We Forget Too (On Identity)

For most of my childhood I avoided my Armenian heritage. Being large, pale and red haired was already difficult and I believed that my heritage would only alienate me further. As such, my interactions with Armenians were limited mostly to family and family friends. Because of this I barely spoke the language and could not read and write it. For a long time this did not bother me at all.

The rejection of my heritage, I believe, was in part due to an obsession over the Armenian Genocide by the Armenian people.

Like most Armenians, every branch of my family was affected by the the Ottomans, either by mass deportation, psychological trauma, upbringing, or murder. And as the children of survivors, we are the direct products of their misfortune, and the inheritors of their guilt.

The guilt for enjoying life, for the inability to avenge, for surviving.

For most people, the Armenian Genocide has come to define what an Armenian is. The first thing they mention is the Genocide. If anyone knows anything about Armenians, it is this bit of historic trivia. Our history reduced to this moment. Our culture destroyed by it. Our stories erased by it.

We have become the personification of the worst moment in our history.

My grandfathers Setrak and Harout, and my grandmother Theresa had died before I was born. I had no connection to them, but I always lamented not knowing them. It was through the stories told to me by my parents, aunts and uncles that I was able to reconstruct the narratives of their lives.

And it was through these stories that I gained some clarity.

I learned how they met and married, about their childhoods, their siblings, their businesses and illnesses. I had known they were survivors of the Genocide, but not how they survived.

They suffered at the hands of Turks and Kurds greatly. And without a doubt, the course of their lives was largely dictated by that suffering. But they were also more than that suffering, they were mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, friends and professionals.

When we discuss Armenians and the Genocide, the people who survived are often obfuscated by numbers and generalizations. We remember the dead and honor them. We demand justice for our loss, and rightfully so.

But we forget too.

We forget those people that struggled and fought to survive. We forget their stories and efforts. We forget that we are alive in spite of the attempt to eradicate us because of them. We forget that the the greatest vengeance against those that would kill us is our continued survival.

April 24th is a solemn day and should remain so. But Armenians as a people need to work harder at preserving and reveling in the things that make us great; our culture, our stories, our history, our spirit.

Our identity must extend beyond the Genocide, for though it may have shaped the lives our people, it should not be the thing that defines us.