One Hundred Years Ago (On Belonging)

One hundred years ago the Armenian Genocide began. April 24th, 1915 was the day when the Ottoman Empire rounded up and killed the Istanbul's Armenian intellectuals and politicians, followed by three years of forced marches and mass killings resulting in over a million deaths.

During a solo trip to Montebello one April 24th about ten years ago. I had gone to light  incense in remembrance of my ancestors who died during the Armenian Genocide. She had taken it upon herself to inform me that I was intruding a private event and should leave.

I was taken aback at being informed that the Armenian Genocide Memorial was closed to the public on the day designated to remember the Armenian Genocide, but unable to argue, asked if I could quickly light my incense then be on my way.

She acquiesced, and then spent the next few minutes watching over me in with impatience. At some point she asked if I was a Christian, perhaps because of my desire to light incense, or maybe she liked to ask intrusive questions to strangers.

I answered "No."

Then I proceeded to tell her I worshiped the old gods, the pagan entities that personified nature and tied our people to the Armenian Highlands for centuries before the Armenian Church slaughtered the true believers with and supplanted it with their bastard religion.

Anahid, unable to process sarcasm, responded by absconding with my incense and charcoal. I told her to give it back as it was not hers to take.

She told me I was not Armenian.

To her being Armenian meant embracing Christianity, you could not be one without the other. Quite simply I did not belong. She was, and is, not alone in that opinion.

I stood in awe of her theft, watching has she walked angrily and unevenly to the base of the monument. I though about what she said, a lot and those thoughts would take years to parse.

Christianity and the Armenian Genocide are the cornerstones of the Armenian identity. For a long time this was true for me as well. As a young man I refused to embrace my culture and so these superficial definitions were the ones used to explain my culture.

Over the last few years I have found a different measure for belonging. One that involves embracing the history, art, and culture that seem to have been forgotten over the one hundred years. Moving forward, it is not enough to wallow in suffering, hoping that others pity us with their recognition.

We must find pride in what makes us great, defend our right to exist and our place in history, to continue the work that was cut short one hundred years ago by our writers, artists and thinkers.

I do not want to forget the past, but neither do I want to be swallowed by it. I want us to honor the past by building upon it. Let the next one hundred years be a celebration of our culture as it moves forward.

We are more than a religion and a tragedy.

I want us to thrive rather than be content with simply surviving.