirs that appeared or were written in the

1950s and 1960s, all of which expressed a nostalgia and a romanticism that remembered

the good old days of selfless heroes (including the authors) who devoted themselves to a

greater cause whether charitable or revolutionary—days, they probably would argue,

which had not been experienced since. In this sense, they are very much like those that

appeared in the 1920s, but with an important difference: They bring to light tensions that

characterized relations among major and minor revolutionaries and memorialists.83

Khachatur Minasian’s memoir, for example, deals directly with his own experience as a

Dashnak activist and fighter in Yeprem’s army. The title of his memoir indicates his

recognition of the significance of his recollections to history—‘Memoirs: Materials for

History.’ Minasian’s writing style in the first few paragraphs sets the tone for the rest of

the memoir, which is dominated by descriptions of battles and the victories of the

constitutionalist forces led by Yeprem and the Armenians, particularly Dashnaks.

He begins rather dramatically, with the words ‘Iran’s constitution’ followed by ellipses.

The second paragraph alludes to its promises and hopes; the third raises the issue of its

sudden demise under a ‘dark hand’; the fourth exclaims, ‘Tabriz is surrounded’! After a

few more short dramatic sequences, Minasian begins the narrative of the Tabriz resistance

and the contribution of political and military leadership and the struggle by Dashnaks, in

which he had first-hand experience.84

81 For an excellent article on diasporan elites and institutions, see Khachig Tololyan, ‘Elites and institutions in

the Armenian transnation,’ Diaspora 9(1) (Spring 2000), pp. 107–136.82 Mark Saroyan, ‘Beyond the nation-state: culture and ethnic politics in Soviet Transcaucasia,’ in: Edward

W. Walker (Ed.), Minorities, Mullahs and Modernity: Reshaping Community in the Former Soviet Union

(Berkeley, CA: University of California Press/University of California International and Area Studies Digital

Collection, edited vol. 95, 1997), pp. 145, 146. Available online: ,http://repositories.cdlib.org/uciaspubs/

research/95/9. . For a larger study on the history of the Soviet Republic between Stalin and Gorbachev, see Claire

Mouradian, De Staline a Gorbatchev: Histoire d’une republique sovietique: L’Armenie (Paris: Editions Ramsay,

1990).83 In the case of Iskuhi Hakovbiants’ memoirs, which focus on the late nineteenth century, the issues discussed

there emphasize the charitable contributions of her father and male elders of the wealthy commercial house of

Tumanian; while her memoirs contribute much-appreciated information regarding the debate over Armenian

girls’ education in Iran, the focus remains on her own and her family’s charitable nature and progressive

attitude, as they are portrayed as self-less patrons of schools among other things. See Iskuhi Hakovbiants,

‘Tavrizi Hay gaghuti antsialits’ [From the past of the Tabriz Armenian community], Hayrenik Amsagir

35(11) (November 1957), pp. 90–100; ‘Tumaniantsneri entanike’ [The Tumanian family], Hayrenik Amsagir

44(1) (January 1966), pp. 6–23 & 44(4) (April 1966), pp. 63–80; ‘Yeghbayrk Tumaniantsnere,’ [The

Tumanian brothers], Hayrenik Amsagir 43(9) (September 1965), pp 1–11.84 Khachatur Minasian, ‘Husher: Niuter patmutian hamar’ [Memoirs: materials for history], Alik Amsagir 2

(1961), pp. 38–39. As of the completion of this article, I have been unable to locate the series after volume

nine of 1962.

278 H. Berberian


In contrast, in the case of Panirian and his critic, Hovsep Hovhannisian, one is struck by the

high level of resurfacing disputes and criticism (still, however, not surpassing Yeghikian’s

1913 memoir). However, Hovhannisian also looks back with nostalgia at past friendships,

camaraderie, and the ‘spirit of self-sacrifice.’85 Hovhannisian, ‘forgetting’ the hostile discord

over Yeprem Khan’s post and Mirzayan’s conflict with the Dashnaktsutiun that he himself

records, laments, ‘My heart bleeds when I compare the simple, openhearted, honest relations

of those days with today’s jealous, rancorous, fake and malicious, unfriendly behavior.’86

I already have discussed how Panirian’s work, although written in 1923, was not

published until 1952. Soon after his serialized memoirs began to appear, Hovhannisian,

under the pseudonym H. Elmar, published an article in the same journal (Hayrenik

Amsagir) in order to counter Panirian’s assertions.87 In his view, he was trying to set the

record straight, pointing out contradictions, false statements, and even questioning

Panirian’s memory as well as his integrity. Here and in Hovhannisian’s later memoirs

(interestingly, completed in 1959 only a few years after Panirian’s memoirs appear), we

see for the first time the unfurling of personal rivalries as each man tries to claim a greater

role for himself in activities, including the founding and running of the Dashnak organ,

Aravot. Hovhannisian, who was a high-ranking member of the Dashnak branch in

Azerbaijan, emphasizes that Panirian was editor in name only because, as an Ottoman

subject, he would be immune from Russian attempts at interference and intrigue and that,

in fact, Hovhannisian himself was the originator of the paper as well as its true editor.88 It

is interesting to note that Panirian himself admits that the position of editor was merely

titular and that responsibilities were carried out by the entire editorial board although he

does claim that he was one of the founding members of the paper.89

What are also noteworthy and interesting are two claims made by Hovhannisian: First,

that he has a better handle on the truth than Panirian; and, second, ever since Hovhannisian

took the side of other teachers against Panirian in a dispute decades ago, the latter has had

animosity toward him. Hovhannisian’s shorter response and the later book-length memoir

attempt to correct many of Panirian’s recollections, including but not limited to those in

relation to a national hero, Keri. According to Hovhannisian, Panirian portrayed Keri in

negative light, casting aspersions on how he might have accrued a large amount of money

when he arrived in Tehran after Yeprem’s death. Hovhannisian accuses Panirian of making

such claims because of self-interest although he does not elaborate. Hovhannisian explains

that after Yeprem’s death, money was collected from other commanders and fighters to erect

a statue over his grave. Much of that money was handed to Keri, who delivered the money to

the treasurer of the board of trustees of Tehran’s Haykazian School.90 Years later in his

85 Hovhannisian, Husher, pp. 4–5.86 Ibid., p. 250. For criticism of Mirzayan, see ibid., pp. 377–383. According to Hovhannisian, Mirzayan and he met

a couple of months before his death at Mirzayan’s instigation. Hovhannisian describes some of their conversations

revolving around Mirzayan’s conflicts with the Dashnaktusiun as confessional; see ibid., pp. 390–392.87 H. Elmar [Hovsep Hovhannisian], ‘H. H. Dashnaktsutiune yev Parsits sahmanadrakan sharzhume’

[A. R. Federation and the Persian constitutional movement] Hayrenik Amsagir 30(1) (January 1952) through

30(3) (March 1952).88 Hovhannisian, Husher, p. 214.89 Panirian, ‘Hayrapet Paniriani Husherits,’ 30(11) (November 1952), pp. 50, 51.90 Elmar, ‘Dashnaktsutiune,’ p. 85. In his Husher (pp. 180–181), Hovhannisian writes that the statue never was

constructed for a number of reasons, which he does not detail, and that the board used the money for another

‘rewarding’ purpose.



longer memoir, Hovhannisian does refer to his writing down of memories as a way of settling

accounts (hashvapak).91 Perhaps, he had started much earlier to think in those terms.

Hovhannisian, more than the other memorialists, is self-aggrandizing as he becomes the

protagonist of every story, seeing himself as the most qualified person among his

colleagues; e.g., he possessed the best knowledge of Persian and of the political situation in

Iran and the best contacts with Iranian intellectuals. He is also quite critical of the

Constitutional Revolution not only because hopes attached to it did not materialize, but

also because of his own admission that he opposed Armenian participation. According to

Hovhannisian, he was in the minority of those who supported moral assistance rather than

military collaboration. He believed that the Dashnaktsutiun would be digressing from its

goal by taking part in a revolution that had nothing to do with its national struggle and that

collaboration in the Iranian Constitutional Revolution would take away from the cause of

Armenian liberation from the Ottoman Empire.92 He added that his opinion was based on

his better familiarity with the Iranian people, including the constitutionalists. He insisted

that he, more than anyone else, knew the local scene, had contact with Iranian intellectuals,

and because of his knowledge of Persian, could follow the Persian-language press.

He referred to the constitutional ranks as disloyal, ‘ignorant,’ ‘fanatic,’ and ‘selfish.’93

He added, ‘The constitutional idea is very distant from the understanding of the Persian

people’s mind,’ even from its most ‘advanced elements.’94 Perhaps trying to contextualize

his rather essentialist view, very reminiscent of Orientalist writing of his period,

Hovhannisian explains that centuries of oppression have created a specific psychology,

dominated by insincerity, suspicion, and cunning, and no matter how the constitutionalist

ranks wanted to shake it off, they could not.95 His criticism of the constitutional voluntary

fighting force, the mojahedin, is very pronounced, as he claims that they lacked the

necessary traits of self-sacrifice and fervor. Furthermore, even though they witnessed the

experience, sacrifice, and courage of the Armenian fighters, they did not follow their

example, sometimes even running away from the battlefield. Hovhannisian explains that

the mojahedin could not model themselves after the Armenians because, after all,

according to him they lacked the necessary ‘innate’ and ‘racial’ qualities, adding that even

the ‘ignorant Armenian combatant’ comes to the battlefield with those traits. He recognizes

how his views might be interpreted and recalls that his comrades used to call him mostabid

(despot), which apparently he prefers to acting ‘with eyes shut.’96

Hovhannisian’s last point regarding participation dealt with his concern for the

Armenian community. Collaboration, he believed, would result in a dangerous situation of

persecution, revenge, and suffering for the Armenian people in Iran.97 To demonstrate the

correctness of his assessment, he points out that not only were the sacrifices and services of

the Armenians forgotten, but also there was indeed persecution and harassment after the

revolution.98 His feelings of betrayal are very clear as he bemoans that Iran has forgotten

91 Hovhannisian, Husher, p. 3.92 Ibid., pp. 157, 161.93 Ibid., pp. 157–158 and 162.94 Ibid., p. 159.95 Ibid., p. 162.96 Ibid., pp. 173, 187.97 Ibid., pp. 158, 160.98 Ibid., p. 161.

280 H. Berberian


the role of the Armenians and the Dashnaktsutiun in the revolution.99 He writes that the

Armenians honored their promises to the constitutionalists but the constitutionalist

government did not honor its promises to the Armenians. In the longer memoir, he alludes,

without detail, to the gradual curtailment, almost elimination, of Armenian cultural and

educational rights.100 The reference, we can assume, is to Reza Shah’s homogenization

policies that severely limited the teaching of religion and Armenian language, the closure

of some Armenian schools, and so forth. He makes the connection clearer in his 1952

article on the role of the Dashnaktsutiun in the Constitutional Revolution, as he brings up

the closure of Armenian schools and decreased hours in Armenian language and religion

classes.101

Hovhannisian’s memoir is a perfect example of the type of memoirs whose aim is to

right a wrong, both personal as discussed earlier, but also historical. We are reminded of

Gusdorf’s contention that the memorialist is not only his own best advocate but also that

his recollections are a form of historical vengeance.102 For our memorialists, we can take

this to mean a ‘revenge on history’, that is meant righting a wronged history, reestablishing

one’s rightful place in Iranian society and history, especially important in the particular

context of genocide in the Ottoman Empire, homogenization programs in Iran, and a

general neglect in Iranian historiography of the significant contribution of Armenians and

other minorities to developments in Iranian history.

In an effort to reclaim the rightful place of the Iranian-Armenian role in the

Constitutional Revolution and counterbalance the absence of due recognition,

memorialists tend to magnify their contribution. The zenith of the memories of grandeur

comes as Hovhannisian insists that without the Armenians the revolution would have been

a complete failure, a concept picked up by many Armenians. According to him, ‘ . . . it is

possible to come to the conclusion that the Pers[ian] constitutional movement with all its

expressions, would have been doomed to failure had not the Armenians, the expert

fighters, that is the Dashnak warriors, brought their participation.’103 Moreover, in the

Iranian countryside, states Hovhannisian, constitutionalist leaders did not begin their

revolutionary activities until first assuring the alliance of the Dashnaktsutiun.104

Khachatur Minasian, a Dashnak participant in the revolution who fought with Yeprem,

praises the Dashnaktsutiun’s role with a seemingly never-ending melodramatic sentence

that takes up most of one column of one page, adding in the same breath, ‘I repeat myself

modestly, proudly . . . ’ that all of the activities he mentions were carried out by one party,

99 Ibid., p. 170; see also Elmar, Yeprem, pp. 630–631. On the first page of his booklet, Panirian too laments, but

in his case, it is because the world has forgotten ‘our country’s political rebirth’ (Panirian, Heghapokhakan

sharzhumnere parskastanum, p. 1). See also Balian Ter-Hakobian, Patmutiun Iranahayeri, pp. 86–87. In

writing about Yeprem, the Armenian authors contend that Iranian history has tried ‘to subject him to

“oblivion”’ because he ‘was an Armenian and a Christian’ (Ibid., pp. 86–87).100 Hovhannisian, Husher, p. 195 [see]101 Elmar, ‘Dashnaktsutiune,’ 30(1) (January 1952), p. 39, n. *. Hovhannisian does not seem very fond of Reza

Shah in general as the following slight indicates. According to Hovhannisian, Reza Khan as head of the

military visited Yeprem’s wife Anahit and told her that he had learned how to lead from Yeprem Khan and

that he would continue to follow his model. Hovhannisian then writes that he had only followed him in the

military arena and nowhere else. 30(3) (February 1952), p. 95, n.**.102 Gusdorf, ‘Conditions and limits,’ p. 36.103 Hovhannisian, Husher, p. 187.104 Ibid., p. 219.



the Dashnaktsutiun, and ‘glory to it.’105 This is also the case with the historical narrative

on the revolution.106

Our memorialists and even historians see Yeprem as the figure behind most

constitutional victories and by extension perhaps the most important leader of the

Constitutional Revolution. For example, according to Hovhannisian, had Yeprem not come

to Tabriz’s aid, occupied Tehran, deflected the blows of the royalists and Russians, and had

not his constitutional spirit, selfless work infiltrated the new ranks, ‘no doubt Iran would

have remained . . . dark and ignorant and turned into a Russian state.’107 Sometimes,

popular revolutionary hero Sattar Khan gets billing, too, but only in connection with

Yeprem Khan or remembered mostly in his praise of Armenian fighters, quoted as having

said ‘all my hope rests with the Armenian fedayis.’108 One of the stories about Sattar

Khan’s admiration and respect for Armenian fighters, retold in Hovhannisian’s memoirs

and book on Yeprem, is Sattar Khan’s proclamation that if Yeprem Khan had had only 200

Armenian fighters, he could have overtaken St Petersburg.109

Yeprem Khan is portrayed in almost all cases as the selfless, brave, yet modest savior

of Iran and constitutionalism who ‘anointed with his blood the deep-rooted foundation of

Armeno-Persian brotherhood.’110 And furthermore, ‘To write about the activities of

Yeprem in Persia means to write the [P]ersian revolution’s history . . . Because Yeprem

has been the [P]ersian constitution’s soul, the one who bore the weight of the whole

political and military activity.’111 Such examples are too numerous to list here.

Yeprem’s cherished memory is guarded preciously as memoirs and historical works

attempt to shield him from any and all criticism. Some make a more honest attempt by

laying out the conflicts that surrounded him and dealing with them while others dismiss

them altogether and others still pretend conflict did not exist. Interestingly, in his 1917

booklet, Panirian makes no mention of Yeprem, thereby becoming the only Iranian-

Armenian author writing on the Constitutional Revolution not to do so.

Mikayel Varandian, for example, who wrote a partisan history of the Dashnaktsutiun’s

activities, devotes more than 40 pages to the constitutional movement, yet makes no mention

of Yeprem’s role in the controversial disarmament of the mojahedin and only provides

glowing appraisal.112 Others, like Andre Amurian (Ter Ohanian), merely mention the

discord, adding that it did not shatter Yeprem’s relations with his comrades. Based on the

archival evidence and the testimony of other Dashnaks, this is far from the truth.113 Amurian,

105 Minasian, ‘Husher,’ pp. 38, 39.106 See, for example, Balian Ter-Hakobian, Patmutiun Iranahayeri, pp. 86–87. The authors write, ‘if it were not

for the Dashnaktsutiun and especially Yeprem, the Persian Constitutional movement would have never had

any results’ (ibid., pp. 86–87).107 Hovhannisian, Husher, p. 154.108 Ibid; and Elmar, ‘Dashnaktsutiune,’ 30(3) (March 1952), pp. 43, 54. The term fedayi literally means one who

sacrifices oneself and commonly was used to refer to fighters.109 Hovhannisian, Husher, p. 198; and Elmar, Yeprem, p. 157, n. *.110 Elmar, ‘Dashnaktsutiune,’ 30(3) (February 1952), pp. 96, 97–98; and idem, 30(3) (March 1952), p. 47.111 Farro, ‘Yepremi gortsuneutiune,’ 3(1) (November 1924), p. 67.112 Mikayel Varandian, H. H. Dashnaktsutian patmutiun, vol. 2 (Cairo: Husaber, 1950), pp. 57–101.113 Amurian Arkhiv, 2, p. 43. Andre Amurian served as editor of Alik and chair of Armenian Studies at the

University of Tehran in the 1970s. For a brief biography, see Balian Ter-Hakobian, Patmutiun Iranahayeri,

pp. 107–109; for discussion of the discord, see Berberian, Armenians and the Iranian Constitutional

Revolution, pp. 153–156.

282 H. Berberian


in his preface, calls Yeprem a model for international collaboration and the man behind

order and discipline in the country.114 Hovhannisian is most upfront about the dissension in

the ranks due to Yeprem taking the position of chief of Tehran police; he and Minasian

clearly take Yeprem’s side by discussing his attempts to resign from his post and attributing

all the dissent to personal jealousies, rivalries, and even perhaps confusion and naivety by

comrades who either refused or were incapable of understanding the demands of Yeprem’s

new post and sought the return of their former comrade who had all the time in the world for

them. Hovhannisian discusses the attempts of the leadership of the party to negotiate a truce

between Yeprem and his critics, his own meetings with Yeprem Khan, and even goes so far

as to list the names of those who opposed him.115 (Perhaps settling accounts again.)

Hovhannisian, in his memoirs and historical works, and Minasian, in his memoirs,

devote much attention to the question of disarmament of the mojahedin at Atabek Park

carried out in part by Yeprem Khan. They offer different versions of why the disarmament

took place but they both attribute Sattar Khan’s injury to friendly fire, absolving Yeprem

and his Armenian fighters of any blame. Hovhannisian, unlike the others, adds that Sattar

Khan told Yeprem’s fighters who took care of him after his wound that he was shot by one

of his soldiers who took offense at Sattar’s proposal to surrender.116

In addition to simple hero-fixation, the preoccupation with the laudatory depiction of

Yeprem Khan takes on greater significance as Yeprem becomes the embodiment of the

Armenian people: his traits are their traits and his service and sacrifice are theirs as well.

This is manifested by Siamanto (d. 1915), one of the most important Armenian poets of the

modern period, who wrote, ‘And triumphantly Yeprem became the measure of today’s

soul of the Armenian people.’117 Similarly, therefore, in the eyes of our authors, he needs

to be defended with the same fervor and devotion as do the Armenian people.

National Historiographic Representation

This brings us to how these memoirs contribute to Armenian, particularly Iranian-Armenian,

self-perception, identity, and collective memory. In his study on collective memory, Maurice

Halbwachs distinguishes between autobiographical memory, ‘internal’ and ‘inward’ and

historical memory, ‘external’ and‘social.’118 He believes history to be the ‘affair ofonly a small

minority’ and, moreover, ‘situated external to and above groups.’119 In the same vein,

Halbwachs as well as Pierre Nora suggest that collective memory and history are two distinct

and separate processes. According to Halbwachs ‘history starts only when tradition ends and the

social memory is fading or breaking up . . . the need to write the history of a period, a society,

114 Amurian, Arkhiv, vol. 2, p. 6.115 Hovhannisian, Husher, pp. 253–268. Hovhannisian’s historical works are similar in their defense and praise;

see Elmar, ‘Dashnaktsutiune,’ 30(3) (February 1925); and idem, Yeprem, pp. 418–419, 555, 558–559. See

also Minasian, ‘Husher,’ 9 (1962), pp. 77–78.116 Farro, ‘Yepremi gortsuneutiune,’ 3(5) (March 1925), pp. 108–110; Minasian, ‘Husher,’ 9 (1962), pp. 71–72;

and Elmar, Yeprem, pp. 368–374.117 Siamanto was one of the victims of the Armenian genocide, killed in August 1915 after being rounded up

along with other Armenian intellectuals in April of the same year; see Siamanto in Sgapsak Yepremin [Wreath

for Yeprem] (Constantinople/Istanbul, 1912), file 1728e, document 45. See also the text in Elmar [Hovsep

Hovhannisian], Yeprem, p. 648.118 Halbwachs, The Collective Memory, p. 52.119 Ibid., p. 80.



or even a person is only aroused when thesubject is already too distant in the past to allowfor the

testimony of those who preserve some remembrance of it.’120 This, of course, is an outmoded

way of thinking about history that neglects to take into account historians’ contexts and the role

that memory plays in the writing of history and the equally, if not more, important function of

history in shaping memory.121 As Patrick Geary points out in his discussion of history and

memory in the Middle Ages, ‘Postulating a dichotomy between collective memory and history

ignores the social and cultural context of the historian . . . This dichotomization of memory and

history also ignores the political or intentional dimensions of both collective memory

and history. Historians write for a purpose, essentially to shape the collective memory of the

historical profession and ultimately of the society in which they live.’ Collective memory, ‘too

has been orchestrated no less than the historical memory as a strategy for group solidarity and

mobilization through the constant processes of suppression and selection.’122

Therefore, it should not be surprising that in our case, too, collective and historical

memory become conflated perhaps because, as Motzkin explains, memorialists are very

much conscious of the constant relationship between memory and history with the caveat

that ‘memory becomes history.’123 In this way, memoirs have become significant to

history writing on the Iranian-Armenian community and to the construction of Iranian-

Armenian and perhaps wider Armenian ethnic identity.

By contributing to collective memory, memoirs help shape a shared reality or chimera of

the past that binds individuals together in the present and to a common future. According to

Confino, ‘People construct representations of the nation that conceal through symbols

[—such as Yeprem Khan—] real friction in their society.’124 Or perhaps, it is, as Peter Burke

bluntly exclaims, that losers can not afford to forget.125 Either way, the interest of the

Armenian diaspora, especially that of Iranian-Armenian historical narrative, lay in

reinvigorating and being reinvigorated by the retelling of the heroic past in Iran, covering up

and glossing over as much as possible conflicts, problems, and dissent in order to provide a

laudable and valiant account to a wider community coping with political failures. Memoirs

and historical narratives, therefore, have contributed to how Armenians remember their

past, at times covering up the friction that has existed in favor of a more cohesive identity

and memory. Also, perhaps this collective memory of great feats and contributions has been

inspirational and encouraging to dispersed communities who have struggled with issues of

identity, tragedy, survival, discontent, and at times outrage.

What have been worthy of memory, that is, revolutionary heroes, battles, just causes, and

sacrifices, also have been picked up by mostly nationalist writers and glorified. The majority

of works published on the Armenian participation in the Constitutional Revolution, whether

memoirs or histories, have devoted most of their pages to the description of battles and the

praise of heroes and martyrs, most especially Yeprem Khan, Rostom, and Keri. They have

120 Ibid., pp. 78–79; see also Nora, ‘Memoire collective,’ pp. 398–399; and idem, ‘Between memory and

history,’ pp. 8–9.121 Keith Michael Baker, ‘Memory and practice: politics and the representation of the past in eighteenth-century

France,’ Representations, 11 (Summer, 1985), pp. 156–157.122 Geary, Phantoms of Remembrance, pp. 11–12.123 Motzkin, ‘Memoirs,’ p. 106.124 Confino, ‘Collective memory,’ p. 1400.125 Peter Burke, ‘History as social memory,’ in: Thomas Butler (Ed.), Memory: History, Culture and the Mind

(London: Basil Blackwell, 1989), p. 106.

284 H. Berberian


included, in most cases, lists of martyrs’ names and the letters, whole or in part, written by

Yeprem Khan and sent to his comrades, and multiple pages and sections on the many

dignitaries, Iranian and international, who attended his funeral, who wrote telegrams, who

praised him, and the incredibly positive coverage by the European press, by former officials

in the constitutional government like Morgan Shuster, and Iranian historians like Ahmad

Kasravi, all of which contribute to how the Armenian role is remembered and serve as a

reminder that history in this case is commemoration.126

Interestingly, Hovsep Hovhannisian has authored two works, an article on the

Dashnaktsutiun and its participation in the Iranian Constitutional Revolution, published in

1952, and a book on Yeprem Khan, published in 1964. This is obviously an important

connection since Hovhannisian as historical actor ‘participat[es] in various processes

simultaneously representing, receiving, and contesting memory.’127 Therefore, not only the

memories of others but also his own memories influence and contribute to his writing on the

subject. In fact, his work on Yeprem Khan is based in significant part on his own memory of

events, his own close relationship with Yeprem, his high position in the Dashnaktsutiun

party in Iran, and most importantly, his own memories and memoirs, penned between 1958

and 1959. It is noteworthy that Hovhannisian even uses the same recollections, language,

and at times exact wording in his work that he used earlier in his memoirs.128 Therefore,

Hovsep Hovhannisian is simultaneously source, subject, and historian.

For the most part, the writing of the history of Armenian participation in the Iranian

Constitutional Revolution has been done by non-professional historians, intellectuals

and/or party leaders without formal training, highly influenced by memoirs or their own

experiences of the events they narrate. In general, the Armenian role in the Constitutional

Revolution has not been presented as part of the national narrative of the history of the

Armenian people by Soviet Armenian authors who have preferred to focus on ‘historic’

Armenia, meaning the Ottoman and Russian provinces before the First World War.

The treatment of this subject in Soviet Armenia either was very brief or non-existent, even in

works devoted to diaspora Armenian communities. Perhaps Soviet historians were less

interested because of the importance of the role of the Dashnaktsutiun, an enemy of the

Soviet state, or perhaps because they had less access to the sources. Another possibility may

be the legacy of Stalin’s program of ‘self-determination of territorially based nations,’

which according to Saroyan, entwined ethnicity, nation, and territory to such a degree that

‘ethnic cultural practices promoted, as a rule, a conception of national identity that was

inseparable from the given territory of the national republic.’129 Saroyan adds that this had

an impact on historiography, which ‘produced backwards from the current connection

between nationality and territory, and, as a result, the officially canonized history of the

titular nationality and that of the republic became virtually interchangeable.’130 This

126 Motzkin, in ‘Memoirs,’ reminds us that ‘memoir is the genre of the history of the vanquished,’ pp. 113–114.127 Confino, ‘Collective memory,’ p. 1399.128 Compare, for example, sections on the Iranian ‘psychology’ in Elmar, Yeprem, p. 108; and Hovhannisian,

Husher pp. 157–158, 173. On curtailment of rights, see Elmar, Yeprem, p. 138; and Hovhannisian, Husher,

p. 195. On the resignation, see Elmar, Yeprem, pp. 377–378; and Hovhannisian, Husher, pp. 253–254. See

also Hovhannisian’s own admission: ‘benefiting from my memoirs and other sources, I wrote Yeprem,’ in his

Husher, p. 242.129 Saroyan, ‘Beyond the nation-state,’ pp. 137, 140.130 Ibid., p. 140.



argument helps explain why Armenian communities outside the Soviet Armenian Republic

were not part of that historiography. Saroyan does point to one exception, the post-Second

World War period up to 1949, when the Armenian diaspora did become part of

popular focus as a direct result of attempts to repatriate those communities gained

momentum.131 The post-Stalin period (post-1953) was marked by some critical changes,

including the rethinking of the binding and exclusive tie between ethnicity and territory as:

cultural practice came to constitute nationhood, not just within the realm of officially

designated Soviet nation-homeland, but more broadly, in the experience of the given

national communities, irrespective of geographic location. Whereas ethnic cultural

practices had been compartmentalized through the state-sponsored program of

nation-building organized around the identity of state, territory, and ethnicity, the

culturally mediated process of nation-building now moved to incorporate national

existence beyond the borders of the national republic.132

This departure brought about a new interest in Armenian communities outside the Soviet

republic, especially the history of Ottoman Armenian communities and genocide, starting in

the 1960s. Despite the growing interest in worldwide communities starting in the same

period and perhaps as a consequence of the interest of the repatriated communities, the focus

stayed on Ottoman Armenian history, and literature and publications abounded in these

subjects as Ottoman Armenians were brought ‘into [the] broader category of [an] Armenian

nation.’133 The Iranian-Armenian community’s role in the Iranian Constitutional Revolution

remained under the overarching shadow of Ottoman Armenian and genocidal history.

One of the few Soviet Armenian scholars to discuss the revolution was Hrachia Acharyan

(1876–1953), whose work was published posthumously in 2002 but was written decades

earlier.134 The only source he references is the booklet by Panirian published in 1917.135

A. G. Abrahamian who wrote a two-volume history of Armenian diaspora communities fails

to mention the revolution altogether.136 In an almost 90-page section on the modern history

of Iranian-Armenians, H. H. Martirosian only mentions the Constitutional Revolution in

passing and neglects to discuss the Armenian role.137 The story is similar for more general

works on Armenian history. A. G. Hovhannisian devotes about two pages in a larger work

131 Ibid., pp. 143–144.132 Ibid., p. 144.133 Ibid.134 See James Russell on ‘Acarean Hrac’eay Yakobi,’ in: Encyclopedia Iranica available online: ,http://www.

iranica.com/articlenavigation/index.html. .135 Hrachia Acharyan, Hay Gaghtakanutyan patmutyun [History of Armenian immigration] (Yerevan: Hrachia

Acharyan University, 2002); and Panirian, Heghapokhakan sharzhumnere parskastanum.136 A. G. Abrahamian, Hamarot urvagits Hay gaghtavaireri patmutian [Brief outline of the history of Armenian

colonies], vol. 2 (Erevan: Hayastan Publishing, 1967).137 H. H. Martirosyan, ‘Iranahay gaghuti patmutyunidz (Noraguyn Shrjan)’ [From the history of the Iranian-

Armenian community (modern period)] in Merdzavor yev Mijin Arevelki yerkrner yev zhoghovurdner [Near

and Middle Eastern countries and peoples] vol. 8: Iran (Yerevan: Haykakan SAH Gitutyunneri Akademiayi

Hratarakjutyun, 1975), pp. 193–286. Only a few pages are devoted to the Constitutional Revolution in H. L.

Pahlevanyan, Iranahay hamaynke (1941–1979) [The Iranian-Armenian community (1941–1979)] (Erevan:

Haykakan Khah Gitutyunneri Akademia, 1989).

286 H. Berberian


on the history of the Armenian people.138 A more recent article appearing in Iran-Nameh:

Armenian Journal of Oriental Studies on Yeprem Khan is little more than a regurgitation of

past writings and commonly-used sources, almost exclusively secondary.139 One notes

similar treatment with non-Iranian-Armenian sources published in the diaspora except when

it comes to works by Dashnaks and Hnchaks writing on the activities of their parties.140

The topic has been most popular among Iranian-Armenians more so than any others for

obvious reasons. In addition to Amurian, Hovhannisian, and Panirian who have written on the

Armenian participation, there also have been some other publications worth noting for our

purposes, specifically Babken and Seta Balian Ter-Hakobian’s History of Iranian Armenians,

published in 1985, and Raffi Taregirk (2 volumes) as they are good examples of

commemorative history.141 One other kind of history that has found solace or empowerment

in Armenian and Iranian collaboration is the history of and by political parties or their

members, most especially Dashnaks, whose activities were much more successful in the

Iranian Constitutional Revolution than any other venture in the name of the national struggle

and Ottoman Armenian liberation. Also, these party histories become a way to justify

participation in the post-genocidal environment that criticized the Dashnaktsutiun for

collaboration with the Young Turks and spending energy in ventures other than Ottoman

Armenian liberation.142 For example, Hayrapet Panirian asks, ‘What other position could . . .

[the Dashnaktsutiun] have taken regarding these movements?’143 Panirian points out that the

revolution brought Armenians and Azeris together two years after fighting each other and that

‘The battle in the name of liberation has today made them brothers and as equal peoples hand

in hand . . . ’144 The debate over participation in the revolution may have subsided especially

in times of victory but it never left and often resurfaced stronger in times of crisis or defeat.145

These memoirs serve not only as primary sources for historical writing on the Armenian

role in the Constitutional Revolution but also often imply a claim to writing more than

138 A. G. Hovhannisian, Hay zhoghovrdi patmutyun [History of the Armenian people] (Yerevan: Haykakan SAH

Gitutyunneri Akademiayi Hratarakjutyun, 1981).139 Hamlet Gevorgyan, ‘Yeprem Khan,’ Iran-Name: Armenian Journal of Oriental Studies 32, 33, 34 (1999),

pp. 8–30.140 For example, Hakob Atikian, Hamarot patmutiun Hay gaghtavayreru [Brief history of Armenian colonies]

(Antilias, Lebanon: Katoghikosutian Hayots Metsi Tann Kilikioy, 1985); Arshak Alpoyachian, Patmutiun

Hay gaghtakanutian: Hayeru tsrvume ashkharhi zanazan masere [History of Armenian immigration: the

dispersion of Armenians to the world’s various parts], vol. 3, part 1 (Cairo: Nor Astgh, 1961).141 Balian Ter-Hakobian, Patmutiun Iranahayeri; Raffi Taregirk, 2 vols. (Tehran: Modern, 1969, 1970).142 For informative discussions on the collaborative yet often tense relationship between the Dashnaktsutiun and

Committee of Union and Progress, see Sukru Hanioglu, Preparation for a Revolution: The Young Turks,

1902–1908 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001); Dikran Mesrob Kaligian, ‘The Armenian

Revolutionary Federation under Ottoman constitutional rule, 1908–1914,’ PhD dissertation (Boston

College, MA 2003); Gaıdz F. Minassian, ‘Les relations entre le Comite Union et Progres et la Federation

Revolutionnaire Armenienne a la veille de la Premiere Guerre mondiale d’apres les sources armeniennes,’

Revue d’histoire armenienne contemporaine, vol. 1: Etudes et documents (Paris: Annales de la bibliotheque

nubar de l’Union Generale Armenienne de Bienfaisance, 1995), pp. 45–99.143 H. Panirian, ‘H. H. Dashnaktsutiune yev parskakan sharzhume,’ Droshak (Paris), 11 – 12

(November/December 1926), p. 359.144 Ibid.145 For example, see Varandian, H. H. Dashnaktsutian patmutiun, vol. 2, p. 59. Even Hovhannisian, who opposed

active collaboration, felt the need to justify it by reminding readers that the Dashnaktsutiun believed it was

necessary to ‘mix his blood with the blood of this country’s people and fight for this country’s freedom’ in

Hovhannisian, Husher, pp. 190–191. See also Balian Ter-Hakobian, Patmutiun Iranahayeri, p. 77.



a memoir, indeed, writing history. As Motzkin explains, ‘ . . . the experience of the writer in

telling his memory and in having lived his memory is not brought forward in the text as a

difference. In contrast, historical writing assumes a difference between the experience of the

historian and the experience that is the subject matter of his narrative.’146 We may assume

that there is an enormous or at the very least a finely delineated difference between the

memorialist and the historian, the former distinguished by his/her subjectivity and the latter

by his/her objectivity and source-critical scholarship. In general, and in particular in our

case, no such assumptions should be made. Hovsep Hovhannisian, for example, as source,

subject, and historian, blurs distinctions between memory and history.147

In Armenian historiography on the revolution, the memorialist and the historian, granted

amateur, seem to be so interwoven that it is often difficult to make a sharp separation.

The overlapping lines are quite vague. Despite Le Goff’s contention that ‘ . . . there are at

least two histories: that of collective memory and that of historians,’ the truth in our case lies

somewhere else, perhaps closer to his following question: ‘But is the historian himself

immune to an illness that proceeds, if not from the past, at least from the present, or perhaps

from an unconscious image of a dreamt-of future?’148 Based on a careful exploration of the

very intimate relationship (incestuous, one could argue) between memoirs and historical

narrative in the Armenian case, the answer is no. If we consider memory to be the

‘elementary level of [the] development’ of history, then we must confess that the Armenian

historical narrative of Armenian collaboration in the Iranian Constitutional Revolution for

the most part has been stuck at the elementary level.149

In general, what has been written by Armenians on the subject of Armenian activism in Iran,

especially the Constitutional Revolution, although minimal, suffers from an excess of

veneration and aggrandizement regarding the Armenian role. Andre Amurian and Hovsep

Hovhannisian, of course, also fall into this category. Thus, the historical narrative, most of

which has lacked analysis, has been quite nationalistic. It also has focused on individual

figures, particularly Yeprem Khan, at the expense of the larger role of the Dashnaktsutiun and

Hnchakian parties and other individual Armenians, such as internationalist social democrats

who were indispensable to the founding and ideology of the Democrat Party. (The exclusion

of the latter might be understandable since they do not contribute as much to the collective

national/ist memory.) Party rivalries among Armenians also have affected the writing of

history, as Dashnak and Hnchak authors each have played down or misrepresented the role of

the other in order to exaggerate their own contribution.150 (Yeghikian’s later writing is more

generous to the Dashnaktsutiun by acknowledging its role and giving it equal responsibility

146 Motzkin, ‘Memoirs,’ p. 106.147 Wachtel, ‘Memory and history,’ p. 217.148 Le Goff, History and Memory, p. 111.149 Ibid., p. 129.150 Sometimes the claims are quite biased. For example, Amurian states in Arkhiv, ‘The Hnchaks not only failed

to participate in the Iranian revolution, but also were opposed to it . . . ’ (vol. 1, p. 216, n. 1). In H. H.

Dashnaktsutian patmutiun, vol. 2, Varandian attributes most leadership to the Dashnaktsutiun and does not

mention any other Armenian participation. See also Minasian, ‘Husher,’ Alik Amsagir, 2 (1961), pp. 38, 39.

Regarding Dashnaks, see, for example, Kitur, Patmutiun, 1, pp. 400–401, where Kitur attributes the

Dashnaktsutiun’s greater role in the revolution to Hnchakian withdrawal from the political scene and accuses

the party of exploiting Yeprem’s name after his death. In his attempt perhaps to steal the show from Yeprem

or set the record straight regarding the importance of Hnchakian contributions, Kitur contends that the

weapon used by Yeprem in fact belonged to a Hnchakian.

288 H. Berberian


for victories; however, he points to the infighting of the two parties as a major factor in the

memory loss of Iranians when it comes to Armenian contribution.)151 But in general, the story

that has been told has been one of great Armenian heroes, who, too often, have not been as

appreciated for their contributions and achievements as the authors of the memoirs and of the

narratives believed was their due.

Le Goff reminds us of the following:

Memory is the raw material of history. Whether mental, oral, or written, it is the living

source from which historians draw. Because its workings are usually unconscious, it is

in reality more dangerously subject to manipulation by time and by societies given to

reflection than the discipline of history itself. Moreover, the discipline of history

nourishes memory in turn, and enters into the great dialectical process of memory and

forgetting experienced by individuals and societies. The historian must be there to

render an account of these memories and what is forgotten, to transform them into

something that can be conceived, to make them knowable. To privilege memory

excessively is to sink into the unconquerable flow of time.152

It seems the Armenian historical narrative of the Armenian role in the Constitutional

Revolution has fallen into the trap Le Goff warns against. For Iranian-Armenians who

have made an often overlooked contribution to Iranian history disproportionately large to

their numbers, the historical narrative of Armenian participation in the revolution

nevertheless or because of it, has become a history not only of commemoration or a

struggle against forgetting but also a ‘vehicle for empowerment,’ or way of ‘controlling

the past in order to redefine the future.’153

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the Iran Heritage Foundation and Oxford University for giving me the opportunity to present

a brief version of this essay at the conference on Private Lives and Public Spaces in Modern Iran, St. Antony’s

College, Oxford University, 7–10 July 2005. I am also thankful to Nikki Keddie for her reading of an earlier draft

and for the indispensable comments of Sebouth Aslanian at crucial stages of the essay’s development. Finally,

I am grateful to Eric Hooglund, Afshin Matin-asgari, and the anonymous reviewer for thier comments and

assistance.

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