Operation Nemesis: The Assassination Plot that Avenged the Armenian Genocide

by Eric Bogosian

Because the first Christians in Armenia were converted by original apostles, Armenians named their form of Christianity “Apostolic.”

Over the centuries, the sultan became something like a queen bee, sequestered at the center of a massive hive, protected and pampered and not really in charge of anything. The individual personality of any particular sultan was superseded by the idea and the institution. The sultan could always be replaced. “With the exception of such forceful men as Mehmed the Conqueror, Selim I or Murad IV, the Ottoman sultans were little more than cogs in a machine.”

Political agendas could be advanced in seconds as anarchists and other radicals required only a proximity of a few yards to their victims before pulling a trigger or lobbing a bomb.

As the nineteenth century ended, Europe, and eventually the whole world, became enamored with nationalism. A nation was not a tangible thing; it was an abstract idea, and as such it could be defined to serve different needs.

Nationalism, ethnic cleansing, and genocide are related: they all share mythic notions of a pure and common origin, and they all serve material ambitions.

These political assassinations were called deror, a word derived from the word “terror.” The killings were held sacred, a tool that would “elevate the spirit of the people.”

Japan went on to win the war against Russia. For the first time in history, a non-European state had defeated one of the great European powers. In this display of strength the Young Turks saw a glimmer of hope for the future of the Ottoman Empire.

The CUP’s approach to the stray dogs was simple and straightforward. A problem had presented itself, and an efficient solution had been found. It’s hard not to see a parallel with the fate of the Armenians a mere five years later. Talat and his colleagues were pragmatic and decisive.

The southern flank of World War I would hold long-term consequences for the Western world because the prize was nothing less than control of the earth’s greatest oil deposits, regions that to this day represent over half the world’s known oil reserves.

The Ottoman army, unlike the orderly and smartly uniformed European military, was badly outfitted and poorly trained. Conscription was seen as nothing more than a delayed death sentence.

The role of the Turkish soldier was best summed up in General Mustapha Kemal’s famous command at Gallipoli: “I’m not ordering you to fight, I’m ordering you to die.”

By teaching the Armenians to read and by disseminating a modern form of Christianity that preached individual salvation rather than deliverance through clerics, the missionaries were not only disruptive but also became a thorn in the side of the established Armenian Church hierarchy.

While governmental entities organized most of the killing, many of the attacks on Armenians were also fueled by a combination of tribal hegemony, religious antipathy, and desperate poverty. Kurds, gendarmes, soldiers, and local Muslims were all encouraged to take part in the slaughter.

Finally, denial itself was institutionalized as a government function. Since 1923, the Turkish government has spent tens of millions of dollars in a concerted disinformation campaign to delude the world at large and, perhaps more important, its own people.

When queried about the whereabouts of the arrested men, Talat answered, “During our time of weakness, your people pushed for reforms and were a thorn in our side; now we are going to take advantage of our favorable situation and disperse your people so that it will take you fifty years before you talk again about reforms.”

In the end, the tsar and the Ottomans saw the Armenians as little more than pawns in a much larger game.

On April 22, 1918, Transcaucasia was declared an independent state. But the fragile coalition of the three new “nations,” Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan, was already dissolving as each one tended to its own needs. The Turkish army took advantage of this instability to advance deep into the disputed Armenian territory.

But both Tashnags and Hnchags had been targeted by the CUP, and now, ten years later, all surviving Armenians were fighting on the same side.

“Mandates” and “protectorates,” terms that rang with a benevolent air, were the new way to describe the links between stronger and weaker states.

Tehlirian had crossed his Rubicon, from anonymous insurgent to assassin. He was twenty-three years old.

Tehlirian was being summoned to Boston not only to be recruited as the Berlin assassin but also to be vetted as to his presentability to the public. A key element in Garo and Natali’s plan would be the intentional surrender by the assassin in Berlin, followed by a well-publicized trial. This trial would offer a unique opportunity for the Armenians to make their case—to present the facts of the genocide and decry the lack of justice—before the eyes of the world.

Tehlirian was different. He had no taste for violence, nor did he want to deal in payback. Rather, he was an idealist who had volunteered to fight in a patriotic war and been transformed by the experience. After the disappearance of his family, the fight had become nothing less than an existential mission.

In other words, Talat, Enver, and the former CUP leadership needed Mustapha Kemal, but with every passing month of conflict, Kemal needed them less. If he succeeded in chasing the Greeks, French, and British out of Asia Minor, he wouldn’t need them at all. “The Young Turks, anxious for restoration of their power, were the rivals of Kemal, and he prudently kept them from gaining control of his movement.”

Tehlirian cautiously widened his circle of young Armenian friends through the oblivious Eftian. As he met more and more young Armenians in Berlin, he was dismayed to find that most were not incapacitated with mourning. In his memoirs, he notes with amazement that these Armenians had, after only a short five years, begun to move on and live full and successful lives in Germany.

Herbert arrived in Hamm, a small town about four hours from Berlin, which he describes as “a miserable industrial village, that seemed to be inhabited by potential suicides.”

Removing or undermining Talat and Enver would make Kemal happy. And the British wanted oil concessions. Ergo, quid pro quo.

For all these reasons, it is interesting that it was around this time that Herbert met with Talat in Germany. Within days after that meeting, someone confirmed Talat’s whereabouts to the Nemesis crew, sealing his fate. A few days later, Talat was dead.

Minimizing reparations was a top priority for German statesmen. Key to that effort was covering up Germany’s role as accomplice. Since a trial was unavoidable, it was imperative to put full responsibility onto “the Turk” rather than “the Hun.” This was not simply a matter of reputation; this was about the survival of the German nation.

Any suggestions of wrongdoing on the part of the Germans had to be diluted. More than that, this trial must contribute to a new, more favorable public image for Germany. The prosecution needed to paint the Turks with the blackest brush possible. The Armenian defense team was well aware of this. In a secret memo to fellow Tashnags, Armen Garo announced with absolute certainty that Tehlirian would be acquitted, adding, “Our German friends are determined to make this trial a forum for our cause.”

The subtext was clear: Tehlirian had surmounted his victimhood. The skinny kid had mustered up amazing courage and confronted evil directly. He had survived the cruel deportation caravans and then outsmarted the Turkish security apparatus in Berlin. He had struck at the “head of the snake.” His actions had been bold, fearless. In the world’s eyes, Tehlirian was a David standing up to the powerful Turkish Goliath. To many he was more than sympathetic; he was heroic.

Church groups in the United States, Britain, and Germany had gathered and protested against the violence for decades. When Tehlirian detailed the specifics of his family’s demise, his audience knew what he was going to say before he said it. All Tehlirian had to do was personalize it.

Any one of those aspects of the case would have made it complex and difficult to judge. What capped the conundrum was the unimpeachable justification at the core of what appeared to be a premeditated murder. The man had seen his mother beheaded right before his eyes! For this reason the killing seemed to exist outside the bounds of established law, in another legal dimension altogether. And his mother had not been the only victim, nor only his immediate family, but an entire nation! The man had not simply pursued a personal vendetta; he had avenged the murder of his people.

Never before in history had so many died in such a brief period of time. Indeed, there seemed to be no legal scale vast enough to measure what the Young Turks had done. Likewise, there was no legal precedent for Tehlirian’s particular form of first-degree murder.

The implications of the case before Judge Lehmberg strained the rule of law, went beyond strict legal concepts of guilt and innocence, generating moral, philosophical, even existential questions. Anyone could see that the man on trial had no guilty conscience. Tehlirian was so certain of his right to kill Talat that he could look the judge in the eye and confidently claim the moral high ground. As far as Tehlirian was concerned, he had no free will in the matter; he was compelled by his very soul to kill the man who had killed his family. Who could debate him?

Judge Lehmberg preferred the uncomplicated narrative of atrocity and revenge to getting mired in the swampy complexities of political terrain. The court refused to entertain the notion that Tehlirian was anything more than what he said he was. That he might be a pawn in a much larger game was also never hinted at.

“The dilemma cannot be escaped—all assassins should be punished, this assassin should not be punished. And there you are!