Perspective of grandfather brings meaning to history

Friday, April 24, 1998

Perspective of grandfather brings meaning to history

SURVIVORS: Stories shed light on pain, emotions

of Armenian experience

By John Merguerian

As an Armenian American born and raised in the United States, I
was educated by my parents and Armenian professors about my
ancestral history. In particular, I learned about the Armenian
Genocide of 1915-1923 when the Ottoman Turkish Government carried
out the systematic murder of 1.5 million Armenians.

My relatives were firsthand witnesses, victims and survivors of
these massacres and were forced to endure this atrocity. However, I
did not know what my relatives went through until last week, when I
talked with my grandfather (who now lives in Pasadena, Calif.)
about what actually happened during that period. My grandfather was
only 5 years old when the great massacre began and was living in
the small town of Marash, located in present day Turkey. He, like
many Armenians, had a relatively large family – three sisters and
four brothers, he being the youngest. In 1915, during the height of
World War I, Turkey was still fighting against the Allies, and the
Armenians in Marash were warned by British, Russian and French
officials of the dangers that were to come.

The head of each family or the eldest males of each family were
encouraged to enlist in the military. They also encouraged women
and their children to leave their homes and flee to Russian, French
or British protectorates in order to avoid any type of persecution
from the Turkish government or local Kurdish tribes employed by the
government. Armenians had, like lambs to a slaughter, grown
accustomed to the hardships forced upon them as a Christian
minority living within the Ottoman Muslim Empire.

Many realized that the conditions were deteriorating fast in the
Empire, and the Christian minorities, specifically the Armenians,
were usually used as scapegoats for the state. Thus, my
grandfather, his younger brother, three sisters and his parents
packed their belongings and decided to head for Syria, which was
close to their village and was also a French protectorate.

My grandfather’s parents (my great-grandparents) were told by
these officials that it would be very difficult as an Armenian to
cross over the border from Turkey to Syria and suggested going to a
local mosque to convert to Islam, change their names and pretend to
be Kurdish citizens of the Ottoman Turkish Empire. They had no
choice but to follow the advice given to them and were easily
smuggled to the Syrian capital of Damascus. Five years passed, and
stories of massacres and forced migration continued, yet there was
still no news of the two oldest brothers who had enlisted in the
French Legions. Also, at the same time, news had spread around the
world that the Great War was over, and there was talk amongst the
Armenian refugees and survivors in Syria that it was safe to return
to their villages and towns in Eastern Turkey (Western
Armenia).

My grandfather’s family, worried about the two eldest sons,
decided to head back to Marash where they thought it would now be
safe. They returned and discovered that one of their sons who had
volunteered in the French Legions was killed by Turkish troops, and
there was no news from the other son. During this time, the Turkish
government had pinpointed the village of Marash and had decided to
either expel all the Armenians living there or kill them.

Turkish and Kurdish troops came into the village, entered the
homes of Armenian families and started to either throw them out or
murder them. My grandfather remembers clearly the mutilated bodies
in the streets and blood all over the area. He told me that they
quickly packed what little belongings they had and left
immediately, with no help or protection this time.

By now, there was news from the eldest son who had finally
returned from the French Legions to his family in Marash. He had
defected from the Legions after learning that the Allied powers had
little or no intention of aiding the Armenians and that they would
have to meet their fates at the hands of the Turkish
government.

The family left as soon as they could and had to endure a long
and treacherous march through the desert with only one horse, which
was a godsend gift compared to what others had. My grandfather told
me that there were many bands of families, all walking through the
Turkish desert in order to get to either Syria, Iraq or Lebanon
where they would be safe. My grandfather, now about 10 years old,
and his younger brother, were put in the pockets of the horse’s
saddle so they wouldn’t cry or complain about the long walk through
the desert.

During this time, my great-grandmother gave birth to a baby girl
and had to bear the burden of carrying her through the desert. My
grandfather told me how they had to feed the baby alcohol so she
would be able to sleep and wouldn’t feel the pain of hunger and
disease. During their long journey toward freedom, my grandfather
recalled fellow Armenians dying from exhaustion or dehydration. He
also recalled Turkish and Kurdish tribesmen robbing families of
their goods and women being raped and killed right in front of his
eyes. My grandfather’s father (my great-grandfather) had a Bible he
would read verses from and would pray that they would survive and
be delivered to safety. After one and a half months of traveling,
they arrived in the country of Jordan, which was a British
protectorate at the time, and they knew it was a safe haven for
them.

My grandfather’s story has given me a better perspective of the
pain and suffering endured by the Armenian people. I’ve always read
about the Armenian Genocide but never knew the emotions and actual
suffering that my people went through.

It is very disturbing and sad to see that, to this day, the
Turkish government denies that the Genocide occurred and denies my
grandfather the right to mourn and set his mind at ease.