I am a second generation Armenian.  My grandpa George came to America through Ellis Island in 1915.  He made a few pit stops on the way.  George was traveling with his younger brother Samuel, their mother Unna, their sisters Bodgie, Mary and Sarah.  George was in charge.  He became the family leader after witnessing his father and three older brothers be slashed to death by a pack of Turks.  

He took charge.  The six survivors walked to the Holy Land.  How far a walk is that?  Far. Currently, Armenia is bordered by Turkey, Syria, Iran and Iraq.  Armenia is considered to be the first region to adopt Christianity as its religion, somewhere around the year 301.  Its location makes it difficult to confirm the religious beliefs of those that made it to America.  Walking to the Holy Land seemed essential to survivors of the genocide as an affirmation of their religious belief.  

When my grandfather died, my dad took me to his casket and showed me the inside of my grandfather’s wrists.  One had a horizontal tattoo. The other had a vertical tattoo.  When he prayed he would combine his wrists thus making a cross. Now, most people tattoo the entire cross on one wrist.  That he had two unidentifiable lines on each wrist demonstrated his fear of being too obvious about his heritage.

It was one of many private distinctions he insisted we all employ.  We were told to declare we were American if asked what our nationality was.  We could never say we were Armenian.  He still feared for his family’s safety.  Why?

Because the Armenian Genocide has not been recognized or legitimized to this very day. Turkey lays no claim to initiating it.  Even the United States has never recognized it, partially to maintain healthy relations with Armenia’s Muslim neighbors.  Specifically Turkey.

Once when I was maybe in my mid-thirties I met a woman from Turkey.  I kiddingly said something like “don’t slice my ears off” which was one of many famous punishments forced on Armenians.  The next day, the woman showed up at my office with a lawyer.  Yes indeed.  She did not find any humor in my comment.  Most Turks still do not.  They take no responsibility and project no remorse regarding the topic of the Armenian Genocides.  The plural implies there were several waves of the elimination of over one million people.  

Yet it is rarely discussed.  It never happened.  We had Sunday dinner at my grandfather’s house and before we ate, he’d end each prayer with “remember the starving Armenians”.  So did they exist?  Did they not?  Did they starve to death?  Who were we remembering?

Something has to be remembered to exist.  Right?