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A Turkish nationalist protester wearing Ottoman clothes holds placard during a protest against Germany on June 2, 2016 in front of the Germany consulate in Istanbul after German parliament labelled the World War I massacre of Armenians by Ottoman forces as genocide. Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan on June 2 warned that the German parliament's recognition of World War I killings of Armenians by Ottoman forces as genocide would "seriously affect" ties. (Ozan Kose | AFP/Getty Images)

Members of the German Parliament adopted a resolution last week that formally recognizes the Turkish massacre of Armenians during World War I as genocide, a move that Turkey vigorously opposed, as it has done on other fronts, relentlessly, for decades.

The Turkish government recalled its ambassador and issued a statement intended to admonish and provoke Germany by asserting that the parliament's action was hardly a "way to close the dark pages of your own history."

In fact, it is precisely the way not to "close its dark pages," but to be open and honest about them. As Germany has been. German textbooks, for example, account for its history as most of us would recognize it, unsanitized, unvarnished. (Take a look here and read this account about how Germans students learn about the Holocaust.)

Here in New Jersey, in Paterson no less, the Turkish Institute for Progress spends its time trying to alter American textbook accounts of the genocide to bend history to its own ends and eliciting negative reaction.

Creating realities that comport with one's desired narrative delays the necessary reckoning, undermines credibility and legitimacy and prolongs conflict.

Turkish-Americans here in New Jersey and elsewhere have an opportunity to lead the discussion by acknowledging history, ending the negative representations of Armenians in its narratives -- particularly in U.S. textbooks.

Let Germany serve as an example, not as a scapegoat for avoidance. In a highly visible manner, leaders of the nation have made a concerted effort to acknowledge its nation's dark past.

Former Chancellor Willy Brandt went to Warsaw in December, 1970, to honor those who died in the Warsaw Ghetto where Nazis rounded up, and later deported or killed, 300,000 Jews, and to atone for the sins of the Nazis. He knelt down on the wet asphalt in front of the memorial and remained there with his head bowed and his hands folded. As he did, he symbolized the weight of suffering and death and the responsibility of Germany's history.

He said later that he was taken by the enormity of the moment:

"On the abyss of German history and carrying the burden of the millions who were murdered, I did what people do when words fail them."

It was an act of sorrow, of repentance, and it moved the world.

German Chancellor, Willy Brandt, in Warsaw, Poland. This photo appears often in accounts of Brandt's life, given that this was a singular moment for Germans and for the world.

Chancellor Angela Merkel went to Dachau, the former concentration camp, in August, 2013. She was invited by a member of the International Dachau Committee. This was some 80 years after the camp was founded, just a few weeks after Adolf Hitler had been appointed Reich chancellor. During its twelve years, it held 200,000 people. At least 41,500 people were either killed or died of starvation or disease before American soldiers liberated the camp on April 29, 1945.

Standing on the wide plaza where inmates once assembled daily for roll call, a somber Merkel spoke to a group of Holocaust survivors and emphasized the importance of learning from Germany's past:

"How could Germans go so far as to deny people human dignity and the right to live based on their race, religion, their political persuasion or their sexual orientation? Places such as this warn each one of us to help ensure that such things never happen again."

German Chancellor Angela Merkel (second left) with Dachau survivor Max Mannheimer (second right) at Dachau.

When the leaders of Germany stand in places where Nazi evil became manifest and when they acknowledge the burden their nation bears for the wrongs done and the harm inflicted, they are reaching for reconciliation, and, as they do, they are restoring hope and advancing prospects for peace.

What an example for Turkey to follow.

Nations of the world have been tip-toeing around the use of the term genocide for the Armenian massacre for long enough -- the United States has taken no official stance although many individual states and cities have.

In fact, only two nations of the world affirmatively deny the Armenian killings as genocide. Still, stand-offs on the use of the term have prevented intelligent, constructive, forward-looking engagement.

It's not just a battle over a term, however, it is a battle between competing narratives, and how they are being presented, interpreted and applied.

The narrative that surfaces in Turkey's history textbooks distorts and it demonizes:

"Firstly, the textbooks characterize Armenians as people 'who are incited by foreigners, who aim to break apart the state and the country, and who murdered Turks and Muslims."' Meanwhile, the Armenian Genocide--referred to as the 'Armenian matter' in textbooks--is described as a lie perpetrated in order to meet these goals, and is defined as the biggest threat to Turkish national security."

Historians, for the most part, support this account: Beginning in 1915, and extending through 1923, more than 1.5 million Armenians--Christians living under Ottoman Turkish rule--were exterminated through direct killing, starvation, torture and forced marches into the Syrian desert. While Turkey admits that atrocities occurred, its official position is that the death toll among Armenians was much lower, about 300,000, and that many Turks were also killed during the period of civil war and famine. (An overview of the history is here.)

Armenians from around the world have pressed relentlessly for an acknowledgement that the death and destruction stemmed from a premeditated government policy. Turks deny it. No new facts are likely to be uncovered. And yet Turks and Armenians work to gain adherents for their view of history as if gaining points, now, matters.

In a statement issued in 1998, a group of 150 distinguished scholars and writers, while honoring the 50th anniversary of the U.N. genocide convention, named and condemned the Armenian genocide. They affirmed the importance of acknowledging this tragic event:

"Denial of genocide strives to reshape history in order to demonize the victims and rehabilitate the perpetrators. Denial murders the dignity of the survivors and seeks to destroy remembrance of the crime. In a century plagued by genocide, we affirm the moral necessity of remembering."

In April, 2015, as the 100th anniversary of the genocide approached -- as more than 20 nations found the massacres to be genocide and as the pope declared it to be the first genocide of the 20th century -- the Turkish prime minister at the time, Ahmet Davutoglu, struck a chord that could still provide an opening: He offered condolences to the descendants of the Armenian victims; and while he avoided the use of genocide, he said it was important to face the past with honesty.

Perhaps he is not alone in recognizing that the Turkish government's refusal to abandon the "official" view of the past poisons its effort to gain credibility and standing in the world community.

To cease being imprisoned by its past, Turkey must face its moral responsibilities, including reconciliation with its Armenian neighbors so that together they can construct a future where there is mutual respect and regional harmony.

Germany has shown the way.

Linda Stamato is a guest opinion writer for The Star-Ledger. She is co-director of the Center for Negotiation and Conflict Resolution at the Edward J. Bloustein School of Planning and Public Policy and a Faculty Fellow at Rutgers University in New Brunswick.