dissertation-the legacy of genocide_final

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School of Government and Society

International Development Department

The Legacy of Genocide: Remembering and Commemorating the Centenary of the Armenian Genocide

Submitted By

Dana Blackburn

May 2015

Dissertation submitted in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of MSc in

International Development (Conflict, Security and Development).

Student ID: 1312069

Supervisor: Dr. Tom Hewitt

Word Count: 11,934

Blackburn University of Birmingham

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Acknowledgements

Before I began this research project I knew almost nothing about the Armenian Genocide or the

culture it tried to erase. But I have been moved and inspired beyond expectation every day I’ve

worked on this research—moved by the pain and loss suffered, and inspired by the courage and

determination to endure. I have been horrified by humanity’s capacity for evil and equally

restored to hope by countless stories of love, sacrifice and kindness even on behalf of strangers.

The moral of this story is that it is a human story, and one that we all can learn from. The

Forget-Me-Not flower is the logo designed for the commemoration of the Armenian Genocide

Centenary. I use it in honour of the victims and survivors of the Armenian Genocide. I may not

be Armenian, but I choose to remember them all the same.

I am very grateful to all my new British Armenian friends who so generously and willingly

shared their difficult and inspiring experiences with me. I have learned so much from each of

them, and my research would not have been possible without their input. I owe special thanks

to my mother, best friend and colleagues at the GSDRC who all gave so much of their time to

listen as I talked through my research. Their constant support and encouragement has been the

driving force behind the realisation of this project. Finally, thank you to The Piano Guys, whose

music made any and all writing of this dissertation possible.


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Abstract

This research explores how and why a community of genocide survivors’ descendants continue

to remember and commemorate atrocities suffered by previous generations. It discusses the lasting

legacies of genocide in the context of the Centenary of the Armenian Genocide, with particular input

from members of the British Armenian community. The paper begins with a brief introduction to the

historical background of the Armenian Genocide and subsequent diaspora, followed by an explanation

of methodology. The study was conducted primarily through desk-based research and supplemented by

interviews with Armenians currently living in the UK. The paper then discusses the literature and data

regarding collective memory and identity and their relationships with memorialisation. At the heart of

each of these topics seems to be the importance of one’s family history, and particularly having the

opportunity to discover said heritage.

The study finds that, despite its relative distance in both time and space, descendants of

survivors of the Armenian Genocide often maintain a vibrant memory of and relationship with the

atrocities suffered by their ancestors because they consider it a ‘part of who they are’ and feel a sense

of duty to remember. Participation in commemorative events is seen as one of the ways they fulfil this

duty and express their own ‘Armenianness.’ Commemorations also serve to unify the community and

provide a mechanism for honouring and preserving their heritage. The findings also suggest that one of

the most important long-term legacies of this genocide is the lingering loss of collective family histories,

which might contribute to perpetuating the effects of the trauma throughout the generations.


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The Legacy of Genocide: Remembering and Commemorating the Centenary of the Armenian Genocide

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments…………………………………………………………………………………………………………..2

Abstract……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………........3

Table of Contents………………………………………………………………………………………………………........4

List of Acronyms……………………………………………………………………………………………………………..5

Chapter One: Introduction…………………………………………………..........................................................6

Chapter Two: Historical Context……..…………………………………...........................................................8

Chapter Three: Methodology……………………………………………………………………………………...12

Chapter Four: Themes and Concepts

4.1 Memory………………………………………………………………………………………………………..13

4.2 Identity………………………………………………………………………………………………………...16

4.3 Commemoration…………………………………………………………………………………………..20

4.3a Museums…………………………………………………………………………………………..23

4.3b Memorial Monuments……………………………………………………………………….25

4.3c Memorial Events……………………………………………………………………………….26

Chapter Five: Conclusions..…………………………………………………………………………………………32

References……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………35


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Acronyms

AGBU Armenian General Benevolent Union

AGCCC-UK Armenian Genocide Centenary Commemoration Committee—United Kingdom

AGMI The Armenian Genocide Museum-Institute

ANI Armenian National Institute

BBC British Broadcasting Company

FCO Foreign and Commonwealth Office (in the British government)

UK United Kingdom

US United States

WWI World War I

WWII World War II

Blackburn Introduction

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I. Introduction

Within the last year, the world has commemorated the Centenary of the beginning of WWI,

the 20th anniversary of the Rwandan Genocide and the 70th anniversary of the liberation of the

infamous Holocaust concentration camp at Auschwitz-Birkenau. This year will also mark the 20th

anniversary of the genocide in Srebrenica, Bosnia and the 100th anniversary of the widely unknown

Armenian Genocide. It might seem to some as little more than morbid fixation on the violent past to

mark significant anniversaries of mass atrocities. Nevertheless, many people view the act of

commemorating as one of healing, a reassertion of survival and their very identity, not to mention

an important educational opportunity towards preventing future mass atrocities. So, how and why

does a community of survivors’ descendants remember and commemorate atrocities suffered by

previous generations? Are there any long-lasting legacies of genocide a century later?

This paper explores these questions in the context of the Centenary of the Armenian

Genocide, with particular input from members of the British Armenian community. Scholarship of

the Armenian Genocide has remained incomplete and has mostly focused on the politics of its

denial and recognition. Few studies have explored the socio-cultural impact of the genocide or its

memorialisation, and none have yet to do so from the standpoint of the centenary. There are also

few considerations of the Armenian community in the UK specifically due to its comparatively small

size. This study is by no means comprehensive, and its results might be limited in applicability

outside of the British Armenian community. However, it aims to address this wide knowledge gap

in Armenian genocide scholarship and to encourage further research on the genocide from a socio-

cultural perspective.

The paper will begin with a brief introduction to the historical background of the Armenian

Genocide and subsequent diaspora. I will then explain my methodology, followed by a discussion on

both the literature and data regarding collective memory and identity and their relationships with

memorialisation. Although these topics will be discussed in a fairly linear format, their connections

to each other are much more complex. At the heart of them all seems to be the importance of one’s

family history, and particularly having the opportunity to discover one’s family history. I find that,

despite its relative distance in both time and space, descendants of survivors of the Armenian

Genocide often maintain a vibrant memory of and relationship with the atrocities suffered by their

ancestors. Though reasons and means of doing so vary widely across the community, all of those I

interviewed claimed that it was ‘part of who they are’ and that they feel a sense of duty to their

family heritage to keep the memory alive. Participation in commemorative events is seen as one of

the ways they fulfil this duty and express their own ‘Armenianness.’ My findings also suggest that

Blackburn Introduction

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one of the most important long-term legacies of this genocide is the lingering collective loss of

family histories, which might result in perpetuating the effects of the trauma throughout the

generations.

Blackburn Historical Context

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II. Historical Context

“If we want to understand today, we need to know and remember what happened yesterday.” (First World,

2015)

The Armenian Genocide is considered by many scholars to be the first genocide of the

twentieth century, and yet it is largely unheard of outside of Armenian communities or circles of

genocide scholars. Though at the time, there was international outrage and an outpouring of

humanitarian relief efforts over the events referred to as ‘crimes against humanity’, today many

people have never heard of Armenians, let alone their long forgotten genocide.

Armenians are one of the oldest continuing ethno-religious groups, originating from the

Armenian plateau near the plains of Mount Ararat in the Caucasus region—spreading from eastern

Anatolia to the Caspian Sea, and stretching from the Black Sea in the north to the Iranian plateau in

the south. The ancient Armenian kingdom first appears in the historical record in the 6th century

BCE, and is best known as the first kingdom to adopt Christianity as its official religion in the early

4th century CE. However, much of its history—ancient and modern—has been one of occupation by

more powerful neighbours. For this reason, the nation’s religious identity became not only an

important tool, but also the very cornerstone of preventing assimilation (Panossian, 2002: 126-

128).

From about the sixteenth century until its collapse in the early twentieth century, Western

Armenia was largely ruled by the Ottoman Empire, while Iran and then Russia ruled Eastern

Armenia. Maintaining their separate ethno-religious identity, Armenians lived in relative peace

with their Muslim neighbours throughout the Ottoman Empire. Though Armenians were legally

second-class citizens, they and other religious minorities were granted a high degree of autonomy,

with the Armenian Apostolic Church given charge of civic administration throughout the Armenian

provinces within the empire (Agadjanian, 2014: 2).

However, when other Christian minorities in Greece and the Balkans began fighting for—

and with the help of European involvement, winning—independence, the Ottoman Empire began to

dissolve. Unlike the Greeks, Serbs and other newly independent groups, Armenians were not

concentrated in one geographic area, but were spread throughout Anatolia; thus, they never vied

for independence from the empire. Instead, they pledged their loyalty to the empire and merely

lobbied for greater equality. But an already humiliated Sultan Abdul Hamid saw this as crossing a

dangerous line, and so ordered the massacre of Armenians until they were willing to submit to his

supreme authority once again. Between 1894 and 1896, about 300,000 Armenians were killed in

these raids (Kalayjian et al., 1996). Another 30,000 were killed between 1908 and 1910, when


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leaders of the Community of Union Progress political party, otherwise known as the ‘Young Turks’,

finally overthrew the Sultan.

The Young Turks were leading political and cultural reforms throughout the dying empire

in an effort to save it. Though they initially sided with the Armenians and promised equal rights for

all of the religious minorities, they quickly recanted for the more desirable ideology of pan-

Turkism. The Young Turks adopted policies of Turkification and Islamisation and began spreading

propaganda dehumanising and vilifying the Armenians and other minorities who did not fit their

mould for ideal citizens. Essentially, if someone wasn’t Turkish and Muslim, then they could not be

trusted and there was no longer a place for them in Ottoman Turkey (Akçam, 2007).

In October 1914, Ottoman Turkey entered WWI on the side of Germany, since it had a

grudge against the other European powers for their interference in the Balkans and a longstanding

resentment of Russia for centuries of disputes. Under the general confusion and communication

blackout conditions of wartime, the Turkish authorities began ordering the systematic deportation

and annihilation of its Armenian population in early 1915. By April, more than 50,000 Armenians

had already been killed, with at least another 25,000 deported (Genocide, 2001). These massacres

were different from those that had occurred under Sultan Hamid, because there would be no

reprieve. It was not submission that was sought, but the complete extermination of a people from

the land, solely because they were different and therefore a threat to the new state’s ideology.

On 24 April 1915, more than two hundred Armenian political and intellectual leaders were

arrested by Ottoman authorities in Constantinople and ultimately killed. This strategic move by the

Young Turks crippled the Armenian cause and became viewed as the first act of the genocide

against Ottoman Armenians and other minority groups (Panossian, 2002: 146). Though the

genocidal actions began prior to 24 April, it wasn’t until this date that the wider Armenian and

international community were alerted to the plans of extermination being implemented throughout

the country. For this reason, the 24 April was chosen as the day of annual remembrance for the

victims of the genocide (ANI, 1998; see also AGMI, 2014).

Though most of the killings and deportations took place between 1915-1916, the policies

continued to be implemented until 1923. Prior to 1915, sources estimate the Armenian population

throughout the Ottoman Empire at about 2 million, with another million living in Eastern (Russian)

Armenia and several other well-established Armenian communities around the world. By 1923, 1.5

million Armenians—fifty per cent of their global population—were dead. About 90,000 had

managed to survive the death marches across the Syrian desert, and from there made their way to


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various countries around the world. The remaining 400,000 were either forcibly converted to Islam

to spare their lives, or managed to escape to Eastern Armenia (Walker, 1980).

The half million survivors became the foundation for what is today a diaspora of 11 million

strong. I will be using the more inclusive definition of diaspora, as created by Shain and Barth

(2003: 452), who define it as: “a people with a common origin who reside, more or less on a

permanent basis, outside the borders of their ethnic or religious homeland--whether that homeland

is real or symbolic, independent or under foreign control.” Today the largest diaspora Armenian

communities are in Russia (2 million) and Los Angeles, California (just under 1 million); the British

Armenian diaspora community is comparatively small, with only about 18,000 Armenians living

throughout the UK.

The term ‘genocide’ did not exist until 1944 when Raphael Lemkin, a survivor of the

Holocaust, coined it in an effort to describe the heinous crimes suffered by the Armenian, Jewish

and other minority populations at the hand of the Young Turks in WWI and the Nazis in WWII. Due

to his efforts, the crime of genocide was officially recognised by the newly formed United Nations in

1946, and the Convention on the Prevention of Genocide was signed in 1948. Though the term

‘genocide’ did not exist, the phrase ‘crimes against humanity’ was invented in reaction to the

atrocities committed against the Armenians. A few Turkish officials were arrested under this

charge, but there was not yet a framework for international law, and no country wanted the

singular responsibility or jurisdiction of trying such crimes. In the end, the perpetrators escaped

and were never brought to justice. Perhaps even worst of all, Turkey was never held responsible,

with not so much as an acknowledgement of its crimes required (Akçam, 2007).

Today the impunity continues, as Turkey has clung to and perpetuated its denialist policies

for a century. Many historians agree that it was this impunity that encouraged Hitler to proceed

with his own genocidal plot against the Jews, with him allegedly quoted as saying, “Who, after all,

speaks today of the annihilation of the Armenians?”1 (quoted in Robertson, 2014). To some extent,

Hitler was right—the world found amnesia a more convenient condition to adopt rather than face

its own inability to prevent such horrible mass atrocities, not to mention its political impotence at

bringing the perpetrators to justice. In recent years, several countries have adopted resolutions

officially recognising the Armenian massacres as genocide. The UK and US governments, however,

have not done so in order to maintain close strategic ties with its ally Turkey (Robertson, 2014; see

also FCO, 1999). This unacknowledged history remains the foundational framework for the current

1 Adolf Hitler in Obersalzburg, 22 August 1939, urging his generals to show no mercy in their Polish campaign.


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complex social, political and economic climate in the Caucasus region, as well as an important factor

in Armenia’s relationship with the West today (see Kasbarian and Öktem, 2014). And so Turkey’s

denial continues to overshadow most discussions and much of the scholarship on the Armenian

Genocide. For this reason, I have tried to steer my research away from the politics of genocide

recognition in order to explore the much less studied socio-cultural legacy of the genocide.

Blackburn Methodology

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III. Methodology

I initially began my research digging through the Save the Children Fund archives housed at

the University of Birmingham’s Cadbury Special Collections Library. While reading accounts of the

large-scale humanitarian relief efforts on behalf of the Armenians, I began to draw parallels

between the Armenian Genocide and the current Syrian conflict. It was a harrowing realisation that

similar atrocities were occurring in the same places one hundred years later, and sometimes even

to the direct descendants of those who survived the Genocide to begin with. It was then that I

turned my attentions to more contemporary experiences of Armenians. As this year marks the

centenary of the beginning of the Genocide, I began to explore its legacy, one hundred years on. As

my research evolved, it consistently took turns down unexpected paths, but the end result has been

one that I have learned a lot from, and one that I believe is worth sharing.

This study has been done primarily through the desk-based research of academic studies,

news articles and mixed media sources. However, in order to better understand the current

perceptions of British Armenians, I have also undertaken several semi-structured interviews with

members and leaders of the Armenian community in the UK. The interviews took place in person,

as well as via phone and email.

My aim was to speak with Armenians from a variety of backgrounds and perspectives, and

then to explore any common themes that might arise in spite of the vast array of opinions. I spoke

with two children and six grandchildren of survivors, as well as one active member of the

community who did not have any direct family ties to the Genocide. Of these nine, six were male

and three female. Each participant was born somewhere other than the UK—Lebanon, Iran, Syria,

Iraq, Turkey, Egypt, Cyprus and Argentina—and had their own unique stories of how or why their

family came to be in the UK. Involvement within the British-Armenian community also varied

greatly between participants, with some actively involved in political lobbying for recognition of the

genocide to those who had no political interests but stayed involved, at least to a small degree, in

Armenian cultural events. Due to the small size of the community and the highly political and

emotional nature of these topics, I’ve anonymised any quotes I’ve taken from those I’ve personally

interviewed.

Blackburn Memory

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IV. Themes and Concepts

4.1 Memory

“I will to my grandchildren the memory of what I went through.” –a Genocide survivor (Miller and Miller, 1991:

20)

The field of memory studies is a diverse discipline that cuts across a vast expanse of

scholarship, so it is a theme approached by all sides. These many approaches have enriched the

academic understanding of how intertwined and influential memory can be at every level of society.

In recent decades, the swell in memory studies has learned a lot about the relationship between

memory and mass atrocities. Memory has been found to play a particularly influential role in terms

of mass violence because the perpetrators inevitably attempt to control, prevent or even abolish a

variety of violence-related memorialising activities (Üngör, 2014: 148). In the context of genocide,

this is often seen to an even greater degree, as perpetrators attempt to erase not only the existence

of a group of people, but the memory that they ever existed in the first place. As author Milan

Kundera (1980: 58) writes, “The first step in liquidating a people…is to erase its memory. Destroy

its books, its culture, its history. Then have somebody write new books, manufacture a new culture,

invent a new history. Before long the nation will begin to forget what it is and what it was. The

world around it will forget even faster”. Yet, what happens to the memory of the people who they

were trying to erase? How does mass violence affect their collective memory?

Collective memory is a set of lived experiences and is established and perpetuated by a

particular group in time and space (Halbwachs, 1992). Collective memory can be further

differentiated into three kinds, namely social, cultural and political memory (Assmann, 2010: 41-

42). Social memory is “the past as experienced and communicated (or repressed) within a given

society”. Considered ‘bottom-up memory’, it only exists as long as the individual and the generation

who experienced something live, and therefore cannot be transmitted to subsequent generations

(Üngör, 2014: 149). Contrastingly, cultural and political memory has no reference to the individual

specifically, and so can be transferred to successive generations. These are thus both types of ‘top-

down memory’. Cultural memory is the mechanisms that allow a group to conserve information

they deem vital for the perpetuation and structure of its identity (Üngör, 2014: 149). It largely

consists of the written word and other symbolic structures that invite individual contribution, such

as literature, art, music, holidays, etc. Political memory is based on ‘homogeneous unity’ and is

located within an emotional narrative that tells a clear message firmly rooted in visual and physical

symbols, including commemorative acts (Assmann, 2010: 43). Because cultural and political

memories are the types of collective memory able to be passed on to successive generations, as well

Blackburn Memory

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as those that are principally founded in symbolic performances like commemoration, it is to these

aspects which I will be referring when using the term ‘collective memory’ throughout the paper.

However, collective social memory does not entirely evaporate once the last person to

experience an event has died. Even if it doesn’t evolve into collective cultural or political memory, I

suggest that social memory can be transformed into historical memory, especially by means of

family histories. Historical memory is the “lived experience of recalling and remembering the past

in the living, active present” (Crane, 1997: 1373). It is a fine line between collective and historical

memory, and sometimes in the process of making and maintaining these memories, a group will

preserve merely the experiences of remembering rather than the actual lived experiences. French

historian Pierre Nora (1989) argues that conserving historical memory will undoubtedly corrupt

the memory of lived experiences. How then does preserving historical memories of atrocities such

as the Armenian Genocide shape and even skew individual memory, and subsequent identity?

According to one community leader2 I spoke with, there are three types of Genocide

Memory within the global Armenian community. The first is the memory of direct descendants of

survivors and victims. These memories are “quite vivid and complex”, and take an immense

psychological toll on individuals and families. The community members who share this type of

genocide memory often still feel victimised, and therefore are typically thought of as submissive

and accepting of the status quo. The second type of Genocide Memory is that of Eastern

Armenians—those often not directly related to victims or survivors, but have adopted it as their

collective memory and national history all the same. The third type is held by those who pursue the

issues of recognition and reparation based on their own agendas, which are often focused on

political power and/or wealth. While collective and historical memory is not easily delineated, nor

is the Armenian community so easily generalised, I’ve found no evidence to contradict these

observations. More importantly, though, I found it to be a useful filter for my research. I have thus

focused on answering the questions outlined above in the context of genocide memory shared by

direct descendants of victims and survivors.

In a study of fourth generation descendants of Armenian Genocide survivors, Azarian-

Ceccato (2010) examined how the memory of the genocide continues to affect their own lived

experiences, and even their very identity. She found that both the historical and collective memory

of the genocide is what unites and reinforces the relationship between past and present. In other

words, descendants use narratives about the genocide to strengthen their relationship with their

2 Grandson of genocide survivors, this Iraqi Armenian serves on the AGCCC-UK and is actively involved in political lobbying for recognition of the genocide.

Blackburn Memory

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family history. Speaking of her own experience as a descendant of survivors, Azarian-Ceccato

(2010: 108-109) explained:

“For as long as I can remember, as the descendant of Armenian genocide survivors, I grew up listening to the stories. My grandfather told and retold his mother’s story in an effort to make sure that we didn’t forget. I began to remark that anytime I was in an Armenian milieu and someone would speak of the Armenian genocide, others would organically chime in with their own ancestrally anchored stories of familial displacement. I listened as a collective ‘we’ was often referred, as in ‘we’ the descendants of Eastern Anatolian deportees who were marched into the desert. This ‘we’ was dichotomously drawn up against a collective ‘they.’ The ‘they’ referred to the Turks….”

Azarian-Ceccato’s experience was echoed by many of those I spoke with who recalled hearing their

parents’ or grandparents’ experiences being told to them firstly as an effort to preserve their family

history, and secondly in order to more effectively communicate the horrors of genocide collectively

experienced by their race. According to the definitions differentiated above, I would describe the

first instance as historical memory, and the second as the transmission of collective memory, which

was further reinforced by hearing many other similar stories in the group settings she described. In

both cases, personal family histories were used as the vehicle for transferring both historical and

collective memory.

One of the most important ways this is demonstrated in the Armenian diaspora is through

place-naming (Azarian-Ceccato, 2010). Place-naming has become a significant practice in Armenian

collective memory not only as an outward expression of the longing for a ‘homeland’, but also as

evidence of belonging, both to a community and to land which they can no longer access. It is ‘proof’

that they are not where they were meant to be, and that is because of the genocide (Pattie, 1999; for

more information about the importance of place for memory and identity see McDowell and Braniff,

2014). One participant3 noted the importance of place, saying that it is one of the most common

questions she is asked by other Armenians:

“‘Where are you from’ is a common question when you say you’re Armenian to another Armenian. This does not mean ‘Do you live in Paris or Buenos Aires?’ It means ‘Which village or town in Turkey [is your family from]?’ I say I’m Armenian from Cyprus to an English person, but to another Armenian I say that my mother’s family is from Diyarbekir and my father’s [family is] from Adana.”

This ‘proof of place’, initially maintained via (family) historical memory, is therefore shared with

other Armenians and contributes to the community’s memory of displacement. It subsequently

enters the realm of Armenian collective memory primarily in two ways: 1) as one of the

3 A granddaughter of genocide survivors and herself an Armenian refugee as a child in Cyprus, she is currently serving on the board of the Armenian Institute in London.

Blackburn Memory

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foundations for the political campaign for recognition of the Genocide and demanding reparations

from the Turkish government; and 2) as a subject for cultural productions such as poems, paintings,

music, movies, etc. In these realms, the notion of ‘homeland’—first heard and understood through

family histories—becomes politicised and unified into a central aspect of Armenian collective

memory. The construction of collective memory is therefore an important consequence of both

hearing and sharing family histories.

Of course, knowing one’s family history influences so much more than how one remembers

the past or interprets the present. Üngör (2014: 160) explains, “Memory is closely linked to

identity as every identity requires a memory. Memories and narratives are repositories and

repertoires for all forms of collective identity: family, village, region, class, nation and so on.” With

this in mind, I will next examine the role that the Armenian Genocide has played on the identity of

descendants of survivors.

4.2 Identity

“Identity is the story we tell others—as well as ourselves—about who we are.” (Miller and Miller, 1991)

The ethno-religious identity of Armenians has existed for centuries. In spite of living in a

land that was continuously conquered by foreign powers, they maintained a unique identity to

citizens of these invading empires. Their religious identity as believers in the Armenian Apostolic

Church played a large part in the success of remaining a ‘separate nation’, even if they were

subjected to live within other cultures and societies (Panossian, 2006). Other means of separating

themselves included the preservation of the Armenian language and alphabet, dress, food, music

and often even keeping a degree of political autonomy. These were the key tenets of Armenian

identity before 1915, both within and without the Ottoman Empire.

However, the Genocide of 1915-1923 was so traumatic that it forever changed how

Armenians defined their identity. “It is impossible to understand twentieth-century Armenian

identity, particularly in the diaspora, without situating the Genocide at its very centre,” exclaimed

one Canadian Armenian scholar. He further explained:

“This elimination from their ancient lands is seen as the ultimate ‘catastrophe’ by Armenians. The Genocide itself, and its subsequent denial by Turkish authorities, became the defining moment—the ‘founding symbol’—of contemporary Armenian identity. Post-1915 Armenians, especially in the diaspora, saw themselves as ‘the first Christian nation’ and ‘the first victims of genocide in the twentieth century’. …The Genocide was the great ‘equaliser’ of identity. Everyone became a victim or was affected by it. Being Armenian, namely in the diaspora, meant being a survivor

Blackburn Identity

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of genocide, and therefore a member of a community of sufferers.” (Panossian, 2002: 136-137)

Thus, the Genocide became the cornerstone upon which all other aspects of current Armenian

identity were built and sustained. This is due, at least in part, to the way they interpret the Genocide

in the first place. “Ottoman Armenian communities, initially divided by regional, religious and

political identities, were now constructed, treated and deported as Armenians and, as such, were

made into Armenians” (Üngör, 2014: 161; emphasis in original). In this way, the genocide was an

identity issue, based on whom or what Armenians were not, more than what they were. That is, they

were neither Turkish nor Muslim. For these reasons, they were seen as a stumbling block for the

Young Turk ideals of Turkification and Islamisation of the nation. Today Turkey has made

discussion of the Armenian massacres as genocide a crime, calling it ‘anti-Turkish behaviour’

(Robertson, 2014: 210-211). “The genocide is therefore still an identity issue” because “it sensitized

Armenians to their identities” (Üngör, 2014: 161-162). Though this is just one interpretation, it

seems particularly appropriate in the context of the elites and community leaders in Constantinople

who were left relatively untouched until the mass arrests on 24 April 1915. Though they were

aware of their Armenian identity, they often saw themselves first as Ottoman citizens. As the

findings of one study concluded, the genocide is the subject of constant conversation and

interpretation, and by so doing it provides “the components from which collective identity is built”

(Miller and Miller, 1991: 36).

Because memory and identity are inextricably connected, family history can be seen to

shape personal and collective identity as much as it influences personal and collective memory. In a

study of one hundred Armenian Genocide survivors, there was a virtually unanimous yearning for

their descendants to preserve their Armenian identity. For many of them, this identity was secured

by knowledge of the Armenian language, which many of their grandchildren were losing. However,

they also mentioned the necessity for younger generations to learn Armenian history and remain

faithful to the Armenian Church (Miller and Miller, 1991: 29-30). This study discovered the primary

role of grandparents in teaching and transferring both collective memory and identity to their

grandchildren, ultimately becoming the embodiment of heritage, so to speak.

“For all their protests, grandchildren hunger for someplace to stand, for roots that define from whence they have come. In this regard, the relationship between grandchildren and grandparents is potentially a spiritual one, if one means by this term that grandparents possess the stories which may serve as the loom for weaving a personal identity and meaning system. Identity is the story we tell others—as well as ourselves—about who we are. And these stories are inevitably rooted, at some level, in the soil of experience offered to grandchildren by grandparents.” (Miller and Miller, 1991: 36)

Blackburn Identity

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Of course, because a relationship with one’s grandparents is a very individual experience, there is a

great deal of personal agency in interpreting how to use these family stories to build an individual

understanding of meaning (Miller and Miller, 1991: 37). The interpretation of these family stories

and the transmitted collective identity has much to do with one’s own lived experiences, made up of

both personal and historical memory. Thus, family history’s role is central to both the construction

and the understanding of collective memory and identity.

Nearly twenty-five years after that study was conducted, and with no more living survivors

of the Genocide, Armenian identity in the diaspora has become much more subjective and symbolic.

It now has more to do with ‘feeling Armenian’ rather than ‘speaking Armenian’ or even attending

the Armenian Apostolic Church (Panossian, 2002: 138). The fewer Armenians that base their

identity on objective norms such as language and religion, the more important family history

becomes in identifying themselves as Armenian. This is particularly true for younger generations of

Armenians who might be entirely assimilated into the culture of their own country rather than in

the diaspora Armenian culture. If they grow up with little or no involvement in the diaspora

community, then any self-identification as a diaspora Armenian will solely be reflective of their

family heritage, or perhaps even a few of their own family traditions.

Yet, even growing up with some level of participation in the diaspora community, younger

generations are basing their belonging to said community largely upon their family heritage rather

than their own personal identity choices. For example, in the study of fourth generation

descendants of Armenian Genocide survivors mentioned in the previous section, participants were

found to often tell their ancestors’ stories in a manner that does little to differentiate “the past from

the present” (Azarian-Ceccato, 2010: 107). This was seen in the use of first person plural pronouns

(we, us) and highly individualised present tense verbs (such as ‘she remembers’—even when the

person in question was deceased). Several of the participants also used phrases like ‘I am here on

her behalf’ or ‘I am here today representing my [ancestor]’. Each of these symbolically places the

individuals within their ancestor’s narrative and claims it as their own (Azarian-Ceccato, 2010).

To the question, ‘Is there any part of you that feels that this story is part of your story, the

Armenian genocide story?’ one respondent said, “Yes because without the genocide I don’t know if

I’d have been in America or not. I may still be in Armenia. I probably won’t exist without the

Armenian Genocide honestly cause where my family’s from two very distant parts of Armenia” [sic]

(Azarian-Ceccato, 2010: 119-120). Others reflected a similar sentiment of understanding their

presence in the diaspora, or even their very existence within the context of the genocide. Diaspora

Armenian youth are connecting to the collective Armenian identity in this way for the same reason

Blackburn Identity

19

that millions of people around the world have become fascinated with their own family histories: it

is a way of understanding who they are and how they’ve come to be who and where they are.

Genealogical research is an important tool for “self-making, self-exploration and self-

understanding. …In personalizing the past, genealogy accounts for the self in the present, signifies

existence and provides meaning whilst allowing the self to connect beyond and of itself” (Kramer,

2011: 380).

As also mentioned in the previous section, the Armenian cultural emphasis on place is

equally important in constructing one’s identity. Before the genocide, the Armenian diaspora was a

voluntary one, made up of merchants, artists, labourers, etc. who still very much considered

themselves part of the Armenian nation. However, between 1915 and 1923, the homeland was

entirely demolished, and with it any possibility to return. As Panossian (2002: 137) explained:

“Post-genocide Armenian identity therefore came to be associated with a ‘lost homeland’ and the

need to regain it—or to at least have free access to it.”

This is where the politics of lobbying for the recognition of the Genocide come into play.

Much of what is written on the Armenian Genocide today focuses on this issue, so I consciously

tried to steer my research away from it. However, the more people I interviewed, the more I came

to understand just how pervasive the politics of recognition have become in shaping the collective

memory and identity of Armenians around the world. While political opinions and involvement

varied, every single person I spoke with felt that getting recognition of the genocide from Turkey

was absolutely crucial, though for different reasons. Some stated their primary reason was for

closure, to help their families and communities to finally heal. A couple stated the necessity for

justice, or receiving reparations for their ancestors’ land as their main interest in gaining

recognition. Several mentioned the need for Turkey to acknowledge its wrongdoing for its own

sake. That being said, a few of them also lamented how this matter has come to take centre stage in

Armenian identity. One participant4 remarked that, “The issue of recognition has unfortunately

overshadowed all other aspects of Armenian culture. Consequently, the young people are alienated

from their roots, all while we try to force governments to recognise this tragedy.” Of course, my

research suggests that one way in which Armenian youth can overcome this politically focused

discourse and the subsequent alienation from their heritage is by turning their attention to

exploring their personal family history (see Nerssessian, 2015).

4 This Iranian Armenian is a grandson of genocide survivors and currently works as the executive director for an Armenian cultural organisation in London.

Blackburn Identity

20

The post-Genocide perspective of Armenian identity sees the most important question as

‘where [is the nation?]’: “the nation is not where [it] should be. It was for a long time on its own

land, but it no longer is; and this injustice must be redressed” (Panossian, 2002: 137). This is why

particularly the older generations or survivors and their children perpetuate the ‘myth of return’.

Yet, after generations in a variety of host societies, the likelihood of diaspora Armenians actually

wanting to, let alone being able to return to ancestral lands, is slim to none (Panossian, 2002: 138).

Many youth in the diaspora are choosing to interpret the importance of place more symbolically,

rather than campaigning for the right to return. Current post-Genocide identity in the diaspora

therefore seems to be saying “the nation is here and now, in us, in our assertion that ‘we are

Armenian’ in defiance of 1915. The notion of return is not centrally, if at all, present, but 1915 is: it is

the refusal to die out as a nation, to assimilate into host societies” (Panossian, 2002: 138; emphasis

in original).

One of the most visible ways in which diaspora Armenians are making this assertion of

survival is in their annual commemoration of the Genocide on 24 April. These commemorations

play an important role in constructing, preserving and transmitting the historical and collective

memory of the genocide, as well as the collective identity, which has been constructed from those

memories. The next section will discuss why and how that is, as well as the role of family histories

and the use of place in these commemorations.

4.3 Commemoration

“We experience a past that is collectively commemorated not collectively experienced” (Bavidge, 2012: 321)

Commemoration includes all the ways in which a community collectively makes,

remembers and honours its unique identity. It provides an opportunity to deeply engage with

collective memory, and can potentially increase a memory’s shelf life (Bavidge, 2012: 319).

Commemoration is a political process of remembering—political because those doing the

commemorating choose to ‘remember’, and therefore legitimise, only certain memories and not

others (Selimovic, 2013: 335). This collective memory making, as Halbwachs (1992: 47) called it, is

consequently an on-going practise of choosing which memories to commemorate (Neiger et al.,

2014: 115; see also Selimovic, 2013: 337; Bavidge, 2012: 320; Jinks, 2014: 433-434). Thus, the

process of memory- (and therefore identity-) making continues, always prone to the changing tides

of current affairs.

As Bavidge (2012: 325) explained, “The past is only mobilized when it speaks to present

concerns.” It is interesting to note that Armenians did not begin widespread communal

Blackburn Commemoration

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commemoration of the Genocide until 1965 for the fiftieth anniversary. It was then that,

“Armenians came out en masse to remember and to educate the world. They issued pamphlets and

proclamations. …It was as if the pent up anguish and the repressed and suppressed memories of

five decades were being released” (Balakian, 2003: 378-379). American Armenian poet and

historian Peter Balakian (2003: 380) suggested that there were a number of concerns present in

the 1960s, which facilitated the creation of this collective memory at that time. A few of them

include the rising emphasis on human rights, a growing literature on the Holocaust, the budding

popularity of psychotherapy and the effect of trauma on war veterans. It could also be that enough

time had passed for survivors to process their trauma to the point where they could finally begin to

talk about it with their children and grandchildren. As Miller and Miller’s (1991: 28) study found,

few survivors shared their experiences with their children, at least at length. Many did say,

however, that “their grandchildren frequently asked them about their experience of the

deportations.” Since a majority of survivors did not begin telling their stories until their

grandchildren began asking them questions, it then isn’t so surprising that their grandchildren

were largely the group that mobilised into commemorative action fifty years later.

So, what present concerns have shaped the Centenary preparations? There are the usual

issues of recognition and reparations from Turkey, as well as the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict

between Armenia and Azerbaijan, which after twenty years of relative calm has been significantly

heating up in the last six months. They also might include the Republic of Armenia’s struggling

economy and complex relationships with Russia and the EU. However, one unique opportunity that

may have helped the commemoration cause this year in the UK is the emphasis placed on the

Centenary of WWI, which was widely commemorated last year, with further Centenary events

continuing on into 2018. As one British historian explained, “The commemoration cycle of the next

four years offers unparalleled opportunities for us to learn from the lessons of the Great War. Its

central problems are with us still…” (Jones, 2014: 290). One of these unresolved issues is the

Armenian Genocide and all of its ramifications, which have reverberated throughout the

generations since. Though there have been one hundred years to develop an expansive scholarship

on the Armenian Genocide, it is still a field of study that remains largely uncharted, with all of its

lessons and legacies left relatively unlearnt. For some, this is one of the priorities and purposes of

commemoration. As Jones (2014: 291) concludes, “The ultimate message of the commemoration of

these next four years is as much about learning lessons for the future as it is about lamenting the

tragedies of the past” (Jones, 2014: 291). Turkey has often used excuses related to the context of

WWI as justification for the massacres, so Armenians can sometimes be quick to separate their


22

suffering from the general wartime misery experienced by much of Europe and the Ottoman

Empire. However, this year, the WWI Centenary context has contributed to the singular opportunity

to expand the platform of educating the British public, the campaign for recognition and the scale of

commemorations to mark the Centenary of the Armenian Genocide.

The Armenian case is an interesting one, but few studies have explored Armenian

memorialisation (Jinks, 2014: 424). There are now diaspora communities three to five generations

strong all around the world, so finding consensus on the issues of identity, memory and

commemoration within one family is hard enough, let alone trying to unify and mobilise a global

Armenian community (Tölölyan and Papazian, 2014). Nevertheless, the British Armenians I spoke

with all highly value the annual opportunity to commemorate the genocide, albeit for various

reasons. A couple5 mentioned it merely in context of gaining exposure for the campaign for

recognition of the genocide. However, the rest placed more value on the opportunity to remember

and grieve, both personally and collectively. As one community member6 expressed, “There are two

tones of events. The first is nationalist and political, where campaigning for recognition takes

primacy. The second is more solemn and religious, with some wearing black or grieving for the

dead.” In actuality, these are two ways of conveying the same emotions—both types of attitudes

and events are used to express grief for the loss, and frustration that no one else seems to care

about their loss. On the one hand, the feeling of hopelessness can lead one to action, such as political

campaigning; on the other, it can lead to despair and resignation at the perpetual state of

victimhood. With few mechanisms to process this pain and anger, for some people commemorative

events can become an outlet for these buried emotions (Kalayjian and Weisberg, 2002).

According to Selimovic (2013: 335), victims of violent trauma feel that memorialisation is

the next best thing to financial compensation in terms of state reparations: “Monuments, memorials

and museums are seen as a visible and tangible type of redress and are rapidly produced in the

post-war space” (Selimovic, 2013: 335). Although the last of the Armenian Genocide survivors

passed just last year, the children and grandchildren of survivors still experience the trauma

through means of both intergenerational transmission of memory and identity and the prolonged

and perpetuating loss of family history. Therefore, most see themselves as second-hand victims so

to speak. As Calow (2007: 106) wrote, “Trauma will always leak across the boundaries of

5 One of them, an Egyptian Armenian, is not a direct descendant of genocide survivors; his community involvement and political activism came about as an adult independently studying the history and contemporary issues of genocide recognition. For the other participant, see Footnote 2, p.14. 6 See Footnote 3, p. 15.


23

generations” (see also Bavidge, 2012: 321). This explains why the memorialisation of the genocide

continues to play a significant part in the lives of individuals and diaspora communities at large.

In the following sections, I will examine more specifically the role of museums, monuments

and memorial events in the memorialisation of the Armenian Genocide.

4.3a Museums

Museums are seen as an important way of commemorating mass atrocities because they

provide a landscape in which to preserve and pass on the memory of tragic events. They are also

seen as an important opportunity to educate the public—and more specifically, children—on what

happened, in the hopes that horrific acts will not be repeated by subsequent generations. The

Holocaust, for example, has about seventy museums and educational centres around the world

dedicated solely to teaching people about its terrible history. Yad Vashem, the world famous Israeli

museum dedicated to the Holocaust, opened in 1957, although the concept was first proposed in

1942—before the Holocaust was even over (Margalit, 2002: 22). Of course, the ‘oldest Holocaust

museum’ in the world dates back to the early 1930s, and its collection is now housed in Russell

Square in central London (BBC, 2011).

Yet, to this day there is only one museum dedicated exclusively to the Armenian Genocide in

the world, located in Yerevan, Armenia. The Armenian Genocide Museum-Institute (AGMI) was

built as an addition to Tsitsernakaberd, the Armenian Genocide memorial complex, and opened its

doors in 1995 for the commemoration of the Genocide’s 80th anniversary (AGMI, 2014). While the

memorialisation of mass atrocities was a relatively unknown practise until the Holocaust, it still

seems strange that it took so long to establish a museum on behalf of the first genocide of the

twentieth century. Why did it take eighty years to open just one museum to memorialise the

Armenian Genocide, compared to nearly one Holocaust museum for every year that has passed

since it ended? There is no simple answer to this question, but it certainly involves the complexities

of a disengaged international community after WWI, a traumatised diaspora that was still

struggling for survival, a lack of acknowledgement from and justice for the perpetrators, and

perhaps most importantly was Armenia’s lack of an independent state until 1991 (see Marutyan,

2014).

The AGMI is unique for a reason other than its delayed timing: its very intent differs from

most other genocide museums in the world. Nearly all genocide museums seek to provide evidence

of human suffering on a mass scale in order to more effectively argue for ‘Never Again’—the

internationally accepted catchphrase that represents the resolve to prevent future genocides. They


24

typically do this by sharing stories of individual victims and survivors (Jinks, 2014). This helps

visitors to humanise the statistics of suffering by seeing it through the eyes of a select few. This is

thought to be an effectual means for visitors to personalise and internalise the experience, so they

walk away also feeling compelled to stand and say ‘Never Again’ (Selimovic, 2013: 341).

Conversely, in its existing format the AGMI includes very little evidence from survivors. A

few books and diaries are displayed, but visitors can only see their covers or the couple of open

pages chosen by the museum. In contrast, the museum is filled with the orders of Ottoman officials,

large-scale photographs documenting the horrors and countless eyewitness accounts by foreign

observers, including missionaries, ambassadors, soldiers and humanitarian relief workers. Jinks

(2014: 432) suggests that this content emphasises foreign accounts of the atrocities “because it may

be seen as more ‘reliable’, particularly by the visiting dignitaries and tourists whom the museum is

hoping to persuade. Evidence here is deliberately aimed at convincing the international community

of genocide and, perhaps, creating an obligation to recognize it as genocide.” If foreign accounts are

viewed as more reliable, what does that imply about the personal testimonies of survivors? It seems

to send the signal, however subtly, to both the international community and Armenians themselves

that the personal experiences of the victims and survivors are less credible, and therefore less

valuable as a means of persuasion. Therefore the collective narrative told seems to be one of ‘This

happened to us, and we can prove it by the records of your citizens who witnessed it. You don’t have to

take our word for it, but you should take theirs.’

While the countless records, photographs and statistics on display do work upon visitors to

feel for the victims and survivors (sympathy), it seems to fall short of encouraging visitors to feel

with the victims (empathy). Dr. Brené Brown (2012), a renowned social researcher, describes the

difference between empathy and sympathy as this very distinction: “Empathy fuels connection.

Sympathy drives disconnection…. Empathy is feeling with people…. Empathy is a choice, and it’s a

vulnerable choice because in order to connect with [someone], [you] have to connect with

something in [yourself] that knows that feeling.” Though thankfully few in the world actually do

know the feelings of experiencing genocide first hand, everyone can relate to feelings of fear, love

and loss; it is these feelings that individual stories from atrocities tap into that allow visitors to

humanise the statistics and connect with the experience on a more personal level.

Unfortunately, reading affidavits from the American Ambassador to the Ottoman Empire

Henry Morgenthau, or even seeing horrific images of starvation and suffering captured by the

German soldier Armin Wagner, fall short of evoking these emotions in a personal way. One could

therefore argue that in its singular attempt to convince the world of genocide via the ‘most reliable’


25

foreign sources, the Museum’s exhibits actually prevent visitors from making meaningful

connection with the victims, and therefore do little to help visitors internalise the atrocities in a

way that will move them to action after leaving the museum.

The Museum’s permanent exhibition recently underwent an extension and alteration of its

original content, reopening on 24 April 2015 as part of the Centenary commemorations in Yerevan.

Though the AGMI has yet to change any information regarding its new permanent exhibition on its

website, a couple news articles have mentioned some of the changes made. The museum’s new

exhibit utilises digital technology and a more contemporary design to—hopefully—better engage

visitors (ARMENPRESS, 2015). It also includes a new section that memorialises the other genocides

that have followed in the last one hundred years (TERT AM, 2015). So far these changes seem to be

more modernisation rather than modification of its approach. Unfortunately, there has been no

indication that the actual contents of the new exhibit include a greater emphasis on individual

stories of victims and survivors. However, the AGMI did create a page on its website entitled

‘Remember’, where there appear nearly two hundred portraits of individual victims accompanied

by a brief description of the person’s name and where they were from, followed by ‘s/he was a

victim of the Armenian Genocide’ (AGMI, 2014). While the sharing of personal stories is still

substantially lacking, this page seems to be a step in the right direction by at least giving web

visitors real faces and names on an individual basis in order to humanise the victims.

4.3b Memorial Monuments

Of course, most of the direct descendants of the victims and survivors of the Genocide live in

diaspora communities, and very few will ever have the opportunity to actually visit Armenia,

Tsitsernakaberd or the AGMI. The remaining memorials accessible to Armenian communities are

predominantly small plaques to medium-sized sculptures, typically located in parks, cemeteries or

Armenian churches. In the UK, there are currently two such small memorials—one in the

churchyard of St. Sarkis Armenian Apostolic Church in London, and the other in the Temple of

Peace gardens in Cardiff. There is also a memorial apricot tree in Ealing, outside of London, with a

small plaque dedicating it to the victims of the genocide. As part of the Centenary events, there will

be an additional Genocide Memorial stone tablet unveiled at St. David’s Cathedral in

Pembrokeshire, Wales by the Cardiff Parish of the Armenian Church—a token of appreciation for

the Church of Wales’ recognition of the Armenian Genocide and their annual prayers (AGCCC-UK,

2015).


26

While the commemorative events will include candlelight vigils and laying wreaths and

flowers around these memorials, they are often symbols for the community rather than an

invitation to outsiders to join in the remembering. Bavidge (2012: 326-327) explained the purpose

of memorials such as this: “The usual functions of a memorial outside of remembrance might be to

create social cohesion, community involvement and to work as an act of representation, in short

memorials are usually intended to speak to a specific community.” Though the British Armenian

community is fairly small, there are comparatively few memorials dedicated to the Armenian

Genocide in the country. While the UK continues to avoid formal recognition of the genocide in

deference to its relationship with Turkey, the nation as a whole is quite fond of memorials, so it is

slightly surprising that more emphasis is not placed upon this aspect of memorialising (Bavidge,

2012: 331). Though physical memorials have their place in memorialising atrocities, they do not

seem to be of central importance to the British Armenian community. In fact, their largest appeal

for this community seems to be the symbolic statement of place. That is, they might not have access

to their homeland, but they still have access to a ‘place to call their own’. This becomes a place

where they can go to remember the genocide, and thereby acts as a permanent and physical

reminder of their genocide memory.

4.3c Memorial Events

Memorial events are the most common form of commemoration, perhaps because they are

much more flexible, accommodating and temporary in how an event is memorialised rather than

something etched in stone or an entire museum constructed. It could also be that this type of

commemoration is more easily internalised and personalised for participants. These events are

where the stories are shared, where the collective memory and identity is shaped and maintained,

and where personal connection to one’s heritage is found. So, what do these commemorative

events look like? Panossian (2002: 139) describes what a typical Armenian Genocide

commemoration entails:

“The Genocide… is publicly commemorated every year in all diasporan centres where there is some sort of organized community life. Initially this was a predominantly religious memorial but, after 1965, its observance was politicized. In a typical Armenian community (except in Istanbul), 24 April remembrance ceremonies include church services, an evening of speeches calling for the recognition of the Genocide by the world community and Turkey and, often, demands for the return of the lost lands. There would also be cultural performances highlighting the mass killings, and in some cities public rallies or demonstrations.”


27

British Armenian commemorative events have been no exception to this pattern of collective

memory-making, with nearly fifty different commemorative events planned throughout the country

in 2015 alone, and even more on the agenda for 2016-17 (AGCCC-UK, 2015). The events range from

religious prayer services to political demonstrations to educational talks to cultural exhibitions.

Nevertheless, as different narratives and memories come into contact, the selection process can

create a lot of friction both within and between communities (Selimovic, 2013: 338). With the

heavy politicisation of Armenian Genocide commemorative events, there have undoubtedly been

some frictions in the planning of centenary events. One community member7 I spoke with

mentioned that he refused to participate in any of the planning committees because of the personal

politics of one of the British MPs supporting the events. Though just one example, it illustrates well

how highly emotional and political even the choosing of committee members can be, let alone the

process of actually planning and carrying out the commemorative activities.

Panossian (2002: 137) suggests there are four themes intertwined in commemoration

events of the Armenian Genocide:

1) Armenians as a ‘victim nation’; 2) The continued suffering caused by the lack of recognition of the genocide; 3) The loss of Armenian ‘homeland’; and 4) Some will demand justice or retribution [while all demand recognition].

A decade later, these themes still hold true for a majority of the Centenary commemorative events

being held this year, with perhaps an even heavier emphasis on gaining recognition than in

previous years. For example, one of the larger commemorative events in the US this year was the

Responsibility 2015 Conference held in New York on 13-15 March. Aptly named, the conference

focused on the responsibility of the international community, especially Turkey, to recognise the

Genocide, and for Armenians and academics alike to not rest until that aim has been achieved. The

themes of victimisation, suffering and homeland were all heavily underscored with the injustice of

it all (for more on these themes see Darieva, 2008).

However, I came across an additional theme in the course of my research, which seems to

branch out of this victimised, political rhetoric, and that is the theme of survival. The centenary

events seem to say louder than ever before, ‘we are still here’. The Armenian community seems to

be reassuring itself about the survival of their ancestors, culture and nation despite all the odds.

This is very much reminiscent of Panossian’s ideas regarding contemporary diaspora Armenian

identity quoted in the ‘Identity’ section above—that Armenians’ very existence in spite of the

7 The son of two orphaned genocide survivors, this Lebanese Armenian participant grew up actively engaged with his Armenian heritage, both culturally and politically as an artist, singer and writer.


28

genocide has become the core of their collective identity. When asked what the Centenary meant

for them personally and for their community, one participant8 said it was the community’s

opportunity to ‘stand up and be seen’, a way for them to collectively say ‘we are still here—we

survived, and we will continue to survive’. To the same question, two more respondents9 added that

the Centenary is an opportunity to not just commemorate the tragedy and honour those who died,

but also as a chance to ‘celebrate the survival’ of the culture and community. Moreover, one10 of

them noted that an important part of these celebrations is to encourage the community’s youth to

continue the Armenian culture: “Identity is being diluted at an alarming rate, because youth with

each generation are more assimilated. They don’t contribute to Armenian identity.” In this way, the

practice of commemoration becomes an important part of perpetuating both collective memory

and identity.

This theme of ‘surviving and thriving’ can be seen in several examples this year, but I will

focus on just three: 1) Armenia’s entry for the 2015 Eurovision Song Contest, 2) the Aurora Prize

for Awakening Humanity and 3) the canonisation of Genocide victims as martyrs by the Armenian

Apostolic Church. These three instances deviate from a commemoration narrative that emphasises

foreign testimony and instead focuses attention on the victims and survivors. Not surprisingly, one

of the tools being used to weave this theme throughout the commemorative events is family

history; this is perhaps best seen in the first example.

Armenia’s song entry for the 2015 contest, originally titled ‘Don’t Deny’, is performed by a

group called Genealogy, made up of six Armenians from around the world (France, US, Australia,

Ethiopia, Japan and Armenia). The group’s logo is a white tree of life on a purple background. If the

name and logo of the group weren’t evidence enough of using family history to illustrate the

survival of their nation, the symbolism in the music video is unmistakable. The video begins as an

old family portrait from the early twentieth century, and slowly family members start disappearing

until the room is empty. However, by the end of the song, the singers have returned as a new

generation for another ‘family portrait’. In between takes of that scene, the singers are wandering

around large-print family portraits covered in roots and branches. Each of the singers is wearing

pins with photographs of their own grandparents.

The group has refuted speculations that the song title was specifically referencing the

genocide or is part of the campaign for recognition of the genocide, saying that they were not

8 See Footnote 3, p.15. 9 One is an Argentinian Armenian and granddaughter of genocide survivors who currently serves in the AGBU London. For the other, see Footnote 4, p.19. 10 See Footnote 4, p.19.


29

intending to make any political statement with the song. Azerbaijan unsurprisingly heavily

criticised the song for involving politics in the contest, with its representatives vowing to thwart

Armenia’s political motives from becoming a part of the competition. After this, the Armenian

delegation changed the title of the song to ‘Face the Shadow’ in order to “strengthen the concept of

an anthem of peace, love and unity” (Siim, 2015). Instead, the producers say that the song’s

message is about finding happiness by living in harmony with oneself, one’s family and other

relationships.

The official website says that the video attempts to capture the family “as the symbol of

humanity”, with the continuous cycle of a new generation replacing former ones while maintaining

the same ideals and customs (Brey, 2015). The video ending with a new generation in another

family portrait illustrates well how family history is being used to carry on the theme of ‘we are still

here’. The music video’s director, Aren Bayadyan, said, “Just like the members of Genealogy are

spread around the world, [the] same is with the branches of the tree that became walls between

generations [over time]. However, neither the distance, nor the difficulties could stand between

people if they want to be together” [sic] (Brey, 2015). So, even if allusions to the Genocide are meant

to be subtle, those to the importance of family and genealogy were intended to be loud and clear.

Given the timing of Eurovision (less than a month after the Centenary commemorations),

and the fact that much of what Armenia is doing this year is meant as a commemoration of the

genocide in one way or other, it is difficult to believe that there is no connection between the

symbolism of Armenia’s song entry this year with the Centenary of the Armenian Genocide. Some

may certainly interpret the message as a political one, but given the younger demographic of those

who actually watch Eurovision, there might be another interpretation. It could also be a message of

hope and encouragement for Armenian youth around the globe to ‘face the shadows’ and embrace

their roots, to come to terms with the tragedies that may exist in their family history and ‘live in

harmony’ with their Armenian identity. Conveniently, these messages are not mutually exclusive.

The second example of embracing individual stories as a means of asserting the theme of

survival is the creation of the ‘Aurora Prize for Awakening Humanity’ in honour of the Armenian

Genocide centennial. Named after one of the better-known genocide survivors, Aurora Mardiganian,

the prize seeks to commemorate both the survivors and those who helped rescue them. Beginning

next year, the $1 million prize will annually be given to those who risk their own lives in order to

save others. Winners will then give the award money to the organisation(s) that have inspired their

work. The award is a partnership between Armenian diaspora leaders, human rights activists and

celebrities, but its inspiration came partly from the personal experiences of the Armenian leaders’


30

own ancestors who were saved during the genocide by brave individuals. While the award also

draws attention to the saving interventions of foreigners, it is part of a new vigorous effort to

document the Armenian Genocide “through the stories of survivors and their saviors” [sic], which is

contributing to the shift of a more survivor and individual focused Genocide narrative (Gladstone,

2015).

Owing to everything I’ve discussed regarding the role of personal family history and its

impact on memory and identity, it is not surprising to find that this can be a powerful motivator to

commemorate the past or even honour those who make similar sacrifices in the future. What is

most interesting from this case is that a few individuals whose ancestors had similar survival

stories (i.e. rescued by unexpected individuals) are collaborating not to encourage others to be

courageous or heroic on behalf of others, but merely to encourage people to document their own

ancestors’ stories of survival in the present, while those who at least heard the stories first-hand

are still alive.

The third example potentially has the greatest implications for the future. On 23 April 2015,

the Armenian Apostolic Church officially canonised the Genocide victims as martyrs of their faith

and saints of the Armenian Church. The ceremony took place at the Mother See of Holy Etchmiadzin

in Armenia presided over by His Holiness Karkin II (Supreme Patriarch and Catholicos of All

Armenians) and His Holiness Aram I (Catholicos of the Great House of Cilicia). It was the first

canonisation by the Armenian Apostolic Church in four hundred years. While the canonisation was

collective rather than specifying individual names, it still supports a shift away from foreign-told

accounts towards viewing the Genocide through the eyes of the victims and survivors. Nothing says

‘we have survived against all odds’ more than the official declaration that all the genocide victims

have conquered death and been admitted into the presence of God, which is essentially what

canonisation signifies.

Though the canonisation of the victims as martyrs seems straightforward on the surface, its

prospective ramifications are anything but simple. First, as soon as the victims were consecrated as

martyrs, they transformed from victims to “victors in and through Christ” (Avakian, 2014). The

Church will no longer hold requiem services to grieve their loss or pray for them. In its place, the

Church will institute a regular feast day to celebrate the martyrs. Worshippers will now ask for

these new saints to pray on their behalf. Hratch Tchilingirian (1990), sociologist and deacon in the

Armenian Apostolic Church, explained this profound shift in ecumenical commemoration:

“Once the victims of the Genocide are canonized, we can no longer hold candle light vigils. The mournful, dark atmosphere of commemorations of the Genocide will have to be changed into a "festive" glorious atmosphere. The victims are no longer


31

victims, but saints who live in the glory of God, i.e., those who have joined God in an endless sharing of a divine life beyond all corruption and have found the true life with God. Hence, the question is whether Armenians are willing to see themselves as witness to the Death and Resurrection of Christ--for whom hundreds of thousands of Armenians gave their lives--rather than perpetually identify themselves as the victim.”

Second, the political consequences of the canonisation could also greatly impact Armenian

collective memory and identity. For starters, it would seem outrageous to continue a campaign for

recognition and justice on behalf of saints, who have already received their ‘ultimate reward’ with

God. The canonisation therefore encourages a ‘forgive and forget’ perspective—meaning forgive the

perpetrators and forget the pain and trauma, as the newly consecrated saints surely have

(Tchilingirian, 1990). Also, according to custom, the places where the martyrs died will become

‘holy’. Given the pseudo-sanctification of their homeland over the last century, the actual

consecration of said territory as holy has the potential to further complicate relations with Turkey.

However, perhaps in spite of the change in religious doctrine, the cultural and political practises of

commemoration will remain relatively unaltered.

It will be interesting to see if this tonal shift in religious commemorations seeps into other

commemorative activities in the coming years. Although many Armenians are not seen to devoutly

worship at their local Armenian Apostolic Church parish, or even practise other faiths, the

Armenian Church is still considered a quintessential part of their Armenian cultural identity.

Furthermore, the Church has played a significant role in the annual Genocide commemorative

services for more than fifty years. With this official shift in religious dogma about the standing of

the Genocide victims, it could potentially have a profound impact on not only the way that the

Genocide is remembered and commemorated every year, but subsequently the nature of the

historical and collective memory, as well as Armenian collective identity.

Blackburn Conclusions

32

V. Conclusions

“I am Armenian because my love for my grandfather has inspired me to learn about Armenian history and the

history of the Genocide. I am Armenian because I will never forget my family’s history and, as long as I

remember, Armenians will survive.”—Sara Cohan11 (Facing History, 2004: 12)

This study examined the following questions: How and why does a community of survivors’

descendants remember and commemorate atrocities suffered by previous generations? Are there any

long-lasting legacies of genocide a century later? The findings present one core reason why

Armenians choose to remember the atrocities that occurred one hundred years ago: it is a ‘part of

who they are’, a foundation for their individual and collective identity. Annually commemorating

the Genocide helps the Armenian community to preserve both the historical and collective memory,

and therefore pass on their collective identity to the younger generation. Commemoration thereby

plays three main roles in their lives and community. Firstly, most see it as their duty to remember

and commemorate; some take this further as not just a duty to remember, but to be engaged in

lobbying for recognition. Though some have experienced this duty as a burden to help their

ancestors (Kalayjian and Weisberg, 2002), others simply see it as their way of honouring them.

Secondly, the annual memorialisation serves to unify an otherwise diverse and disjointed

community around what one respondent12 called “the closest thing [Armenians] have to a joint

cause”. Genocide narratives are shared first in families and then in communities at activities such as

commemorations. This not only allows the collective memory and identity “to transcend

generations”, but it also acts as a “binding thread in the fabric of cultural continuity” (Azarian-

Ceccato, 2010: 108). There have been more attempts at coordination among and between

Armenian communities for the Centenary commemorations than for any other event since the first

widespread commemoration of the genocide took place fifty years ago. Engaging political, religious

and cultural leaders and community members at every level, Armenians around the world have

collectively been more involved in creating, preserving and transmitting the Armenian collective

memory and identity regarding the Genocide for the Centenary than perhaps ever before

(Barsamian, 2014). This signifies the importance many have placed on the anniversary as a

particularly special milestone.

Thirdly, acts of remembrance not only honour family and community heritage, but also help

fill a personal void created by absent knowledge of personal family histories. “Heritage has come to

11 Sara Cohan is an American Armenian schoolteacher and a granddaughter of genocide survivors. 12 See Footnote 3, p.15.


33

be used as ‘proof’ of the past, tradition, belonging, and therefore proof also of rights of place,

representation and political voice” (Raj Isar et al., 2011: 9, quoted in Selimovic, 2013: 339-340);

thus, when the opportunity to know or discover one’s heritage is taken away, one can feel stripped

of his or her very identity. Because of the near complete destruction of all Armenian record-keeping

institutions and the very nature of the deportations, almost no records exist of any Armenian

ancestry prior to the generation that experienced the genocide. For a few lucky families, some

records or family bibles made it out of Western Armenia still intact, but most have only a few

stories passed on from those who survived. In other words, today (Western) Armenian genealogy

largely consists of historical memory passed down through the generations.

With both the traumatic and traumatised memories of ancestors as the sum total of

genealogical knowledge for many, it is no wonder why the genocide will remain a core part of

Armenian collective memory and identity no matter how many generations pass. One genocide

survivor said, “We don’t want to fill our children with revenge. Also, we don’t want to trouble or

hurt their hearts. But we feel that our children should know what kind of people their ancestors

were and that obviously includes how they were killed” (Miller and Miller, 1991: 29). Many desire

to “fill in the gaps in their self-narrative”, but will most likely never have the opportunity to do so

(Üngör, 2014: 163). One study found that while losing family members they knew and loved was

traumatic for the survivors, the void of genealogical knowledge can have similar emotional impact

on subsequent generations: “Children of survivors react to the lack of memories and absence of

dead family members. This was a problem to a few of the participants in this research, where they

stated feeling like orphans: no roots, no relatives, no uncles and great aunts—not by choice, but by

force” (Kalayjian and Weisberg, 2002: 268). Araxie, the daughter of two orphaned genocide

survivors, said something similar: “I don’t have any uncles, aunties, grandmother, grandfather. [My

parents have] both died now, of course, and the sadness continues” (Araxie, 2015). Two more of my

respondents13 specifically mentioned the disappointment they experience every time they see an

advertisement online for genealogical websites, or they watch the popular British show ‘Who Do

13 One is a Syrian Armenian and grandson of genocide survivors. His wife is also a direct descendant of survivors. He said, “The TV programme, ‘Who Do You Think You Are?’ is very painful for me and my wife because there is no opportunity for us to even begin to answer that question or look into our family histories.” For the other, see Footnote 3, p.15. She said, “I would say that genealogy has everything to do with it. In fact the current trend for people everywhere to trace where they come from has highlighted the point for me. The Ancestry.com advert that asks who are you always rankles as I have no idea (and can't find out)!” [sic].


34

You Think You Are?’ on television, knowing that they have no hope to discover their family roots

prior to 1915.

One community leader14 specifically referenced this vacuum of lost family history as a long-

lasting legacy of the genocide. The void will never be able to be filled, and the loss never made up.

However, he and many others feel that having Turkey at least acknowledge the genocide would

help to bring a small sense of closure. Independent of whether Turkey ever decides to recognise the

genocide, this study has valuably suggested there might be alternative avenues to seeking this

closure—namely, learning and preserving one’s family history. As the generation of survivors have

all passed on, as well as many of their children, the few family memories that do survive are left

with the grandchildren and great grandchildren to preserve and pass on to subsequent generations.

“Stories are what bring family history to life”, so perhaps it is through the active recording and

sharing of the remaining stories that future generations might be able to find added healing (Hanna,

2015; see also Kalayjian et al., 1996: 88). Furthermore, though pre-1915 Armenian family stories

are largely forgotten and irrecoverable at this point, those that have been made and lived during

the last century are equally as worthy of remembering and passing on. Perhaps actively engaging

with what they do know will help future generations of Armenians to ‘face the shadow’ and find

closure, to ‘live in harmony’ with themselves, their family history and their collective Armenian

identity. The genocide is “slipping inexorably beyond the fringes of living memory and… we have to

work harder to make sure we do not forget” (First World, 2015).

14 See Footnote 4, p.19.

Blackburn References

35

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