LOS ANGELES, Calif.—Over hundreds of years, scholars of the Armenian and Ottoman worlds have produced a wealth of knowledge that, until recently, was rarely linked. More recently, researchers like University of California Los Angeles PhD student Daniel Ohanian have been working to change that.

Ohanian is the principal investigator of a research project called “Recovering Armenians in Late Ottoman Istanbul and Making Ottoman-Era Population Data Available for All.” The project was funded by the Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation and was hosted by Istanbul Bilgi University in Turkey. It reached its conclusion last year.

The population lists and interactive maps it produced were recently donated to the Houshamadyan project, which has just published them on its website. Founded in Berlin in 2010, Houshamadyan’s basic mission is to reconstruct and preserve the memory of Armenian life in the Ottoman Empire through research.

The “Recovering Armenians” project team consisted of six researchers based in Turkey in addition to Ohanian himself, who studied there from 2013 to 2016.

“Our first goal was to copy, translate, and analyze census information about the Armenian population of the province of Istanbul from 1830 to 1907,” explained Ohanian. “Our second goal was to make this data available online, for free, in Armenian, English, and Turkish, so that it could be used for academic and genealogical research by people anywhere in the world.” Ohanian’s motivation in pursuing the project was to see what could be done—not only by his team, but also by future researchers—when Armenian studies and Ottoman studies experts brought their respective knowledge to bear upon a single topic.

The results have been impressive. The files donated to Houshamadyan contain detailed information about 46,000 people born between 1779 and 1914. Details are given about their families, occupations, years and places of birth and places of residence. Sixteen-thousand people have been mapped according to precise addresses, while the rest have been placed within particular villages and neighborhoods. The maps are also available online.

The census records used for the research are housed at the Ottoman Archives of the Office of the Prime Minister of Turkey (Başbakanlık Osmanlı Arşivleri) and at the Krikor and Clara Zohrab Information Center in New York. The first set of records, which are written in Ottoman Turkish, were created between the 1830s and 1880s (Figure 1). The second set, written in Armenian and Armeno-Turkish (Ottoman Turkish written in Armenian letters), were created around 1907 (Figure 2).

Ohanian finds the story behind the creation of these materials particularly intriguing. “Not much seems to be known about the nineteenth-century records we have been working with. They became available to historians only in 2011, and basically no research about them has been published yet. The twentieth-century material is interesting because it was created by the Ottoman Ministry of the Interior with the participation of the Armenian Apostolic Patriarchate of Constantinople,” he says.

Given the multiple languages used in the records and the group’s interest in mapping the data, the project team included individuals who could read Ottoman Turkish, Armenian and Armeno-Turkish and who could use geographic information systems (GIS) software to create digital maps.

The use of GIS is quite new to Ottoman studies and entirely new to Armenian studies, Ohanian explains. It was made possible by the existence of detailed maps created in the early twentieth century by the Charles E. Goad Company, the German Syndicate for Urban Development in Turkey, and Jacques Pervititch and his colleagues.

According to Ohanian, it was important to both transcribe and map the census data in order to understand the information fully. “Unlike Armenologists, historians of the Ottoman Empire have made extensive use of population data. Since spreadsheet programs like Microsoft Excel became popular, these historians have been able to manipulate census information in order to answer new questions, discover new trends, and undertake more ambitious investigations,” he says.

“Our project’s use of GIS mapping has been similar,” he continues. “GIS has let us gauge the extent to which certain geographic categories used by officials (for example, neighborhoods) were distinct and cohesive. It has let us see where certain types of people lived together (such as those born in the same places or working similar jobs) and what their housing conditions were like.” (Figure 3)

“For instance, what you’ll see is that the neighborhood of Gedikpaşa was a center of footwear manufacturing around 1907. Almost half of the 180 people who were recorded in the census as being involved in this line of work were all from the same city: Tekirdağ (Rodosto) in Eastern Thrace. This is something to be followed up on, to figure out why there was such a correlation.”

When asked why it was important for the project’s data to be made available to the public, Ohanian noted that the decision came out of his interest in how history gets written. “In the background to all historical research is the story of how that research was made possible, why historians consulted certain sources and not others, and so on. A lot of that has to do with who created a given body of evidence and in what language. In our case, we used records first created by Ottoman officials but now available in two different languages and stored in two different countries. And one set of these records was made with the participation of a branch of the Armenian Apostolic Church. So, by translating this material and putting it online, we were trying to overcome significant linguistic and geographic barriers to research.”

While the project team’s work was substantial, Ohanian stresses that there is much more to be done by others. Whether they are individuals wanting to research family histories or scholars writing biographies, demographic studies, urban histories, or anything else, a collection of new sources is now available to them in three different languages.

Author information

Rupen Janbazian

Rupen Janbazian is the former editor of The Armenian Weekly. His writings primarily focus on politics, human rights, community, literature, and Armenian culture. He has reported from Armenia, Artsakh (Nagorno-Karabagh), Turkey, Canada, the United States, and Western Armenia. He has served on the local and national executives of the Armenian Youth Federation (AYF) of Canada and Hamazkayin Toronto, and served as the administrator of the Armenian National Committee (ANC) of Toronto. Janbazian also taught Armenian History and Creative Writing at the ARS Armenian Private School of Toronto, and has worked on several translations.

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For over half a century, the story of Komitas, who ended his life in a psychiatric institution after a prolific career as a composer, became a symbol of trauma of the Armenian Genocide. The very fact that he was hospitalized was proof to some, like Halidé Edibe Adivar (2006), that he was indeed a “mental patient.”  

But my research, Komitas: Victim of the Great Crime (2014), Komitas: Hokepanagan Verloodzoom meh (2011), and Komitas: Medz Yegherni Zoheh, (2018) suggest an alternative interpretation; that the composer, contrary to such opinions, was not “mad,” was never “mad,” and that he was in full control of his faculties. At the time of his death, in 1935, any deviation from the norm was treated in psychiatric institutions, unlike nowadays, where such deviations are treated as outpatients and medication is available. Even penicillin was not in use at the institution where he died in October 1935.

A deeper study of Komitas sheds light on his long-standing psychological condition resulting from genocide. In fact, far from helplessly relenting to the trauma, Komitas demanded his human rights and when his well-meaning friends did not understand him, only then did he give up the struggle and fall into deep depression, turning his anger and fury inward, withdrawing from his friends.

Perhaps we can even go so far as to say the composer offered a point of comparison for Armenians in understanding feelings of anger and sadness in themselves, feelings of attachment and separation anxieties that are so frequent among Armenian families. Unlike the Jewish people, who more readily sought psychological help in dealing with their catastrophic traumas, Armenians have had difficulty acknowledging psychological consequences as a group and show strong resistance to exploration.  

It is easier for Armenians to cope with the Genocide trauma by collective grieving as a culture. It is surprising that during the past 104 years, only a handful of psychological studies were conducted on Komitas’ self and Genocide trauma. This is a very sensitive subject, one that stirs deep feelings in people. Thus, rather than confronting those feelings, it is often easier to place blame on a group of Armenians as the reason for Genocide, while Turkey continues to deny. As I have stated in the past, the rich Armenian culture has allowed Armenians to process the Genocide trauma without psychological help.

In my book, I describe Komitas’ psychological symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), namely avoiding people (such as policemen) who reminded him of the trauma; re-experiencing, through intrusive ideation; and physiological reactions, like nightmares and startle responses. These symptoms are but the immediate effects of the traumas that were based on his experiences and his expectations of himself as a clergy. The long-term-psychological effects and trans-generational transmission among generations of Armenians have yet to be studied.

Over the centuries, Armenians, as survivors of wars and massacres, have developed tendencies toward depressive personalities. Some generations of Armenians, who enjoy singing melancholy songs and reading sad poetry, have accepted depression as ego-syntonic manifestations of the traumas.

The 1915 Genocide trauma is characterized by loss of family members, home (symbolized in Komitas’ Andouni), the Armenian culture and centuries-old homeland; the disturbing deportation experiences and hardships may be easy to accept as reasons for depression.

Komitas exhibited signs of what we now call post-traumatic stress disorder, formerly called “shell shock.” He had good reality testing and judgement most of the time; yet high anxiety characteristic of PTSD which is normal under the circumstances, yet, so different from the Komitas that people knew.

Writer, editor and good friend, Arshag Chobanian wrote that Komitas had extreme behaviors, but overall, he was a pleasant man. Dr. Louise Fauve-Hovannisian, the French psychiatrist who chose Komitas’ mental condition as the subject of her PhD research, characterized Komitas’ behavior as hypomanic and denied claims of craziness. I could not confirm the one report that Komitas’ father was a drunkard that led some to conclude that Komitas had a manic-depressive personality.  

Komitas’ decision to withdraw and be silent is symbolic of Armenians whose pain is not recognized, acknowledged, nor heard, but denied. Yet, Armenians have managed to turn their defeat of 1915 into a reaction formation of strength, namely by the victories of 1918. A good portion of Armenians struggle with the acceptance of the 1918 Republic of Armenia as victory and vindication for the traumas. Even the Karabakh victory of 1994 is played down. It is interesting that depression comes more naturally than victories.

Author information

Meliné Karakashian

Meliné Karakashian was born in Beirut, Lebanon. After graduating from high school, she immigrated to the U.S., established residence in New Jersey, and continued her education, obtaining an Ed.S. in school and community psychology, a Ph.D. in child clinical psychology, and a practicing psychology license. She has volunteered to help victims of the 1988 Armenian earthquake, the Karabagh War, and September 11. Her work has been recognized by the presidents of Armenia, the American Psychological Association, and the New Jersey Mental Health Association, among others. She is the recipient of two lecturing Fulbrights to Yerevan State University. She has authored numerous articles, book chapters, and two books. Komitas: A Psychological Study is her most recent work.

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Think of major trading ports in the 16th and 17th centuries, and you can be sure Armenian merchants visited them. One such port was Malacca (Melaka) in Malaysia. With its historic city center, listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, Malacca is today a popular tourist destination and to the surprise of many, Armenians once lived there.

Captured in 1511 by the Portuguese, Malacca began to flourish with traders from Europe, Asia and Africa. Needless to say, Armenians were among them. While some Armenians carried their own cargo, others acted as middlemen. To break the long journey from Europe, they stopped in India at Gujarati ports, especially Surat, selling goods such as opium, rose-water, silver, arms and glass. After re-stocking with textiles, indigo and pearls, they caught the monsoon winds down to Malacca. When the winds changed direction, these merchants headed back to India via the Maldives with their vessels laden with spices, sandalwood, porcelain, gold, silk and damask. In the intervening months, the merchants and seamen needed accommodation and safe storage for their goods. Malacca provided both.

In 1641 the Dutch captured Malacca. Its importance as a trade nexus decreased, although it still attracted a significant share of traders including Armenians from Persia and India. Malacca became a regular port of call in the trading network established by the New Julfa merchants from Isfahan. Their other destinations included Canton (Guangzhou), Pegu and Syriam (Thanlyin) in Myanmar, as well as Manila and Batavia (Jakarta).

Armenians were living in Malacca in the late 1600s, while in 1711, traveler Charles Lockyer remarked that among its inhabitants were two or three Armenians. Although Lockyer regarded them as honest and fair traders, he commented that the Dutch had no time for them.

Five tombstones are the only evidence of these transient traders. The oldest is that of Johannes Sarkies which once lay in St. Peter’s Church.

The transcription from the Armenian (Photo 3) reads (non-literally):

In this tomb is enclosed the body of young Johannes who came originally from Yerevan. He was the son of Sarkis, a most esteemed merchant. He died at 30 years of age in the year of the Saviour 1736; and in the little era [of Azaria] 121, the 5th of Aram;

May he rest in peace in this Dutch land called Malacca.

The paraphrased Portuguese script reads slightly differently:

Here lies Johannes an Armenian, son of Khojah Sarkies Melijian, a native of Erevan in Isfahan in the kingdom of Persia. He died at the age of 30 years on 31 December 1736. (Erevan was one of the Armenian quarters in Isfahan.)

The second tombstone (Photo 4a), found in the ruined Church of St. Lawrence (San Laurenço) belonged to Tarkhan Chouqourents, son of Ovanjan, who died on January 4, 1746. Today it rests in the Stadthuys Museum along with an unidentified Armenian tombstone.

Bearing traditional Armenian funereal motifs and ornamental designs very similar to those on Jacob’s tombstone, the owner of this partial tombstone (Photo 5) remains a mystery.

The famed tombstone of Jacob Shamier (Photo 6) is embedded in the central aisle of Christ Church. It displays a skull and crossbones, together with the crest of the Shamier family. This comprised a pair of scales with small weights for weighing precious stones, plus an ink pot and quill. Also shown are Jacob’s tools of trade—scissors and tape measure.

Jacob was a scholar as well as a merchant. In 1772, he had set up the first Armenian press in India and published a pamphlet entitled Exhortation which aimed to arouse patriotism in the minds of young Armenians. Hints of his own fervent feelings can clearly be seen in his epitaph.

Hail to thee who readest the epitaph on my tomb!
Give me the news of my nation’s freedom, for which I have passionately longed.
[Tell me] if someone has risen among us, as deliverer and leader; which, while on earth, I so earnestly desired.
I, Jacob, scion of respectable ancestors from Armenia
I received the name Chamrchamian
I was born in a foreign land, at New Julfa, a town in  Persia.
On attaining twenty nine years of age, I accepted my destiny
on the seventh of July, I reached the end of my life,
In the year of the Saviour 1774, I laid myself down to rest in this grave, which I had bought.

The Dutch epitaph reads simply: Here lie the remains of Heer Jacob Shamier, Armenian merchant, who died on 7 July 1774 in his 29th year.

An Armenian priest from the US, who had heard of the plaintive plea on this tombstone, traveled to Malacca after Armenia gained independence in 1991 to ‘tell’ Jacob that his country was free.

Dutch rule ended in Malacca in 1795, when the British temporarily occupied it until 1818. One ill-fated voyage during that time was that of Johannes Seth who had journeyed from Surat to Madras (Chennai), then boarded the Ararat, arriving in Penang in 1796. After selling most of his cargo and picking up new goods, he sailed on to Malacca. Unfortunately, the Ararat was attacked by the French who were at war with the British. The Armenians were put ashore in Penang, but the entire cargo was confiscated.

Under British rule, however, a few resident Armenian merchants prospered. They included Jacob Minas and his family who lived in a grand mansion on Heeren Street. After Jacob died in August 1806, his son Joseph became head of the family, as well as the spokesman for the handful of Armenian merchants.

In December 1816, they presented an appreciative farewell letter to tax collector John MacAlister. Thanking him for his integrity and lamenting his departure, they wished him well for the future. The letter was signed by Joseph Minas, Marcar Carapiet, Sarkies Arratoon Sarkies and Harapiet Simon.  

In reply, John MacAlister thanked the Armenians for their gratifying remarks and hoped they would ‘individually continue to enjoy that health, happiness and prosperity which [their] industry, probity and general good conduct so eminently merits.’

Joseph Minas and a Mr. Shamier made the news in October 1821. They were passengers on Catchatoor Galastaun’s brig Covelong traveling back to Malacca from Penang, when it stopped to help another vessel in distress. The men gave up their cabins to the women and children rescued from the stricken vessel. When thanked publically by grateful husbands, the pair gallantly replied that the agreeable company of the ladies on board was sufficient thanks for the inconvenience they suffered.

Armenians from Rangoon (Yangon) and Penang continued to trade with Malacca. They included Petrus Arratoon who captained the Nancy, Isaiah Zechariah, Johannes Carapiet, Harapiet Gabriel and Jordan Mackertoom.

However, by the 1820s Malacca, which was now back in Dutch hands, was in a backwater. In 1819 Singapore had been established as a British free trade port and realizing that it offered better prospects some Armenians migrated there, including Sarkies Arathoon Sarkies and Aristarkies Sarkies (who were not related). Marcar Carapiet moved to Penang as did Joseph Minas and his family in December 1822. After Joseph’s death the following May, the family returned to Malacca, but sold up in 1829 and they too, settled in Singapore.

In future years, few Armenians lived in Malacca. In the early 1870s, an M. Sarkies was listed as a planter at Merlimau.

In 1886 Singapore lawyer Joe (Joaquim) P. Joaquim (Hovakimian) and sister of Agnes, who hybridized the orchid which became Singapore’s national flower, opened a branch office in Malacca. Originally run by English lawyers, the firm was called Joaquim, Groom and Everard. Joe’s younger brother Carapiet was the senior clerk. He married Eliza Rodyk; their five children (Conrad, Maria, Joseph and Elisa) were born in Malacca. After Eliza died in childbirth in 1900, Carapiet and the children moved back to Singapore where Carapiet set up as a broker. He remarried in 1903, but the following year, committed suicide because of financial problems.

In 1889 John Joaquim, who had followed Joe’s footsteps to Middle Temple in London, was admitted as a barrister to the Straits Settlements Bar. In 1890 he moved to Malacca, taking charge of the office after Robert Groom left. The firm then became Joaquim and Everard, but after James Everard died in 1891, it became Joaquim Brothers. For the next decade Joaquim Brothers, headquartered in Singapore, was one of the leading law firms in the Straits Settlements.

John, like his brothers, did not marry an Armenian, but chose Frances Poundall, whom he had met in London. The couple’s second son Basil was born in Malacca in 1890; he went on to become a prominent Malayan lawyer. In 1896 John, Frances and their three children settled in Kuala Lumpur where John managed another new branch of Joaquim Brothers.

Younger brother Seth, who also qualified at Middle Temple, was admitted to the Straits Bar in 1893 and soon took charge of the Malacca office. He too, had married an English girl—Ellen Young—but they had no children. In 1904, Joaquim Brothers was dissolved after the untimely deaths of the three brothers: Joe in 1902 aged 45, followed by John aged 46 and Seth aged 38 in 1904.

The only other Armenian family known to have lived in Malacca was that of Philip E. Aviet. Aviet was born in Madras in 1865, a son of Thomas Aviet and Julia Rencontre. Having joined the Eastern Extension Australasian and China Telegraph Company in 1884, he was transferred to Singapore, then on to Malacca in 1895. In Singapore, Aviet married Louisa Oehlers where the couple’s first three children were born. The next four were born in Malacca including Eugene who became a respected doctor in Malaya. The family spent over 15 years in Malacca before migrating to London in 1922.

Despite their minute numbers, the 1891 census listed four Armenians and the 1901 listed six. These were the Joaquims. Considering that Malacca’s population exceeded 91,000 in 1891 and 95,000 in 1901, it is surprising that they were included in the censuses. Probably fewer than 50 Armenians have lived in Malacca, and today the only visual reminders of their presence are the five tombstones.

For more details, see:

N.  Bland. (1905) Historical tombstones of Malacca mostly of Portuguese Origin, London: Elliot Stock.

Macler. (1919) ‘Note sur quelques inscriptions funéraires Arméniennes de Malacca’, Journal Asiatique, 11th series vol. 13: 560-568.

Susan E. Schopp. ‘Up from the Watery Deep, the discovery of an Armenian gravestone in the South China Sea’, in Armenians in Asian Trade, 263-5, at https://books.openedition.org/editionsmsh/11412?lang=en

Nadia H. Wright. (2003) Respected Citizens: the History of Armenians in Singapore and Malaysia. Middle Park: Amassia Publishing.

Author information

Nadia Wright

Dr. Nadia Wright, who is of Armenian heritage, is a retired teacher and active historian living in Melbourne, Australia. Her research focuses on the Armenians in Southeast Asia as well as the founding of Singapore. She is the author of Respected Citizens: The History of the Armenians in Singapore and Malaysia; William Farquhar and Singapore: Stepping out from Raffles’ Shadow and The Armenians of Penang. She co-authored Vanda Miss Joaquim: Singapore’s National Flower & the Legacy of Agnes & Ridley and has published a variety of scholarly articles.

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During my numerous trips to our historic homeland, I have witnessed tragic and quite common sites found in the remnants of our ancient churches, re-purposed into barns and mosques, and many times even outright destroyed. In rare cases, however, one finds something different happening.

In 2013, while traveling from Malatia [Malatya] to Gesaria [Kayseri], I had occasion to stop in Gurin [Gürün]. The town of Gurin in the province of Sepasia [Sivas] was home to a significant Armenian population on the eve of the Armenian Genocide—some estimate as many as 10,000. 

There were known to be four Apostolic, two Catholic and three Protestant churches in Gurin. In 2013, the remains of one of the churches were still prominent, though in a precarious condition. A number of historic buildings in the area of the church had been restored, and representatives from the municipality indicated they also desired to repair the Armenian church. 

The church itself has been thought to be the Apostolic mother church—Soorp Asdvadzadzin, built between 1810 and 1815, though some have attributed it as the main Catholic church instead. 

The descriptions of Sp. Asdvadzadzin do seem to match the current structure. It is near the Grand Mosque (Ulu Cami), contains three altars and a large narthex through the west entrance. The church had high arches, but no dome. 

After 1915, the church has served as a prison, warehouse, and movie theatre. The stated goal of the planned restoration was to convert the structure into a museum or cultural center. 

Two weeks ago, I again passed through Gurin and viewed the church. It is now in the process of restoration, and it appears the work being done is quite serious. As it was an active construction site, I was unable to enter the church, but I took a number of photographs. 

In my initial visit six years ago, I was able to photograph the tombstone of one Simon Terjanian, dated September 7, 1894. Unfortunately, the stone was no longer on the church grounds, and the workers did not know its fate. One can only hope that the stone had been removed for preservation before the reconstruction work had begun. Though if past experience is any indication, it is more likely that the stone was destroyed. 

One may find solace in the restoration of this church, unlike most Armenian churches in Turkey. Yet that is not enough. If in its new life, the building will be converted to a cultural center, it must also reflect the culture of the church, that of the Armenians of Gurin. I cannot say if there are any Armenians remaining in Gurin, but the odds are high that there are. They should be able to feel that the church is their home–a place to congregate, learn and educate others about Armenian presence on that land, in that town. There are many sources that could be made available through the center, including the 800-page tome Badmakirk Giurini [Beirut, Sevan Press, 1974]. 

I am not pretending that such a suggestion is a solution, but it is better than a cynical attempt at extracting tourism dollars from Armenians yearning to see their ancestral homeland. There are Armenians living in our homeland, and any effort at restoring Armenian cultural sites should reflect their needs.

Author information

George Aghjayan

George Aghjayan is the Director of the Armenian Historical Archives and the chair of the Armenian Revolutionary Federation (ARF) Central Committee of the Eastern United States. Aghjayan graduated with honors from Worcester Polytechnic Institute in 1988 with a Bachelor of Science degree in Actuarial Mathematics. He achieved Fellowship in the Society of Actuaries in 1996. After a career in both insurance and structured finance, Aghjayan retired in 2014 to concentrate on Armenian related research and projects. His primary area of focus is the demographics and geography of western Armenia as well as a keen interest in the hidden Armenians living there today. Other topics he has written and lectured on include Armenian genealogy and genocide denial. He is a board member of the National Association of Armenian Studies and Research (NAASR), a frequent contributor to the Armenian Weekly and Houshamadyan.org, and the creator and curator westernarmenia.weebly.com, a website dedicated to the preservation of Armenian culture in Western Armenia.

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Translator’s note: This article was first published in Agos in 2011 by Funda Tosun and later in the Gazete Demokrat on April 14, 2015. It really touched me deeply on many levels when I discovered it. So I decided to translate it from Turkish. To offer some more context, in the 1970’s, right and left wing armed terrorist groups had been engaged in increasing violence. In 1980 General Kenan Evren carried out a coup in Turkey and instituted military rule with a general purge of all suspected subversive groups. A vast majority of Turks welcomed the coup at the time. After the coup, many men went to prison. In 1982 a new constitution was proclaimed and was implemented in 1983. In 1984 the Kurdish Workers Party (PKK) launched guerrilla warfare in the east of Turkey, leading to more repression and imprisonment. General Evren stayed in power from 1980 to 1989, including holding the 7th Turkish presidency in 1982. He was convicted of crimes against the state and sentenced to life imprisonment later. Too fragile to attend the trial, Evren testified from his hospital bed. He defended the constitution, saying it was designed to avoid the mistakes that had led to the civil strife of the 1970s. He died at age 97 on May 9, 2015. The text below is the testimony of a lone Armenian prisoner of the post-coup regime, held in Diyarbakir from 1980 to 1987 and again for a year in 1990.

The Diyarbakır Chief Public Prosecutor’s Office recently launched an investigation of the criminal complaints filed by 700 people imprisoned in the Diyarbakir Prison, where a most terrible torture in human history was suffered. While the Prosecutor’s Office started taking statements from those who filed a criminal complaint and applied to the Ministry of Justice, the Ministry of National Defense asked for information about the whereabouts of the torturers mentioned in the petition. The Prosecutor’s Office responded to the request by giving the names of the torturers at a press conference organized by the Diyarbakır Prison Research, Truth and Justice Commission. The list included General Kenan Evren as commander-in-chief and officers working in prison, as well as military prosecutors and judges.

In Diyarbakir No. 5 Prison, where 34 people were killed and hundreds of people were disabled between 1981 to 1984, ‘strappado’ (Palestine hanging), electric shocks, ‘falaka’ (beating the soles of the feet), rape, batons impaled anally, feeding feces were among the common deeds.

There was one Armenian among the prisoners in the government’s systematic application of torture and ‘Turkification’ processes. Garabed Demircioğlu always received special attention, a ‘worthy one!’ by Capt. Esat Oktay Yıldıran. Capt. Yıldıran tried out the most unimaginable tortures that come to human mind. He always wore a commando uniform and toured with his dog named “Jo.” During that era Demircioğlu’s image was carved in many prisoners’ minds with a circumcision dress and a banner that read Maşallah (how magnificent). Later after his forced circumcision and Islamization, they changed Garabed’s name to Ahmet.

After being imprisoned from 1980 to 1987, on May 1, 1990, this ‘lucky’(!) lone Armenian prisoner was released, only to be arrested again on May 1, 1990 for attending celebrations for International Workers Day. He was again subjected to special treatment and sentenced to one year in prison. He got this sentence exclusively, while his comrades were subjected to three months. He left the country with heavy injuries from a military operation against prisoners in Sağmacılar Prison, Istanbul. He resides in Europe now and receives medical treatment for his heavy torture. During this interview, he described the circumstances of being a revolutionary Armenian in Diyarbakir Prison. 

I was born in Diyarbakir (Kurds’ Amed, Armenians’ Dikranagerd). I was one of six children—two older sisters and three brothers. I’m the oldest among my brothers. My parents were illiterate, but like many, they were devoted to their children’s education. They knew the value of labor and work and were therefore honorable people. My father used to buy newspapers so we would read and take us to Yılmaz Güney movies. I can’t say he did this consciously.

As a typical Anatolian Armenian, all of our grandparents were kılıçartığı (left-over or spared by the sword). Some were exiled and the rest were migrants. My grandmother used to tell me how her brother was killed before her eyes, and how her entire family escaped to Qamishli, Syria and then to Aleppo. My aunts remained there. We used to meet them behind the wired border-fences like many Kurds do today. My uncle lived in France.

We would go to church of Saint Giragos. Our mother used to hold our hands firmly on the way there. It was always noisy during church as people would throw stones at the wooden door. It broke one day. They replaced it with an iron door.

We would never speak Armenian anywhere outside the house, nor would we say our name. I always thought that if I were successful doing so, they wouldn’t notice that I was Armenian. I always thought everything depended on concealing that I was. But it wasn’t successful. They understood, or rather, they knew who was gavour (infidel) and who was fılle.

I went to Süleyman Nazif Primary School. Every day, other neighborhood children trapped me and other Armenian children in a desolate place. They would lift up their index fingers of both hands asking “Are you Muslim?” and making a cross “Or are you fılle?” Most of the time, without waiting to hear that ominous answer, they would spit on our faces, slap and kick us. We most frequently heard of getting sacrificed, promising them heaven. “If I kill seven fılle, I go to heaven.” Every day I lived through as one of the potential seven fılle to be sacrificed so that they could reach paradise and happiness.

I will never forget Diyarbakir train station. I was nine years old. I was sent to Istanbul to study like many Armenian kids. My mother never gave consent. Today she still sees Istanbul as the perpetrator of all the disasters that have happened to me today. Maybe it is. I don’t know. Every summer we would fill up the train to return to our country. The trains were operated with coal then. We would arrive with our hands and faces all blackened. When the time came to be sent back, our mothers would fill our hands and mouths with içli köfte, sarmas, dolmas and breads for the road. We would fill up the train. We would leave behind crying mothers wiping their tears with a white handkerchief. Maybe my mother was right. If I hadn’t left Diyarbakir like other hundreds of Armenian kids to be sent for education… maybe. I don’t know…

When I was released from prison to be sent off to do my ‘country-duty’ with chains on my hands and feet, between two soldiers, again in the same train station, this time Kurdish mothers were seeing me off. They resembled ours. But they were louder, walked taller, more resilient, unflinching. Maybe because they didn’t live to see, as we did, the short life we lived because of the atrocities. Maybe they were dying out slower, or were stronger, more enduring. Maybe there were more of them. I didn’t know why they were there. But I’m sure they were there because of one of the events, like our forced deportations. Or, were they simply they sending me off? I was trying to walk with chains, the soles of my feet beaten from falaka, obliged to carry me, crushed under such a difficult task… I was trying to step up. Suddenly these women attacked the soldiers. They were asking why my feet had the chains. Others were assaulting the soldiers asking for me to be unchained. But the interest of one of them was different. She was forcing food into my mouth and stuffing my pockets. Sarmas, dolmas, homemade bread…

A poverty-stricken child’s world opens to leftist and revolutionary ideas when he grows up attending elementary school with a pair of shoes, pants and a jacket. He also feels a nationalistic and religious pressure to assimilate. Having lived through all kinds of heartbreaks, listening to stories of swords and massacres, what could be more natural than becoming a revolutionist?

After graduating from Nersesyan Primary School, I attended Soorp Khatch Tibrevank Boarding School. Our library was rich and varied. It was possible to find Russian, English, American, Turkish and Armenian classics. Most of the students were interested in reading. We read Yaşar Kemal, Orhan Kemal, Kemal Tahir, Sabahattin Ali, Fakir Baykurt and memorized the poems of Nazim Hikmet, Enver Gökçe, Hasan Hüseyin and Ahmet Arif. But unfortunately, we couldn’t read enough Armenian poets and writers books then. I didn’t know about the famous poet, born in Kars, Yeghishe Charents, until much later in life.

I became a revolutionary like Misak Manushyan, Armenak Bakır, Manuel Demir, Nubar Yalim, Hayrabet Honca in my high school years. Armenak (Bakır) first brought us the first revolutionary socialist books to read. I began to sympathize with İbrahim Kaypakkaya’s revolutionary ideas. I found Kaypakkaya’s approach to the Armenian question and massacres scholarly and realistic. Come to think of it, about 40 years ago he had a short, concise, unbiased and scholarly point of view. He was breaking all the common molds. This affected me quite deeply.

I was detained for making communist propaganda on September 12, 1980. I endured excruciating torture. I spent a year in prison. Immediately after the coup, I was again taken into custody in Siverek for being a member of an illegal leftist organization and making communist propaganda. Because I refused to testify, they used the crudest, most primitive methods of torture. I was taken to Urfa Central Command.

They were bringing in people from Siverek, Halfeti, Suruç, Bilecik, Hilvan, Viranşehir and Ceylanpınar. The majority of them were poor, innocent villagers. They gathered hundreds of thousands of people. They implemented the most abhorrent tortures.

I was tortured an entire season. All kinds of torture. They tried a number of methods on me: Palestinian hanging from my ankles upside down, falaka, electricity, sleep deprivation, hunger, standing on one leg, getting electric shocks in water, naked. Often I experienced torture just for the sake being seen as “an Armenian” being tortured. Because my eyes were blindfolded, I couldn’t see the torturer. During hanging, the officer would blow cigarette smoke on my face. Because I wasn’t cooperating, the intensity was increasing every day, and they were getting more wild. I stayed so long in Urfa Central Command that the soldiers who went for leave, upon their return, saw me again. They couldn’t hide their astonishment.

A dog was trained to bark when the session began, and then he would also start barking when he heard the call to prayer. During the sessions, they would play Orhan Gencebay’s ‘Offer Me Solace’ piece continuously. I don’t know if Gencebay would have composed this song if he knew it would be played as a ‘consolation’…I’m sure he would be grieving. 

The people who were tortured were mostly Kurds—revolutionaries, intellectuals, peasants. I met hundreds of old and young, innocent people. They once took Abdullah Öcalan’s brother Mehmet Öcalan into custody. I don’t know whether by chance or intentionally, they put him by my side. As we were sitting on the floor leaning our heads against the wall, an officer kicked me in the back and asked for my name. When I said my name he raised hell. Then he asked the name of the man sitting on the floor next to me, and he said the name. The torturer’s anger became unrestrained. He was shouting ‘Who put those two Armenians together?’ He was kicking us and swearing. We encountered a heavy session of torture because of me or him that day.

When your name was called, the torture would start. The officers’ voices, the way they talked, the methods they used were very similar. They were all like one person. I couldn’t see their faces, but I believed their faces were the same. I always wondered how the torturers could say I love you to their children… Could someone who is inflicting this much pain have the capacity to love? 

Sometimes once or twice a week, groups were taken to Diyarbakir. Those who were taken from Urfa to Diyarbakir would travel, thinking that the torture was over. They would take a deep, comfortable breath without any torture. I went to Diyarbakir in such peace of mind.

If God would send such rain of tyranny from above, he would probably not think that it could reach such intensity and ferocity. It will be a grand mistake to say it was a prison. It was a full-fledged torture center with physical and psychological equipment and specialized torture officers. It was a torture lab. Imagine being taken to the Diyarbakir Corps Command and being tortured there. It was a great blessing for us. We didn’t want to go back to the dungeon. Every narrative story of No. 5 is a bit lacking, because it is not possible to put such abominations into words.

From the moment the first step was taken, it was a place where everything belonging to the individual’s history was extorted by bullying, force—completely torn apart.

While we queued for identity check, we took off everything and waited naked. This was the first moment of discovery for the torturers. They figured out I was not Muslim. From that moment on, I received special attention. 

Capt. Esat Oktay Yıldıran said that he would circumcise me on the first day and make me a Muslim. He said it with such a relaxed, smiling face, as if it was like a normal, natural job that needed to be done. Your name will be ‘Ahmet’ from now on, he said. My religion would be Islam, and I would be a ‘true Turk.’ In addition to the Turkification ritual, there was circumcision and prayer in my program.

There were many high-ranking military officers who wanted to see me. It was as if they had caught a monster, staring at me with astonishment, cursing at me, as if they hadn’t seen anyone like me. It was like there was a creature in front of them. Almost everyone knew of the existence of the Armenian. There were some who were interested in me exclusively. They spit on my face, cursed me, mounted my back. Several urinated on me.

Death seemed imminent, but I wasn’t able to die no matter what. Getting killed by a bullet would have been a luxury and a blessing.

In our very first torture session we were forced to clean out our bags of soap, margarine, toothpaste, papers –– in other words, eat them up. The ones who resisted were subjected to mass military beating, run the gauntlet. When I was tortured in custody, I didn’t have the strength to carry a sack. But they still tortured me. In Number 5 cell there was always a reason to torture. Our existence was a reason to torture. In this case, I didn’t have a sack.

There was a horse thief from Cizre. His opponents had denounced him for being a bad Kurd. He didn’t resemble any of us. I can’t tell you how agile and athletic he was. When soldiers tried to put him on the counter, he would whirl away and get chased down in the corridor. His demeanor was an undeclared victory for us who couldn’t open their eyes from torture.

All the walls and ceilings were painted in the form of Turkish flags. Everywhere was red, and everybody was wearing khaki. Either we were tortured or we were listening to the screams of someone who was being tortured. The time of day didn’t matter. If I were lucky enough to choose, I would choose torture myself, because listening to the voices of my friends was the greatest pain. I still hear those cries today. They haven’t left my ears. 

Every time we went to court and returned in a dark airless ring-truck, feet chained, hands behind back, the intensity of torture would increase. To speak out and defend yourself was a venture. One had to pay a heavy price. Because we did speak out in court, we paid the price in the truck with what were called special ‘five-ten’ planks. They would beat us. One day the plank broke on my back. The penalty was grand of course.

One day, Amnesty International delegates came to investigate the allegations of death for friends like Mehdi Zana, Mazlum Doğan and some others their names I can’t recall right now, and myself. They showed us before the eyes of the delegation that we were alive. They made a lot of effort to prevent any visible wounds and torture marks on our bodies, and we couldn’t say to the delegation that we were being tortured. The status of lawyers was no different than ours. They took them out in front of the delegation. They denied any torture. There were some former deputies like Serafettin Kaya, Hüseyin Yıldırım among them. Some were quite a lot older than us, brothers like Ahmet Türk, Nurettin Yılmaz, Celal Paydaş. They faced heavy torture from soldiers as young as their children.

During this time, militants of ASALA (Armenian Secret Army for the Liberation of Armenia) were acting up. I was somehow responsible for their actions since I was Armenian. My punishment was severe. I became a respected legendary hero among the prisoners. Dozens of friends who were fortunate to know me, when they got released, mentioned to their friends that I would surely be tortured to death. They thought it would be a miracle I would stay alive. 

In 1983, collective resistance started in the dungeon. It was our happiest day. It was defying slavery and torture, challenging improbity. It was a day to be human, the start of emancipation. I can say it was the most beautiful day of my life.

The self-sacrificing Mazlum Doğan and the four who threw their bodies into the middle of the fire, are unforgettable. Kemal Pir, Hayri Durmuş, Akif Ali, Cemal Arat, Orhan Keski, our friends who lost their lives through hunger strike are the most worthy of respect and love. I always remember them with respect and gratitude. They ignited the first spark of resistance with their bodies. But the torture did not stop.

In 1984, the second collective resistance began. I took part in the first group of the hunger strike. We started with 20 friends. It lasted 49 days. Two of our friends died. We were under threatening conditions.

In the first days of the hunger strike I came across officers who said, ‘We understood the others. What are you doing here as an Armenian in the hunger strike?’ However, I needed the most energy to resist, not to accept this villainous, dishonorable life. I had to resist for more reasons than any other. My fate was the fate of my people.

They had brought a hodja from a mosque to dissuade and discourage the strike. “God only takes the life he has given to his own servant, and you cannot kill yourself. This belongs to God” was the type of a speech he was giving. A friend named Bişar Akbaş told the hodja ‘There is an Armenian among us. Go and get a priest.’ Of course, the hodja left, but the priest didn’t come.

Today I would have liked to be among the ones who submit criminal complaint against the torturers. Those who tortured us should be tried. However, it should not be forgotten that torture was a state policy. As it is the official policy of the state, not only those who tortured them physically, but also those who accept, accept and implement this practice as official state policy should be accounted and judged. On the other hand, No. 5 must be a museum. 

Today, I suffer from unbearable pain. I have serious balance and vision problems. Every time the subject of Dungeon No. 5 comes up or related memories, news and names, my eyes are filled unwittingly. In medical terms, it is called post-traumatic stress disorder. I call it an internal earthquake. I am living abroad and on heavy medication. On top of this, I’m also suffering from the malady of migration. In other words, I’m longing for my country.

Author information

Levon Mardikyan

Levon Mardikyan was born in Istanbul and has lived in Los Angeles since 1981. He has traveled and worked as a photographer, contributing to his partner’s work in ethnography, particularly in Latin America. His ongoing work in photography includes an interest in portraiture and tabletop photography. He is a collector of Ottoman-Armenian postcards and photos.

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Vayots Dzor

Traveling south from Yerevan towards Artsakh, after passing through Ararat province, the main highway enters Vayots Dzor. Shortly thereafter there is the village of Areni, famous for its wine, and where the world’s oldest shoe was found in a cave. Nearby is the spectacular Noravank Monastery.

Vayots Dzor has an abundance of other sites of scenic beauty and historical significance, such as the 14th century Spitakavor monastery near the village of Vernashen. In 1987, during the Soviet era, the remains of Armenian hero and freedom fighter Karekin Nejdeh were secretly smuggled onto this site from the Soviet prison camp where he died and re-interred in his sacred Armenian soil. From near the monastery, the fortress of Boloraberd/Proshaberd is clearly visible and accessible to hikers.

This region is also home to Smbataberd, an impressive fortress which was considered impregnable, sitting atop a mountain with a spectacular view and command of the surrounding valleys and villages. A narrow dirt and gravel road, with the valley below to the right, leads to the fortress. We ascended to the fort in a four wheel drive Niva, but there is no room for error here and no room to turn around if another vehicle approaches from the opposite direction. At the summit of the hill near the entrance to the fort, however, there is room to turn around.  Invading Turks, unable to capture this fort militarily, took the fort by interrupting its water supply.

There are a number of other interesting sites nearby accessible by car. In the beautiful village of Yeghegis are a number of churches, the most unusual being Sp. Zorats Cathedral, 1303—a unique open air church. Armenian cavalry detachments would attend church service on horseback, facing the altar from the field in front of the church. They and their weapons would receive blessings before riding off to battle. During medieval times this area was under the jurisdiction of the Orbeli dynasty, which produced a number of outstanding clergymen, diplomats, military leaders and scholars.

Getikvank

My map of Armenia showed a road ascending the local heights following the course of the Yeghegis River ending at Getikvank, with a church icon on my map marking the end of the road. A poor but passable dirt road brought us to the destroyed village which, for a long time, remained uninhabited. From spring until fall, however, local villagers encamp here in this “yayla” with their families, pasturing their livestock on nearby fields. Most of the families are from Shatin, a nearby village with the scenic Shativank monastery in the hills above the village. In the “yayla,” there were women sitting in the shade of a stone wall; they initially declined to be photographed, until I convinced them that I was dressed worse than them. Children were playing; a young boy posed for me while his older cousin kept an eye on him. A gentleman from Shatin with an interest in this region’s history took me to the few stones that remained from the church’s foundation. The church was surrounded by beehives to the left and yeghinj (stinging nettle plants) to the right. I chose passage through the nettle; at least the nettle would not fly after me to sting me repeatedly! Nearby were some tombstones, including those of clergymen. The date and name of the church are unknown, but the village historian indicated that this was probably from the dawn of Armenian Christianity – perhaps from the fourth century.

Much of this area was emptied of Armenians around 1604 by Persian Shah Abbas’ decree to forcibly deport Armenians to Persia; a scorched earth policy intended to prevent Turkish invaders from living off the land and its Armenian population during Turkish–Persian conflicts to dominate this area. Without Armenians, Armenian monuments were neglected or vandalized when Turkish tribes moved in. Later, the Treaty of Turkmanchi (1828) between Persia and Russia, allowed Armenians whose families were forcefully deported to Persia to return home. As Armenians returned, many Turks and other non-Armenians moved out. The Russian writer and diplomat who helped negotiate the right of return, Aleksander Griboyedov, is credited with helping to restore the Armenian population here. He was subsequently murdered by a Persian mob. He is a hero in Armenia; there’s a statue of him on Tigran Mets street in Yerevan. There’s also a village named after him.

In a nearby village one resident indicated that his ancestors came from Persia (Iran). “But,” he insisted, “we’re not Barsgahyes!” (we’re not Persian-Armenians), signifying his ancestors were from this area, forcefully deported to Persia, with subsequent generations of his family returning to Armenia.

Retreat from Avarayr

Pointing to the mountains about 40 kilometers to the northeast, our village historian in Getikvank indicated that there were graves of Vartan Mamikonian’s soldiers there who survived the Battle of Avarayr (451 AD) and were withdrawing towards Artsakh. He indicated that in his youth he hiked there and saw the gravesites. As far as I know, there have been no archaeological investigations of that site. But, according to a number of medieval histories, survivors from Avarayr, pursued by Persians, retreated through this area. 

Stepanos Orbelian (1250-1303), in his “History of Sisakan” (excerpt of translation by Robert Bedrosian below), relates how Armenian survivors of Avarayr were relentlessly pursued by Persians as the Armenians were seeking safety. The nearby Tsaghatskar (Tsakhatskar) monastery originally was a memorial built on or near the site of the slaughter of Avarayr warriors. Historian Stepanos Orbelian states:

“[The Persians] advanced farther and killed 300 more [Christians] by the waters located between [the villages] called Ostink’ and Artaboynk.’ Subsequently the residents of the area built a church over this spot. Then the Persians crossed a gorge on the left, overlooking the holy convent called Ts’aghats’k’ar, situated on an elevation between the two villages mentioned above, and there they massacred a very large number of sepuhs and elite warriors.”

Artaboynk village is in a mountainous area which surely must have been an attractive site from which to present a military defense. Also our village historian told us of a nearby monument dedicated to Vartan and his soldiers. It was not clear if this was an ancient monument or a more recent one, but we were unable to find it.

The Vartanantz War

The Vartanantz War with Persia was fought over the right of Armenia to remain a Christian nation. Armenia was refusing to obey Persian demands to abandon Christianity and convert to Zoroastrianism. Mamikonian, the hereditary commander in chief of Armenian forces, was killed in the Battle of Avarayr and subsequently sainted. The numerically smaller Armenian army, however, inflicted disproportionately large casualties on the Persian forces but lost the battle. Armenians continued to wage a guerrilla war for decades under the leadership of Kayl Vahan (Wolf Vahan), the nephew of Vartan. The conflict ended with the Treaty of Nvarsak (484 AD) which guaranteed Armenia religious freedom, the first known treaty to guarantee freedom of religion. The Mamikonians continued as hereditary commanders of Armenia’s armed forces, though Armenia continued to pay tribute to Persia in the form of taxes and military service.

Author information

Hovsep Daghdigian

Joseph “Hovsep” Daghdigian is originally from Lowell, MA. His grandparents were from Kharpet in Western Armenia. He is active in the Merrimack Valley community and a former chairman of the AYF CE. Dagdigian is a retired electrical and software engineer with a MS in computer engineering. Dagdigian spends three to five months per year in Armenia and Artsakh exploring sites with his friend Vova Tshagharyan. His adventures are described in his “Unseen Armenia” series of articles. He, with Anahid Yeremian, co-founded the Support Committee for Armenia’s Cosmic Ray Division (SCACRD) in 2000 to support the scientists and students at the Cosmic Ray Division of the Yerevan Physics Institute (now the A. Alikhanyan National Laboratory). He lives in Harvard, MA with his wife Lisa.

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Seventy-five years ago, in Normandy, France, so many American soldiers fought in hell for a heavenly cause, and so many were killed thousands of miles away from home. The Normandy American Cemetery, which overlooks Omaha Beach, is a perpetual reminder of their courage and sacrifice. Among the 9,388 heroes buried in this cemetery, there is a father and his son, there are three generals, there are four women, and there is an Armenian American hero named Harry A. Proodian.

Harry was born on August 26, 1925 in West New York, New Jersey. He was the son of Charles and Zevart Proodian; he had a sister named Grace. His mother left Armenia after her parents and her brother were murdered in the Armenian Genocide. Harry wasn’t an ordinary teenager; he was a virtuoso violinist and an artist.

Drafted in the U.S. Army in 1943, Harry left his family, his home, his life and went to train at Camp Croft, South Carolina. At the end of his training, he was sent to Fort Meade, Maryland, where he was assigned to the 28th Infantry Regiment, 8th Infantry Division. Private Harry Proodian would later be transferred into the 357th Infantry Regiment, 90th Infantry Division.

In April 1944, Harry was among thousands of sons, brothers, fathers and husbands, who went overseas to serve their country and defend its values. On June 14, 1944, he landed in Normandy and fought with his brothers in arms.  

Two weeks later, on June 28, 1944, Harry’s unit was in Portbail, Normandy. After violent battles, the front was very quiet, but on an ordinary patrol, Pvt Harry Proodian was killed by a mortar shell. Just like that, the sounds of war put an end to the melody, and only the silence remained. Harry was only 18 years old when his eyes closed and his heart stopped beating.

Harry could have been one of the greatest violinists in the world. He could have shared his passion and traveled all around the world with his violin. He could have created music and reinvented his art. But the destiny of this Armenian American violinist was to be a hero. It was to fight for his country, to face fear and death, and to sacrifice his own life for ours.

A few years ago, in Portbail, Normandy, a marker was installed to remember Harry’s sacrifice. Last month, a monument was erected in honor of Pvt Proodian. Both ceremonies were attended by Harry’s nephew, Edward Sarkisian.

Seventy-five years after Harry’s death and two days before his 94th birthday, let’s never forget what he lost for freedom to win, and let’s never forget the story of this Armenian American hero.

Happy Birthday, Harry. Rest in Peace.  

_{Photos: Bruno Cadeville – Edward Sarkisian (Neveu) – Frédéric Lavernhe – Globalarmenianheritage-adic.fr – Valentin Gascher}

Author information

John Dekhane

John Dekhane grew up in Paris before moving to the South of France. He works for a sport organization in Monaco. Since he was a child, he has always been interested in World War II with particular emphasis on American soldiers. In order to honor them, over the past years, he has located and purchased WWII U.S. artifacts in Europe and donated these items to more than a hundred museums in the United States.

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The island of Corfu, which lies off the west coast of the Greek mainland, is no stranger to foreign influences. Its unique culture is a fusion of Greek and Italian elements, with later British and French additions, reflecting its varied history as a much coveted and strategic holding in the Mediterranean.

Corfu, unlike nearly all of Greece, never fell under Ottoman rule, remaining a Venetian possession for four centuries. As a bastion of tolerance and freedom compared to the Ottoman Empire, a large number of Christian refugees from the Balkans began to emigrate to the island in the sixteenth century. They founded villages with names reminiscent of their origins – Lakones (from Lakonia), Arkadades (from Arkadia) and Armenades, which was founded by Armenian refugees around 1550.

The village of Armenades is situated in a deep depression in the north of the island, surrounded on all sides by ravines and thick, undulating hills and forests. In contrast to other Corfiot villages, known for their colorful Italianate architecture, the houses of Armenades are stark and white. Little is known about the origins of the village, except that it was founded by Armenian refugees from the Ottoman Empire, and that their main line of work was olive cultivation.

About a century later, the residents of Armenades decided to move to Rachtades—a much nicer village on the crest of the mountain which had recently been vacated by its inhabitants. They all adopted the surname Armenis as part of their assimilation into Greek society. Two notable natives of Rachtades were the brothers Ioannis and Petros Vrailas Armenis—the former was a highly regarded writer and doctor on the island, while the latter served as Foreign Minister of Greece in the 1870s.

Even today, the majority of the residents of Rachtades still have the surname Armenis. Though the villagers are vaguely aware of their origins as Armenian refugees, nearly five centuries later they have completely assimilated and identify solely as Corfiot or Greek.

The story of Armenades and its founders is an interesting one. Quirky and poignant. But it is not the story. For that we need to travel south to Corfu Town, the island’s imperious capital, and to the Markosian coffee shop, perhaps the most striking symbol of Armenian history on Corfu.

The mostly pedestrianized George Theotoki Street is one of the main arteries connecting Corfu’s old and new towns, lined with shops, restaurants, bars and banks. Amidst all of them lies the Markosian coffee shop. With its faded oriental storefront and distinctly un-Greek name, it stands out amidst the trendy bars and effete clothing shops.

Although I had passed by it many times, I had never actually been inside. But I had always wondered: Just how did an Armenian coffee shop end up on our small island? By chance, my return to the island for Greek Easter coincided with the annual Armenian Genocide Remembrance Day. Motivated by this coincidence, I decided to wander in.

—–

Arsak Markosian was born in 1863 in the village of Kemah near Erzincan in what is now eastern Turkey. From an early age, he devoted himself to the family coffee business, importing and roasting beans and serving coffee to the villagers. He married Zaroui, his childhood sweetheart.

In the early 1900s, tired of the persecution being suffered by Armenians in the Ottoman Empire, Arsak and Zaroui packed up their things and traveled west – through Anatolia, Thrace, Macedonia – before stumbling upon the island of Corfu. Impressed by its tranquillity and openness and spying a gap in the market for quality, Armenian-style coffee, they decided to settle down.

Shortly after founding his new coffee business on the island, Arsak met another Armenian, Bogos Tzarougian, who had also recently stumbled upon Corfu. Even more serendipitously, Bogos was in the coffee trade, and they hit it off immediately.

Together, they decided to open a coffee shop in Corfu Town named Markosian-Tzarougian. The business was a huge success. Unlike other parts of Greece and the southern Balkans, Corfu had never come under Ottoman occupation and traditionally looked towards Venice rather than Constantinople. The ‘eastern’ style of coffee culture which the Armenians had brought to Corfu was something of a novelty and proved a revelation among the Corfiots, bringing the two Armenian business partners great respect and wealth.

—–

Leo Markosian is the owner of Markosian coffee shop and the grandson of Arsak and Zaroui. A sharp-witted man in his early 60s, he speaks a number of languages including Armenian and English, the latter of which he picked up as a university student in California. His shop, with its antique old bean roaster in the back, has diversified to sell sweets, spices, liqueurs and an assortment of other goods. He is proud of the shop, which has become something of a landmark in Corfu’s old town.

“I guess what first attracted my grandparents to the island was its lack of minarets,” he says with a cheeky smile. “But also the friendliness of the people, very welcoming to outsiders, which made a contrast from the tense twilight years of the Ottoman Empire.”

The family remained largely removed from events further east until 1915, when a small number of Armenians showed up on the island, stammering out horror stories of what was happening in Anatolia. Events accelerated in 1922, when the destruction of Izmir and the Greek-Turkish population exchange saw around 35,000 Christian refugees arrive on Corfu. Among them were about 3,000 Armenians, many of them orphans.

The few Armenian families on Corfu were instrumental in helping these new arrivals. Arsak Markosian, who spoke about 12 languages, acted as an interpreter between the refugees and the Greek, British, American and French relief workers on Corfu. The first few years were tough for these new arrivals. Many lived in squalid conditions; in abandoned factories and rotting old Venetian manors. Tragically, many Armenian orphans lost their lives when the building they were living in was bombed by Italian air forces in 1923 during a brief diplomatic spat between Italy and Greece.

Nonetheless, Armenian life—for the first time ever—flourished on Corfu. Many of the refugees who arrived threw themselves headlong into their new surroundings, starting businesses utilizing the skills and trades they had brought with them. The Yerakian and Bagtantian families resumed their shoe-making businesses, the Yeramian family was in furniture, the Messian family in baking, the Kolsouzian family in fabrics, and many more. Perhaps most notable were the Karsian brothers, who opened a silk factory in Corfu Town which at its peak employed 150 people and provided the interiors for Greece’s Olympic Airlines. The prominent Istanbul-born writer Teotig also lived on the island during this time.

At its peak, the community was large enough to support a school, a theater and two churches. In 1924, a memorial service for the Armenian Genocide was held at the island’s main cathedral by the Greek Orthodox archbishop. Arsak and Zaroui also gave birth to a son around this time, whom they named Markos.

During World War II, Corfu was heavily bombed by the Italians and then again by the Germans. One casualty was the original Tzarougian-Markosian shop, which was reduced to rubble. By that time however, the two men had decided to go their separate ways, opening up rival coffee shops in town.

In a symbolic way, it marked the beginning of the end for the island’s Armenian community.

—–

I meet Pavlos Tzarougian in a bar by the island’s old fort. He is in his late 60s—retired from work, but certainly not from life. He arrives by motorcycle and orders a coffee from the waiter before even getting off. He smokes an e-cigarette and wears a stud in his left ear. Like Leo, he can speak Armenian among several other languages. “Where do I start?” he says.

Pavlos’ paternal grandfather Bogos was born in 1875 in Pakarich, a village near the city of Erzurum in what is today eastern Turkey. Like Arsak Markosian, he came from a family of coffee producers, and also like Arsak he married a local girl, Vartoui.

Growing weary of village life, the two of them began traveling across Anatolia and the Balkans, doing business from Van to Vienna. In 1908, the ship that was meant to take them from Trieste to Istanbul made an unannounced stop in Corfu.

The Tzarougians disembarked and wandered into town where they happened to meet one of the only other Armenians on the island—Arsak Markosian—who had also newly arrived. Intrigued, Bogos and Vartoui skipped their boat to Istanbul and decided to stay on the island. That same year, Bogos and his new business partner Arsak, opened their joint coffee shop in the center of Corfu’s old town. Within a year, they effectively dominated the coffee trade on the island.

In 1918, in the midst of the Armenian Genocide, the Tzarougians traveled to Istanbul to try and learn what had become of their family back in Pakarich. The news wasn’t good. “All of them were killed,” Pavlos tells me. By chance, they ran into one of the few survivors from Pakarich, Bogos’ cousin Soghomon Tehlirian, who would later achieve notoriety for killing Talaat Pasha, one of the architects of the Genocide. Soghomon invited Bogos to join him in his crusade to assassinate those responsible for the genocide. Bogos was tempted.

“He was very close to going,” Pavlos tells me. “But his wife had just given birth to their first son Katziazouni – my father – and she begged him to return with them to the safety and tranquility of Corfu. So he did.”

Bogos returned to business with Arsak Markosian, but the two gradually grew apart. As they grew older, their sons Markos and Katziazouni took over the coffee shop. When the shop was destroyed by bombing during World War II, the two used it as an opportunity to go their separate ways, setting up shop on their own. The relationship between the two was not always cordial. Katziazouni married Ermine, who had been born on the island to Armenian refugees. Markos married Maria, who he had met while on a business trip to Athens. She was the daughter of an Armenian couple who had fled the destruction of Izmir. Leo and Pavlos—the children from these two marriages—are who I am speaking with today.

—–

Beginning in the 1930s, many Armenians began following their Corfiot compatriots in emigrating for economic reasons. Many went to Athens, but more still went to Switzerland, France, the US and Canada. Armenian orphans were often sent to orphanages and foster homes on the mainland, where they gradually assimilated into Greek society. Intermarriage between Armenians and Greeks was common. After the Second World War, Athens and Moscow signed an agreement allowing Armenians in Greece to ‘repatriate’ to Soviet Armenia. Many took up the offer.

In the 1950s, the island’s Armenian church closed, effectively calling time on the Armenian community of Corfu. Despite its small size and peripheral history, many Armenians living in Armenia, Europe and North America will have ancestors who at one point passed through this island.

—–

In a sense, Pavlos and Leo are the last witnesses and gatekeepers to a once vibrant Armenian heritage on the island. When they pass, the last living connections to the island’s Armenian past will be severed, and their stories will essentially disappear. Both Pavlos and Leo are proud of their Armenian roots but identify solely as Greek or Corfiot. Neither of their children speak Armenian or have any affinity with the nation, and it’s likely that a few generations down the line, they will become like the villagers of Armenades: Greeks with only the faintest inkling of their Armenian origins.

Today there are a handful of families with Armenian surnames left on the island, but there’s little interaction among them. “The only time we meet up is for the annual Genocide commemoration, unfortunately,” says Pavlos.

Both of his children live in Athens, while Leo has a son in Athens and a daughter studying in England. Neither of the men are optimistic that their children will return to live on Corfu. “It’s a small island,” shrugs Pavlos.

In 2015, an event commemorating the centennial anniversary of the Genocide was held on Corfu, sponsored by the Albert Cohen Foundation. Among the guests was the Armenian ambassador to Greece; during his speech, he thanked the people of Corfu for providing sanctuary to Armenians fleeing the Genocide. It was likely the first time many Corfiots had ever heard of this chapter of their island’s history.

—-

Before I leave, I ask Pavlos what his children are up to in Athens. His daughter is a photographer, and his son is opening a café in Monastiraki—a trendy neighborhood in the center of the city.

“What’s the name of his café?” I ask.

“It doesn’t have one yet,” says Pavlos. “But I hope he names it ‘Tzarougian.’”

Author information

Alex Sakalis

Alex Sakalis is a writer and journalist whose work has appeared in the BBC, The Economist and openDemocracy among others. He lives in Bologna, Italy.

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“We cry in anguish and pain. We show our wounds. We call for help. The crowds on the shore throw out some handful of pennies that fall leaden into the waters. Our cry has not been understood.”
— Aghavnie Yegherian (The New Republic, June 2, 1921)

“There is literally no excuse for large-scale refugee resettlement in the United States,” says Mark Krikorian, director of the Center for Immigration Studies, a think tank in an ordinary, nondescript suite of offices on Washington, DC’s K Street.

Over the past several years, Krikorian has led an organization focusing exclusively on researching the “economic, social, demographic, fiscal, and other impacts of immigration to the United States.” And he’s done very well for himself. Public figures like Donald Trump, Stephen Miller (Trump’s key advisor on immigration and widely credited as the architect of the travel ban and the family separation policy), Steve Bannon and basically everyone at Fox News play overt and starring roles in our political drama. But Krikorian’s lack of visibility belies his influence. He has been instrumental in the Trump administration’s drive to sharply curtail entry to the United States by immigrants.

Krikorian says his crowning moment was when he torpedoed a bipartisan Senate attempt in 2013 to create a path to citizenship for nearly 11 million people living in the country illegally. He used influential conservative publications, like the National Review, to pillory Republicans like Marco Rubio, who at the time favored immigration reform. And when journalist Jose Antonio Vargas came out as an undocumented immigrant back in 2011, Krikorian emerged as an outspoken adversary, telling NPR that  Vargas should self-deport back to the Philippines.

“Our take on it is really that a modern society has no need for any immigration,” he said during the interview. “Our land is settled, we’re a post-industrial society, and so … from our perspective, we need to start from zero… and then say, ‘Are there groups of people whose admission is so compelling that we let them in despite the fact that there’s no need for this sort of thing?’”

Fifty-eight years-old with a dry, disarming sense of humor, Krikorian is an interesting case. He is the grandson of Genocide survivors, who believes adamantly that the type of immigration that took place when his grandparents fled the Ottoman Empire at the turn of the century is in stark contrast to the type of immigration taking place today. In fact, his Armenian heritage has been instrumental in shaping the person he is today. In the 1980s, he spent time in Soviet Armenia while he was a graduate student at Tufts—two years at Yerevan State University (YSU) at a time when a more liberal version of the Soviet government began encouraging ties with the West. (“I guess they wanted to introduce socialism to students from the West…it worked, but probably not in the way they intended,” he joked.) He audited classes at YSU, while working on his thesis about the role of the Armenian church shaping Armenia’s national image.

Krikorian seems to have relished the time he spent traveling to other parts of the USSR with fellow Western students. He managed to visit Tbilisi, a gorgeous drive from Yerevan nowadays, but a particularly daunting one 30 years ago. (“See how much you enjoy it when there are no paved roads,” he said, chuckling.) He also made a trip to Baku at one point (though this was initially planned as a road trip that would’ve taken him through Nagorno-Karabakh, part of the Azerbaijani SSR at the time: “They did not want a bus full of Westerners driving through Artsakh.”). But it was his time in Armenia that he looks back on with the greatest fondness.

How can the grandchild of forced migrants fleeing the Genocide, someone with such a deep understanding of where they came from, come to hold such contrasting views on modern immigration?

“Look, there’s really no difference between a barely educated Guatemalan immigrant now and an Armenian refugee that came here 100 years ago,” he said, brushing aside concerns that his policies appear intent on reducing a specific type of immigrant. Rather, he said, declines in the need for unskilled labor in agriculture and manufacturing (in no small part due to increased use of automation in those sectors) are what motivate his anti-immigration stance. Compared to immigrants from his grandparents’ era, today’s immigrants are faced with a lack of upward mobility and opportunities for personal and professional advancement. “They’re not here to rip us off,” he said bluntly, “They just can’t earn enough money to support themselves. So the onus is on the government. It’s on the taxpayer. It’s not fair to them, and it’s not fair to us.”

Unlike some of his client-facing counterparts (think: Donald Trump), Krikorian’s arguments are rational and persuasive. They revolve primarily around revenue, automation, the decline of manufacturing and dwindling opportunities for both native-born Americans and immigrants alike in the late capitalist era. He veered away from various cultural, racial and linguistic signposts, though he did admit that technology has made it somewhat harder for immigrants to fully assimilate into American society. (Whereas earlier immigrants to America could “pull up their roots and plant themselves in a new country, now you can Skype home, FaceTime whenever you want…you’re living in two different worlds.”)

A supporter of Trump’s travel ban, Krikorian is convinced that the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees over-inflates the number of global refugees truly in need. He maintains that refugees should be resettled in the U.S. “only if they have literally nowhere else to go.” Furthermore, he argues that privately owned institutions, like churches, mosques and universities, should assume responsibility for helping newly-settled refugees assimilate to the country, rather than the state.

While also returning to the tried and true conservative well of “the taxpayer’s burden,” Krikorian does see the parallels between survivors of the Genocide like his grandparents and people from the seven countries affected by the travel ban now. Distancing himself from the nativist, reactionary wing of the Republican Party, in which where you’re from most certainly matters, Krikorian argues otherwise. “It doesn’t have anything to do with where they’re from. We’ve changed. Not them,” he said.

When viewing the refugee question through a prism, specifically in the context of how Armenians could theoretically be affected by Trump’s policies, Krikorian takes an ardently nationalist stance. When I ran a hypothetical question by him about an Armenian family in Syria or Iran, Krikorian said, “Those people have a place to go: Armenia. If your goal is promoting the long-term interests of the Armenian nation, why would you encourage the siphoning off of children and grandchildren who won’t really be Armenian anywhere?”

Speaking with Krikorian is eye opening. He is an influential director of a prominent think tank descended from Genocide survivors, someone who studied in and backpacked around the crumbling edifice of the late-period USSR, and who now supports a human embargo on several of the most desiccated countries in the world. He was raised among Armenian traditions and didn’t learn English until kindergarten, while his childhood was spent shuttling around the east coast and midwest. He is an almost militant supporter of the Armenian cause, claiming that our refugee policies are “fundamentally contrary to the interests of the Armenian people” and how we “can’t promote resettlement without acknowledging our descendants are going to be lost to the Armenian nation.” I’d learned a great deal from a prominent member of the Armenian-American community who dipped into his own experiences as a grandson of survivors to take the opposite line on refugee entry to the U.S. Now I needed to find his opposite.

It’s what he calls immigration conflation. “When we combine three separate issues, like security/terrorism/gang violence, economic concerns, and moral/ethical questions into one amalgamation, we wind up with several different perspectives. And all we end up doing is talking past one another instead of carefully discussing each one of these three issues separately,” he said. I’m speaking with Dr. Stephen Menendian, Director of Research at UC Berkeley’s Haas Institute for a Fair and Inclusive Society. The great-grandson of a man who survived the Hamidian Massacres, the late 19th century event in which nearly 300,000 Ottoman Armenians were ritualistically slaughtered and widely considered the precursor of the Armenian Genocide 20 years later. Menendian, like Krikorian, has a direct, personal connection to the plight of refugees. His immigration conflation hypothesis is certainly fascinating, with the media, political figures and ordinary citizens guilty of knowingly (but more often than not, unknowingly) throwing a bunch of distinct issues against the wall and lumping them all together. “If you want to have a conversation about economic concerns stemming from migration, have that conversation; but when you start jumping to gang violence or terrorism, you’re weakening your own argument,” he said.

Menendian describes his hypothesis as “talking past one another.” And it’s certainly true that regardless of one’s position on immigration and refugee resettlement, we all tend to argue past one another without ever addressing each concern on its own. Those with conservative positions who bring up valid points about job insecurity and being undercut in labor-intensive industries are lectured by liberals who cite moral and ethical justifications for more immigration. A liberal defending the resettlement of Syrian refugees, framing her arguments around morality, will be shouted down by conservatives hyperventilating about ISIS.

Speaking with Menendian, I realized why Krikorian comes across so persuasively when arguing against immigration and refugee resettlement. Krikorian sticks to each issue separately, largely avoiding dog-whistle subjects like terrorism and gang violence, while exclusively addressing economic concerns like tax revenue and job insecurity. After all, it’s much more difficult to debate someone like Krikorian who comes at you with a single-minded focus than other prominent immigration hawks who haphazardly flit about from topic to topic hoping something will stick.

Menendian recognizes the nuances surrounding the immigration debate and is happy to carefully consider the arguments of each concern (security, economic, moral/ethical). When it comes to refugee resettlement, however, he is very clear on his position. “It is morally inconsistent for any descendants who survived or escaped the Armenian Genocide to oppose refugee resettlement,” he said. It’s one thing for a descendant of the Genocide to take a tough line on immigration. As Menendian stressed repeatedly, “Immigrants and refugees are not the same. That’s why we have international treaties,” he said, alluding to the UN Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees. So someone like Krikorian is an immigration hawk and happens to have grandparents who survived the Genocide? Doesn’t matter according to this logic. But Krikorian is also skeptical of refugee resettlement, a morally inconsistent position according to Menendian, particularly for someone directly descended from Genocide survivors. Trying to separate these two groups (immigrants and refugees) and learn about how the average Armenian-American feels on this matter will be my next step.

“These new arrivals did not come out of necessity, but rather, they just wanted a better/different life…these new arrivals feel entitled and don’t seem to assimilate. It’s great that they maintain their language for the next generation, but it’s off-putting when that’s all one hears in stores and malls. In my city (Dearborn, Michigan) we have the largest Arab population outside of the Middle East and, although the food is great, sometimes one can become nervous by their actions, dress and speech.” This comment came from an anonymous Armenian-American participant in a survey I conducted back in February. The participant begins their response by stating that they identify with refugees and immigrants because of the experiences of their own ancestors, Genocide survivors. But they proceed to qualify their remarks with lines like “my relatives did not sponge off of society,” “they worked hard and appreciated being allowed to come into this country,” and “all the men worked hard for their families and raised honest American children.” These not so subtle implications are clear: our relatives, the ancestors of one of the most traumatic events of modern history, are nothing like the people trying to get into our country now. Our grandparents and great-grandparents worked hard and assimilated into the American paradigm. These people now just want to leech off of society and live amongst themselves.

There’s a strange sort of similarity among a lot of the comments on this survey. Most of the comments are of a very centrist, inoffensive nature. “Immigration is good…it helps our economy grow.” “America is a melting pot.” “We’re all immigrants!” But buried beneath all of these comments in an insidious web lie fears about assimilation, the most dramatic example being the comment I described above. After sifting through survey comments and interviewing random Armenian-Americans from around the country, many of whom tend to hold moderately liberal views on immigration and refugee resettlement provided the newcomers “act American,” I began wondering whether our specific ethnic group was ever the target of such scorn and ire amongst our fellow Americans.

Fresno, a nondescript city in California’s Central Valley was one of the first hubs on the West Coast for Armenian migration to the United States. The population especially began to swell during the Hamidian Massacres at the end of the 19th century. With a climate similar to eastern Anatolia, the Bekaa Valley in Lebanon, and Kessab on the Syrian Mediterranean Coast, Fresno was a desirable area for Armenian refugees fleeing the massacres, most of whom had farming in their veins. But Fresno wasn’t very interested in Armenians. In his doctoral dissertation completed in 1930, social psychologist Richard LaPiere examined the prevailing set of attitudes in largely rural Fresno County during the 1920s. In a series of interviews and questionnaires based on hypothetical scenarios with 610 non-Armenian participants, LaPiere revealed high degrees of prejudice, with a majority of participants associating their Armenian neighbors with undesirable stereotypes. In the study, LaPiere found that 84 percent of participants would not admit Armenians to private clubs, 64 percent would not hire Armenians, 61 percent would not allow their children to have Armenian friends, and 52.7 percent supported unequivocally blocking any and all Armenian migration to the United States. Meanwhile, common stereotypes associated with Armenians included dishonesty, greed, criminality, abuse of personal charities and social services and litigiousness. Dishonesty and greed have long been used to tar Armenians, all the better with which to demonize them and stir up popular frenzy during an inevitable pogrom. Opinions on criminality and abuse of welfare had no basis in reality at the time of the study, with lower crime rates among Armenians in Fresno County and a lower proportion seeking charitable services and social welfare benefits than their white, non-Armenian neighbors. The only sentiment among participants that had a kernel of truth was the Armenian propensity for litigation.

My survey questionnaire revealed overt concerns regarding assimilation and how newer immigrants and refugees were not adapting to America as easily as they claimed their grandparents and great-grandparents did. But what does assimilation even mean? It seems like an innocuous process in which a minority group begins to more closely resemble the dominant, majority group. But in this context, doesn’t assimilation really just mean the WASPification of brown people arriving from the Global South? The concern among survey and interview participants with assimilation, undoubtedly stemming from both liberal and conservative media, reveals the paradigm in which immigrants and refugees have to contort themselves into in order to be accepted as truly American: the need to be and act “white.”

Throughout the 1920s, Armenians and other recent arrivals to America engaged in a series of infamous court cases to prove their “whiteness.” At stake was naturalized citizenship. Although the Fourteenth Amendment granted citizenship to newly freed slaves throughout the former Confederacy and the Reconstruction-era Congress extended naturalized citizenship to immigrants from Africa, until 1952 “white” was the only criterion non-African immigrants needed to fulfill in order to get citizenship. As such, the legal battles fought over the course of the decade revolved around assumptions, stereotypes, actual measurement of skin tones and hues, and warped race science based on even more warped, white supremacist constructed racial hierarchies.

“The yellow or bronze racial color is the hallmark of Oriental despotisms,” wrote a federal judge in 1923, establishing the benchmark that Armenians would need to clear in order to be identified and perceived as “white.” Straddling two continents, modern Armenia (along with the historical homelands of the Armenian people) has long had one foot in Europe and the other in Asia. Although not as rigid to be defined as one or the other now, ask around the Diaspora and the streets of Yerevan and more people will tell you that Armenians are European. Why is that? What does Europe signify that Asia does not? The concept of Europe is intertwined with civilization, social progress, culture, the arts, beautiful cities, the center of intellectual debate, etc. Asia, just like that federal judge wrote nearly a century ago, is nothing but corruption, stagnation, and backwardness. Though it may seem silly and outrageous now, such artificial constructs were used as the one and only legal basis during the 1924-1925 United States v. Cartozian case, in which the federal government sued to strip Oregon-based rug merchant Tatos Cartozian of his naturalization papers. The reason? That Armenians were Asiatic rather than European. A group called the Armenian Naturalization Committee quickly sprang to Cartozian’s defense, enlisting two key witnesses (anthropologists Franz Boas and Roland Dixon) to definitively prove both biologically and behaviorally that Cartozian and his fellow Armenians were indeed “white.”

Cartozian’s case took place during a revival of “scientific racism,” a movement that used bogus claims to prove that some races were definitely superior to others, with the principles of eugenics gaining in popularity in both an increasingly nativist America and post WWI Germany. Thus, Boas began his defense of Cartozian by sharing his correspondence with several doctors regarding the “blue lumbar spot,” a temporary pigmented spot at the bottom of the spine noticeable until a few weeks after birth. While supposedly extremely rare in European babies, the “blue lumbar spot” was “quite common among children of parents of the Mongoloid race, such as Chinese and American Indians.” So, were there any appearances of the “blue lumbar spot” among Armenian babies? Medical professionals at the time stated that there had been no known appearances of this spot among Armenian infants. Biologically, Armenians had been proven “white.” Meanwhile, Dixon argued that based upon assimilation patterns in Europe, Armenians had proven that they could integrate into societies while making positive contributions. Citing Armenian populations in France, Germany, Russia, and Italy, Dixon claimed  that Armenians in each of those countries had “mingled and mixed freely with the population and intermarried with them, and made themselves distinguished in letters, arts, and sciences in one way or another.” He then went on to link assimilation in Europe to assimilation in America, showing that a higher percentage of Armenian men married outside of their own ethnic group than both Irish men and Italian men.

On August 13, Acting US Citizenship and Immigration Services Director Ken Cucinelli appeared on CNN and, days after attempting his own reactionary rewrite of the Statue of Liberty poem, openly declared that that epithet no longer applied. According to Cucinelli, the Statue of Liberty poem about accepting the world’s tired, poor and huddled masses yearning to be free was really about “people coming from Europe.” Cucinelli’s statement blatantly ignores the fact that early 20th century immigrants arriving from Southern Europe and the former Ottoman Empire were themselves subjected to open displays of discrimination and prejudice. It also reinforces the open racism wafting out of the White House, out of our immigration officials, and out of the Republican Party. Cucinelli’s CNN appearance came during a particularly brutal and heart-wrenching summer that focused renewed attention on the ongoing plight of children detained without their parents in abhorrent, filthy conditions monitored by indifferent authorities, ICE raids on poultry plant workers in Mississippi (with the companies receiving absolutely no form of punishment at all), and massacres mere hours apart in Dayton, Ohio and El Paso, Texas, where the gunman in the latter mass shooting openly aligned himself with the same white supremacist ideologies of  the accused Charleston church shooter and the Christchurch, New Zealand mosque shooter .

In July, there was a news story about the White House attempting to slash refugee admissions into the US next year to zero. This is on top of the never-ending, labyrinthine system of hoop-jumping that asylum seekers on the southern border have already been subjected to. These stories should appall any descendant of genocide survivors, be they Armenian, Jewish, Cambodian, Rwandan, Bosnian or Darfur. People who have only known persecution throughout history should stand with the oppressed now and see their plight. Based on genocide scholars’ own interpretations of the legal definition of the term, we’ve already made our way through several of the beginning stages. Throughout my interviews, I noticed a trend in which the people I spoke with attempted to cleave a divide between refugees and asylum seekers, conceding that the US should most certainly help people fleeing war and chaos, but that asylum seekers needed to get in line and get into the country legally. These labels are artificial constructions. Under U.S. law, refugees are people fleeing persecution by reason of race, religion, nationality, political opinion or membership in a distinct social group. Young children and their mothers fleeing gangs in Honduras don’t qualify, even though the terror is just as visceral as that of a warzone. As Dr. Menendian said, from the perspective of a descendant of a genocide survivor, opposing the admission of these people into the United States is “morally inconsistent.”

Author information

Brent Currie

Brent Currie is a half-Armenian from California who has written about the Belt and Road Initiative, the Armenian community in Javakhk and political leanings among Armenian-Americans. His work has appeared in Nations and Nationalism.

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Inside the National Statuary Hall in the United States Capitol, Washington, D.C., each state is represented by a statue of its most honored citizen. While most of the 50 states have chosen men to represent them, it was Illinois, the land of Abraham Lincoln, which became the first state to select a woman. Her name is Frances Elizabeth Caroline Willard. 

When she died in 1898, flags flew at half-mast in New York, Chicago and Washington, D.C. Her body was transported by rail from New York to Chicago, pausing along the way for services like a presidential funeral train. In Chicago, tens of thousands of people passed by her casket in one day alone. Biographer Ruth Bordin wrote, “The nation mourned her with grief, admiration, and respect it would have bestowed on a great national hero or martyred president. No woman before or since was so clearly on the day of her death this country’s most honored woman.” The New York Independent wrote, “No woman’s name is better known in the English speaking world than that of Miss Willard, save that of England’s great queen.” Another declared that she was the most influential woman of the age and that her name would become more and more revered in ages to come.” Prominent British newspaper editor, W.T. Stead, went as far as calling her “the uncrowned Queen of American Democracy.” 

From 1879 until her death, Willard had been the president of the American Women’s Christian Temperance Union (WCTU). She encouraged the internationalization of the organization as the World’s WCTU, enabling it to become the largest women’s social reform organization in the world with chapters in 50 countries. Under her leadership, the WCTU encouraged members to engage in a variety of social reforms including women’s suffrage, temperance, labor rights and moral reform through lobbying, petitioning, preaching, publishing and education. Willard succeeded in raising the age of consent in many US states, as well as passing labor reforms including the eight-hour work day. In her commitment to social reform, in one year alone, she traveled over 30,000 miles visiting almost every state and territory in the US. According to a subordinate, within ten years, “she had left unvisited no town of 10,000 save six and but a few of 5,000”. She is recognized as having had a major influence on the adoption of universal suffrage by the first country in the world – New Zealand in 1892, and after her death, the 19th Amendment (Women’s Suffrage) of the US Constitution (1920). 

In the 1890s, news of the Ottoman Empire’s large-scale massacre of Armenians evoked a strong humanitarian response in the United States…especially among women. Along with many leading women’s suffragists such as Julia Ward Howe, Willard was deeply appalled by the tragedy. On January 13, 1896, she noted in her diary “Nothing in all my life – not even our Civil War has outraged my spirit like the fate of that martyr nation.” She made the Armenians a cause celebre for the WCTU because she considered them as representing the same ideals that her organization stood for: “the sanctity of home life, the faithful loyalty of one man to one woman” and they had done this, she said, “like no other nation on the face of the earth.” According to her British counterpart, Lady Isabel Somerset, Willard did not cease “with pen and voice” to plead for the Armenians and to warn the international community “of the terrible retribution that is sure to follow if this colossal crime against humanity” was “allowed to pass unatoned.”

The official organ of the WCTU, the Union Signal, argued that the “American spirit and example” had “stimulated the Armenian spirit of independence” which led to their repression. It was therefore an American “duty” to provide aid to the Armenians. Outraged by inaction of the western powers over the Armenian atrocities, Willard made a strong appeal to Americans “as a nation just, brave and generous” to mobilize their efforts to provide relief to the distressed Armenians and to assist in securing passage of resolutions of protest. Clergymen began to devote a Sunday for intercessions and collections for the starving Armenians. Many American media outlets rallied to the rescue. Businessmen and religious societies gave most generously, providing the president of the American Red Cross (ARC), Clara Barton, sufficient funds to head a humanitarian relief mission to the Armenian survivors of the massacres. It became the ARC’s first major foreign mission, giving rise to what Peter Balakian calls “the modern era of American international human rights relief.”

Willard’s political protests augmented and paralleled her humanitarian appeals. Under Willard’s guidance, the WCTU sent a strong petition to Congress in January 1896 which read in part: 

“We, the officers of the National Woman’s Christian Temperance Union, representing a membership and following of not fewer than a million people, who believe that the protection of the home is the supreme duty of statesmen, do hereby most earnestly and solemnly beseech you to take such action as shall put our home-loving Republic on record as having used its moral and material influence for the relief of Armenia, the martyr nation, in the time of its supreme distress. We respectfully urge that our country should no longer remain a silent spectator of the agony and outrage inflicted … upon our brother and sister Christians, whose only fault is their devotion to Christ and their loyalty to a pure home … We beg you, therefore, as the legally constituted representatives of the wives and mothers of our nation, to give heed to our devoted prayer and aspiration that America may, through her highest legislative authorities, give expression to all the world of her abhorrence of the atrocities in Armenia, and may make an appropriation from the people’s money for the relief of our brothers and sisters who have been driven to the last extremity by the fatal fanaticism of the Sultan and his soldiers.”

Later that year, a cycling vacation to northern France by Willard and Lady Somerset was cut short at news that about 500 Armenian asylum seekers from the Constantinople Massacre in August had landed in the southern port city of Marseilles. The two women quickly made their way south to provide relief to the refugees. They found “the poor refugees, penned in an open barn by the local authorities,” and existing on the handouts of “a few cents each every day or two, with which to buy bread.” After quick negotiations, the women were able to procure part of an old charity hospital and set up a relief camp. Soon they moved on to the problem of relocating the refugees. About 200 of them were settled in France; Lady Somerset arranged for around 100 of them to be settled in England. Willard successfully settled the remaining 200 refugees in the United States with the generous support of WCTU members, many of whom became personally responsible for the refugees. The foundation of the Armenian community of Portland, Maine, can be traced to these refugees.

Willard scorned the male-dominated European statesmen for their lack of action in stopping the killings. In a chapter she penned for a book on the Armenian massacres edited by the Rev. Frederick Greene, Willard wrote: “An ancient nation is being slowly slaughtered at the foot of Mt. Ararat, fifty thousand victims stretched out under God’s sky in the slow cycle of a year; women, pure, devout and comely, suffering two deaths-a living and a dying death: little children poised on the bayonets of … soldiers, villages burned, and starvation the common lot. On the other hand, Christian Europe, with seven millions of soldiers who take their rations and their sacrament regularly … diplomatists who can ‘shape the whisper of a throne’ and shade the meaning of an Ultimatum; but neither statesmen, diplomat nor soldier has wit, wisdom or will to save a single life, shelter a single tortured baby, or supply a single loaf of bread to the starving Christians on the Armenian hillsides: ‘vested interests’ are against it, ‘the balance of power’ does not permit it, the will of the Sultan is the only will in the Ottoman Empire, and all the wills of all the Christian nations cannot move it one hair.” She urged readers to support Clara Barton’s humanitarian mission for it was a “greater power for God and Brotherhood than all the statesmen, diplomats and soldiers.”

The response to Willard’s humanitarian appeal was impressive. In 1897, the WCTU raised over $7300 (about $220,000 in today’s terms) for the Armenian Relief Association which was more than the contribution from any other single organization in the United States. The model of generosity and political activism by Americans in the 1890s – especially by women like Willard, was to be repeated during the World War I Armenian Genocide. The establishment of the American Committee of Armenian and Syrian Relief in 1915 later known as the Near East Relief (NER) mobilized a broad segment of the American people, including endorsements by Presidents Woodrow Wilson, Warren Harding and Calvin Coolidge. A national women’s committee of the NER was established and led by Mrs. Percy V. Pennybacker, the president of the American General Federation of Women’s Clubs. Many American women throughout the US mobilized to support the Armenian relief movement which included over 500 who volunteered to conduct relief work among the Armenian refugees and orphans scattered across Greece, Armenia and the Middle East. By 1930, the organization raised over $110 million (about $1.4 billion dollars in today’s terms) and helped rescue, house and feed over 500,000 survivors of the Armenian Genocide including some 130,000 orphans. It was an unsurpassed achievement, remarkable even by today’s standards, accomplished through the pioneering of philanthropic techniques that continue to be used today. 

In the epic PBS documentary series Prohibition produced by Ken Burns in 2011, historian Catherine Murdock spoke of Frances Willard as being “one of the great unsung heroes of American history.” There was a time Murdock said, “when every school child in America knew” Frances Willard. “She was that important to American history.” 

Sadly, despite her importance, many people have never heard of Frances Willard. On the other hand, her contemporaries, who were lesser lights during their lifetime – Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony – have immediate name recognition. As Willard’s statue continues to proudly stand at the home of the United States Congress on Capitol Hill, it’s time that her legacy is better remembered and honored by freedom loving peoples of the world – especially by Americans and Armenians.

Author information

Vicken Babkenian

Vicken Babkenian is an independent researcher for the Australian Institute for Holocaust and Genocide Studies. He is the co-author (with Professor Peter Stanley) of Armenia, Australia and the Great War (NewSouth Publishing 2016) - shortlisted for 2 major Australian history awards.

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Dear Harry,

In the early twenties, in Hamilton, Ontario, Canada, a little Armenian boy was playing with his brother and sisters in the snow. That little boy was you, Harry.

Like so many Armenians, your parents, Charles and Mary Zadoorian, were forced to leave their beloved land to escape genocide. They settled in Canada and started a new life.

Guess you remember every single moment shared with your mom. How could you ever forget the sound of her voice, the touch of her hand and the goodness of her heart. At that time, you were too young to see the pain and sorrow hidden behind her smile. A few years before you were born, her first child was murdered in the Armenian Genocide, and a part of her heart died on that day.

Looking back on your childhood, there were unforgettable moments that became treasured memories, and there were also struggles. One of the most painful moments must have been when your father walked out the front door and abandoned the family. Just like that, your dad was out of your life. As a consequence, your big brother Bert dropped out of school after ninth grade and started working to help support the family.

A few years later, your family moved to Detroit, Michigan, and you married Lucy. She was the one, and you couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your life with her, but in a world of chaos and terror, you did what you had to do. Like many Armenians, you joined the U.S. Army to liberate Europe and defeat the Nazis. Just before going overseas, you said goodbye to your loved ones and told Bert to look after your mother.

As a proud member of the 853rd Bomber Squadron, 491st Bomber Group, you played your part and fought for our freedom…until March 24, 1945. On that fateful day, you were on a mission over Germany when anti-aircraft fire hit your B-24 bomber, taking out two of its engines. Only God knows what you thought about seconds before the aircraft crashed and exploded. You had so much to live for, so many dreams to fulfill, and so much love to give, but you sacrificed everything for us. 

You were then buried with full military honors at the Ardennes American Cemetery in Neupré, Belgium, and here we are, more than 74 years after your death, thinking about you and still missing you. In a world at war, you were one person, but for many persons, you were the world. Hope you know how grateful we are for what you did, and that we will never forget you. 

In the early nineties, at the Ardennes American Cemetery, snow was falling and a little boy was looking at all the white marble crosses. That little boy was me, Harry.

Author information

John Dekhane

John Dekhane grew up in Paris before moving to the South of France. He works for a sport organization in Monaco. Since he was a child, he has always been interested in World War II with particular emphasis on American soldiers. In order to honor them, over the past years, he has located and purchased WWII U.S. artifacts in Europe and donated these items to more than a hundred museums in the United States.

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Armenia, considered to be one of the oldest civilizations in the world, is a small, landlocked, mountainous, country located between the Black and Caspian seas in the South Caucasus region of Eurasia. It is bordered on the north by Georgia, on the west and southwest by Turkey, on the south by Iran, and on the east by Azerbaijan. The Armenian language is Indo-European and has 38 letters in the alphabet. It was invented in the 5th century A.D. by Archimandrite Mesrop Mashdots. There are two main dialects, Eastern and Western Armenian. In 301 A.D., Armenia became the first Christian nation, though there were believers in Christianity before then. Throughout its long history, the country has been invaded by Arabs, Byzantines, Mongols, Persians, Romans and Turks, and ruled by various empires. After its conversion to Christianity, during lengthy periods of Muslim domination, the country never converted to Islam. Throughout the centuries, despite their constant struggles with invasions and domination, the people remained steadfast in their religious beliefs, creative, industrious and true to their heritage. Family and education were, and still are, paramount to them.

Armenians were initially nature worshipers. They worshiped eagles, lions, the sun and heaven. They called themselves Arevortik (Children of the Sun). The sun-god was called Ar (Arev, meaning sun in Armenian). Later, nature worship was replaced with national gods, among them Vanatur, the supreme god of the Armenian pantheon; Nar, the goddess of fertility; Nane, the goddess of motherhood, wisdom and family protection (Nane’s influence is still a part of Armenian traditions, for the people usually call their grandmothers Nane, Nani or Nan); Tir, the god of writing and science, which shows that Armenia had a written language before their Christian alphabet was invented in the 5th century (“a type of hieroglyphics called Mehenagir [Pagan Temple Script]”); Tsovinar, goddess of the sea; followed by Zoroastrianism and Mithraism, and finally Christianity, which inspired a flood of literary works, art, architecture, (though some features of pre-Christian architecture can be found, such as the ancient monastery of Geghard), and an assortment of other works in various fields. “Art historians have always singled out Armenian architecture for its uniqueness.” Prior to the invention of the alphabet, folk tales, songs and epics were passed down orally from generation to generation. Minstrels traveling from village to village in a sense were teachers, as they sang and recited to their audiences both young and old. The audience memorized the words the minstrels sang or recited. The Armenian national epic, a story created during pagan times, has survived the generations. It is called Sassna Tsrer (Daredevils of Sassoun). It is the story of the courageous Mher (Mithra) who was referred to as “Lion Mher” and his brother, “Little Mher.”  

Zoroastrianism in Armenia dates back to the 5th century B.C. during the Achaemenian and Parthian periods and was divided between Persia and the Roman Empire. Until Armenia’s conversion to Christianity, it was predominantly Zoroastrian. The Armenian pagan triad was Aramazd, (Ahura Mazda [Mazdaism—sun-worship—existed for centuries in Armenia and the god’s chief temple was in northern Armenia, and another on the plain of Ararat]), Anahit (Anahita), and Vahagn (the dragon reaper, sun-god, god of courage and god of war).

Some of the gods the Armenians believed in during Zoroastrian Armenia were a mixture of both local gods and goddesses, while others were adopted from nearby areas. They were: Mher (Mithra), Aramazd, Anahit (whose temple statue was destroyed by Roman soldiers, but her bronze head survived and is now in the British Museum), Astghik, Nane, Tsovinar, Tir, Vahagn, Vanatur, who was eventually replaced with Aramazd.

Garni Temple was built in 77 A.D. and dedicated to Mithra. It has “nine steps leading to the main entrance, which displayed a statue of Mithra, but was destroyed by invaders. It has 24 columns representing the hours of the day, with six in front and back and eight on the sides, which is ‘the symbol of life.’” Mithraism played a major role in Armenian religion. The temple of Mithra was called Mrhakan Mehean, the Armenian word for temple is mehean, and the priests were known as mitereank. In the Van area of Western Armenia, now Turkey, there are two temples dedicated to Mithra. The temples are carved out of caves and are located near each other. 

Garni Temple “survived the destruction of numerous pagan temples following countless invasions, the Armenian conversion to Christianity, and earthquakes, until its collapse in the catastrophic earthquake of 1679 A.D. The temple was left in ruins for hundreds of years.” In the late 19th century archaeologists began to explore the site. The fallen stones were protected between 1909 and 1911 in the hopes that one day the temple would be reconstructed. The temple was reconstructed between 1969 and 1975. Today, Garni Temple is the only standing Greco-Roman structure in Armenia and considered as a “symbol of Armenia’s classical past as well as its deep historical ties to the civilizations of Greece and Rome.” In ancient and medieval times, the areas surrounding the temple were utilized as a royal garrison and military fortress. “In the city of Artashat, southeast of the capital, Yerevan, Mithraic temple ruins, built from black marble, have been unearthed.” 

Although the Armenian nation is Christian, the influences of Zoroastrian and Mithraic beliefs still exist. For example, for Armenians February 14 is linked to sun and fire which were worshiped during pagan times. After the country’s conversion to Christianity, it became a religious holiday known as Diarentarach (“Presentation of our Lord [Jesus Christ] to the Temple,” following the 40 days after his birth on Armenian Christmas, January 6). After church service, the congregation goes out to the yard to a bonfire that has been lit with a candle from the church. After singing hymns, newlyweds, young couples, followed by all those who wish to, jump over the flames after the flames have grown low. This ancient tradition symbolizes purification, good fortune, and for young couples also fertility. Another pagan holiday, celebrated in July, is Vardavar or the “Feast of Water” (Transfiguration), where all day long, people sprinkle or splash water on one other. There is much laughter and joy on this day, especially for children. The Armenian Apostolic Church preserved and incorporated such traditions and rituals into the Church because of their popularity. 

Two other pagan traditions that are also still very popular are the tying of strips of cloth on a bush or tree, especially near a church, in the hopes that God will see or hear their wishes. Another is the zoh or matagh (sacrifice) of an animal, especially sheep or chicken. It is an offering to God for answering one’s prayers, whether it is a cure from an illness, the coming home of a long-lost relative, a special event, such as a visit by a revered or honored person, or a memorial service for the deceased. In the Armenian Church, after the death of a loved one, especially after the 40 days, a matagh or sacrifice is offered to the congregation and anyone else wishing to partake in the after-church meal, which is a tasty porridge made with bulgur (cracked wheat) mixed with either meat or chicken. Also in the Armenian Church, the Badarak (Holy Mass) is said only in Grabar (Classical Armenian)—ancient words that have remained unchanged, just as the people’s religious beliefs have remained firm, for the Armenian Church is not only a place of worship, but a place steeped in history. 

The following are a few examples of what the names of the months were called when the old Armenian calendar was in use: the first month, Navasard, New Year (August 11), honored the beloved goddess, Anahit; the seventh month, Mehakan, Festival of Mithra; the eighth month, Areg, Sun month; the ninth month, Ahekan, Fire Festival. In the 18th century, when the Armenian calendar was reformed, January 1 was recognized as the New Year. Also, in the old Armenian calendar, the days of the month were given names of old gods, heroes or natural objects. Some examples are: Day 1, Areg, Sun; Day 2, Hrand, Earth mixed with Fire; Day 8, Mher, (Mithra); Day 15, Aramazd, (Ahura Mazda); Day 19, Ahahit, (Anahita); Day 24, Lusnak, Half Moon; Day 27, Vahagn, (Zoroastrian Vahram); Day 30, Gisherarev, Evening Star. 

Patriarch Nerses Shnorhali (Nerses the Gracious), who was the Catholicos of Armenia in the 12th century, was very much aware of the peoples’ continued pagan beliefs and rituals. Inspired “after hearing guards singing heathen songs to the rising sun at the Catholicosate” where he resided, he composed a most hauntingly “beautiful hymn for the Armenian Church titled Luys, Ararich Lusoh (Light, Maker of Light).” 

During Zoroastrian/pagan Armenia, light and fire were sacred, and in the temples, the altar was called “bagin or place of the god,” the fire altar was called “atrusan,” the priests were called “K’urms,” and their robes “patmujan.” Worshippers placed a dot of ash from the altar on their foreheads after worship. The remains of a fire altar lie beneath the main altar of Holy Etchmiadzin, the Mother See of the Armenian Apostolic Church. After the country’s conversion to Christianity, the sons of the K’urms were taken and trained as priests. 

Up until 1920, there were yet believers in Zoroastrianism in Armenia. Today, there is a small group of neo-pagan Armenians living in the country who worship at Garni Temple and perform pagan wedding ceremonies there. On December 22, they gather at the temple to celebrate Mher’s (Mithra’s) birthday.

At the wedding of a young couple at Garni Temple, the pagan priest, wearing a robe, begins the ceremony with the words: “Oh Mother Anahit, Mother of all mothers…” He then says to the couple, “May the breath of your ancestors be in you… and your feet firmly on this ground…,” as he briefly holds a short knife (images of Mithra were often depicted with such a knife) in the flames of the cauldron that stands before him and the couple. The pagan priest then slowly removes the knife, and gently touches the top of the bride’s head, then the groom’s, as he blesses them with the words: “Anahit, with your mother’s love, I bless these rings… May the rings shimmer always on their fingers…  Praise to you, Mother Anahit!” After wine is poured from a red clay jug into red clay cups and offered to the couple, the priest, and the wedding party, the priest then instructs the couple to each reach into a basket filled with pieces of wood and place their selected piece of wood into the flaming cauldron. They are then congratulated and wished a happy and bountiful life.

Hints of pagan or pre-Christian Armenia are still evident today, especially in the form of a specific and ancient figure called the Eternity Symbol, known also as Arevakhach (Sun-cross). It can be seen on buildings, especially churches, on very old tombstones, memorials, various coats of arms, logos, clothing, jewelry, medals, carpet designs, artwork and in print. Just as some of the pagan holidays and traditions continue to be a part of the country’s religious and secular holidays, the Arevakhach continues to be a significant symbol that is often carved with the Khachkar (Cross-stone, “the oldest khachkar was carved in 879, though earlier, cruder, examples exist”) resting on top of it. Perhaps the blending of the ancient with the new, the past with the present, whether they are religious beliefs and practices or words of wisdom that have survived through the ages, the adaptation to changing situations and times, yet never forgetting who they are, have been key to Armenia’s survival throughout the centuries, thus making them “one of the most ancient hearths of human culture.”

Editor’s Note: The initially published version of this article described Mesrob Mashdots as patriarch, instead of Archimandrite. The article had also noted the Armenian alphabet containing 39 letters, instead of 38.

Author information

Knarik O. Meneshian

Knarik O. Meneshian was born in Austria. Her father was Armenian and her mother was Austrian. She received her degree in literature and secondary education in Chicago, Ill. In 1988, she served on the Selection Committee of the McDougal, Littell “Young Writers” Collection—Grades 1–8, an anthology of exemplary writing by students across the country.” In 1991, Knarik taught English in the earthquake devastated village of Jrashen (Spitak Region), Armenia. In 2002–2003, she and her late husband (Murad A. Meneshian), lived and worked as volunteers in Armenia for a year teaching English and computer courses in Gyumri and Tsaghgadzor.
Meneshian’s works have been published in "Teachers As Writers, American Poetry Anthology" and other American publications, as well as Armenian publications in the U.S. and Armenia. She has authored a book of poems titled Reflections, and translated from Armenian to English Reverend D. Antreassian’s book titled "The Banishment of Zeitoun" and "Suedia’s Revolt" She began writing at the age of twelve and has contributed pieces to The Armenian Weekly since her early teens.

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Ninety-nine years ago, on December 6, 1920, in Detroit, Michigan, a little girl named Anna Der-Vartanian was born into a family of Armenian refugees. When the proud parents held their newborn baby, they knew she would be special, but who could have imagined that this little girl would make history.

Anna grew up in the Motor City and was a brilliant student with a remarkable capacity to learn and adapt. She learned five languages (Armenian, English, French, Spanish and German). After graduating from Southwestern High School, she attended Detroit Business University, but in December 1942, Anna felt it was her duty to be part of the war effort, so she joined the Women’s Army Auxiliary Corps (WAAC).

The Der-Vartanian family knew only too well the profound dangers of hatred and oppression, so many members decided to leave their lives and loved ones to confront the forces of tyranny. Anna’s sister, Jeanne Oliver, served in the U.S. Navy, while her brother Andrew joined the U.S. Army and fought for freedom in the Pacific theater. Anna’s mother, who had launched an Armenian radio station in Detroit, also wanted to join the Navy, but decided to stay home and serve the American Red Cross.

In 1943, Anna left the WAAC to join the U.S. Navy as an Apprentice Seaman in the women’s unit known as “Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Service” (WAVES). Throughout World War II, over 100,000 WAVES served in a wide variety of roles, such as mechanics, photographers, statisticians, control tower operators or top-secret code breakers. After basic training, Anna held an administrative position in Great Lakes, Illinois, before serving at the Bureau of Naval Personnel in Washington, DC.

Like many women who served in the Armed Forces in the forties, Anna was subjected to sarcasm and mockery, but nothing could stop this woman of character, courage and commitment from pursuing her career in the U.S. Navy. Anna remained 20 years in the Navy and was stationed in Washington, San Francisco, Boston, Hawaii, Paris and many other locations. Year after year, she overcame all the obstacles, fulfilled her duties and rose through the ranks.

In 1959, while serving at the Naval War College in Newport, Rhode Island, Anna Der-Vartanian made history by becoming the first woman in the U.S. Armed Forces to be promoted to the rank of Master Chief Petty Officer (E-9), the highest enlisted grade. She even received a personal letter from then-President Dwight D. Eisenhower congratulating her on her accomplishment.

Through hard work, dedication and perseverance, this outstanding lady broke a glass ceiling and paved the way for so many women. Anna had to make many sacrifices to achieve the impossible. When she joined the U.S. Navy, women were not allowed to serve in uniform after having children, so Anna never got married, devoting her whole life to her career.

After retiring from the Navy in 1963, she joined the CIA, where she became a specialist in European and Middle Eastern issues.

Master Chief Petty Officer Anna Der-Vartanian passed away on August 4, 2011 at the age of 90 and was laid to rest with full military honors at Arlington National Cemetery.

As we celebrate her 99th birthday, let us all take a moment to salute and remember this extraordinary woman who made history and became one of the most respected and admired officers in the entire Armed Forces.

Rest in peace, Anna.

Author information

John Dekhane

John Dekhane grew up in Paris before moving to the South of France. He works for a sport organization in Monaco. Since he was a child, he has always been interested in World War II with particular emphasis on American soldiers. In order to honor them, over the past years, he has located and purchased WWII U.S. artifacts in Europe and donated these items to more than a hundred museums in the United States.

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From the December 2019 Special Anniversary Magazine Dedicated to the 120th Anniversary of the Hairenik and the 85th Anniversary of the Armenian Weekly

The storied history of the Hairenik is not just as a witness to the history of the Armenian people over the last 120 years, but as a participant. This is not hyperbole. The Hairenik has served as a community newspaper in its core definition of local engagement. However, it has surpassed that humble objective through the extent of its content for more than a century.

The birth of the Armenian press in America was a result of growing immigration to the United States. As the number of Armenians reached a critical mass and the community became more permanent with the arrival of women, the publication of newspapers was to be expected, particularly by political parties that had the network to supply news from the homeland. Outside of local business advertising, much of the initial content was international in focus and specific to the plight of Armenians from whence they had come versus where they had arrived.

Even before a single issue of the Hairenik was ever printed, the first editorial was read by Margos Der Manuelian to a small group in Providence, R.I. That year, the Armenian Revolutionary Federation (ARF) convention allocated $100 toward the publication of the newspaper. Der Manuelian would later become an editor of the Hairenik as well as secretary to the ARF Central Committee.

The Hairenik newspaper was born May 1, 1899, in the backroom of Hagop Goomrigian’s tailor shop at the corner of 3rd Avenue and E 41st Street in New York City. The original building has long been replaced, but the Hairenik is now the oldest continuously operated Armenian newspaper in the United States.

“This broken down, wooden structure of one story was not one of the boasts of wealthy and beautiful New York … was to become the manager of Armenian American journalism–the birthplace of the Hairenik.” -Thomas Charshafjian

The original masthead of the Hairenik is signed with the initials A. M. Sh. in English. The image contains Mother Armenia, chains and shackles, skulls and swords and burning books with the sign of the cross. The name of the illustrator is unknown to me. This masthead was used for the first two years when a slightly altered one began without attribution.

The first issue lists a price of three cents. The paper was published weekly on Saturday and a yearly subscription could be had for $1.50. These prices would stay in place for a decade, though the imagery of Mother Armenia on the original masthead had been replaced by simple text years earlier.

Before the first month of publication was complete, there arose a need to financially assist the Armenians of Van. The Hairenik published its first images toward that end. The front page of the May 27, 1899 issue contained four photographs of Van city, the Van fortress, Lake Van with Mt. Sipan in the background and a gathering on Khach Street in Van. The four photographs surrounded the image of Khrimian Hayrig, at the time Catholicos of All Armenians and previously the Prelate of Van.

The Hairenik slowly began to take shape with the arrival of Arshag Vramian (born Onnik Derdzakian), who managed to take on nearly every responsibility: editor, manager, secretary, accountant, proofreader, paper-folder, and typesetter. According to the 1900 U.S. census, Vramian arrived in July 1899 and immediately began work for the Hairenik. To all those who have worked at the Hairenik or been fortunately privy to those efforts, such dedication and sacrifice should be of little surprise. He would remain in the U.S. until 1907.

After returning to the Ottoman Empire, Vramian became a deputy in the parliament representing the region of Van. As a leader of the ARF in Van, Turkish officials at the outset of the genocide targeted Vramian for assassination. Vramian was last seen after having been summoned to a meeting with Cevdet Bey. He was murdered soon thereafter.

Vramian was not the only editor of the Hairenik to be murdered during the genocide. In fact, in a further testament to the quality of editorship in these early days and its wider influence within Armenian society, four Hairenik editors, as well as others associated with the production of the newspaper, returned to the Ottoman Empire only to be murdered as part of the genocidal plan of the Turkish authorities.

Aram-Ashod (born Sarkis Minasian) was another early editor of the Hairenik. While in the U.S. only for a short time, nonetheless Aram-Ashod made his mark. He also would return to the Ottoman Empire and was arrested on April 24. He would spend time in the Ayash prison before being murdered during transport to Diyarbakir.

The famed Armenian poet Siamanto (born Adom Yarjanian) arrived in the U.S. on November 12, 1909, aboard the infamous SS Lusitania. The sinking of the Lusitania in 1915 would shift public opinion in the U.S. in regards to involvement in World War I. Siamanto’s arrival was soon after the April 1909 Adana massacres which had impacted him so emotionally. He would spend less than two years at the Hairenik. Siamanto returned to the Ottoman Empire and suffered a similar fate as Aram-Ashod. He was arrested on April 24, imprisoned at Ayash and ultimately murdered.

During these days, through the work of such a pantheon of Armenian journalism and revolutionary spirit, the quality, quantity and importance of the output by the Hairenik were nothing short of miraculous given the limited financial and human resources available. The high standard thus set, future contributors raised the prestige of the Hairenik to even greater heights with the addition of the Hairenik Amsagir, the Armenian Weekly (originally the Hairenik Weekly) and the Armenian Review.

Understanding the tremendous legacy of the Hairenik, Vigen Der Manuelian, a relative of the previously mentioned Margos Der Manuelian and whose family had shown tremendous loyalty and sacrifice for its numerous publications over its entire existence, approached Rupen Janbazian, then editor of the Armenian Weekly, about a project to digitize the archives.

Over the course of the next few months, Rupen and I met numerous times with Vigen, whose idea crystallized and gained momentum. In his great generosity and commitment to the Hairenik, Vigen put up the seed money for the project.

The project was not insignificant, and it took a trained hand to perform the time consuming and delicate task of digitizing the newspapers that had been printed largely on acidic paper and were in a crumbling state. In truth, if the job had not begun soon, the opportunity to do so may have passed forever. As good fortune would have it, the right person for the job existed in our community in the person of Berge Panosyan. In fact, Berge had proposed the project a number of years earlier, but the opportunity had not existed.

The next challenge to overcome was what newspapers would be used for the process. At the Hairenik, we have an original complete set of the newspapers. But it is a collection we would be hard-pressed to part with, even for this noble effort. Fortunately, reflecting again on the wisdom and far-sightedness of those who came before us, stored in a trailer at AYF Camp Haiastan was a large collection of unbound newspapers, perfect for our purpose of scanning.

Over the last 18 months, Berge and his team have been tirelessly digitizing and creating searchable documents from the duplicate newspapers. So far, 1905 to 1920 and 1938 to present have mostly been complete for both the Armenian and English versions of the newspaper. Unfortunately, the web infrastructure has not progressed as smoothly or quickly enough to allow access to the digitized copies yet. But we are committed to making them available for a nominal annual fee.

The next batch of newspapers will include from inception in 1899 through 1905, thus completing the first 20 years of publication. The difficult years will be from 1921 to 1937 as we only have a single bound copy for these years. A decision will need to be made on whether to jeopardize these copies for digitization if a duplicate copy cannot be acquired.

The good news is that we do not plan to stop there. Once the newspapers are complete, the digitization of the Hairenik Amsagir will soon follow. I can envision the digitization of other Hairenik publications as well.

From the very beginning, the Hairenik operations employed the most state of the art technology available. Today, we continue to carry that tradition. The digitization is only one aspect of this. The print versions of the newspapers still reflect the willingness to evolve. As the renovation of the Hairenik fourth floor nears completion, we will begin work on a multimedia room. Video and audio recording, not just for the newspapers but also for our family of organizations, will be made possible in the state of the art studio.

The ARF Eastern U.S. Central Committee and all of the employees, contributors and supporters of the Hairenik understand the proud legacy of the past 120 years and the responsibility to carry that tradition to a bright future.

Author information

George Aghjayan

George Aghjayan is the Director of the Armenian Historical Archives and the chair of the Armenian Revolutionary Federation (ARF) Central Committee of the Eastern United States. Aghjayan graduated with honors from Worcester Polytechnic Institute in 1988 with a Bachelor of Science degree in Actuarial Mathematics. He achieved Fellowship in the Society of Actuaries in 1996. After a career in both insurance and structured finance, Aghjayan retired in 2014 to concentrate on Armenian related research and projects. His primary area of focus is the demographics and geography of western Armenia as well as a keen interest in the hidden Armenians living there today. Other topics he has written and lectured on include Armenian genealogy and genocide denial. He is a board member of the National Association of Armenian Studies and Research (NAASR), a frequent contributor to the Armenian Weekly and Houshamadyan.org, and the creator and curator westernarmenia.weebly.com, a website dedicated to the preservation of Armenian culture in Western Armenia.

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From the December 2019 Special Anniversary Magazine Dedicated to the 120th Anniversary of the Hairenik and the 85th Anniversary of the Armenian Weekly

The Armenian Diaspora was forming long before the genocide perpetrated by the Ottoman Empire nearly decimated our nation. Its beginnings were the entrepreneurs, traders, students, and the adventuresome who settled beyond their homeland—some permanently and others for varying periods of time. The process was accelerated when the survivors of the genocide were mercilessly cast adrift from their ancestral land. Where they went to rebuild their shattered lives was more a matter of chance, than by design. For many, humanitarian organizations determined their final destination. 

One country that had attracted Armenians before the genocide was the United States, especially the northeastern region, where coastal cities such as Philadelphia, New York and Boston were important points of entry. 

It was in New York that the Hairenik was first published in 1899. Although that city can claim birth rights to the Hairenik, its offices were moved to Boston the following year. In 1986 the Hairenik relocated to a newly constructed building in Watertown, a suburb of Boston, where it remains to this day. 

It is not possible to appreciate how traumatized these survivors were. Thrust into a new environment, separated from family members and lifelong friends, their world suddenly shattered. Few, if any, ties to the past remained. Their future was a blank slate. Only time could tell what would be recorded. For most, there was little understanding as to why such a calamity had fallen upon them. Many were haunted by unspeakable experiences they had endured which they re-lived over and over again during the quiet of the evenings. Could it have been any worse? Not likely. Yet their greatest concern was not about self, but about the fate of missing family members and friends.

As the first wave of survivors reached the U.S., the Hairenik had already become a well-established publication. The fact that an Armenian language newspaper was being published in this foreign land could not help but buoy the spirits of the survivors. The Hairenik served as a vivid reminder that they were neither “lost” nor “forgotten.” Rumors were rife and information was scarce. This was a transformative period not only in their personal lives, but in the life of the nation. So much had happened so quickly.  The mass killings of some 1.5 million of their people; the Treaty of Sevres, which was beneficial for Armenia, was replaced by the Treaty of Lausanne that favored the perpetrators of the genocide; and the first free and independent Armenian Republic was quickly subverted by the Bolsheviks who had seized power in Russia. It was through the pages of the Hairenik that some sense could be made of their world that was being rapidly reshaped.  

The Hairenik connected them to other Armenians, if not actually, then symbolically. It was a good feeling. It helped assuage the emotional and psychological burden carried by the survivors as they adapted to a new country and the task of rebuilding their lives. The Hairenik was one of the few tangible links many of the survivors had that not only connected them to their roots, but reinforced their determination to succeed. Given its wide readership, the Hairenik was a valuable medium for survivors seeking information about their loved ones.

During this celebratory year during which we recognize the 120th anniversary of the Hairenik and the 85th anniversary of its English-language sister publication The Armenian Weekly, we should remind ourselves that a newspaper is nothing more than paper and ink. What makes a newspaper vital and its longevity noteworthy are the editors, men and women, who give life and credibility to its printed pages. Both the Hairenik and the Armenian Weekly have been fortunate to have had a succession of men and women appointed as editors who were dedicated and intellectually equipped for the task. 

Two editors of the Hairenik need to be mentioned, not because they overshadow the others, but because of the unique circumstances associated with their tenure as editors. 

Atom Yardjanian (well known by his pen name Siamanto) was at the helm of the Hairenik for only a short period of time (1909 to 1911). He was sent to the U.S. by the Armenian Revolutionary Federation (ARF) to serve as editor of the Hairenik. He was a young man who had achieved prominence as a poet. It was unfortunate that he decided to return to Constantinople in 1911. He was among the first of the Armenian intellectuals from that city to be surreptitiously rounded up by the Ottoman Turkish authorities to be tortured and then murdered. His death and that of other Armenian intellectuals was the prelude to the mass killings and deportations that took the lives of some 1.5 million Armenians. His untimely death at the age of 37 was a tragic loss for the nation. His appointment typifies the caliber of men that were called upon to serve as editors.

Artashes Chilingirian (better known as Ruben Darbinian, a name taken years earlier in Germany to hide his true identity from authorities) has the distinction of being the longest serving editor of the Hairenik (1922 to 1968). Mr. Darbinian had served in the government of the first free and independent Armenian Republic and had considerable experience as editor of various ARF publications before assuming the position at the Hairenik.

His tenure witnessed the maturation of the Diaspora. It was during the post-World War II years that Armenians came into their own. No longer “survivors” they had successfully adapted to their new environment and, with their children, were active contributors to their adopted country. The demographic composition was also changing as their children were slowly becoming the majority.

It was under his watch that a column in English was included in the Armenian language Hairenik. It was so well received by readers that what began as an experiment in 1932 became a full-fledged English language publication in 1934 to join the Hairenik as a sister publication. James Mandalian was appointed as the first editor of the new publication whose masthead read, Hairenik Weekly. In 1969, its name was changed to the Armenian Weekly. 

The Weekly was an instant success. Its readers were drawn from an ever expanding pool of Armenians who were more comfortable with English than Armenian. It was the language learned in school and constantly heard outside the home. The content of the Weekly was eclectic. It included original works by Armenian writers, political analyses of events relevant to the takeover of the first free and independent Armenian Republic by the Bolsheviks and the post-genocide period. Later it contained articles reflecting the ARF’s position with respect to Turkey and communist Russia. Local news was also an important component, especially the activities of the youth.  

It should be noted that the Hairenik and the Armenian Weekly are “not-for-profit” publications of the ARF. These publications were significant factors in the acclimatization of the survivors to their new environment. The ARF was a respected entity. Its activist agenda in Anatolia and the Caucasus not only was known to the survivors, but the position of the ARF on major issues resonated with many of the survivors. The party was a proponent of Armenian nationalism and ideologically supported a greater Armenia (that included Wilsonian Armenia). Its socio-economic philosophy was egalitarian. As Armenian nationalists they were avowed anti-communists. And, in the aftermath of the genocide and the favorable treatment of Turkey by England and France (Treaty of Lausanne) at the expense of Armenians and Armenia, the ARF became the principal adversary on the world stage of the Turkish government’s policy of denial and historical revisionism with respect to the genocide and its consequences. It is not hyperbole to say that reading the pages of the Hairenik or the Weekly was reassuring and even inspiring at a time when the past was too painful to remember and the future was in doubt. 

In 1991 when the second free and independent Armenian Republic was declared, the Hairenik and the Armenian Weekly were seasoned publications. They fulfilled a vital role in introducing Armenia to a diasporan population that knew little about the country of their heritage. Quite frankly, there had been little interest in knowing about a country that had been under Russian communist control for some 70 years. During much of this time the world was in the throes of the Cold War when Russia was considered a threat to the countries of the free world. 

Once again, the Hairenik (now with its sister publication, the Armenian Weekly) filled the breech. They introduced generations born in the Diaspora to their motherland as well as being instrumental in nurturing an interest in Armenian affairs. Readers were kept informed through reports, analyses and commentary that encompassed all relevant aspects of life in the newly established second free and independent Armenian Republic. 

A few years later, in 1994, a ceasefire ended a war waged by Azerbaijan against the Armenians of Nagorno Karabakh (Artsakh) who had voted unanimously to declare their independence. Diasporans knew very little about the new state, its creation or its geopolitical importance. Again, it was the Hairenik and The Armenian Weekly that ably and reliably introduced their readers to the land and people of Artsakh. 

The Armenian Weekly has become an important source of information concerning all aspects of the Armenian homeland. It is also a very important venue for the exchange of ideas concerning contemporary issues facing Diasporan communities, Armenia and the newly created de facto state of Artsakh. The editors are committed to publishing positions that are thought provoking and do not necessarily support accepted orthodoxy. It has become a valuable medium for budding journalists, seasoned writers and academicians to express themselves on issues and problems confronting Armenia and the diasporan communities.

The introduction of an online edition has given the Armenian Weekly a worldwide readership. The newly launched podcast pilot, which will soon hopefully blossom into a weekly program, can provide a platform for relevant content for the new generation. The published commentary offered in response to articles indicates a readership that is knowledgeable, conversant with contemporary issues and acutely concerned with conditions in Armenia and Artsakh. It is also a testament to the loyal following that the Armenian Weekly has developed and become a place of real participation. 

Both the Hairenik and The Armenian Weekly have become vital institutions in the Armenian community. Nurturing interest supported by information creates a knowledgeable readership. That noble purpose has become the hallmark of these newspapers. However, we should never forget that this achievement belongs to the succession of exceptional men and women editors appointed by the ARF who labored selflessly for the benefit of our people and a free and independent Armenia.

Author information

Michael Mensoian

Michael Mensoian, J.D./Ph.D, is professor emeritus in Middle East and political geography at the University of Massachusetts, Boston, and a retired major in the U.S. army. He writes regularly for the Armenian Weekly.

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From the December 2019 Special Anniversary Magazine Dedicated to the 120th Anniversary of the Hairenik and the 85th Anniversary of the Armenian Weekly

By Tovmas Charshafjian, Hairenik’s Founding Editor (1899-1900)

Do you know how the Hairenik was born into this world? Let me recall what I can of that nativity.

Along about the 1890s, H. Eginian, the father of Armenian journalism in America, a member of the then tiny Armenian community of New York City and northern New Jersey, produced in succession his pioneering Arekag, Sourhantag and Azadoutiun newspapers. These publications lasted only for brief periods of time.

When Hagop Baronian, the immortal Armenian humorist, saw a copy of the first issue Arekag, he commented that “this sheet ought to vanish over the horizon.” It was as if Eginian heeded this sentiment. One after another, his three newspapers in fact “vanished over the horizon.”

Another early editor was a certain Arvadian. His publication was called Ararat.

Almost concurrently, Dr. Kaprielian opened publication in New York City of a colorless personal venture masted Hayk. For a time, this editor ascended public stages and “growled for Vasbourakan the Lion… Where prithee is Portukalian?” But the day after the Bank Ottoman incident, he growled “long live the bomb.” So the press run of his paper achieved the lofty figure of 300. But soon, it had no more than 75 to 80 subscribers—and it succumbed.

Meanwhile, in Worcester, the Capital City of Armenian America, two friends, (S.) Shagholian and Boyaiian, as if it were their principal objective to insult the immortal Mesrop Mashtots, tried without any success whatsoever to publish an Armenian newspaper.

These failures did not change the situation in America one iota. The existence of a vigorous press is important both to a small community of people and to political parties. The lack of a press presence was sorely felt, but it was also felt that it would take an impossible miracle to establish a responsible, scientific and literary newspaper for Armenians in this country. For, as it was widely accepted, the first prerequisite towards the establishment of a paper is to find an editor.

In those days, about 30,000 Armenians were scattered over the broad face of America.

These people were usually out of contact with one another and totally out of reach of the Motherland. There were on the scene only two organs issued by political parties abroad which, now and then, printed somber news of events abroad…meant for members of those parties.

One night, during a severe New York rainstorm, I bumped into Eginian while walking up 3rd Avenue. Seeking shelter, we ran to Ghoomrigian’s tailor shop on 41st Street.

An Armenian tailor shop could always be found in those days in any large community of Armenians in the United States—also an Armenian barber, a grocer and a baker. These stores served as forums of the Armenian community, for “hot-stove” discussions on the community’s affairs, on matters relating to Armenian political party, national, and religious business. All helpful or harmful movements were either first conceived in these centers, or else were outrightedly born there. In New York, tailor Ghoomrigian’s store, especially its back rooms, had for a long time been a gathering place for Armenian personages, for the swapping of visits or ideas. Ghoomrigian’s had achieved a reputation for being a community hotbed. Certain conservatives had dubbed it the new “Oven of Galata.”

This broken down, wooden one-story structure was not one of the boasts of wealthy and beautiful New York. Ghoomrigian would needle out his livelihood in the front of the store while, in the black nest that represented the place’s rear, alas, the “nationalists” were totally unable to make a living out of their incessant chatter and pen-pushing.

One corner of the back of that store was closed off by a curtain hiding a decrepit bedstead, on which many of New York’s penniless (now people with quite a few pennies) would spend half-sleepless nights. Near this opaque cave were heaped one to two piles of coal. To some, the fuel was there simply to filter out the air of the place. There was also a row of tailoring benches, which, during the day, served the purpose for which they were exactly meant, while at night, they served another purpose—to provide luxurious beds on which many of us slept on many occasions. And right in the middle of all this there stood a stove with its belly red hot summer and winter in order to heat up the pressing irons of this master tradesman.

It was near that stove that Eginian and I sat that night and began discussing the eternal issue—the publication of a newspaper.

“I’ve already told you,” Eginian said, “that the ‘mother’ matrices for Armenian type are available at an American foundry.”

“Then,” said Ghoomrigian, “all that is needed is a sum of money to buy the Armenian type—the ‘daughter’ of the ‘mother’—and get to work!”

A few days later, with a capital of only about $300—which we extracted from a few personal acquaintances we named Ghoomrigian “treasurer,” and Eginian editor, servant, and typesetter and started publication of our Tigris. We produced two to three copies of this publication in Ghoomrigian’s other equally cavernous store on 42nd Street, and then transferred our operations to the rear of the now historic store on 4lst Street which, then, was to become the manager of Armenian-American journalism—the birthplace of the Hairenik.

We distributed 2,000 fliers among the Armenian communities announcing our publication. If we did not receive in return 2,000 “green sheets,” we succeeded in drawing to us a solid army of freeloading readers. At last, the editor had the satisfaction of reading his own newspaper into which he had inserted the enormous reams of world and local news he had so solicitously provided…

The newspaper Yeprad wholly dried up before the exuberant disaster that was to be Tigris. In suspending publication of his own organ, Hayk’s Soctor announced that “my publication will be resumed in April.” But the newspaper had had its cycle. It never appeared again.

There were many who were quite satisfied with all this. But there were a few—members of political parties—who had begun to mull the matter of the newspaper. They envisioned a party organ which would serve as a sort of half-official “mouthpiece” of the party. Using my position as a pretext, the Dashnaktsakans started submitting ARF propaganda articles and even “Droshakakan poetry” to the editor of Tigiris. On their own parts, the Hunchaks, regarding Eginian as their open sesame, started sending in anti—Dashnaktsakan encyclicals to us. And thus, one day the tumult reached that point when the unforgettable A. Levonian “started drawing up the four corners of the curtain on A. Arpiarian’s treacheries.” It was inevitable, of course, that K. Chitjian and G. Papazian “pulled down the four corners of the same curtain” in the next issue of Tigris.

A remedy had to be found to all this.

One day, the late and lamented ARF fieldworker, D. Vahanian, who was then in Worcester, sent A. Levonian to me bearing the Western ARF Bureau’s unfavorable answer to a petition we had rendered the organization (for assistance). Levonian told us that our fellow Dashnaktsakans abroad would not aid us financially, but would send us a shipment of type should we start publishing a semi-official newspaper in America.

At this, the incomparable Levonian coursed from Boston to Worcester, Lawrence, Lynn, Haverhill, and thereabouts. In New York, New Jersey and Providence, politically minded ARF members “huddled head to head,” and, one day—a beautiful spring day—in Providence, a few “selected” members heard Marcus Der Manuelian read to them the first editorial of the Hairenik. Although the newspaper was not yet in existence, its first “editorial” had been pre-published!

The first issue of the Hairenik saw the light of day on May 1, 1899. It is totally necessary to say that that first historic issue was produced in the rear of Ghoomrigian’s store.

There was an editorial, but there was no editor. There was a newspaper, but there was no money.

The New York Committee of the Armenian Revolutionary Federation must be given the honor of being recognized as the earliest initiator of the Hairenik—that is, all glory to Vart Manoushag. the industrious M. Minasian, M. Ferahian, Baghdasar Yeghpayr (Hagi), the“melancholic” Mr. Chakour, the spirited D. Kiupelian, as well as to such sympathizers as the Ghoomrigians and K. H. Tashjian, of Philadelphia. All glory to such as Providence’s Marcus Der Manuelian, T.Jelalian, Dzaghig and the late Aslan; to Caro of Haverhill and K. Kaloustian of Lawrence; to Alipounarian, Kelemkarian, Boyajian, the Barsamian brothers and Berberian, all of New Jersey; and to H. Chakmakjian of Stamford, Connecticut, and others whose names we have unfortunately forgotten. All these individuals participated financially and morally in the birth of the Hairenik.

Through the efforts and sacrifices of members and friends, the ARF Convention, held that year in Boston, discussed the issue of the Hairenik and directed the Central Committee to buy a $100 share in the company. And so the capital assets of the company stood at a figure over $200!

One night, we attended a meeting of members and sympathizers in Marcus Der Manuelian’s room in Providence. We found that we had to provide an official editor to the fledgling newspaper. I was elected to that servitude. And so I returned to New York endowed with the following offices—editor, publisher, senior typesetter, secretary for all important and impossible pieces of correspondence, proofreader, compositor, folder of over 1,500 copies of each issue, addressor and transporter of copies of each issue to the post office for mailing. Also, I was to perform the miracle of meeting expenses, balance the books for a short while, and, in the long run, pay salaries, etc.

And so it was that on May 1, 1899, on a very historic day, the first issue of the new Hairenik came off the press.

Within a period of four to five weeks, we had won many friends among the reading public. The liberal minded youth especially rallied to the publication and helped it root itself. At the same time, we were honored by the opposition. Almost the entire adversary “fraternity,” including the cowled and hooded clergy, as well as the Hunchaks and the Reconstructed, started railing at us.

One evening, Archbishop Mousegh, in addressing a meeting called in New York to elect a church trustee board, fulminated that the editor of the Hairenik and his cohorts were unbelievers—were not worthy of taking a hand in spiritual and church matters. One Tavshanjian, the chairman of that meeting, offered his friend, the Archbishop, by glossing over the matter, for he knew that otherwise the Armenian community of New York would be subjected to internecine quarrels which could very well approach bloodletting.

The clerics were growling because the Hairenik was publishing translations of lngersoll’s writings. Professor Mangasarian was sending these translations to us.

The Reconstructed were furious at us for daring to criticize Minas Cheraz for printing, in his Armenia organ, lengthy disquisitions informing foreign circles of Arpiarian’s “filthy intrigues” during the period of the existence of the United Association. We found it simply odd and harmful that Cheraz had found it suitable to introduce this purely internal Armenian matter in French for the reading of the French. We suggested that he terminate this series written in a foreign language and for him to say what he had to say in the Hairenik.

The zealous bards of stygian darkness openly detested the newspaper too because a handful of about a half a dozen women were working for the Hairenik. A certain woman, who described herself as an exponent of “Armenian Life,” even opened a public quarrel with a “common” woman.

The Hairenik had scarcely published two to three weekly issues when news arrived of the terrible events in Vasbourakan (Van).

The newspaper immediately called for financial assistance of the people of the stricken area and, within two weeks, the more heavily populated Armenian communities in the United States held fundraising meetings benefiting Van, and respectable sums were raised to that purpose.

If my memory does not deceive me, the fifth number Hairenik was devoted to the Van appeal.

I remember this event even more clearly because it was the occasion for a quite unusual request made of me by the valued Tovmas Jelalian of Providence.

“Adash,” my namesake wrote me, “I saw on the front page Hairenik pictures of Hairik, Aghtamar and Aikestan, but now please print some material telling us what to do. Send that paper to me as soon as possible so that I will be able to read what you have to say before our general meeting on the Van appeal to be held here in Providence this Saturday at Exchange Place. I would rather read to the people your directions than deliver a speech.”

In a hurry, with great difficulty, in the short time that I had, I was able to meet Tovmas’ request. We had devoted so much time and effort to finding the pictures we had used and making cuts of them for publication, that we had either forgotten or had not had the time to write a supporting editorial. I remember that incident very well. Then I saw that the forms of the next issue had to be bound within two hours, that printing had to take place, and that all the copies of the issue had to be taken to the post office on Thursday evening, if I were to meet Tovmas’ request.

Our beleaguered mind finally conceived the headline “Vasbourakan is Hungry” and its supporting subhead, “The Hearts of All Armenians are with Vasbourakan at This Time…”

After reading what we had printed at the meeting, Tovmas sent us his thanks and sentiments of esteem.

We had achieved an encouraging moral victory. We had won a little army of cash-on-the-line subscribers. But our financial future hung on the goodwill of those who were credit subscribers.

We started receiving from here or there small remittances, trusting each day that the postman would bring us letters containing other sums of money. We would with great anticipation each day open letters. Lo, one dollar would emerge from one envelope, two dollars from another…how happy we were, how complete our kef (joy) when we saw that once again the costs of producing still another issue had been realized!

But the soul-rending number of small back-due debts continued to plague us. . . until one day we received an evangelical letter from A. Levonian, which read:

“I have already sent you $25 of the $100 promised by the (ARF) Central Committee in consideration of the organ’s financial needs. The remaining $75 will be forwarded to you shortly.”

Our joy at this news was unbounded. We could now stand before Ghoomrigian with our belts fastened and feed him sums of five to ten dollars (against our debt to him). We stood there now in such a state of confidence, not inexperience, even by the European nations in the World War I period when they expected receipts of money promised them by the United States.

But fond hope! We waited and waited for the promised $75 to arrive. Our discouragement grew daily until, one day, we received a note from Levonian chiding us for not having acknowledged his letter which had contained a $75 money order!

It was clear that the sum of money had been sent to us but had somehow become lost in the mail. It was not until two months later that we received the money order through the post office—but what hardships we experienced until that money was in our hands!

Every time Ghoomrigian would bring up the issue of the debts owed him, we would answer, “Well, what’s the big deal? We too have monies owed us, especially since what we are owed is from the government of the United States, behind which stands the United States army and navy, which in turn guarantees the collection of just debts!”

And so, the day came when it was absolutely necessary for the Hairenik to find a somewhat capable typesetter. Such a man was found, but the fellow had the gall to ask a salary of nine dollars per week. We were able to revel in his presence, however for only a few weeks when, one day (an evil day for the editor because the tasks of editor and typesetter was to fall back on his shoulders) it suddenly dawned on us that Hairenik was the only paper under the sun which paid its editor four dollars less than its typesetter. We were forced to rectify this injustice. Its solution emerged from the ranks of the ARF in the person of Harutune Deveyan, who performed for a time, with great devotion I might add, the onerous duties of typesetter.

Deveyan told me that he had accepted the job because, “I felt the crisis so deeply. I thought that instead of expecting a fully healthy man to sacrifice himself at this job, I should rather sacrifice myself.”

Later, that poor lad, while on his way back to the Old Country, was to find his grave in Marseille…

Somehow or other, the Hairenik was able to carry on until one bad day it received its most telling blow. It was a Wednesday morning. On the previous evening, Harutune had all but put the next issue to bed, although some proofreading had to be accomplished.

We were due to write and typeset the editorial that morning, and twined forms would have to be sent to the printing shop that afternoon without fail so that distribution could start that same evening.

That morning, while walking to the office, I saw Harutune running towards me. He alarmingly told me that Ghoomrigian’s store had caught fire that night from a neighboring store and that he had seen with his own eyes our precious forms scattered around the water and debris.

Elbowing my way through the firefighters, I ran into the store and saw that the Hairenik had burned down in the intense conflagration.

I had quieted down when I found among what papers were left our $300 insurance policy. You can imagine the composure of the distant fellow members, especially of A. Levonian, when they heard of the fire.

Our insurance policy had just been taken out. I first struck off a wire to Providence and ran off to see K. Chitjian and Hagopian, who were at that time editing Tigris. I bumped into them in the elevator of their building and asked them to announce in their next issue what had happened to us.

Hagopian demanded payment for such an announcement, but Chitjian promised to place the news on the back page of the next issue.

Soon tidings of the fire reached all our friends. Our type had been damaged, and publication was suspended. There was, however, hope of new funding. We received $240 from the insurance company.

But often, benefits emerge from adversity. We were able to find a six by eight foot room in a building on 23rd Street, and there we recommenced operations—in “larger” quarters and with better type.

It was the logical conviction of most members of the party that the Hairenik ought to be moved to a place representing the center of the Armenian community of the United States. Boston came closest to answering that description. It was the center of a large concentration of party people and was the heart of the large New England Armenian community.

Mihran Minasian was named temporary editor of the publication, but the most suitable man to edit the organ arrived in the United States almost at that moment. He was Arshak Vramian who, right off the ship, was spirited by me to the ARF Convention held that year in Providence.

We were thrilled that O.K.T. (Vramian), the able editor of Constantinople’s Hairenik, would take over the paper for us very soon.

And so the Hairenik went to Boston and became the official organ of the ARF in America. It was to become America’s leading Armenian journal under Vramian’s guidance.

Through the succeeding years, Hairenik went from a weekly to a daily publication; and later, it was to add a great Monthly periodical to the Hairenik operation.

And we repeat here the fond hope of all Hairenik readers of our day that, someday, the Hairenik will be printed in our Hairenik (the fatherland).

The English translation of Charshafjian’s piece was originally published in the Armenian Review (May 1979, Vol. 32, No.1-125).

Tovmas Charshafjian was the founding editor of the Hairenik. He was born in Dikgranagerd in 1872, He first attended the local school, then the Berberian College of Constantinople, as well as Roberts College, from which he did not graduate. Instead, he left for London to pursue a degree as a medical doctor. Because of financial difficulties, he halted his studies and in 1895, found himself in America, where a large number of Armenians from Western Armenia had settled. 

After his arrival in the U.S., he sought out a newspaper, for which he could work as a contributor. The father of Armenian journalism Haygag Eginian, who published a series of newspapers, including Arekag, Sourhantag, and Azadoutiun. Another was Tigris, for which Charshafjian worked for a time; but as with others of Eginian’s newspapers, for Charshaflian it too was bland and dull. 

Consequently, Charshaflian and others felt the deep need for a paper such as the Hairenik. Charshafjian served as the first editor of the Hairenik, from May 1, 1899, to March 30, 1900. 

During the last decade of his life, Charshafjian lived in illness. He passed away on Jan. 1, 1954, in Fresno, Calif. 

The post Trial and Triumph: How the Hairenik Was Born appeared first on The Armenian Weekly.

From the December 2019 Special Anniversary Magazine Dedicated to the 120th Anniversary of the Hairenik and the 85th Anniversary of the Armenian Weekly

If you were to take a moment to think about how technology has transformed the newspaper industry, the internet would probably be what first comes to mind, right? What you probably didn’t think about were the enormous, revolutionary changes that took place before the rise of cyberspace: the pre-digital era of putting a newspaper together. 

Nowadays, all an editor needs to publish the Hairenik or the Armenian Weekly is a computer and an internet connection. But there was a time—thankfully well before my tenure—when it involved several human hours of work, using heavy machinery to turn text into custom metal type.

To give readers an idea of what it was putting the paper together seven decades ago, we’ve decided to republish four photographs, along with their original captions, which appeared in the Feb. 26, 1948 commemorative issue of the Hairenik Weekly (later the Armenian Weekly), celebrating the English-language newspaper’s 15th anniversary.

Pictorial Story of How the Weekly is Printed and Mailed to Subscribers 52 Times a year

Step 1: Dickran Demirjian, veteran Hairenik linotyper, sets the material submitted to the print shop by the editors. Working in the background (far rear) are Hampartzoum Khazarian and San Haidostian (head and shoulders showing) the two other Hairenik linotypers. Absolute deadline for material is Tuesday morning.

Step 2: Mr. Mugurditch Der Avedisian, printing plant foreman, starts work on setting the linotype material into page form following a “dummy” submitted by the editors. Mr. Der Avedisian has been with the Hairenik for 26 years. He is a skilled worker. Forms are usually locked up late Wednesday night.

Step 3: The locked forms are taken down to the presses in the basement of the building, where Haig Bondjookian sets them on the flat-bed presses and prints. This takes place every Thursday afternoon. In this picture, Bondjookian stands by his press during printing of a “Daily” issue.

Step 4: The printed Weeklies then go to the mailing department, where they are folded, stenciled, put into mail bags and sent out to the local post office. Calust Eynatian (right) is shown passing the Weeklies through his automatic stenciller. The late Kevork Berberian is shown filling a bag with Weeklies. 

Author information

Rupen Janbazian

Rupen Janbazian is the former editor of The Armenian Weekly. His writings primarily focus on politics, human rights, community, literature, and Armenian culture. He has reported from Armenia, Artsakh (Nagorno-Karabagh), Turkey, Canada, the United States, and Western Armenia. He has served on the local and national executives of the Armenian Youth Federation (AYF) of Canada and Hamazkayin Toronto, and served as the administrator of the Armenian National Committee (ANC) of Toronto. Janbazian also taught Armenian History and Creative Writing at the ARS Armenian Private School of Toronto, and has worked on several translations.

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The post How Things Have Changed: Publishing the Weekly in 1948 appeared first on The Armenian Weekly.

From the December 2019 Special Anniversary Magazine Dedicated to the 120th Anniversary of the Hairenik and the 85th Anniversary of the Armenian Weekly

The following is the English translation of one of the two editorials that appeared in the Hairenik on Feb. 13, 1934. Entitled «Մեր անգլիերէն շաբաթաթերը» (“Our English Weekly”) and likely penned by then-editor Reuben Darbinian (born Artashes Stepan Chilingarian; Minister of Justice during the First Republic of Armenia), this editorial explains the importance of publishing a dedicated English-language newspaper and defines its purpose.

As was advertised in our pages yesterday, we will begin to publish an English-language weekly newspaper alongside the Hairenik Daily and Monthly (Amsagir).

From the moment that Hairenik sent out the now well-known questionnaire to the American-born-and-raised Armenian youth and considering the unexpectedly positive response to it, it is evident to all that the existence of an English-language newspaper has become an imminent necessity—to evoke the Armenian spirit in our new English-speaking generation and to connect this generation to the Armenian nation. In order to fulfill that need to some extent, we immediately began an English section in the Hairenik Daily, publishing three to four columns a day in English for readers who did not understand or read Armenian. This, of course, was only a temporary solution, which could not take the place of a dedicated English-language paper.

Encouraged by the ever-growing interest in our English section—especially that of the youth—and understanding the mounting demand for a separate English newspaper, we finally decided to begin work on the publication of an English-language weekly newspaper—the need, of which, we realized three years ago. However, in order to keep our new generation at least somewhat connected with the Armenian newspaper, we will continue to publish short news items and articles in English in no more than two columns henceforth.

We may be asked, what is the need to publish our new weekly newspaper when there are English-language weeklies being published by Armenians in New York and Boston for the past year or two?

Of course, if those weeklies were sufficient in spirit, ideas, aspirations, and content, the publication of a new weekly would be superfluous. However, unfortunately, not the New York publication, nor the one in Boston, could be considered even close to satisfactory. Both of those newspapers are published by individuals or groups, who are under the influence of Bolsheviks or quasi-Bolsheviks; they present the Armenian reality, the Armenian past and present, Armenian history and literature, Armenian facts and figures, Armenia and the communities, the Armenian national movements and aspiration from their points of view.

It is a fact that an English-language publication colored with the Armenian spirit, one filled with ideas and dedicated to Armenian national ideals, does not yet exist in America. The Hairenik Weekly comes to fill that exact void.

To introduce our new generation to the epic and didactic pages of ancient and especially modern Armenian history; to introduce our new generation to the beautiful pieces of early and contemporary Armenian literature; to objectively enlighten the minds of our new generation about the current state of our people, its struggles, and aspirations; to give an idea about the reality in Armenia today and to make them love their country regardless of its current evil regime; to rekindle within them the dream of a free, independent, and united motherland; and to awaken within them their sacred duty towards the fatherland: this is that noble, beautiful purpose, to which our weekly newspaper will dedicate itself—in the English language.

The post Introducing ‘Our English Weekly’ to the World appeared first on The Armenian Weekly.

BALTIMORE, Md.—The National Museum of Armenian Ethnography and the History of the Liberation Struggle (Araks, Armenia) has announced that the 18^th century Jeweled Gun of Sultan Mahmud I—a stunning artifact held in the collection of the Walters Art Museum was recently given a new label that now attributes its remarkable jeweling to the Armenian Christian, Hovhannes Agha Duzian.

“The Walters is incredibly fortunate to have this stunning and historic object as one of the highlights of our collection,” said Julia Marciari-Alexander, the Andrea B. and John H. Laporte Director of the Walters Art Museum.

The 55 inch-long (139.7 cm) gun—crafted in 1733 and bejeweled with countless diamonds, rubies, emeralds and other gemstones—has garnered international scholarly interest and as a result has been the subject of ongoing research. During a week-long exploration of the piece and an intensive study of its archival history, the crucial Armenian contribution to the gun’s manufacture took center stage.

At the request of counsel to the National Museum Karnig Kerkonian of Kerkonian Dajani LLC and upon the invitation of Marciari-Alexander, experts Dr. Ashley Dimmig, the Wieler-Mellon Postdoctoral Curatorial Fellow in Islamic Art at the Walters, and Prof. Dr. Levon Chookaszian, the Chair of Armenian Art History and Theory at Yerevan State University, joined Walters’ museum curators and archivists for a meticulous, week-long inspection of the treasured gun on location in Baltimore.

At the conclusion of this collaborative exploration, it was determined that the label of the artifact should be revised to reflect the valuable contribution of the Armenian Christian, Hovhannes Agha Duzian.

Duzian served as the Chief Goldsmith under Sultan Mahmud’s predecessor Ahmed III and continued to work in that esteemed position for Mahmud I. It was while serving as the Chief Goldsmith to the Ottoman court that Duzian created the gun’s most striking feature: its astonishingly ornate jeweling.

Prof. Dr. Chookaszian remarked that “the artifact itself constitutes a valuable component of the rich and storied history of Armenian art and, indeed, of Armenian civilization” and commended this collaborative undertaking with the Walters “as an example of a sophisticated, exemplary approach to understanding and uncovering the depth and breadth of the Armenian contribution to the art of the era.”

Marciari-Alexander added that “our staff is honored to have had the opportunity to work closely with Prof. Dr. Chookaszian to restore the attribution of the gun’s remarkable jeweling to Hovhannes Agha Duzian.”

The two museums have also expressed an interest in further collaboration and exchanges. The new label and a full description of the Jeweled Gun of Sultan Mahmud I may be found on the Walters Art Museum website.

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Guest Contributor

Guest contributions to the Armenian Weekly are informative articles written and submitted by members of the community, which make up our community bulletin board.

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The post Experts Confirm Armenian Legacy in 18th Century Jeweled Gun of Sultan Mahmud I appeared first on The Armenian Weekly.

April 10 marks the 28th anniversary of the Maragha Massacre, one of the most frightful pogroms committed by the Azerbaijani military against peaceful Armenian inhabitants during the Artsakh Liberation War.

Maragha was one of the largest and richest villages in Artsakh before the war; several factories operated, and viticulture was developed in the village. After the pogroms in Baku, Sumgait and Kirovabad, attacks on the civilian Armenian population were highly increased in scope, forcing most of the locals to leave their native villages. On April 10 of 1992, Azerbaijani Defense Ministry, Internal Affairs Ministry and OMON forces (Special Purpose Police Units of the Ministry of Internal Affairs of Azerbaijan) launched an attack on 118 civilians who were unable to leave Maragha. Within a span of roughly five to six hours, Azerbaijani units brutally killed about 50 people and took almost as many civilians as hostages with 29 women, nine children and disabled people among them. Subsequently, it became possible to rescue some of these people, including all the children, yet the fate of 19 hostages remains unknown.

The village of Maragha was located in the Martakert region of Nagorno Karabakh, just across the border from the Azerbaijani town of Terter (Mir-Bashir) and was one of the region’s largest villages. According to the census of 1989, the village had a population of more than 5,000 people, predominantly ethnic Armenians including a few Armenian families who escaped pogroms and were forcefully deported from Sumgait, Baku, and other areas of Soviet Azerbaijan. Beginning in 1954, Maragha and a village named Margushevan located in the vicinity of Maragha were united together under one state farm (sovkhoz) which was named Leninavan (“Lenin’s town”).

After the start of the Karabakh Movement, the tension in Maragha greatly increased; the village was under constant shelling and the civilians were in a state of fear because of the attacks towards their properties and cattle, as well as themselves and their families. Azerbaijan tightened the blockade which it had imposed on Nagorno-Karabakh for about two years, at the same time employing a policy of ethnic cleansing and military assaults against the Armenians in Karabakh. Maragha and the neighboring villages were systematically raided by Azerbaijani armed forces. In the aftermath, some of the residents of the village had to leave their houses and temporarily settle in other regions of Artsakh. Those who chose to stay had a clear perception that the only way to survive was to organize self-defense.

The Maragha self-defense

The self-defense units’ members, who were mostly the locals of Maragha and the surrounding villages, set up four defense positions around the village while the residents built underground shelters. According to the commander of the self-defense unit Roma Karapetyan, the first attack took place on February 25 and 26, 1992 and received a proper counterattack. But the situation changed in April when the offensives started to be guided by Azerbaijani Defense Ministry forces.

On April 10, 1992 the Defense Ministry Units of Azerbaijan, along with the units of the Internal Affairs Ministry and the OMON forces, attacked the village three times in a row without any success. The main attack on Maragha was carried out by not only a manifold but also many armored vehicles, including tanks. The self-defense units had to retreat as they did not have appropriate military equipment to deliver a counterattack.

Within a few hours, Azerbaijani military forces destroyed and burned the houses, practically razed everything to the ground, brutally tortured peaceful civilians to death, some burnt alive, dismembered and mutilated without discrimination, and captured many locals, mostly elderly, women and children taken to unknown locations.

“Among the streets, one out of every 10 people had swords in their hands. At that time, I ordered the guys to shoot the ones carrying swords with them. Then it turned out that some of the other volunteers had also heeded the same thing in the other parts of the village”, recalls Roma Karapetyan. Later, as Karapetyan says, they found bodies of civilians with Christian cross marks made by those swords.

Karapetyan says that their main goal was to liberate the village before dawn as they clearly understood that the more they waited, the more innocent civilians were going to be tortured by Azerbaijanis. They received help from the other self-defense units fighting in the surrounding area. Despite the lack of sight, arms and people, the Maragha liberation plan was completed successfully. It is worth mentioning that Leonig Azgaldyan and Vladimir Balayan were among the volunteers of the assistance group. Both posthumously received Artsakh Hero awards in 2019. Roma Karapetyan says Azerbaijan had 44 losses while there were none from the Armenian side.

The Golgotha of the 20th century

“I, along with my team from Christian Solidarity Worldwide, arrived within hours to find homes still smoldering, decapitated corpses, charred human remains, and survivors in shock. This was truly like a contemporary Golgotha many times over,” writes Baroness Cox of Queensbury, a defender of human rights in the House of Lords, United Kingdom.

According to eyewitness accounts, people were decapitated, tortured (being dragged tied to a tank or burnt alive), bodies were mutilated, dissected and burnt. Karine Poghosyan was taken captive along with her two infants and her father-in-law. “They were swearing at Armenians. They said that we are Armenians, and we are haram [indecent]. They looked down on us with hatred and with a feeling of disgust,” says Poghosyan, recalling those days in captivity. Some of the Armenian captives were later exchanged but many of them did not have any information about their families. Poghosyan was one of those – she had no idea where her daughter was being kept. Only after the exchange, the child was found in an orphanage in Azerbaijan. “She wasn’t talking at all and after a few days started to say words in Azerbaijani. Later she gradually got used to us. She was scared: when seeing a soldier or a car she was crying out,” Poghosyan remembers.

Human Rights Watch (Helsinki Watch) interviewed an eyewitness who participated in the self-defense of the village. His accounts are further proof that civilians, mainly elderly and disabled, who were in the underground shelters during the day of the attack, were indiscriminately slaughtered by Azerbaijanis. “Over 100 residents of the village were slain, while their bodies were profaned and disfigured…Two weeks later the village was again attacked and the population was deported. Houses were pillaged and then most of them were burnt down,” reports Amnesty International.

The 2nd Offensive and Maragha’s occupation by Azerbaijani forces

A few weeks after the main attack and the massacre, the Azerbaijani forces unleashed another offensive against Maragha. It cannot be compared with the attack of April 10 as this time Azerbaijan launched a large-scale military operation, and Maragha was just a part of it. The main target was Stepanakert, and in order to occupy the heart of Artsakh they had to seize the Martakert region and the city. Consequently, Maragha and Margushevan and the surrounding villages became their targets as well.

From May 10, 1992 until the end of June, the Armenian units fought heroically to protect the villages. The Armenian side could not withstand the subsequent attacks with their self-defense units, especially lacking armored vehicles. As a result, Maragha and Margushevan were occupied by Azerbaijan at the end of June 1992. 

The attack on Maragha was not conditioned by military necessity but was primarily aimed at exterminating and dispatching its peaceful civilian population. The Maragha massacre became the continuation of the waves of pogroms and deportations of Armenians in Sumgait, Baku, Kirovabad and other settlements of Soviet Azerbaijan, as well as in the villages of Northern Artsakh (i.e. Koltso “The Ring” operation), aiming to strangle the national liberation struggle of the Armenians and deprive them of the homeland through ethnic cleansing.

It’s an undeniable fact that the Maragha Massacre was carried out by the armed forces of the already independent Republic of Azerbaijan, and to this day Azerbaijan has never been held accountable for this crime against humanity. Moreover, the Azerbaijani authorities awarded many of the members of those units which perpetrated the massacre with the highest state award declaring them the National Heroes of Azerbaijan.

The mass atrocities against Armenians living in Azerbaijan and Artsakh have not received relevant legal assessment which has led to another stage of manifestation of Armenophobia in Azerbaijani society at the state level, the outcome of which was demonstrated during the Azerbaijani aggression against the people of Artsakh in April 2016.

Author information

Lucy Poghosyan

Lucy is a senior at the Faculty of Oriental studies of the Yerevan
State University and a researcher at "ORBELI" Analytical Research
Center. She's majoring in Turkish studies and specializes on the
Artsakh cause and the Armenian-Azerbaijani conflict.

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