Kevork Guleserian - A Hero in a Desperate Time

L-R - Areknaz (daughter), Zmroukht (mother)
and Kevork Guleserian

Kevork Guleserian

In an interview with my mother on tape, my grandmother talked about her perils during the Armenian genocide.  One chapter I want to talk about is the family of Kevork Guleserian that saved my grandmother and helped her tremendously during that time.

Here is the excerpt of that interview:  (translated from Ottoman Turkish)

HRIPSEME:  We were in Damascus. Papa was in military. We heard that my father was in Damascus. He sent somebody to bring me. I had a child in my arms. The man came and told me everything and said, “I will bring you as part of my wife’s family.” He could not have sent me. He brought me a head covering. I was going to dress like a Turkish woman to be able to go. They were working on getting me a passport and when the travel arrangements were being made. The son of the ruler was there and asked them if there were any Armenians in the group and they said, “There is one.” So they got very upset and I couldn’t go. Then they took papa to military. I was left with my child in my arms. I had nobody there.

AZAD. To Turkish military?

HRIPSEME. There were Turks there too (Ottoman Empire, Syria was under Turkish rule).
AZAD. I thought that if you were in Damascus, the government was different.HRIPSEME. There are Christian Arabs too. But the Turks are there too. So I wrote to my father and explained the situation. My father sent another man to bring me to him. By that time I have heard that in Hama, Angel’s grandmother, and my sister-in-law and my father-in-law’s family. They are Guleserian. Angel, they are Baronyan. I heard that Kevork , were in Hama. There were men going to Hama and they said, “Let’s go together.” So I went with them and found them. Everybody got off when we were near Hama. I was the only one left. They gave me to a woman who had donkeys and this woman took me to Hama on a donkey. We had nothing. I had the child in my arms and the child’s necessities tied on my back. We came by a cemetery and the woman said, “I will not go in here.” She took me off of the donkey. She said, “I will be afraid to be in a cemetery. You do whatever you will.” I went by myself, I found a shop. I asked the man in the shop, “There is the Baronyan family living here, do you know them?” He said, “Yes, they went to Haleppo.”
AZAD. Oohh.
HRIPSEME.I said, “There is Kevork Guleserian here.” He said, “Yes, they are here but their place is very far.” Then they locked the door. The child wanted some water, I gave him some water and I went sat by the store. And it got dark, it was evening. Then I saw my father-in-laws (grand)son, he later said that he would never walk the way I was sitting at, he would always go the other way. I lifted my head and saw him, Kevork. I was looking for them. He got very surprised and asked what had happened and I told him everything. He took me, the child was in my arms, he took the load I was carrying and took me to their home.
AZAD. That’s good.
HRIPSEME. He knocked on the door, they opened the door, a month, or a month and a half. Papa’s brother’s wife was there.AZAD. She was Guleserian.
HRIPSEME. She was Guleserian as well. In about a month the child who was in my arms, died. I was devastated."

The Guleserian family in Syria.  

L-R sitting, Stepan Khidishahian (brother-in-law of Armen), Armen Guleserian, wife Hripseme Guleserian, Zmroukht Guleserian (wife of Kevork, Sr., who died falling on his knife when closing the gate against the enemy), Kevork, Jr. Guleserian.

Standing:  Arshavir, Areknaz Guleserian, Florenza (I believe she married Kevork, Jr.)

 Kevork and Florenza

Inscription on the back of the card wishing Mrs. Hripsema a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.  Aleppo 1925

Kevork states here that he is sending both pictures as "a memory of our deportation"

If I ever find the family of Kevork, Jr., I want to thank them for saving my grandmother and giving aid to my family.

Hripseme's Story - Never Forget

Wedding Photo taken in Turkey

 April 24 is the day Armenians remember the genocide that took place around 1915.  My mother wrote the following tribute to her mother for her 92nd birthday.

I will always remember my grandmother would cry and mutter things in Turkish. I would ask why grandma was crying and would be told in hushed voices that she is remembering the genocide.  Let us never forget and let us never be silenced.

The following is my mother's tribute -

            ....Born in Aintab, Turkey, in 1985 to Soghmon and Khanoom.  Her father was very well known to all the schools and townspeople as their baker of bread and Lahmajoon.  She was the only daughter.  Mom had four brothers.

            In 1914, she and my father, Armen, were united in marriage.  It was a big and fashionable wedding party that lasted for three days.

            Their first child was a beautiful, bright and healthy little girl who gave them much joy. She was not quite two years old when the Turkish government sent orders to have the Turkish army go around and evacuate everyone in Aintab from their homes.  They must leave!  Only whatever could be placed on a donkey’s back was allowed to be removed from our house.  That was it!  They were all ordered to go in the direction of the desert.  And march they did

            Her trousseau of finest lace, satin and silk was not meant to be enjoyed by her.  One by one, each article was sold for the price of something to eat.  Her gold coins, chains and rings also went the same way.  Eventually, hunger became unbearable and death took its grim toll.  One by one, God called their first born - then their second born - then their third born to be by HIS side.  They were never to feel hunger again.

            As time went on, Pop was able to trade some carpenter work for a sewing machine.  Mom learned how to use it and did dressmaking and alterations, mainly for the Arabs along the way.  They had a very dear companion whose name was Yepros Shirejian.  Yepros was good at scouting around for mom, to sew for the people.

            The Turkish government found out that Pop was a good carpenter.  They were in demand to help build army barracks.  He was taken away to the army.  His instructions were that he was not to reveal he was an Armenian or he would be killed immediately.

            At one point, a friend of his in the army came to him and said, “You know, the army has Armenian men working here and I overheard that the higher ranking officers give orders to kill them all, TOMORROW.”  Needless to say, Pop took his life into his hands and managed to escape during the night.  Being that he was on guard duty made his escape possible.

           

            Now that he was reunited with mom, the news came that “the war is over, return to your homes.”  Somehow they managed to return to Aintab in 1918. She was on one wagon returning to Aintab when another wagon carrying her father was spotted. She could hardly contain her emotions. They ran into each others’ arms.  Her father kissed her all over her face and her eyes and thanked God she was alive.  Her face became covered with his tears.  Tears of joy!  People became impatient and told them to get back on the wagon so they could continue their journey.

            By September 1919, God saw fit that I should be born there.  Armen and Horipsema (Helen) now had a fourth child.  Me!  Starting life all over again, with no money, yet with a stronger faith in God.  What would be my destiny?  Pop went to the American hospital where the Red Cross had canned milk for the patients.  Pop had made friends with Dr. Shepherd, an American Christian doctor.  He begged him for a prescription for some milk for me, or I too would die.  This helped for the time being.  But, again there was trouble. Disagreement was brewing between the Turkish government and the French, English and Germans.  The bombs started off again.  My father took us to the safety of a cave.  He was standing guard to see if it was safe enough to live - a bomb exploded and the shrapnel was embedded in his eyes and face.  He was taken to the American hospital.

            Again, they were ordered to leave Aintab.  By this time, families were terminated.  No matter who you talked to, somebody was killed or died of starvation or illness.  For those who left Aintab now, there was no donkey to carry the burden.  They walked and walked - heading south of the border.  Families became even more separated and confused.  They accepted wagon rides from anyone going south.  Pop had told Mom to find his sister, Mariam, who lived in Aleppo, Syria.  The wagon, Mom was on with baby brother and myself, continued on.  It was getting dusk.  The wagon went to the cemetery and dumped the people out.  This was as far as she would go.

            Fear gripped her heart, tired - hungry - lonely - two little ones - where to go from this cemetery - at night?  She had the sister-in-law’s address, but no one could tell her where it was.  After much walking, swollen feet, and complete exhaustion, she sat down for a goody cry.  Suddenly, she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.  “Girl, what are you doing here?”  When she looked up, it was Mariam’s son.  He assisted her in taking her home where everyone greeted her with love and joy.  She was given both food and rest.  The next day Pop was at the door.  He had been put into the Turkish army again and kept having troubled dreams.  They kept telling him - “go, go, your son is dying.”  So, again he escaped from the Turkish army and found his way to his sister’s house in Syria.  They told him, “Horipsema is resting, Azadohi is also asleep, but your baby son died during the night.”  What a heartbreak!

Syria circa 1920 

            As time went on, things looked better.  Mom had another baby, there was no one home - no telephones to call anyone.  Pop did not know what to do. The baby died right after birth.  Another heartbreak.  My father vowed right then and there that if God would spare my life, he would make a journey to Jerusalem and place a lighted candle in my hand to say a prayer, and place it on a special container for all candles.

            Now his wife, my mom was expecting another child. That is my brother, George. Yes, faith can work miracles.  He lived and still is with us. Thank you God!

            Now they had two children to plan a future for.  What could be more important?  Pop heard that Italy was the place some people were going for relocation.  We went.  The government supplied a big public tent for the homeless Armenians. Why wasn’t I afraid of the mice and rats that were all over the place?  I’ll never know.  There was a huge area for public washing of laundry.  To walk there was slippery and dangerous.  Pop decided to try to go to France.

Hripseme, Azadohi and Armen

            We arrived in France just in time for another child to be born.  A little girl.  Pop left for another “better place.”  He had several brothers in Philadelphia.  Perhaps it would be better to move there.  Since my brother had a Jerusalem birthplace on his passport - it was not available for him to go with us.  So, Pop went alone.  But instead of a delay of four weeks - it was four years of waiting to come to America.  In the meantime, baby Marie became sick.  Mom took her to the hospital.

            The story here is a bit confusing.  They told her the baby was too sick and she must now take her home (that doesn’t sound like a hospital).  Mom had gone to get the child, while my brother and I were holding onto her skirt.  What really happened?  They told her something she could not understand.  They told her to go home.  To this day - I cannot accept anything that tells me she died.  I don’t feel it in my heart that she did.  I asked Mom if they allowed her to go see the baby, she said “NO.”  They were very rude to her.  Was this child given out for adoption?  I pray she was.  If so - she is alive.  Dear God - whether she is with you or whether she is being loved here on earth - watch over her!

Azadohi, Krikor & Hripseme in France 1925

Reunited in Philadelphia

 Finally, we came to America.  Mom and I came first; George followed us six months later, at the age of five.

Azad ©1982

PostScript:  My mother told me that she cried all the way on the boat to Ellis Island missing her brother.

Fresno Remembers - 101 years unrecognized

The theme of the Sermon at First Armenian Presbyterian Church

I spent the last couple of days attending events here with the Armenian Community in Fresno remembering the Armenian Genocide.

 As someone so aptly put - how can 1.5 million people be starved, beaten, robbed, pillaged, burned, raped to death, their villages plundered and their wealth given over to their victors and then they call it an unsolved mystery? 

No, our ancestors knew the truth and they told us and this week we marched, we observed, we prayed, we laid down flowers at memorials and we sang.

 Because, we said, we will not forget.  We will not forget our grandmother's tears, our parents' anguish, our lost and missing relatives, our villages gone and destroyed.  We have been misplaced, we have been scattered, but we are strong and we will not forget.

Near East Relief Display

I cried my grandmother's tears when I listened to the speakers at Fresno State where the Armenian Studies program has placed a monument to the people who perished. 

At the church service, all members of the different clergy came together to perform a service in honor of our ancestors.

The Armenian school brought their students to present the Armenian and American flags and sing the national anthems of both countries.

In spite of hurts and betrayals, we are still fiercely loyal.

Armenian School and Homenetmen Scouts

 














An arm of the memorial that depicts the region my paternal ancestors came from.

Kharpert - Genocide Memorial, CSUF

A small clip of a moving song played beautifully by some of the students.  I love the wood flute, a Shvi

April 24th - the Day a Nation Died

Art by Rosanne Haddad

In commemoration of the Armenian Genocide which is observed on April 24th, I am posting an excellent summary of the genocide by http://silencethelies.com/history/

Summary of the Armenian Genocide of 1915

The Genocide of the Armenians by the Turkish government during World War I represents a major tragedy of the modern age. In this the first Genocide of the 20th century, almost an entire nation was destroyed. The Armenian people were effectively eliminated from the homeland they had occupied for nearly three thousand years. This annihilation was premeditated and planned to be carried out under the cover of war.

During the night of April 23-24, 1915, Armenian political, religious, educational, and intellectual leaders in Istanbul were arrested, deported to the interior, and mercilessly put to death. Next, the Turkish government ordered the deportation of the Armenian people to “relocation centers” – actually to the barren deserts of Syria and Mesopotamia. The Armenians were driven out brutally from the length and breadth of the empire. Secrecy, surprise, deception, torture, dehumanization, rape and pillage were all a part of the process. The whole of Asia Minor was put in motion.

The greatest torment was reserved for the women and children, who were driven for months over mountains and deserts [see map], often dehumanized by being stripped naked and repeatedly preyed upon and abused. Intentionally deprived of food and water, they fell by the hundreds of thousands along the routes to the desert.

There were some survivors scattered throughout the Middle East and Transcaucasia. Thousands of them, refugees here and there, were to die of starvation, epidemics, and exposure. Even the memory of the nation was intended for obliteration. The former existence of Armenians in Turkey was denied. Maps and history were rewritten. Churches, schools, and cultural monuments were desecrated and misnamed. Small children, snatched from their parents, were renamed and farmed out to be raised as Turks. The Turks “annexed” ancestors of the area in ancient times to claim falsely, by such deception, that they inhabited this region from ancient days. A small remnant of the Armenian homeland remained devastated by war and populated largely by starving refugees, only to be subsequently overrun by the Bolshevik Red Army and incorporated into the Soviet Union for seven decades, until its breakup in 1990. The word ” genocide” had not yet been coined. Nonetheless, at the time, many governmental spokesmen and statesmen decried the mass murder of the Armenians as crimes against humanity, and murder of a nation.

Reports of the atrocities gradually came out and were eventually disseminated the world over by newspapers, journals, and eyewitness accounts. In the United States a number of prominent leaders and organizations established fundraising drives for the remnants of the “Starving Armenians”. In Europe the Allied Powers gave public notice that they would hold personally responsible all members of the Turkish government and others who had planned or participated in the massacres. Yet, within a few years, these same governments and statesmen turned away from the Armenians in total disregard of their pledges. Soon the Armenian genocide had become the “Forgotten Genocide”.

In effect, the Turkish government had succeeded in its diabolical plan to exterminate the Armenian population from what is now Turkey. The failure of the international community to remember, or to honor their promises to punish the perpetrators, or to cause Turkey to indemnify the survivors helped convince Adolph Hitler some 20 years later to carry out a similar policy of extermination against the Jews and certain other non-Aryan populations of Europe.

http://silencethelies.com/history/

They Published My Story!

Thanks to 100 lives, they published my story which I wrote about the steps, the tragedies and the efforts of goodhearted people that enabled my mother and my grandparents to escape to America.

https://100lives.com/en/stories/detail/regular/7578/shirley-collins

1928 France

 The picture shows 1928 France: these are the two Bardakjian brothers who looked after my mother, my grandmother and my uncle while my grandfather went to America to find a job and a home.  Unfortunately, my uncle could not get a quota because he was born in Jerusalem and it took four years before my grandmother finally relented and left him with his cousins while she and my mother went on the boat without him.  My mother cried the whole trip across the sea.  It would be another 6 months before my uncle was able to join the rest of the family in Philadelphia.

This is why I always thank the Bardakjian family for taking such good care of my family so many years ago.

Today is April 24th

 Today Armenians all over the world (and yes, we are literally scattered all over the world) have united in commemoration of a genocide that took place in what is now Turkey 100 years ago.  Every Armenian family was touched, torn apart and irreparably damaged by the events.  Some losing their whole family.  I fretted as to what to say on this blog today and then I saw my daughter's post on her Instagram account and I knew I found the answer.  I will re-post it here with her beautiful picture.

People ask me why it is important to Armenians that the genocide our ancestors endured is labeled as "genocide". I've thought about how to answer that question and why it is important to me as a half armenian person. For me it is personal; my family suffered as a result of it and it is not fair that I can't grieve for them appropriately. My great grandmother did not lose 5 of her children and run away scared from the home she loves because of a war to which she was not a part of. It is personal because I know that my race alone was the reason a group of people wanted our death. However, a better answer would be the following: We as humans should not, can not live amongst each other in a civil way and learn from our mistakes if they are brushed under a blood soaked rug. We must acknowledge what has happened so we make sure it does not continue to happen.

Don't March Me Through the Syrian Desert

David Shakhramanov

Regarding the picture the artist says:  Hello from Florida. This is an oil painting I’ve been working on for the past two months to commemorate and raise awareness for the Armenian Genocide. It is called “Don’t March Me Through the Syrian Desert.” The whole piece was created using Red, Blue and Orange and there are exactly 100 footsteps in the sand for every year of our suffering. My grandfather was a survivor of the 1920 Shusha massacre, and although it was not part of the Ottoman genocide per-se, it was still supported by Ottoman forces and occurred within the same time frame, so I always felt like my family were descendants of the survivors.

My family came from Cilicia - now Eastern Turkey.  This song below from Maria Cozette is a commemoration of the massacres that happened there in 1909.  Beautifully sung with Armenian instruments in the background.  I hope you listen to it.

1915 was not the beginning of the atrocities happening to the Armenians.

The Cilician Massacres led to the death of 30,000 Armenians in Cilicia. In the city of Adana alone about 4,500 Armenian homes were burnt down to the ground. By the end of the massacres 15,000 Armenians were left homeless in Adana and 10,000 in Tarson (Tarsus). As a result of the massacres 40,000 Armenians fled to the US, 10,000 to Bulgaria, 5,000 to France, and 5,000 to other nations of Europe.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pfwDhvJT7BU

Why is Grandma Crying?

My mother and my grandparents in Syria

My grandma, my mother's mother, spoke very little English and I spoke very little Turkish or Armenian.  Often, my grandmother would suddenly start crying and saying things in Turkish.  As a little girl, I would get very concerned and I'd ask my mother, "Why is Grandma crying?"  The answer was always the same, "She is crying because of the genocide."  The genocide, I knew, was an attempt to annihilate the Armenian people and eradicate that race from Ottoman Turkey.  I knew that 1.5 million Armenians died during the genocide.

My mother and my grandparents barely made it out with their lives.  My grandmother suffered greatly, losing 5 children through starvation, lack of services, water, and being displaced from their homeland.  My grandmother lost her first child in the desert of Hauran, south of Damascus, (now a part of Jordan). 

My grandmother never wore earrings.  After my mother passed away I found a short story she had written about how my grandmother had many nice things after her marriage, but had to sell them all.  Even her ruby earrings were torn off by Turkish soldiers.

While reading all these things and chronicling all these events, my heart poured out to my grandmother and I wrote her the following poem.

When I look in your eyes

I see another world

I am safe, I am secure

But you are not

If I could, I would travel in time

To be there

To hold your hand

To catch your tears

That travel from here to there and back again

Tears are not held in time

In the glistening tear drops

A memory is held

Trapped forever

And then you are there

Amid the bombs, the hate

Cowering and covering, protecting your young

The tears travel back again, to the present, to the now

While I peer and glimpse

Curious

Yet I cannot understand

I am safe, I am secure

But you are not

The tears gush

I cock my head, hoping to know

But the portal is closed to me

For you it is wide open

You utter in words I never learned

I walk away for I am safe and I am secure

And now I return, but the tears have taken you

And the portal has slammed the door shut

Forgive me Grandmama

I never learned, I never understood

The portal calls and beckons

For me to learn, for me to understand

With my tiny hands, I will shove, I will heave

The massive stone taunts me

The portal beckons, I twist and turn and squeeze

Through the sliver of an opening

I will find the bones and bury them

Vehanoush,

Krikor,

Marie,

Mary,

The stillborn

I will find your tears

and mix them with the dry, clay earth

burned by the heat

mixed with the hatred of men

For you, Grandmama,

I will understand

Shirley Kalashian

April 27, 2007

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