#rememberanddemand

April 24, 2015, was the 100th anniversary of the Armenian Genocide, and we were louder than we have ever been before. Do not pretend you can’t hear us.

100 years ago at age 13 my great grandmother hid under the dead bodies of slaughtered Armenians to escape capture by Turkish vandals. Without her bravery and resilience my family would not be here in America. I remember and demand! I am proud to be Armenian!

Everyone knows I’m Jewish and my family immigrated from the FSU. I joke that I’m an honorary one quarter Armenian sometimes. I don’t know if it counts in the least, but my paternal grandfather, also my last living grandparent, was adopted by an Armenian family during WWII. He was just a young boy, fleeing, well, you know, inevitable and horrible death. He lost his mother and infant brother on the freight train that transported them and others from Ukraine to Tajikistan. My grandfather Tigran still bears the name(s) hid adoptive family gave him. My dad, uncle, [other] brother, cousins (my uncle’s children), nieces (other brother’s children), sister-in-law all have an Armenian last name. I would have but my parents decided to give me my mother’s maiden name, I suppose to honor my maternal grandfather (though he was still alive when I was born, he died pretty soon after; I never got to know him. I am just speculating on why my last name is what it is! It’s a good name, heh. Sorry, going off on a tangent). My grandpa speaks Russian with an Armenian accent which I always liked, in a curious childlike way. He knows Armenian, and a whole bunch of other languages. I never met my grandfather’s adoptive family or their children and I don’t know the history too well, but their kindness will never be forgotten. Today being the centennial of the Armenian genocide I know how being on the receiving end of genocide denial feels like, and it’s ridiculous how widespread it is today.