As a young Armenian, I belong to a generation of an unrecognized genocide
(Courtesy of Khanum Gevorgyan)
How the legacy of the Armenian genocide has affected me.
My name is Khanum, which might be pronounced as Khanoum or Khanum or Hanim or Hana depending on your country. It makes me feel special because it is a word of Persian origin differing in meaning depending on the language. My name makes me feel connected to Turkey, Azerbaijan, Iran, Iraq, Syria, Kosovo and, of course, to the country where I am from — Armenia.
There is so much I love about being Armenian. I love to splash water at people on the national holiday of Vardavar, which symbolizes beauty, love and fertility. I love to come back after a long day of work and classes and watch my mom cook dolma, meat rolled in grape or cabbage leaves. I love to show off my grandmother’s superhero skill of making lavash, a traditional long flatbread. I love to escape to Syunik and enjoy the fresh air and dazzling sun. I love that my identity was formed by these surroundings.
Khanum’s grandmother making lavash, a traditional Armenian flatbread. (Courtesy of Khanum Gevorgyan)
Armenia’s people, culture and history have made me who I am today. But as a young Armenian, I also inherited the difficult legacy of the Armenian genocide.
When I was younger, I didn’t fully understand the Armenian genocide. At that time, I thought that April 24 — the national holiday when all Armenians commemorate the genocide — was a great day. Who is not happy when there is no school, no homework? But every year, instead of playing games like I wanted, my mom would tell me I had to spend the day being serious and respectful. My mom expected me to sit with my family in front of our TV and watch millions of people looking like tiny dots on the screen march to Tsitsernakaberd, the monument dedicated to the Armenian genocide in Yerevan. Every channel played the march, even my favorite channel, Hayrenik/Homeland, which on normal days would air cartoons like “Tom and Jerry,” and “Cheburashka” (a Soviet cartoon).
By the time I was 13, my history classes had done their job and I understood the importance of April 24. I knew the history of the genocide by heart: how 100 years ago the Ottoman government killed 1.5 million Armenians, Greeks and Assyrians, and how millions more took refuge around the world. I understood why, every year, our people marched to Tsitsernakaberd to put flowers by the eternal flame dedicated to the victims of the Armenian genocide. I knew why my mom was always sad, because, like me, she carried the knowledge that her grandparents had to flee their villages, homes and homeland in Western Armenia. I knew why my grandma always cried when the TV showed the film “Mayrig” by French-Armenian filmmaker Henri Verneuil, because she could relate to the struggles the main characters faced as Armenian refugees, including mass deportations, the looting of their homes and the prospect of rebuilding after tragedy.
In school and at home, I learned a lot about the Armenian genocide — but I felt lonely carrying that knowledge when I realized that other students around the world weren’t learning about it too. Though its history is documented, there are only 30 countries that formally recognize the Armenian genocide. Sometimes I question humanity and feel disgusted by people’s ignorance. Occasionally, I feel numb and broken. From time to time, I think that I could be the one that does something about it and forces other countries to recognize our history.
Demonstrators attend a torchlit march to mark the centennial of the Armenian genocide in Yerevan on April 24, 2015. (Courtesy of the Grand Forks Herald).
There are many ways the Armenian genocide continues to affect my life. Like many young Armenians, I experience survivor’s syndrome, a condition that forces survivors to believe that we have committed a wrongdoing because our family members survived a tragic event when others did not. I am only alive because my family was spared — what makes us different from the 1.5 million people who died?
My teachers used to tell me that in 2015, on the 100th anniversary of the genocide, a lot would change. Turkey would be forced to recognize its history, and other countries would finally see how much Armenians have struggled to survive in this region. I hoped that with this recognition, Turkey would learn how to apologize, and Armenians would learn how to forgive and move on. As Armenian youth, all we want is to live, invent and make the world a more beautiful place without worrying about bombs, drones and being left without a homeland. We want a simple apology and a recognition of our history; this would represent justice for genocide victims and their descendants in Armenia. But the centennial came and went, and nothing happened, as always. The rest of the world continued to overlook the effects of the genocide on generations of Armenians.
This was hard to process. But I believe Armenians can begin to heal by studying our history, and learning about how genocides cause generational pain. Understanding the root cause of our hurt will teach us how to handle it, how to use it for good and, eventually, how to overcome it. Only then can we move forward as a people and a nation. This is one of the reasons I’m studying genocide studies in university. My professors make sure I understand every single stage of the genocide and don’t fall for myths perpetuated by denialists. In my classes I’ve learned how to analyze the past, and this has helped me make sense of the legacy I carry. Walking to Tsitsernakaberd on April 24 is not the only way to honor our dead — if we study the events and patterns that led up to the Armenian genocide and learn to recognize them in our world today, we can stop the next atrocity before it begins.
“Walking to Tsitsernakaberd on April 24 is not the only way to honor our dead — if we study the events and patterns that led up to the Armenian genocide and learn to recognize them in our world today, we can stop the next atrocity before it begins.”
Most importantly, my education has taught me how to advocate for genocide recognition around the world. Armenians have been ignored for a century — it is our generation’s responsibility to change that. Each of you, regardless of your nationality, can help raise awareness about the Armenian genocide. Speak out against denialists, and don’t support politicians who exploit the legacy of the genocide for political gain. Learn more about Armenia’s history through the “Armenian Genocide Museum-Institute” Foundation. Don’t choose ignorance over justice.
Every day, I carry the dreams of the 1.5 million people who died in the Armenian genocide. I carry their ambitions, their kindness, their power, their untold stories. And I won’t stop fighting until the rest of the world recognizes what has been done to them.
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