V.H. Apelian's Blog

V.H. Apelian's Blog

Thursday, April 27, 2017

ԳԼԽԱՊՏՈՅՆՏ ՊԱՏՃԱՌՈՂ ԿԱՑՈՒԹԻՒՆ ՄԸ

ԳԼԽԱՊՏՈՅՆՏ ՊԱՏՃԱՌՈՂ ԿԱՑՈՒԹԻՒՆ ՄԸ
Վահէ Յ. Աբէլեան

Առաջին անգամ ըլլալով, մօտաւորապէս երկու տարիներ առաջ, Յարութ Սասունեանէն իմացայ որ Ամերիկայի Միացեալ Նահանգները արդէն ճանչցած է Թուրքերուն գործած Հայոց ցեղասպանութիւնը եւ այդ ալ ըրած է ոչ մէկ անգամ, այլ երէք անգամներ։ Ինծի զարմանք պատճառող հաստատումն էր Յարութ Սասունեանին ըրած ճշդումը։

Այս տարուայ Ապրիլ 24-ի նախօրեականին նոյն հաստատումը կրկին անգամ ըրաւ Անգլերէնով իր մէկ խմբագականին մէջ  գրելով՝ «Հայերը եւ Թուրքերը կարծես կը մոռնան որ Միացեան Նահանգները ոչ թէ միայն ճանցած են Հայոց ցեղասպանութիւնը այլ այդ բազմիցս ըրած են բարձրագոյն մակարդակներու վրայ։ Ներկայացուցչական Տունը ճանցաւ Հայոց ցեղասպանութիւնը երկու անգամներ 1975-ին եւ 1984-ին։ Ինչպէս նաեւ Նախագահ Րէկընը իր թիւ 4838 նախագահական հրովարտակին մէջ, Ապրիլ 22, 1981-ին։ Ամենակառեւորը՝ Միացեալ Նահանգները ճանցաւ Հայոց ցեղասպանութիւնը տեղեկագրութեան մը մէջ որ յղած էր Միջազգային Արդարութեան Ատեանին (Համաշխարհային Դատական Ատեան) 1951-ին։» Կցած եմ Անգլերէն բնագիրը (Armenians and Turks seem to forget that the United States has not only recognized the Armenian Genocide, but has done so repeatedly at the highest levels: The House of Representatives recognized the Armenian Genocide twice in 1975 and 1984. So did President Reagan in his Presidential Proclamation 4838, issued on April 22, 1981. Most importantly, the United States Government officially recognized the Armenian Genocide in a report filed with the International Court of Justice (World Court) in 1951.)

Յետ այս տարուայ Մեծ Եղեռնին յիշատակութեան, Սեդո Պոյաճեանը, համացանցի Հայ Յեղափոխական Դաշնակցութեան Բիւրոյի Պաշտօնական Կայք էջին վրայ կը ճշդէ որ Նախագահ Թրամփը հակաօրինական ընթացքի մէջ գտնուեցաւ երբ չյայտարարեց Հայոց ցեղասպանութիւնը իր պաշտօնական բառերովը քանի որ Ամերիկայ Սահմանադրութիւնը կը պայմանաւորէ Նախագահին վարել երկրին որդեգրած հաստատումները։ Սեդոն կը ճշդէ նաեւ որ այս պարագան քաղաքական չէ այլ օրինական։ Այս պարագային Սեդոն տարբեր մօտեցում կ՚ունենայ Յարութէն, իրաւմամբ ճշդելով որ Ամերիկայի նախագահը երկրին գործադիր մարմինը կը ներկայացնէ եւ հետեւաբար սահմանադրականօրէն պարտադիր է կատարել երկրին օրէնսդիր մարմինին որդեգրումները։ Անկասկած որ պարագան նոյննը պիտի ըլլար նաեւ նախորդ նախագահներուն ալ։

Բայց կրկին անգամ նոյն հարգը կը ծագի՝ Միացեալ Նահանգները իրապէս ճանցա՞ծ են Հայոց ցեղասպանութիւնը, ինչպէս կը ճշդէ Սերո Պոյաճեանը եւս։ Գէթ ես այդ տպաւորութեամբ չեմ մնացած։

Քանի մը օրեր առաջ անցնող Ապրիլ 24-ի շրջանին երբ Սեդո Պոյաճեանը՝ Հ.Յ.Դ Բիւրոյի Պաշտօնական Կայք էջին վրայ իսկ Յարութ Սասունեանը California Courier-է իր խմբագրութեան մէջ պնդեցին որ Ամերիկայի Միացեան Նահանգները ճանցած են Հայոց ցեղասպանութիւնը, հետեւեալները պատահեցան։


Նախագահ Օպամայի վարած կառաւարութեան ընթացքին, Միացեալ Ազգերու Ամերիկայի ներկայացուցիչն էր Սամանթա Բաուրզը որ հեղինակն է ցեղասպանութեան մասին հեղիկանաւոր գիրքի մը՝ «Դժոխքէն Հարց մը՝ Ամերիկան զեաղասպանութեան դարուն մէջ»։ Անցնող քանի մը օրերուն յայտարարեց որ ներողամտութիւն կը խնդրէ որ Նախագահ Օպամայի կառաւարութինը չճանցաւ Հայոց ցեղասպանութիւնը։ Անգլերենով ճշդեմ այս հեղինակին անունը եւ գիրքին վերնագիրը՝ Samantha Powers, «A Problem From Hell; America and the of Genocide”։


Հաւանաբար ոչ մէկ ապրող անձ այնքան սուղ վճառած եղաւ Ամերիկան Հայոց ցեղասպանութիւնը չճանցած ըլլալու հարցով որքան վիճակուեցաւ Ամերիկայի երբեմնի հիւպատոս Ճոն Մարշալ Էվընզին։ Ան ոչ թէ միայն հիւպատոսի իր գործը կորսնցուց այլ նաեւ իր ասպարէցը երբ ճանցաւ Հայոց ցեղասպանութիւնը որպէս պաշտօնախօսը Ամերիկայի կառաւարութեան Հայաստանի մէջ։ Նոյն այդ կառաւարութեան որուն կը վերագրուի որ Ճանցած է Հայոց ցեղասպանութիւնը։ Ան այսօր իր համոզումին վրայ հաստատ կեցած յայտարարութիւն մը ըրած է։ Գործէն արձակուելէն ետք ան գրեց երկու գիրքերը առաջինը՝ «Ճշմարտութիւնը Պատանդի Տակ» իսկ երկրորդը՝ «Հետեւաբար Աստւած Հայ Պէտք է Ըլլայ»։ Անգլերնով ճշդեմ այս հեղինակն ալ եւ իր երկո գիրքերուն վենարգիրերը։ John M. Evan, “Truth Held Hostage”, “Therefore, God Must be Armenian!”

Ամերիկահայ Ազգային խորհուրդին՝ ANCA-ին վարչաթիւնը անկասկած որ տեղեակ է  որ կան ոմանք որոնք մեր երկլեզուանի մամուլին մէջ կը պնդեն որ Ամերիկայի կառաւարութիւնը ճանցած է Հայոց ցեղասպանութիւնը մինչ ANCA-էն բանով եւ գործով կը միտի ապահովել Ամերիկայի կառաւարութեան Հայոց ցեղասպանութեան Ճանաչումը։ 

Գլխապտոյնտ պատճառող կացութիւն մըն է որ երկլեզուանի կը պարզուի հանրութեան առջեւ որ ոչ թէ միայն նպաստաւոր չէ մեր հաւաքական աշխատանքին այլ նոյնիսկ կը սպառնայ խրտչեցնել հանրութիւնը որ շարունակէ իր աջակցութիւնը բերել տարուող աշխատանքներուն։


Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Malboro Country to Holocaust Country

Vahe H. Apelian, April 26, 2017




It is customary that on April 24 the President of the United States, the POTUS if you will as this acronym is becoming commonplace, issues a carefully worded statement whose wording we, as Armenian Americans, carefully follow as well.

For all I remember it was in 1970’s that the observance of April 24 become the law of the land in the United States whereby the POTUS by law or by custom issues a statement regarding “Man’s Inhumanity to Man”. According to the Cambridge Dictionary, the idiom means “the cruel behavior that people show to each other”.

Eighteen U.S. Presidents have come to office since 1915. It was the 43rd president, President George W. Bush who for the very first time used our own term, “Medz Yeghern” in a covert reference to the genocide of the Armenians. Candidate Barak Obama promised to the Armenian American community that should he be elected as the 44th POTUS, he will acknowledge the genocide of the Armenians. In spite of his promise, President Obama did the same. He used the term “Medz Yeghern” through his first four years and upon reelection continued to do the same.

Donald J. Trump will have his proverbial ‘first 100 days” of his presidency marked on April 28, 2017. His statement on April 24, 2017 marked the first occasion for the newly elected POTUS to set the course of his conduct for the next four years.  He too resorted to the customary wording and chose to use the term “Medz Yeghern” again as a covert reference to the genocide of the Armenians. But a new term, “Holocaust Memorial Day”, appears to have come about marking the occasion. Again for all I know this is the first time that the occasion marked on April 24 has  come to be termed as  the “Holocaust Memorial Day”.

I do not think I am wrong in stating that the English word “holocaust” has been hijacked to mean the genocide of the Jews although technically it is the capitalized holocaust that implies the attempted extermination of the Jews. Marion Webster dictionary makes a guarded reference stating the following “often capitalized:  the mass slaughter of European civilians and especially Jews by the Nazis during World War II”. Note the statement, “often capitalized”. What the eminent dictionary is in fact implying that the word holocaust, whether capitalized or not, has come to mean the slaughter of the Jews. Used in a headline, the word holocaust will always be capitalized anyways as in "Holocaust Remembrance Day" for April 24.

In the aftermath of the sacking of Kessab in 1909, Miss Effie Chambers, the beloved missionary of Kessab, stated the following in her report to her Board in U.S. that oversaw and supported her mission: “The houses, my own, the Mission House, Girls' School, church, parsonage, and the market were all a holocaust”.  Surely the word holocaust did not always imply the Jewish experience during the Great War, commonly known as the World War II. It sure does now.

Whenever I come across the word holocaust I am reminded of the famous Marlboro Man ads. There came a time when even the Marlboro brand cigarettes were not displayed with the Marlboro Man or Marlboro Country for the image had become so entrenched, so succesfull that a person seeing the Marlboro Man ad, knew reference is made to the that brand of cigarettes. It appears the word holocaust has attained the same status and now we have made a great leap from the Marlboro Country to Holocaust Country.

Should the Trump’s administration continue referencing the POTUS’ statement on April 24 as coming on the “Holocaust Memorial Day” it sure will take away from the spirit of impartiality the day is made to signify, ‘man’s inhumanity to man’ where the genocide of the Armenians should be no less and as plainly acknowledged as anyone else’s similar experience. And yes, unlike Holocaust, “Medz Yeghern” has not made into the English language lexicon to mean just that, the genocide of the Armenians.


Tuesday, April 25, 2017

Saroyan and "The Promise"

Saroyan and “The Promise”
Vahe H. Apelian



Yesterday I saw “The Promise”.

I liked the movie a lot. I will see it again. I like seeing the movies I liked over again and in some cases, and again. In fact I find seeing the same movie again an enjoyable experience. Day care centers know that toddlers enjoy watching the same movie over and over again and that is why they often play the same movie for the toddlers. It may be because having overcome the element of suspense of the unkown, seeing the movie over again becomes a much more relaxing experience and heightens the appreciation of the nuances in the movie. I have seen “Fidler on the roof”, “Ghandi”, “Mutiny on the Bounty” and some other movies many times. “The Promise” will join the rank.

There was one thing I took exception. That was the screening at the end of the movie, the quote attributed to William Saroyan. A few years ago I wrote an article about the quote in Keghart.com. I titled the article “Saroyan’s Popular But Nonsensical Quote”. I reproduced the article below for the interested to read.


"I bet most English-speaking Armenians have seen William Saroyan's popular quote depicted above: “I should like to see any power of the world destroy.......... see if they will not create a New Armenia.” Some may have also bought an inscription of the quote on a plaque. I was no exception. In fact, I ordered the larger size and hung it on a wall in our house. Saroyan looms larger than life, especially for Armenians. His image may have helped to bolster the impression. He was a bear of man with an oversized and impressive mustache. That is how he remains etched in my memory.

Obviously, I had found the quote impressionable; otherwise I would not have done what I did. I would read the quote every now and then with some sense of comfort that our growing sons may read it, too, and over time establish some understanding as to who we are and where do we come from. Over time I established a familiarity with it. When novelty gives way to familiarity so do feelings give way to reason of varying degree. It is then that it occurred to me to ask myself: "What is this quote really saying?"

First and foremost I saw a pervasive paranoia in the quote: “I should see any power destroy this race”. “Go ahead, destroy Armenia, etc. etc. etc”. Surely we have had and have our share of enemies but I bet more people on this planet do not know us to ever bother to think of harming us.

Destroy, but who?

Destroy “this small tribe of unimportant people”. Is that what we are? Is this what I want our children to read growing up...that we come from “a tribe of unimportant people”? How would my son’s teacher and friends react, I thought, if my son took the plaque to school for a morning class show-and-tell? I felt aghast.

On further thought, I realized that there is more in the quote that kills the spirit than uplifts it. After all, we are speaking of a people “whose structures have crumbled, literature is unread, music is unheard, and prayers are no more answered”. Gosh, imagine trying to explain this to a child you are raising to be proud of his or her heritage.

Granted, that there are affirmative statements in the quote about Armenians coming together, laughing, singing and creating a new Armenia. All that is good and well, but offers little solace after all the paranoia, doom and gloom.

Eventually it occurred to me that the plaque did not cite the source of the quote. Internet search-engines were of no help. I started having doubts whether Saroyan had really said it.
Sometime later I came across a discussion in Armenian media alleging that Saroyan’s quote is a sanitized version of his utterance. The writer said that Saroyan started it with an obscene expression. If I were to use it in an article, more likely than not, editors will censor it. The commentator said that the original quote contains the word ‘mother’ but not as in the “Holy Mother of God” expression. It would not surprise me that Saroyan would use a foul expression. As I said, he loomed larger than life and had his way when it came to words.

I still don't know for sure if a foul expression precedes the quote. However, it makes more sense to me that it does. Saroyan, more likely than not, said what he said in rage. We are not supposed to sound rational when angry. Our rage is an outlet to express our frustration more so than to make sense. Surely what we say in our rage in not meant to be educational.

For all those who would like to display the quote in their homes, I suggest them to have it inscribed in verbatim as in the original  text and indicate the source once they find it. It’s the right thing to do. After all, words, even foul expressions, make sense and may even sound less offensive if they are used in context.  

 Otherwise, one may consider doing what I did with this sanitized version: I tucked it away."


Source Keghart.com, Ohio, 9 January 2014






Sunday, April 23, 2017

“We Will Never Forget” Miss Effie Chambers

“We Will Never Forget” Miss Effie Chambers
Vahe H. Apelian



A hundred and eight years ago today, on April 23, 1909, Kessab was sacked completely as the aftermath of the Adana massacre. This historical event appears not to have been adequately studied by historians athough it is well documented in  reports by American missionaries who were serving the Armenian communities in the Ottoman Empire on behalf of American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions (ABCFM) .


Among these missionaries was Miss Effie Chambers, the beloved and much remebered missionary in Kessab. It is in her memoirs that she noted that on Friday April 23, 1909, “half an hour before the sunrise” the attack commenced. On Monday April 26, 1909, the NY Times reported the following: “Constantinople, April 25 - Dispatches reaching here from points in Asiatic Turkey bring tidings of Armenian and Turkish conflicts all over the country. Dr.J”M Balph, who is in charge of the missions at Latakia, Syria, telegraphs that the refugees are arriving there from outlying parts of the district who report massacres and the burning of towns. He also reports that there are the gravest apprehensions concerning the conditions at Kessab where Miss Chambers is one of the missionaries”.

Miss Effie Chambers was not in Kessab when the attack occured. She had gone Adana to attend to the survivors of the massacre there which had taken place early that month. In her report to the Board about the attack on Kessab, she reported the following: “our young men, 150, who defended the place and gave the people a chance to get away. The enemy was from 10-20 thousand. Our boys withstood them till noon. Then the enemy being reinforced and the young men’s ammunition all being gone away were forced to retreat and escape fo their lives, but even to the last they covered the retreat of helpless women and children who could not get away with the others, and got them to places of safety.” These young men were either members or affiliates of the Kessab Armenian Revolutionary Federation.

Dr. Albert Apelian, in his book “The Antiochians” writes that the southern neighboring Turkmen village Faku Hassaan (pronounced now as Fakassan), helped the fleeing Kessabtsis to secure a passage to the Mediterranean Sea and have their representatives reach Lattakia to ask the French and British consuls' help to evacuate the survivors reaching the sea. He aslo notes that the sudden change of guard in Constantinople, due to the dethroning of Sultan Abdul Hamid, and his replacement with the more moderate Sultan Reshad came at this opportune time enabling the French and British consuls to send boats to evacuate the escapees, without concern for repercussion from the Sublime Porte.


The Kessabtsis nonetheless paid a hefty price. Miss Effie Chambers acted as the secretary of the relief committee. In a report to the Board, dated July 17, 1909, the gave the following figures about the ensuing sacking of Kessab: villages receiving aid 11, number at present on relief lists 5251, burned Houses 516, burned Shops 62, number killed 153, widdows 79, orphans not over 15 years old 64. These numbers reveal the widespread despair in Kessab. In the same report Miss Effie Chambers noted, “All the wheat in Kessab will not feed the people 15 days if none comes from other sources”.

Miss Effie Chambers’ round the clock work must have exhausted her physically and emotionally. She felt the need to return home to Iowa after having served the Armenians for almost twenty years, the last eight years being among the Kessabtsis. Reports indicate that she was in the United States in May 1912.


Among other personal possessions she brough with her is an embroidery most probably the women of Kessab embroidered for her in gratitude for her dedicated services to the Kessabtsis between 1904 to 1912. The Chambers family safeguards the emroidery to this date. 

What is most noteworhty about the embroidery is the Armenian inscriptirons that reads “In gratitude from the Kessab Armenian Revolutionary Federation” (երախտապարտ Քեսապի Հ.Յ. Դաշնակցութիւնէն).  

Its English inscription on the top read: "To Miss E.M. Chambers in Memory of Gratitude"

The inscription in the middle read: "We Will Never Forget".

Miss Effie Chambers spent her later years with her brother Will in the old family home in Iowa.  She died on October 3, 1947 at the age of 84 and was buried in Chambers cemetery, which her grandfather, Ezekiel Chambers, had given to the community in the year 1857.







Friday, April 21, 2017

Anna’s Love Story, No Less A Genocide Promise

Anna’s Love Story, No Less A Genocide Promise
Vahe H. Apelian


Today I read Huffington Post reporting that “The Promise’ is a love story against the backdrop of the Armenian Genocide. No less were Roupen Sevag’s  and Anna’s love stories and those of many others long lost forever. The much lesser known Anna was my maternal grandmother’s sister-in-law. Here is her story.

My maternal grandmother, Karoun Chelebian, ne’e Apelian, was born in Kessab to Hanno and Anna, the latter from Boymoushakian family of Sev Agphpuyr (Black Spring). She had three brothers, Seron, Diran and Kerop, all were naturally Apelians. Her two brothers Serop and Diran had left to the United States of America before the genocide while their brother Kerop remianed in Kessab.

It so happened that Kerop eloped Anna from the Titizian family of Kaladouran for his bride, Undoubtedly her elopment became the sensational news of the time in greater Kessab even though young couples eloping against the patriarchal choice for a spouse was not that all that uncommon. With the aid of friends, Dr. Avedis Injejikian, Gabriel’s fahter, had eloped Dr. Soghomon Apelian’s dauther Mary for his bride.

Kerop’s and Anna elopement, however, was altogether different. Anna had done the unthinkable. She had crossed all by herself in the darkness of the night and through the eerie silence of the gorge and walked all alone all the way from the coastal village Kaladouran to Keurkune to her lover’s house to the utter astonishment of Kerop's parents and his only sister, my grandmother Karoun. Something had gone terribly wrong. Trusted intermediaries had worked out a plan for them. Kerop and his friends were to meet her in the cover of the night and escort her. But the lovers missed either the rendezvous point or the timing and Anna took upon herself to finish the task and wait for her lover’s return in her lover’s parental house. Never in greater Kessab had a girl walked all by herself to her lover’s house before. She had always been free spirited with a mind of her own and was also known for her beauty. Anna, however, was not to experience the tranquility of a family life with the man she chose to love.

Their elopement resulted in a bitter family feud among the families involved. Anna’s father had her engaged to a promising young Kessabtsi and their wedding was imminent. The families were in the midst of preparations for the upcoming wedding that would do justice to their social status. Their escapade must have been so sensational that over time a folk song evolved around them that continued to be sung during wedding celebrations in Kessab long after Anna, Kerop and most of their contemporaries were not around anymore.

They named their fist chirld Kevork, after the family’s patriarch. A few years after the birth of their first child, Kerop decided joining his brothers in New York leaving behind his pregnant wife under the care of his parents. His brother Diran was a pharmacy graduate from Istanbul. His other brother Serop had run a store in Kessab selling candies. That’s why he had come to be known as
 shakarji, someone who deals with sweets. It was a moniker that stayed with him throughout his life much like other endearing nicknames kessabtsis gave to each. Kerop was to bring his family after he settled in the New World and saved enough to cover the expenses for his family’s journey to America. 

In due time Anna gave birth to their second son. Kerop sent word from America letting her know that he wanted to have their son named James. The infant was destined to be an American citizen, therefore it was fitting for him to have a western name.

The family’s reunion was never to be.

One June 1915 the local Ottoman authorities transmitted to the kessabtsis the order for their deportation. James was a child when he also embarked on the perilous forced march along with his mother Anna, brother Kevork, grandparents Hanno and Anna, and his aunt, my maternal grandmother Karoun. It would not be hard to envision that all the adults shared in caring of the young deportees. The ordeals of their forced marches to their illusive final resettlement destination decimated the family. Only James and his aunt, my maternal grandmother Karoun survived. The popular account among the Kessabtsi genocide survivors was that their 1915 ordeal lasted three years and three months placing the return of the survivors to their ransacked villages sometimes in the fall of 1918 only to face the bitter winter ahead without having the provisions to weather it.
 


The Kessabtsi survivors, on their way to their villages, saw fit that the young orphaned teenager girl Karoun, born in 1900, be married to the most eligible surviving bachelor, Khatcher Chelebian (Chalabian). Their wedding took place in their make shift camp in the outskirts of Deir Attiyeh. The town is an hour’s drive from Damascus. They were married in their rag tags. Their wedding was officiated by the groom’s brother Stepan who was known for his piety and knowledge of church liturgy. There was no registry to record their marriage. They were to do that after their return and when a semblance of law and order was established. They were married by the grace of God and consent of their fellow Kessabtsis. The young family moved to Karoun’s parental vacant house when they reached Keurkune, Kessab. James became a bona fide an adopted son as they also started raising their own children, my maternal uncles, my mother and an aunt I never had the pleasure of knowing. They named their children Antranig, Zvart, Hovhanness, Anna. Antranig means the first-born son. Zvart was named at the behest of her maternal uncle Diran from the United States. Hovhannes was named after his maternal grandfather. The last was named after her maternal grandmother, Anna.


Once the overseas communication resumed, James’ father Kerop managed to have his son join him in America. The records of Ellis Island indicate that James was in his teens when he embarked on his journey from Beirut on a French ocean liner. He was on his way to see his father whom he had not seen before. He was to live in a country that was alien to him. He had witnessed harrowing realities of the Armenian genocide and was growing up in Keurkune where electricity or a faucet at home was not even in their wildest imagination, let alone movie theaters or ice cream parlors. However enticing the latter may seem to be, they were alien to him along with language spoken. He spoke only Armenian and Kesbenok, the local dialect. His acclamation to the New World proved to be impossible even though he stayed in the country for many years. His father and his two uncles made arrangements for him to return home, to Keurkune where his grandfather’s lands would secure him a livelihood. He was the only male inheritor among the three brothers. 

The departure of his only surviving son must have been heartbreaking for his father Kerop. The 1915 Genocide had already deprived him of the cherished dreams he must have harbored with his wife Anna. His first-born son Kevork, his parents had also died during the Genocide. Throughout those heart-wrenching war years, Kerop must have kept faith to preserve his sanity and energy to work to make a living while awaiting news from home front. After the war was over the news that his son James and sister Karoun had survived may have given him hope. After the return of James, the realization of the enormity of his loss may have weighed heavy on him anew. A sense of hopelessness may have dampened his spirits and broken his will. It was rumored that he even attempted to commit suicide. He passed away in Bronx, New York. It is not hard to surmise that he was a broken man, a far cry from the dashing handsome young man who stole Anna’s heart. He had become another victim of the Genocide although oceans and continents away from the killing fields.

Upon his return, Kerop’s surviving son James started his own life in Keurkune, Kessab. He married Sirvart Chelebian, my maternal grandmother Karoun’s sister-in-law. They named their firstborn son Kevork in memory of the brother James lost during the Genocide, their second son Kerop in memory of James’ father and their daughter Annais in memory of James’ mother Anna.

As to Anna, her grandson Kevork George Apelian immortalized her in his second book  titled “Anna Harseh”, (Anna-the Bride). In the novel Anna immerges as the independent, free spirited, stunningly beautiful girl who wanted to live her life with the man she chose to love against her father’s wish.

Anna (Titizian), the beautiful and strong willed girl from Kaladouran who broke her father’s heart and left his choice for her to pursue her heart’s calling did not live the promise the life she must have dreamed. She succumbed much like the rest of the 1.5 million Armenian victims of the first Genocide of the twentieth century. Much like the rest of the Genocide victims she also does not have a known burial site, let alone a tombstone. Unlike most of the victims who remain nameless and anonymous Anna became an exception thanks to an appreciative grandson named Kevork George James Apelian who never had the pleasure of knowing her in person but cherished the legacy she left behind.

Although the name Ann became prejudicial in the family but the memories of those in family named Anna perpetuated. My maternal grandmother Karoun ruled against naming daughters Anna anymore. Her mother Anna, her sister-in-law Anna, and her own daughter Anna were struck down with misfortune. The last had died in her teens while the previous two had died during the Genocide.  A variation of the name Anna evolved over time in the family in the person of my maternal cousin Annie (Chelebian) Hoglind, my maternal uncle Dr. Antranig Chalabian’s elder daughter and of Annais (Apelian) Tootikian, my maternal grandmother’s grandniece. Both are now  proud mothers and grandmothers.






Thursday, April 20, 2017

The Separation

A segment from Moushegh Ishkhan’s  book titled “Good Bye Childhood”. Translated and abridged by Vahe H. Apelian,  4 May 2013


We will separate.
I do not know how could we possibly separate? I have opened my eyes and seen all of us under the same roof. True, there were two mothers over us - Mayrig and Hadji Mama -, both, however, were equally endearing not only to me, but also to my sister and brother as well. I understood a bit more than they did, as to what it meant a mother who gave birth and a mother who adopted. My sister and brother did not know as much.
Hadji Mama was the mother who gave birth to me. She was to travel to another country taking her two children. I was not one of them. I belonged to the woman who was the more authoritative whose name was simply Mayrig for all of us. I had been gifted to her from the moment I was born. Official registrations had been prepared that way. In front of God, the Church and the Government I was recognized as the son of Mayrig.
“What difference does it make?” Had said my own father, gifting me to his brother. “Aren’t we in the same house? Are we not going to live together under the same roof until death does us apart? Let this lad be yours and bear your name. God will grant me more children.” He had assured him.


I was his firstborn child.
After me, God gave my own father two other children, my sister and my brother. They were born during our years of exodus.
”Such loving brothers are rarely seen on this world” would say Mayrig and would add with a limitless love and reverence, “May God pity his soul, may he rest in His glory; may God reward him at his heart’s measure”.
What did Hadji Mayrig think when she was looking at me? Did she ever have any regret? Did she feel pain or happiness? Not a word was said in that regard. She was a 17 years old new bride in the household when I was gifted to her brother-in-law. She had no say then. Now that we were on the verge of separating for good, she still remained silent and meek.
Had her husband been alive………………
How was the poor man to know that the world was going to get up side down a year after my birth; that the established orders would be destroyed and cast them into ruin and that an entire nation would be uprooted caravan after caravan?
During their years of exodus the two brothers had not separated from each other. The elder brother, the one who had adopted me, had taken the brunt of the Turkish brutality to protect and safeguard his younger brother and keep him alive. Alas, what the forces of evil had not been able to accomplish, fate had ordained otherwise. Death had separated the two brothers right at the very time when an armistice was being signed and a glimmer of hope was returning. My own father had passed away due to a crisis of his heart. In due time, the elder brother had resumed his second exodus over again, this time around because of the menace of the Kemalist movement and had left his own widow behind to accompany her widowed sister-in-law.
The two mothers with their combined three children had continued to live together much like bosom sisters. They had bore their ordeal together up to this point. Now they were to go their separate ways.
Hadji Mama was acting like the guilty party. She sought to justify her decision to separate. What could she do otherwise? Her mother, my maternal grandmother whom I did not know and her brother were sending letter after letter from Greece asking her to collect her children and join them there. There were no husband and brother-in-law left. Why would she live by herself in a remote corner of Damascus when she had a mother, a brother and a sister waiting for her return. They would be together and would console each other.
“You are absolutely right” Mayrig would say, “do not ever feel chagrined. Collect your family and go and be with your mother. There could not be any person substituting her.”
“That is true” would reply Hadji Mama, “but you will be left alone, it would be difficult for you”.
“What am I to do?  It’s my fate. Should you sacrifice all your life for that?” Mayrig would respond. There were tears in Hadji Mama’s eyes. My children’s instincts told me that her great sorrow was because of me. She would be leaving a part of her heart and would be going away for good, most likely not ever to see me again. However, she did not articulate. Any reference attesting to her maternal love would be regarded tantamount to having sinned without any recourse for penance. It was an issue long resolved. I was Mayrig’s son.
The days of our separation remain etched in my memory with the following picture. It was dark. The kerosene lantern barely illuminated the faces and the things in the room cast shadows on the walls. At a far corner cross-legged sat a compatriotic elderly woman, Soghome’ Khatoun. Hadji Mama and Mayring presented her all they had as household items – spoon, folk, plate, cup, brass utensils for cooking food, etc. Soghome’ Khatoun acted like an arbiter. We children looked wide eyed as how she divided the goods into two piles, few cups here, few cups there, two small kettles on one side and a large kettle on the other side. She then looked at the two mothers.
Come and make your choice…..
Mayrig differed to Hadji Mama to be the first to make the choice. Hadji Mama refused to make her choice known and continued to sob instead.
“It was not meant to be this way.” Said Haji Mama. “Why would they end up separating us from each other? Cursed be to those who brought us to this situation.”
The time came to divide the mattresses, the pillows and the few clothing they had. Soghome Khatoun’s hands shivered over them. They too needed to be divided equally among the inheritors of the inseparable two brothers.
“Come on, make your choices” uttered Soghome Khatom.
“Little bride, make the choice and take at your heart’s content,” said Mayrig.
Hadji Mama was indifferent. She was physically present but she was absent in soul and in gaze. Was it the memory of her young husband that troubled her soul? Or was it the call of her mother and brother that had distracted her?  Soghome Khatoun finished her task and was ready to leave. She stood up with an air of contentment having accomplished a difficult task as best as she could.
“I think it was an equitable division. No one’s rights were trampled.” She said.
“Oh, Soghome Khatoum, who is looking after the few pieces we have. The things we left behind and moved on”, said Mayrig.
“That is very true, but it is much more difficult to fairly divide the little, than it is to divide the more”, said Soghome Khatoum.
After Soghome Khatoum left, Mayrig secured the door of the room, pulled the curtains over the windows and told us to sleep. My sister and my bother fell asleep soon after. They should have been tired witnessing the unusual happening that may have stirred their childhood imaginations and tired them. I lay on my place, but I did not fall asleep. I sensed that the two mothers had unfinished business to attend in secret from us. Rightfully so, in the middle of the night they silently undid the edge of a mattress and pulled out a small bag. I solved the riddle right away. It was Myarig’s famed belt purse that she bore wrapped on her body. Through the years it had dwindled to that small bag. My curiosity took better hold of me and I wanted to see the sight of the glittering gold and hear their clicking sound to know how many of them were left. But I pretended to be asleep.
Mayrig looked around her to make sure that there was no one secretly eying her treasure. She emptied the bag and held its content in the palm of her hand. Was it a palm full or not? I was not sure. It was only the clicking of the gold that reached my ears. Mayrig sighed and murmured in a low voice.
“Everything has gone, this all that has remained. Half is yours and half is mine. This is all that has remained for us to raise our children”
“This will not take us far. I will spend part of it towards our travel expenses.” Said Hadji Mama with some desperation.
“What can we do?” Replied Mayrig. “ Even so we should be thankful that the children would not starve for some time”. Then she added “What is to say to those who do not even have this much?”
“As soon as I reach, I will start working,” said Hadji Mama.
“Your brother will be your keeper” assured Mayrig.
“I do not want to be burden on anyone else”. Said Hadji Mama
“God is great. God will surely open a door”. Replied Mayrig.
The division is done and finished. I knew that nothing else has remained to divide. The real division however happened the next day at the train station. The division there was not over goods but over souls. Three of us, my niece, the daughter of my father’s sister, Mayrig, and I were at the train station. Three of them, Hadji Mama, my sister and my brother were on the train. We were the ones who were staying put, they were the ones who were leaving.
“Do not let us remain looking forward for your letters, write soon and frequently.” Repeatedly said Myrigwiping her tears.
“Done” said Hadji Mama with course voice. “I will write and you may come as well and we would be together again”.
“Why not, little bride, who else do I have besides you?” Said Mayrig and added, “If you remain content, I will take my son and join you”.
“My son”, that is I. The blue eyes of Hadji Mama in the wagon remained transfixed on me with an unexplainable sadness. I sense a deep tragedy unfolding as the siren of the steam engine alerted those present of the imminent journey. My sister and my brother did not seem to grasp the situation. They were teary as well and yet they looked happy as well. Had not Mayrig bought them candy and chocolate to eat when the train would be on the move?


If Providence would have given me the liberty to make my choice at that very moment and had they asked me then whom would I chose - my own mother or my adopted mother?  What would have been my answer? I have not been placed in such a situation before, but had I been placed, I would have chosen without the slightest doubt my adoptive mother.
It may sound strange and incomprehensible to some, but it is what it is. I loved Hadji Mama greatly who was infinitely good, meek and beautiful. She was younger and more presentable in society than Mayrig. She knew how to read and write and spoke a fluent literary Armenian. Mayrig, on the other hand, had no schooling and spoke in local dialect. She was more authoritative and less compromising. From appearances to manners she was a true representation of a woman from the interior of the country. In spite of these, she was the one who had mothered me. My first smile and utterance of ‘mama’ were directed to her. She was the one who stood by my cradle in my sick days and I was a sickly child, watching over me with an unconditional love.
It was no secret to me that Hadji Mama had given birth to me and had breastfed me for the very first few months. She had continued to live in the same household as the “little bride” and as a grown up sister. Hadji Mama, that angelic woman had restrained herself not to call me her child or her kid. She had deprived herself the pleasure of hugging her firstborn son lest she would inflict a wound to her sister-in-law.
Our separation became final. Hardly Hadji Mama arrived to Greece, she repatriated to Armenia with the rest of her family at large. It took 37 long years for the “gates of hope” to open up. In 1962 I became fortunate to visit Yerevan and hug my own mother, my own sister and my own brother. My mother and I had aged. Hadji Mama had weathered trying and difficult times to raise her two children and make a person of each. All by herself she had managed to have her two children graduate from college and become respectable individuals.
Mayrig and Hadji Mama never got the chance of seeing each other again. Fate had ordained differently for both. A year after our reunion, Hadji Mama was planning to visit us in Beirut when she passed away unexpectedly. Mayrig passed away as well in the same time frame after a long illness.
This is how the final act of our lives ended. Nowadays my sister and brother have established families of their own in our Mother Fatherland. I remain a child of the Diaspora. Two Mothers as well as two States for those of us from the same blood. This time around it is not only familial but also national………..