Category: 2023

Special Issue: Genocide Education for the 21st Century
The Armenian Weekly, April 2023

1. A photograph is many things. It’s a snapshot of a moment and an echo of a memory. In older photographs, it’s both what’s in the photo and the materiality of the photo itself–a valuable, often uncanny object in its own right. Photographs can document and amplify historical events. They can also explore notions of beauty, mystery, time and mortality. Photographs are so visceral and direct that they can elicit empathy and connections among people who might otherwise not understand or know one another’s stories. A powerful photograph will usually do all of the above. 

In communities that have been historically oppressed and scattered, photographs have a vital added function–they are witnesses. And that has been the driving force behind Project SAVE Armenian Photograph Archives, to save and share the dynamic narrative of the Armenian world through photographs and the stories they tell so that they won’t be forgotten.

Founded in 1975, Project SAVE is the largest archive in the world solely dedicated to photographs of the Armenian global experience. Its collections contain over 80,000 hardcopy, original photographs spanning over 160 years and several continents.

Today, the visual image has become a dominant, ubiquitous global language due to intense technological and cultural changes to the point where we take photographs for granted. But in the late 1960s, Project SAVE’s founder Ruth Thomasian instinctively understood the universal impact and importance of photographs, especially when she noticed that in the Armenian world there was little to no focus on preserving and documenting them. Without realizing it, she would become one of the most unique, pioneering individuals in the field of Armenian cultural work. 

Decades later, Project SAVE has become one of the important photography archives in North America.

Palanjian family of Erzinga. This extended Palanjian family had another almost identical photograph taken in 1914–the same matriarch, name not known, sitting in the same photo studio chair in Yerzinga, Historic Armenia, with the same backdrop and carpets. The date of this image is approximated as 1903 by using the age of Shooshanig Palanjian, the young girl at the right with the bow in her hair. Shooshanig had attended Euphrates College in Kharpert, Historic Armenia from 1912 to 1913, but was unable to return as the outbreak of war and the plight of Armenians worsened. Only she survived the Genocide of 1915. Photographer unknown. (Project SAVE Armenian Photograph Archives, Courtesy of Araxie Derderian)

2. It’s 1903 and fourteen members of the Palanjian family have gathered in a photo studio in Yerzinga to have a portrait taken. Sitting for a photograph at that time is still mostly for the privileged, so they’re dressed impeccably, like any middle to upper class Armenians in the Ottoman Empire. The children and grandchildren are gathered around the matriarch who lovingly holds the infant on her lap. Three of the children grip wildflowers casually in their tiny hands. Two of the girls have big white bows in their hair. Shooshanig, the younger one, sits on the edge of a chair by her mother, feet dangling. Years later, she’s the only one who would survive the Genocide. But for now, as the photograph is snapped, the warmth and bond between them all is evident in their eyes and demeanor. They are full of hope.

Satenig and Ardashes Megerdichian, Tokyo Japan, 1918. Sister and brother escaped the Genocide in Van and made their way to the United States going east through Russia, Siberia, Manchuria, Japan, Seattle and finally, Boston. Before leaving for America, Satenig and Arshag posed for the camera in traditional Japanese kimonos as a souvenir of their time in the country. (Project SAVE Armenian Photograph Archives, Courtesy of Kay Danielian Megerdichian)

3. It’s 1918 in Tokyo, Japan. A sister and brother are 5,035 miles away from their home in Van–a home and family no longer there. After escaping from the Genocide, they’ve clung to each other for dear life, somehow stumbling east through Siberia and Manchuria before finding themselves in Tokyo, where they decide to pose for a photo in traditional Japanese garb. Why? Perhaps they’re trying to make sense of a world that isn’t recognizable anymore. Perhaps they need proof that they’re still real and alive. They stare awkwardly past the camera as if to say, We can’t believe any of this this either, and we are scared.

Before the trivialization of photography in the digital age, it was often a ritual of wonderment. The camera was a cutting-edge miracle of modernity. It took time to set up and take one photograph. Nothing was taken for granted, from how the subjects were dressed, to the backdrop, to how people were posed. The taking of a photograph was an event. And the physical photo itself then could be an object of comfort or elucidation, giving people pummeled by massive changes something to hold onto and say, That was us, we were there, and maybe our story matters. 

For Satenig and Ardashes Megerdichian, their story progressed from Tokyo to Seattle and finally to Boston. And that photograph traveled with them as a living relic, to remind them of what was, what wasn’t and what could have been. 

They are gone now, but that photograph lives on at Project SAVE, which means Satenig and Ardashes live on. The survivors of the Genocide and thousands of Armenian immigrants before that and after that are gone, so it’s even more valuable and impactful that they continue to exist in the tens of thousands of photographs in Project SAVE’s collections. They and their stories would be forgotten without the immense photographic evidence painstakingly gathered and cared for in this one organization. 

4. I had never known about Vasken and Berjouhie Ekizian. They were siblings who lived somewhere in the Ottoman Empire with their family. Luckily, their parents could afford to have a portrait taken. So there’s a striking photo from 1910 with little Vasken and Berjouhie dressed beautifully, each one holding a toy in their hands. The photographer thought to stand Berjouhie on a chair to be at the same height as her brother. She places her tiny hand lovingly and confidently on her brother’s shoulder. They look at the camera. Both will be killed in the Genocide a few years later.

Siblings Vasken and Berjouhie Ekizian, c. 1910-1914. Both were later killed in the Genocide. Photographer Unknown. (Project SAVE Armenian Photograph Archives, Courtesy of Mary Tooroonjian McDaniel and Alice Tooroonjian Sangster)

But because the photograph survived and is now at Project SAVE, their spirits and relevance can stay alive. We know they existed, mattered, and were part of a vibrant, extensive and historic Armenian community in historic Armenia (much of present day Turkey) because of this one photograph. Imagine if it too did not exist.

Like the Ekizians, the stories from before, during and right after the Armenian Genocide are often fragmented and difficult to piece together into a cohesive narrative, and for good reason. Moving pictures, photographic technology and audio recording were not as ubiquitous as they became by the time of the Holocaust. And the geo-political position of the Ottoman Empire in relation to other world powers, especially in the near apocalyptic chaos of World War I, made it difficult for the Genocide to gain the focus it deserved. There’s also the still stunning fact that the word genocide did not exist at the time (it didn’t exist until Raphael Lemkin coined it in 1944). 

So, beyond the catastrophe unleashed on Ottoman Armenians at a time when there wasn’t the technology to more extensively document it nor the geopolitical will to stop it, there was also no way to talk about it because it was an event that hadn’t been experienced before quite in that manner and on that scale. Consequently, the diaspora has been collectively stuck in the ripple effect of that trauma. And at times, this has negatively impacted the diaspora’s ability to plan and think about a future that’s more imaginative, free of victimhood and centered on where it lives rather than a romanticized faraway country that has its own government, citizens, interests and realities. 

Photographs can be a grounding force that helps recalibrate one’s perspective. Even when we initially don’t recognize the people in photographs, we recognize ourselves somehow. It’s a familiarity and sense of connection that only photographs can ignite. Strangers become familiar and the past seeps into the present so that we can better understand who we are, where we are and what we want to happen next. 

5. It’s the 1920s. Three teenagers become friends in an orphanage in Torino, Italy. The orphanage is run by the Mekhitarists (another important but fragile diasporan entity). Their villages decimated and their families gone, the orphans become one another’s family. Somehow, it’s luckily decided by the administrators to have photographs taken. For whatever reason, these three friends are chosen as the subjects. They’re dressed in crisp white shirts and their hair is shiny and combed. Without knowing the context, one might think they’re the usual close school friends and not orphans who’ve survived a massive historical trauma. The girl in the middle leans her head gently towards the one on the left. They both give a look that’s almost typical of a teenager, aloof and cool (or trying to be). The girl on the right clasps her hands on the middle one’s shoulder and rests her head while smiling at the camera. She has a watch or bracelet on her delicate wrist.

Orphans of the Armenian Genocide Mekhitarist (Armenian Roman Catholic) Orphanage, Torino, Italy, mid-1920s. Photographer Unknown. (Project SAVE Armenian Photograph Archives, Courtesy of Adrina Boyajian Tutunjian)

We don’t know their names or where they ended up after this photograph. But because this photograph is safe and sound at Project SAVE, we know that they existed. We can preserve and share their part in the broader, diverse story of that period.  

Nevart Chalikian with her first husband Garabed Zakarian on a beach. Exact location and date unknown, c. late 1920s-early 1930s. Photographer Unknown. (Project SAVE Armenian Photograph Archives, Courtesy of Nevart Hadji Bedrosian Chalikian)

The years right after the Genocide were profoundly bittersweet. Those who survived had to pick up the pieces and continue somehow. And part of being able to survive is finding a way to have hope again. It was those people who laid the foundations for the dynamic and vibrant communities in the diaspora around the world. People like Garabed Zakarian and Nevart Chalikian, Genocide survivors who found themselves on a beach in the United States around fifteen years after losing everything. They sit for a photograph with poise and warmth, two broken people transforming themselves into Americans.

Most of the people in the photographs at Project SAVE are in the process of becoming. In addition to being Armenian, they are becoming Syrian, French, American, Egyptian, Argentinian, Canadian, Lebanese, Greek, Polish, British, Cuban, Bulgarian–they are becoming a part of the fabric of their new home countries. In this way, the immense photographic archive at Project SAVE is also a unique visual record of the countless countries that Armenians have called home, where they reclaimed hope.

6. Over one hundred years after the Genocide, there are forces yet again that want to erase or lie about the existence of Armenians. Project SAVE continues to make sure they don’t succeed. For nearly 50 years, it has cataloged over 80,000 photographs that provide direct and clear evidence of the rich and expansive culture and history of Armenians over the past 160 years. But there needs to be renewed investment so that organizations like Project SAVE can grow into their true potential to have more sustainable and long-term impact on a larger scale; otherwise we’re just talking to ourselves and preaching to the choir. 

Three teenagers in Torino look out at us from the past. Small children and elderly parents in Yerzinga look out at us. Brothers and sisters, friends and strangers look out at us. They look at us from Tokyo, the United States, the Ottoman Empire, from everywhere Armenians have had vibrant, complicated, sad, beautiful lives, no matter how short or long. They all live on at Project SAVE Photograph Archives. They look out at us from photographs and ask, What’s the plan to reimagine, rejuvenate and properly invest in diaspora organizations that we helped build and that have given so much to the Armenian community and beyond? 

Organizations like Project SAVE will not exist forever without larger investments and connecting to the wider world. Those who came before us did their best to create vibrant communities even though they could have easily folded under the weight of grief and the struggles of immigrant life. Many of them now exist in the photographs at Project SAVE. They are witnesses to what was and what is. What happens next is up to you and me.

Papik and Tatik, Artsakh – (Photo: Eric Nazarian)

Special Issue: Genocide Education for the 21st Century
The Armenian Weekly, April 2023

Genocide education can have many purposes. Whatever the level and type of education (elementary school, graduate school, public education through events or museums), the most essential purpose cuts across all forms: to foster a conceptual framework in members of society that is sensitive to genocide in general and helps those members perceive emergent or occurring genocides when there is enough time to do something about them, especially cases that are being ignored or misconstrued by the media, political leaders, academics, and others. It should equip people with tools to recognize and reject denialism.

The stakes can be very high. Effective genocide education in the 1970s and 1980s could have supported a North American and European population that was ready to recognize the genocides in Bosnia and Rwanda for what they were and were committed to stopping them as soon as possible. It would have prepared that population for the denials, obfuscations and political maneuvering that in actual history meant the deaths of hundreds of thousands unnecessarily. 

With this in mind, I turn to Artsakh (Nagorno-Karabakh). The facts are simple. As Soviet Interior Minister, Stalin put the Armenian area within the Azerbaijani Soviet Socialist Republic, but gave it autonomy, as part of his architectural destabilization of minority groups in the Soviet Union as a means of ensuring all groups’ reliance on Moscow. Over the next six-plus decades, Azerbaijan made a major effort to de-develop Artsakh and reduce its Armenian population. By the mid-1980s, the Artsakh Armenian situation grew so dire that independence was the only path to survival. In 1988, this movement was met with wide-scale violence and repression of Armenians, including two massacres of Armenians in Azerbaijani cities outside Artsakh. With the breakup of the Soviet Union in 1991, Azerbaijan launched a military attack on Artsakh in order to ethnically cleanse it of Armenians. Armenians resisted and by 1994 had reached a stalemate, with Artsakh in Armenian hands. The situation was relatively stable until the September 2020 invasion of Artsakh by Azerbaijan, with the results we are all familiar with. Most notable of the current facts is that Turkey was a full and decisive participant in the war, which was executed by a combined Turkish-Azerbaijani military force and extensive weapons, logistical and financial support from Turkey (for instance, in supplying thousands of mercenaries from among radical Islamists in Syria and Libya).

Why does genocide education matter in this case? Even if one looks at the facts, they do not convey the seriousness of Azerbaijani intentions and the potential impact for Armenians.  Proper genocide education includes both specific knowledge of the Armenian Genocide and an understanding of the processes that lead to genocide, how to evaluate genocidal rhetoric and intent and more. If education about the Armenian Genocide and genocidal processes were firmly in place in 1988, in 1991 and especially in 2020, then the well-funded and effective Azerbaijani disinformation campaign presenting itself as a victim and Armenians as demonic perpetrators would have been met with genuinely critical evaluations rather than almost mechanical parroting by political leaders and media outlets. The propaganda of think-tank journalists such as Thomas de Waal would have been met with skepticism rather than the credulity that has greeted his biased writing even in Armenian circles. Most importantly, the active military participation of Turkey in killing 5,000 Armenians, including many civilians, and drone attacks on civilians across Artsakh would have been met with international outrage as a reinitiation of unrepentant Turkey’s 1915 genocidal project, instead of being completely ignored and even supported in many circles. The clear statements from Turkish and Azerbaijani leaders of the intent to eliminate Armenians, not just from Artsakh but from the entire region, would not have been dismissed with the “politicians will be politicians” mantra or that such extreme rhetoric is just for domestic consumption and doesn’t really confirm in no uncertain terms genocidal intent. The brutality of attacks on Armenian civilians in conjunction with this rhetoric, and a proper framework for understanding Turkish-Azeri-Armenian relations, would have made it impossible not to see these as clear steps on the path to genocide, which would have triggered early-warning mechanisms and global attention to stop the impending genocide against Armenians. A blockade “[d]eliberately inflicting on the [the Armenians of Artsakh] conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part” (Method c of genocide execution as defined in the UN Genocide Convention) would be recognized as an act of genocide without any question.

We know how devastating the results have been of the lack of proper genocide education on the fate of Artsakh Armenians. Let us hope that in the future more effective genocide education will prevent these harms to Armenians and other future groups subjected to the risk of genocide.

AYF memories through the years (Photo provided by Arev Dinkjian)

There’s this feeling unlike any other. This immense sense of pride and accomplishment. This swelling feeling of goodness that is just itching to burst out of you. This fiendish need to get on Facebook and post and repost. There’s nothing like the feeling of having a piece of writing published, and for years now my one outlet has been the Armenian Weekly. 

The process is pretty simple. You write something, you e-mail it in, they read it, perhaps suggest some edits, and then within days–sometimes even hours–there it is posted on their website–your work, published. The title you decided on, the photos you chose to accompany your writing, your name a hyperlink to all the other fabulous things you’ll write, the comment section mostly made up of your mom and her friends. And if you wait just a few more days, your nene will receive a print copy in the mail that she’ll inevitably pin up on her fridge. At church, people will stop you to say they read your article, and you’ll smile and nod and thank them like some small town celebrity. The fan mail will start to roll in…okay maybe not…but I did once receive an adorable AYF lettermans patch from an even more adorable old lady in the mail after she had read one of my articles. You’ll find yourself browsing the Weekly website reading your own article over and over again itching for that newly published feeling. And then, you’ll write some more. 

The question though is how? How do you come up with something to write about? My father, a writer of music himself, often describes this sensation of finding music as opposed to writing it, as if the material is already inside of you. As if your writing is just an untapped stream that flows from you all at once if you just loosen the spout. That kind of writing is the best of all, but it’s hard to come by. You’ve got to be patient and kind to yourself when your well runs dry. 

The other great piece of writing advice I’ve been given and that I can now instill unto you is simple: write something you would want to read. That’s what I do. I write things that resonate with me and by some grace of God at times with others. I write things that feel so incredibly unique to my own life but that I soon learn are part of a universal human experience. I write things that make me feel proud to have written them at all.

So, if you’re looking for a little inspo, here are some articles I’d like to read…and perhaps write, if you don’t:

• Write about a recipe–not the ingredients and the measurements and the temperature to preheat the oven to, no. Tell me about the hands you remember folding butter into itself. About the smells that filled your house and your memories long after the last bite was taken. About the very eyes themselves that spooned spices into a bowl achki chapov.
• Write about your church–the deep red velvet carpet and the smokey altar air. The candles you’ve lit and planted in the sand. The mas tucked away in waxy envelopes and the coffee served in styrofoam cups. 
• Write an ode to somebody–a sibling, a parent, a friend, a camp counselor, a ladies guild member, the cranky jamgotch at your agoump, the old lady in church who doesn’t stand up when the Der Hayr says stand up because…well she’s old, and you know how it is. 
• Write about an event. One that you’ve attended and had the absolute best time. One that you missed and really wish you hadn’t. One that you planned but completely fell apart. One that you are proud to have been a part of at all. 
• Write about your little Armenia. What does it look like? Who’s there with you? When did you know for sure our beloved homeland was reborn in whatever suburb you reside?
• Write a letter to yourself so that one day when you’re inevitably scrolling through the Weekly website, you’ll remember that feeling of having your work published, and you’ll pick up your pen and write again. And this time it’ll be something you want to read…something we all want to read. 

George Aghjayan (right) visiting the grave of his great-grandmother’s sister Vazkanoush with his cousin Cengiz Başıbüyük, June 2019

Special Issue: Genocide Education for the 21st Century
The Armenian Weekly, April 2023

The impact of genocide lingers long after the initiation of the crime. Genocide scholarship today delves into the more nuanced ways in which victims are subjected to genocidal acts in addition to murder. Sexual violence against women and de-ethnicization of children are just two examples. Entire societies are destroyed through genocide and the surviving remnants separated and scattered, resulting in the magnitude of the crime being difficult to quantify.

While research into a person’s ancestry was traditionally reserved for nobility, and in the United States there were societies devoted to descendants of specific groups, for example Daughters of the American Revolution or Mayflower Descendants, since the 1970s there has been an explosion of genealogical research into all ethnic groups regardless of societal class. The publication of Roots: The Saga of an American Family and the television mini-series based on the book brought forth tremendous interest in genealogy, the family history of African Americans, specifically, and all ethnic groups universally. 

In addition, there was controversary over the accuracy of the oral history included in Roots and the ability to document through source records the family history of victims of slavery that is equally relevant for all victims of genocide. 

Initially, my involvement in genocide education focused on demographics and the ways in which a numbers game is utilized in genocide denial. A primary recurring theme in the denial of genocide and ethnic cleansing is to minimize the victim population. Presumably, if less Armenians were alive and living in the Ottoman Empire in 1914, that would mean that less were subjected to murder, rape, slavery, etc.

My research has focused on three aspects. First, I work on documenting the location and previous Armenian population of the villages of Western Armenia, given the destruction of many of these locations and the Turkish government’s changes in names and locations. Second, there is a common misconception that the various source documents are in conflict over the pre-genocide number of Armenians living in the Ottoman Empire. Instead of viewing them in conflict, my research has attempted to show under what assumptions the sources can be brought into agreement. Lastly, I have used micro-studies to better evaluate the quality of the various sources. 

Advertisements searching for relatives missing in the Genocide, printed in the Hairenik newspaper, Wednesday, January 7, 1920

Over time, through this research, I additionally saw the continuing damage to our people by the ruptures in our families caused by the Genocide. I was tormented reading the advertisements searching for relatives placed in various Armenian newspapers following the end of World War I.

Since 1996, I have met hundreds of survivors of the Genocide and their descendants still living in Turkey and desiring to reconnect with their relatives. At the same time, the amount of documentary resources available to Armenians attempting to learn more about their family histories has exploded in the last 20 years. From Armenian church records in Armenia and the Diaspora and family history reports available to Turkish citizens to Ottoman population registers and DNA testing, thousands of Armenians are gaining new insight into their ancestors in ways they never thought would be possible.

The Armenian Genealogy Facebook group has provided an invaluable forum for those seeking answers. The Armenian Immigration Project has culled the documents pertaining to Armenians within United States and Canadian civil records, and there are similar efforts beginning in other countries as well. Since 2016, there have been a number of Armenian genealogy conferences held throughout the United States and in September 2022 at the American University in Armenia. 

The resulting stories of connections and reconnections of families have served as a powerful educational tool to understand the depth of the crime. For over a century now, Armenian women forced into marriages with Muslims, as well as children forced into slavery, and ultimately, assimilation into Muslim households, have been treated as dead. They considered themselves dead to their families and they urged their families to accept their “death.” There were hundreds of thousands who were included in the 1.5 million deaths of the Armenian Genocide. Yet, we know that many of them “survived,” and against all odds and threats of persecution, they retained their Armenian heritage.

Hrant Dink often wrote of the plight of so-called hidden Armenians in Turkey. In 2004, My Grandmother: A Memoir by Fethiye Çetin was published in Turkey and has gone through multiple printings. Through their efforts, a much greater awareness was created both inside and outside the Republic of Turkey about the Armenians still remaining on our ancestral homeland.

The tragic reality is that many genocide survivors pass away never knowing for certain what has happened to their lost relatives. In 2012, while traveling to the village of my grandmother, I had an epiphany about the way DNA testing could be used to assist in the reconnecting of families. In 2015, my hopes were realized—the family of my great-grandmother’s sister and I found each other through DNA testing. 

While it still remains very difficult and certain parts of the homeland are underrepresented, nonetheless today I find it much more common to be able to validate family trees and other oral histories through official documents. The village of Hazari in the Chmshgadzak region is an excellent example of what is possible. In the 1930s, Hovhannes Ajemian collected a tremendous amount of information on the Armenian-inhabited villages of Chmshgadzak. Included with this, thus far, unpublished material were genealogy wheels. I was given a copy of the genealogy wheels for the families of Hazari by the descendants of Vazken Antreasian, author of three books about the village. I was able to rebuild the family trees for most of the families from Hazari based on the genealogy wheels, Ottoman population records and United States records for those who had come from the village. The analysis has been published on houshamadyan.org. 

In this way, genealogy is useful in the toolkit of genocide education and also serves as a critical way of mitigating the continued detrimental impact of genocide on the victims.

Special Issue: Genocide Education for the 21st Century
The Armenian Weekly, April 2023

My first steps in teaching in the US were at Clark University as a doctoral student and teaching assistant for two exceptional professors—Taner Akçam and the late Robert Tobin—for their courses on the Armenian Genocide and on Human Rights and Literature, respectively. That’s when I realized how much I enjoyed the process of teaching: leading interactive discussions with students, addressing their curious and, at times, challenging questions, learning with and from them. Soon, I was invited to teach courses that focused on the history of the Armenian Genocide, comparative genocide and the history of the Holocaust at Stockton University and Northern Arizona University (NAU). Those experiences helped me hone my teaching skills and explore and practice various styles and methods; they also proved quite educational. I was particularly keen on learning what students were more curious to study, what questions they raised in class, in their papers or during group discussions and how well their course material addressed those questions. 

Erin Mouradian sharing her family history

The Road to Gender and Genocide Studies

Soon it became apparent that questions about gendered experiences, specifically the role of female victims, perpetrators and/or bystanders, repeated and dominated the discourse in every class. Students sought to learn more about women and not just as ‘vulnerable,’ and at times ‘faceless’ and ‘nameless’ groups in perpetual suffering and need of external assistance. They raised questions about female agency. How do women exercise their agency during a time of crisis—during a war, genocide and other mass atrocities? How do they face the tremendous hardships these atrocities bring upon them and their families? How do they overcome the unimaginable physical and psychological trauma caused by sexual violence? Do they, or could they, ever heal? And then, there was another set of questions aiming to explore and understand how the male-dominated patriarchal societies exacerbated these women’s pain and trauma and paved the way for more suffering post-genocide and post-war. Why don’t we hear more about sexual violence and its long-lasting consequences when studying the history of mass atrocities? What happens to those girls and women in the aftermath of war or genocide? Are they provided the necessary means and support to heal and find peace, or are they neglected, or worse, segregated and their experience and trauma stigmatized? Are they further pushed away from the rest of society into everlasting darkness and seclusion? And finally, what can we do about it? After all, isn’t it up to us to try and change this reality? 

Students’ deep, thought-provoking questions shaped my approaches to scholarship and inspired me to adopt more inclusive and novel teaching ideas and methods. Thus, when the opportunity to design and offer a new course at Martin-Springer Institute of Northern Arizona University arose, I created “Genocide and Women”—an interdisciplinary course that examined the multifaceted roles women played in genocidal and post-genocidal societies. In this class, students’ primary task was conducting a gendered analysis of mass atrocity. My role as an instructor was to create and manage a classroom where every student would feel comfortable participating in the discussion, even if the discussion topics were not always comfortable. The goal was not just to have the students entertained and engaged; it was instead an attempt to create a civil and professional environment where students would feel free to express themselves and learn from each other while discussing crucial and, at times, controversial subjects. 

Focusing on women’s experiences during the Armenian Genocide, the Holocaust and the genocide in Rwanda, and learning about sexual violence and its memory in Bangladesh, Bosnia and Iraq, we analyzed the relation between gender, ethnicity, class and violence in the “Genocide and Women” class. As Elissa Bemporad and Joyce W. Warren have explained, this intersectionality “plays a crucial role in the way women experience genocide.”¹ Students expressed their appreciation of the topics we discussed and the opportunity to learn about and discuss many different case studies from a new perspective, feedback that indicated the course was a success. 

Discussions with guest lecturers were a favorite student experience in this class. Since they were exposed to a variety of cases, geographies and histories from the Balkans to Central Africa, from the Middle East to Southeast Asia, I invited my colleagues, educators of diverse backgrounds, to join our classes via Zoom and discuss different approaches to and methods of understanding the systemic elements of gendered violence.² With Dr. Arnab Dutta Roy—an expert in world literature focusing on responses to colonialism in South Asian literature—students examined the role of fiction, including novels, contemporary movies and TV shows, in understanding gendered experiences of violence. They also discussed issues of agency and the meaning and role of empathy during and post-genocide. With Mohammad Sajjadur Rahman—an expert on the genocide in Bangladesh—students addressed questions of stigma connected with rape. They observed the links between sexual violence and shame during the genocide and its aftermath. With Dr. Sara Brown—the author of Gender and the Genocide in Rwanda: Women as Rescuers and Perpetrators—students discovered the complexity of female participation in the crime of genocide and in rescue and rehabilitation efforts during and post-genocide.³ Students found these in-class experiences so engaging and compelling that some asked permission to bring their friends and peers to attend the lectures and participate in discussions.

Student Analysis and Engagement 

My students’ positive feedback and enthusiasm at NAU encouraged me to continue teaching this course when I joined Clark University in the fall of 2022. At the Strassler Center, I taught “Genocide and Women” as a seminar, which allowed more time for discussions and analysis. With a group of a dozen bright students, we explored the voices and perspectives of female victims and perpetrators of genocide. We addressed the role of eyewitnesses and relief workers. For students to see the subtleties and depths of the human dimension in the history of genocides and mass atrocity, we investigated the topics through personal accounts, including diaries, published memoirs, testimonies, and through novels and documentary films. These sources created a new dynamic in the classroom: students engaged closely with the text and visual material. They, for example, noticed significant differences between the accounts of male and female survivors when analyzing their testimonies. Students detected females’ willingness to speak about feelings and emotions extensively rather than focusing on factual details of the events, which was more common in male accounts—an observation that corresponds to Belarusian writer and Nobel Prize laureate Svetlana Alexievich’s view: “Women tell things in more interesting ways. They live with more feeling. They observe themselves and their lives. Men are more impressed with action. For them, the sequence of events is more important.”⁴

Students also showed initiative by critically analyzing and utilizing the sources assigned for the coursework. For instance, after reading the memoirs of Vergeen⁵—an Armenian Genocide survivor abducted by the Bedouins and later ashamed to return to the Armenian community because of her facial tattoos—and watching the documentary Grandma’s Tattoos⁶, one student expressed willingness to share her family history with the class. Erin Mouradian—a senior at Clark— volunteered to prepare a presentation and told us the story of her great-grandmother, Arousiag Khacherian of the province of Adana in the Ottoman Empire. Arousiag had survived the deportation to the Syrian desert and endured “horrible treatment” in a Muslim household, followed by several years in an orphanage.⁷ She then traveled to Cuba to marry Abraham Parseghian Mouradian—Erin’s great-grandfather. Together they eventually immigrated to the United States. Erin confessed in class that she remembered seeing her great-grandmother Arousiag’s tattoos, yet she had no idea what they meant or where they came from until our seminar. Erin’s willingness to utilize the analytical skills gained in our class, examine her family history and then share it with her peers created an opportunity for students to grasp the significance of those skills. Suddenly, it became evident that the topics discussed in class were not about some ‘distant’ and ‘faceless’ historical actors of the past. Arousiag’s story helped students relate to the victims’ experiences of trauma and survival. Moreover, they discovered how gender affected not only the experiences but also the recovery from and the memory of the Genocide. 

Zoom discussion with activist Niemat Ahmadi

One of the most emotional and educational experiences for the students of this seminar was the Zoom discussion led by Niemat Ahmadi—a veteran human rights and genocide prevention activist. Ahmadi survived the genocide in Darfur and was forced to flee because of her outspoken nature against the government’s genocidal attacks. To empower and amplify the voice of the communities impacted by genocide in Darfur, in 2009, Ahmadi founded the Darfur Women Action Group (DWAG).⁸ Generous with her time and willing to address any questions students raised, Ahmadi spoke about the continuing threats and attacks on her life and the lives of her family members even after she fled Darfur to continue the struggle for justice and accountability. Nadia Cross, one of the students pursuing a doctoral degree at the Strassler Center, later reflected on how important it was for her to have an opportunity to communicate with a female survivor and human rights activist directly. “Not only did I admire her courage and strength to pursue such work, but I also deeply appreciated that she could provide a local perspective to the women she helped, policy and lawmakers and our student group. That is incredibly unique,” highlighted Nadia.  

The seminar concluded with a class conference where students presented and discussed their final papers in the classroom. The assignment entailed a comparative analysis of women’s experiences during genocide, war and other mass atrocities. Students’ presentations reflected on various case studies—from the Armenian Genocide and the Holocaust to the genocides in Bosnia, Cambodia, Darfur, Guatemala, Iraq and Rwanda. Defne Akyurek’s paper titled “The Rhetoric of Denial in the Cases of the Armenian and Bosnian Genocides,” for instance, focused on Turkish intellectual Halide Edib Adivar and Serbian politician Biljana Plavšić—two influential women who were perpetrators and deniers of genocide. Presenting her thesis, Defne explained that although these female actors operated within different contexts and timeframes, there were quite striking similarities in the methods of their denial. She noticed, for instance, that both Edib and Plavšić reframed the victimized group—Armenians and Bosniaks, respectively—as “threatening aggressors.” These women also attempted “to redirect international attention to violence inflicted on the perpetrating population” and portrayed “genocidal violence as necessary or justified retribution for a perceived wrong committed against their nations.”⁹ 

Defne Akyurek discussing Turkish intellectual Halide Edib Adivar during her presentation

Presenting their research results, students actively discussed issues tackled during the semester. They talked about women’s agency, resistance and denial, poetry and memory, and physical, psychological, emotional and social consequences of sexual violence post-genocide. 

Focusing on women’s experiences during and after genocide allowed students to think about and analyze the history of mass atrocity through a novel, more complex and nuanced lens. Drawing upon primary sources and personal accounts of various actors, not only did they learn about different roles that women played in the time of crisis—as victims, perpetrators, rescuers, resisters, collaborators, traitors, witnesses, human rights activists, among others—but they also discussed the importance of culture and culturally defined roles of women, the rules historically imposed by society that affected the experience of women during and post-genocide. Moreover, interacting with several guest speakers, including survivors and activists, and engaging in thought-provoking discussions in class, students completely immersed themselves in every aspect of gender analysis of war and genocide, ultimately developing exceptional research questions and final projects.

Endnotes:

¹ Women and Genocide: Survivors, Victims, Perpetrators, Elissa Bemporad and Joyce W. Warren, eds., (Bloomington, Indiana: Indiana University Press, 2018)

² Special thanks to Niemat Ahmadi, Dr. Sara E. Brown, Dr. Arnab Dutta Roy, Natalya Lazar, and Mohammad Sajjadur Rahman for guest-lecturing for and sharing their expertise with the students of “Genocide and Women” class.

³ Sara Brown, Gender and the Genocide in Rwanda: Women as Rescuers and Perpetrators (Routledge, 2017)

⁴ Masha Gessen, “The Memory Keeper. The oral histories of Belarus’s new Nobel laureate,” in the New Yorker, Special Issue (October 26, 2015) https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2015/10/26/the-memory-keeper

⁵ Mae M. Derdarian, Vergeen: A Survivor of the Armenian Genocide (Atmus Press Publications, 1996)

⁶ Grandma’s Tattoos, Suzanne Khardalian (2011)

⁷ According to Erin Mouradian, “a deal was made by Arousiag’s mother with a Turkish family and Arousiag was in the custody of a Turkish family but was treated horribly–all she ever elaborated on was that they barely fed her.”

⁸ Darfur Women Action Group (DWAG) is a women-led anti-atrocities nonprofit organization founded in 2009. DWAG seeks to empower and amplify the voice of the communities impacted by genocide in Darfur and to provides a platform for the international community to hear directly from those who are impacted the most by the ongoing violence in Sudan. For more, see: www.darfurwomenaction.org

⁹ Defne, Akyurek, “The Rhetoric of Denial in the Cases of the Armenian and Bosnian Genocides,” Unpublished Final Paper for HIST 239: Genocide and Women seminar (December 2022).