More Stories

Above all, we Armenians benefited from the kindness of others in our hour of need and now we are telling our stories to the world so that its memory is not erased and no other nation suffers our fate.

I was a late gift to my parents. My father was born in 1899, my mom in 1907 or 1911. Her father was taken away in the night, dressed only in his pajamas. The Turkish soldiers returned to give the blood-stained pajamas to his wife. My mother and her family were sent out into the night, with only the clothes on their backs. Some of their Turkish neighbors went after them to bring them a few personal items.

My Armenian heritage is important to me because it connects me to a network of driven, passionate and loving people who stop at nothing to reach their goals. While I didn't get to spend much time with my great-grandma, Siranoosh Tavookjian, my fondest memories involve sitting on a porch with her, listening to her sing Armenian children's songs. Fortunately, I have had the pleasure of growing up with her daughter (my grandmother), Barbara Bohigian.

My Armenian heritage is very important to me because of what I heard from my parents and my grandparents. I know that all our families suffered greatly, and many lost everything.

My heritage means having compassion: compassion towards my family’s suffering and the suffering of countless persons all over the world. It even means compassion toward the Turk, the Azeri, the Kurd, the perpetrators of the genocide against my people, for they bear a heavy burden as well.

I am unique, I am a survivor, and no matter where I am in the world I will always call myself an Armenian.

To this day I think about my father’s superior officer. He was a Turkish sergeant – I don’t even know his name – but without him my grandmother, my aunts and dozens of others would never have survived the genocide.

Every voice deserves to be heard and every story is worth telling. Here are six survival stories submitted by our users. More coming soon!

Sara Corning, as it says on her gravestone, "lived to serve others."

“I’ve never been here before. It’s very emotional,” says Ruben Vardanyan, as he walks into a long, grey-brown brick school building just outside Yerevan. “It’s as if I am stepping back into time.”