The Safety of Being Unseen
Lerna Babikyan
My paternal grandfather Istepan survived 1915 in Tokat-Erbaa with the help of some young female relatives and neighbours. Disguised in girls’ clothing and with mud smeared on his face, he was saved thanks to the words “Don’t take that one, she’s ugly.” He became the only surviving member of his six-sibling family at the age of seven. My maternal grandfather Sarkis was born into a family of basket weavers and farmers in Sinop-Gerze. He grew up without learning Armenian, underlined with the importance of hiding his identity. When I asked him about his memories, he would at first hesitate, then recall the beauty of his village’s nature, and eventually recount uncomfortable stories.
Waiting
Susan Arpajian Jolley
In this week's column, we are featuring the article of Susan Arpajian Jolley from the USA about her grandmother. Parrhesia Collective has been discussing the role of our grandmothers, in our monthly Kov Kovi meetings for some time. Following the articles of our members in the previous weeks, we are honored to receive an article from Susan Arpajian Jolley, that we would like to share with Agos readers. The English original of the article you can read online. As Collective, we would like to thank Susan Arpajian Jolley for sharing her grandmother’s story with us.
From Konya Ereğli to Istanbul: My Grandmother’s Story
Dença Değirmenci
Her story in Ereğli ended when she got married at the age of 17 and moved to Istanbul with my grandfather. At that time, Armenian families would marry off their daughters at a young age to Armenian men to protect them. That’s how my grandmother got married and came to Istanbul for the first time—for her own wedding.
A Violin, A Marriage, and a Century-Long Life
Tamar Gürciyan
For me, this violin is a memory of lives trapped between two worlds, of a woman who struggled to adapt to a new life while carrying the weight of the past, and of my elders, who, despite everything, survived, lived, and loved life. With this exhibition, as I bring to light photographs and the violin hidden under the bed, I hope to uncover the pains, losses, and forgotten stories of the past—while moving closer to hope.
Reflections on Wasafiri’s Armenia(n)s: Elevation Issue II: Realizing We Have a Living Literature
Meri Tek Demir
Of course, in modern Armenian literature, it is impossible to overlook the traumas experienced by writers and poets, their sense of displacement, or the traces of their personal histories within their works. And yet, the fact that classical and modern Western Armenian works are still examined primarily through the lens of author biographies, whether in Istanbul or elsewhere, prevents the literature itself from receiving the recognition it deserves. In this way, a deep-rooted and rich literary tradition is reduced, in the Western gaze, to a mere struggle for visibility. What’s more troubling is that this perspective is not only held in the West but is also increasingly internalized within today’s Istanbul Armenian community.