As the Armenian Genocide Remembrance Day approaches, I want to bring this piece back.
The Armenian Genocide may tell a history of my people, but it is much more than just that–it is a history of humanity, or the lack thereof. Whether or not our government decides to finally recognize the Genocide remains uncertain. But my advice? We can individually recognize the atrocity, raise awareness, and fight for the 1.5 million humans who fell as victims to inhumanity.
The time had come. They knew troops would arrive for them, to take them away. And so six villages congregated and settled upon a mountain. A battle in midst of a World War had begun. The forty days of Musa Dagh had begun.
Amongst the packing villagers was Mariam Soulakhian, my great-grandmother with whom I share my name. She hurriedly garnered all food and supplies that could be carried. These were to be hauled atop Musa Dagh, otherwise known as the Mountain of Moses. In total, the inhabitants gleaned about a month’s worth of food–pomegranates, meat, anything would do.
Mariam and her family experienced frequent nights of terror–their terminating fate was near certain as the men atop Musa Dagh fired with their few hundred rifles against the Ottoman army’s attempts to devastate the villagers to the point of surrender. The Ottomans had outnumbered them with men, weapons, and ammunition. Surely…
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