The phrase "fait accompli" has been wiped out from the dictionary of the Armenian community of Istanbul, and replaced by "improvise and move on".
This explains how, despite old wounds, 33 active Armenian churches, 20 schools, a 600-bed hospital and dozens of community-based organizations have survived an uphill battle with flying colors.
But life for the Armenian community in Turkey is not "all roses".
While there is no "visible discrimination" against individual Armenians in the marketplace, the church has often been targeted by fanatics and nationalists.
In a letter dated July 26, 1993 to the Prefect of Istanbul Hayiri Kozakeoglu, the Armenian Patriarch, His Beatitude Archbishop Karekin Kazanjian, listed "at least 10 known" acts of violence against Armenian targets in the Istanbul area. "We call upon the authorities to take all the necessary measures to prevent these traumatic, unlawful, shameful and ugly acts," His Beatitude said in his letter.
He listed ten incidents between April and July this year, including the shattering of Khatchkars (stone crosses) at an Armenian cemetery, disrupting Mass by throwing stones at church, an incendiary bomb attack during baptism, and at least one theft. There were no casualties in the attacks which police investigated and apparently attributed to "street gangs". The incidents, which apparently coincided with Armenian victories in the Nagorno Karabakh war and the hostile reporting of the Armenian advances in the Turkish press, did not disrupt Armenian community life.
"It seems the greater the challenge, the stronger this community gets," poet Artin Cumbusyan (pronounced Jumbushian) said.
"One of the keys to our perseverance is in the fact that we do not consider ourselves a Diaspora like other Armenians from Lebanon to Los Angeles. We, the Armenians of Istanbul and Turkey in general, are a Hamaynk (or community) which has always been here ... and we are not about to change our address," adds Murat Bilir, one of the Istanbul Bazaar's leading antique copper and brass dealers.
"As a community, we derive our strength and nourishment from our long history and heritage on this very soil. Unlike the Diaspora, our roots here are very deep. Some of our churches were built all the way back in 1150, 1360, 1461 and 1590," he said.
Bilir, who as an orphan was brought to Istanbul from Eastern Turkey in the mid-1950's and "reclaimed" his Armenian lost heritage, is a good example of the resilience of a community often denied the opportunity to study even the most basic elements of its national history.
"Without the support of this community, I would have been lost. Thanks to the Armenian schools, I am now proud of my heritage and identity," he said.
Bilir, like scores of others, is now "paying back" by taking time off from his business to teach English in an Armenian school several times a week.
The existence of 13 alumni associations is another example of the community's continued support of its schools.
"Graduates of Armenian schools remain active for many years through these various alumni associations. They are the main fund-raisers, who, for all practical purposes, keep these schools open. Tuition alone does not cover the costs, and there is no financial aid from other sources," said Sylva Kouyoumjian, Principal of Istanbul's 107-year-old Central High School.
Ms. Kouyoumjian, herself an alumni, said while Central High School ranked 125th among Istanbul's 3,000 secondary schools, maintaining a high standard of education was an ever-increasing problem.
"We have a shortage of teachers, and more specifically, a great need for a teacher training college. This becomes more acute in the case of Armenian language teachers who only have a secondary education and a teacher training education from a Turkish institution," she said in an interview.
"The overall student body in our schools is more than 4,700. Unlike other communities, we cannot hire teachers from overseas ... and we cannot send our graduates to Armenian language centers in Lebanon, Italy or Armenia," she said.
Central High School, like other Armenian schools, can teach Armenian language only 6 hours a week "but we treat this issue more as an inconvenience rather than a problem. We compensate with other things," she said.
"Yes, our school children speak more Turkish than Armenian among themselves, but don't you have the same problem in the Armenian schools in the United States, France or Canada," she asked.
"Our students do not drift away after graduation, and the existence of the alumni associations and other youth organizations are living proof of their continued involvement in community life," she said.
According to the most recent statistics, the community also has two sports associations and 19 choirs.
For a community of 60,000 in a city of 12 million, the battle of survival is a hard one, and if recruiting new teachers is a problem, finding qualified new priests for the city's 33 active churches is as difficult.
"We have no religious seminary, therefore the preparation of new priests is a major endeavor. We do not have exchange programs with the various Armenian seminaries around the world, but thanks to the centuries-old adherence of the community to church and school, the Armenians of Turkey are alive and well," Archbishop Mesrob Mutafian reports.
"We have become masters in the art of negotiating roadblocks," adds veteran journalist and Editor of the 53-year-old Armenian-language Marmara newspaper, Robert Haddejian.
Marmara, a daily evening newspaper with a circulation of 3,000, is put together with a skeleton editorial and layout staff of "less than a handful."
"There is no official censorship, but we have to be careful ... sometimes we have to let our readers do some reading between the lines," Haddejian said.
"It's a constant balancing act between what we actually report and what we might have reported if we had the liberty to do so. It can be difficult at times," he added.
Despite the uphill battle, the Armenians of Turkey have not only learned to cope with a string of restrictive laws, but also the lack of freedom to communicate and interact with other Armenian communities around the world, including Armenia itself.
One such financially devastating law was the 1945 Varlik Vergisi, a sort of arbitrary property tax on the rich which wiped out the assets of thousands of Armenians, Greeks and other minorities overnight.
Another was the mob attacks against Christians in Istanbul and Izmir in 1955.
Today, while feeling the pinch of some government restrictions, the community has adapted to the new realities.
"Maintaining institutions like churches, schools, hospital, theater and choral groups is not easy. These need millions of dollars, and all of this money has to be raised here in Turkey and from the Armenian community itself," Dr. Mardiros Yeniyorgan, chief physician of Istanbul's Soorp Pergitch Armenian Hospital said.
"But we consider ourselves luckier than some of you. In the Diaspora, finding people to get involved in community projects has always been a problem - not to mention the willingness to make substantial financial contributions to keep the engine running. We do not have that problem here. Instead, we have other difficulties and restrictions," he said.
Built in 1832, the nearly 600-bed hospital employs more than 35 medical doctors - of which only four are Turkish - covering a wide range of specializations from surgery, to obstetrics-gynecology, pediatrics, urology, neurology, radiology, psychiatry, and internal medicine.
According to age-old tradition, the poor in the community do not pay for hospitalization, provided their local Armenian church certifies to their financial status, and most Armenians who graduate from Turkey's medical schools work at the hospital at least for a few years.
"The pipeline for new Armenian doctors is in good shape. Twenty graduates are currently specializing in various fields and 30 others are in medical schools," Dr. Yeniyorgan said.
The sprawling facility with its six main buildings, landscaped gardens and power generators, also includes an old-age home, a mental institution, a psychiatric ward and a special wing for the elderly who are terminally ill.
"The maintenance of this facility is not easy. Imagine, we cannot build a small wall or repair a roof without written permission from the authorities ... and I do not mean just a building license like elsewhere in the world. Construction is a major bureaucratic hustle, but we have ways of dealing with these hardships. The key phrase is improvise and move on, otherwise, everything will collapse, including the community itself," he said.
Some of the restrictive measures date back to a 1936 law which makes it illegal for not only private property to be bequeathed to community institutions, but also for community property to be either repaired, renovated or even sold and liquidated.
"But there are ways around these hurdles," Dr. Yeniyorgan said with a smile.
The hospital is one of the pillars of Istanbul Armenian community life, but at an operating cost of more than five million dollars a year which is raised in part through fees paid by patients, income generated from property owned by the hospital and private donations.
"The aid we get from overseas donors covers under 10 percent of our budget," said Pilo Atan, chairman of the institution's board of directors.
Atan, like the chair persons of other Armenian institutions, spends more time in the hospital than in his private business. But voluntarism runs in abundance in the veins of most Armenians in Istanbul.
"True that this is a generally affluent community, but there are similar communities elsewhere in the world. The key is in giving, and giving generously both in time and money. This is what makes the Istanbul Armenians unique," journalist and author Robert Haddejian said.
"Many of the Armenian millionaires are self-made people who came from central Turkey in the mid-1950's and found comfort and support from fellow Armenians here in Istanbul. It is these people who are financing the community today. Raising 100,000 dollars at a luncheon or dinner to balance the budget of this or that Armenian institution is within the ordinary. It happens dozens of times every year. The community is used to giving. They give; and they give a lot," he said.
At one recent luncheon marking the start of the annual summer camp on Kinali Island, a resort where almost 95 percent of the seasonal population of 35,000 are Armenians, thousands of dollars were raised within a few hours.
"Kinali has always had a special place in the life of the Armenian community of Istanbul. The island's Soorp Krikor Lousavoritch church was built between 1855 and 1857. If there is such a thing as a little Armenia in Turkey today, it is here at Kinali," a vacationer said.
Enthusiastic renditions of "Yerevan Erebouni", "Karabakhtsi", and other nationalistic songs are often heard at community gatherings under the Turkish flag.
The picturesque island also serves as the summer residence of the reigning Armenian Patriarch and a community-financed summer camp.
Run by a group of volunteers headed by camp director Jaqueline Ermen, the 25-year-old facility houses 200 needy children from a number of Armenian schools across Istanbul.
"The summer camp is totally free, and all the needy children of Istanbul qualify. We have only one source of income and that is the traditional annual Siro Seghan, or table of love. The ladies cook and serve the lunch, which is also free for all the guests who in turn make very generous donations. To give you an idea: our annual budget is 70,000 to 75,000 dollars, and that one lunch usually covers all our costs," she said with a proud smile on her face. "We do this every year, and we have had no problems in fundraising."
But the success of community-supported schools, churches, a hospital, theater groups, newspapers and periodicals, can often be misleading.
"It hurts to see teenagers who know very little about Armenian history, and specially the history of the last 100 years. April 24 comes and goes unnoticed. We have no place to send our secondary school graduates to complete their Armenian education and return to teach others. The same is true with clergymen," said a community activist who declined to be named.
"This is a very steadfast community which could run out of steam in a generation or two. Our only hope is in the qualitative improvement in relations between Turkey and the independent Republic of Armenia and the spiritual, cultural, and religious nourishment such a step will provide. In the meantime, the battle continues, just as it does in other Armenian communities around the world."
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