ABSTRACT

The interminable journey from Iskenderun to Beirut finally ended. We stayed with Marie Nanoug and godfather Khatchig while trying to decide what to do. My parents faced an agonizing choice: should we go back to Iskenderun to become Turkish citizens and hold on to our possessions? Or should we stay in Beirut to become Lebanese citizens and risk losing everything? It had to be one or the other; we could not be dual citizens. My father was eager to go back and take charge of his business, but the political situation was volatile. If Turkey entered the war on the side of Germany, as it did in World War I, then who could tell what would happen? The memories of World War I were fresh in everyone’s minds. Our relatives and friends urged my father not to go back. They said the Turks would take all he had from him anyway. Why risk an uncertain future for his only son? My father was not easily swayed, but this time he yielded to their advice. He had given power of attorney to a Turkish associate for such an eventuality and now asked him to liquidate his assets. The man sold everything but reported only a fraction of the proceeds and pocketed the rest of the money. Even that small residue that was due to my father was sequestered by the government and never reached our hands. The fruits of a highly successful business spanning a whole generation were taken from us in one fell swoop.