My Grandparents Mesrop & Arusyag Ohanessian |
Today is April 24th. That date doesn't mean much to a lot of people, but to an Armenian it means everything. My paternal grandfather, Mesrop Ohanessian, was a young man living in Van, Turkey when on April 24, 1915, the Ottoman Turks rounded up and began executing Armenian intellectuals and community leaders in Constantinople, beginning their systematic killing of up to one and a half million Armenians.
Even though there are numerous eye witness reports from the period and the term genocide was coined after researching accounts of the massacres of Armenians, the Turkish government continues to deny genocide ever took place. Armenians are still persecuted in Turkey, and to refer to what the Ottoman Turks did to the Armenians as genocide is an offense punishable with jail time.
After my grandfather's entire family was annihilated, he relocated to Iraq where he started a new life and a new family. We're not certain of exactly when he was born, but we're pretty sure he was at least 105 when he died. He rose above his past to become a respected local businessman. He owned the Piccadilly Bakery in Baghdad and was affectionately referred to as Caketchy (cake maker) Mesrop. He was grateful for what he had, and at the end of each day, he would send his children out to deliver bread and other items to those in the community who were less fortunate.
My Uncles & Aunts Sarkis, Ishkhan, Arshalouys, Angel |
Dad didn't come along until later! Varant Ohanessian |
My grandfather was already around 20 years old in 1915. However, you'd never know what he'd been through by looking at or even talking with him. I often wonder how he managed to carry around all those horrific memories for so long. He was a wise man with all kinds of interesting food and health advice. He was also one of the most patient people I've ever met. I never saw him lose his temper or even raise his voice in anger. He was the ideal Hairig (grandfather).
It's easy, especially on this day, to become fixated on all the negative stuff around us, but every April 24th, I try to take a little time to remember Hairig. Maybe I inherited his optimism, but he makes me feel as though I can overcome just about anything.
I should like to see any power of the world destroy this race, this small tribe of unimportant people, whose wars have all been fought and lost, whose structures have crumbled, literature is unread, music is unheard, and prayers are no more answered. Go ahead, destroy Armenia. See if you can do it. Send them into the desert without bread or water. Burn their homes and churches. Then see if they will not laugh, sing and pray again. For when two of them meet anywhere in the world, see if they will not create a New Armenia. ~William Saroyan