1915 Armenian Genocide: My Family's Story - By Lia Parisyan

“I should like to see any power of the world destroy this race, this small tribe of unimportant people, whose wars have all been fought and lost, whose structures have crumbled, literature is unread, music is unheard, and prayers are no more answered. Go ahead, destroy Armenia . See if you can do it. Send them into the desert without bread or water. Burn their homes and churches. Then see if they will not laugh, sing and pray again. For when two of them meet anywhere in the world, see if they will not create a New Armenia.”


― William Saroyan

Aleppo, Syria WWI 

April 24th commemorates the 98th anniversary of the Armenian Genocide in 1915. In 2012, France recognized the Armenian Genocide yet the United States refuses to accept the atrocities and systematic massacres and deportations of 1.5 million Armenians in Turkey.

Growing up, I attended a small parochial Armenian school in Woodside, New York. St. Illuminator's was a bilingual school, which placed great importance on Armenian language and culture, and is the reason I am still able to converse and write in my mother's tongue over a decade after graduating the sixth grade.

I am a Syrian-Armenian. I have a story.

Sateneeg, Mustapha, My Grandfather (Fuad) to right of his father 

My great-grandmother, Sateneeg and her Armenian-American husband (born in New York City) and their two children, Souren and Araxi (also born in New York City), were on vacation in Turkey, when the Genocide broke out. They were visiting Sateeng's first husband's kilim (rug) factory, when he was shot point blank in front of her and his children.

Sateeneg became a widow in an instance and was in her teens with two children. The options were slim: face a march through Der Zor (known as Ad-Deir to Syrians and neighboring countries), which has become synonymous with Armenian Auschwitz or swallow poison to escape capture.

Mustapha Chelebi

As luck or fate would have it, my great-grandfather, Mustapha Chelebi, an ophthalmologist from Aleppo and close friend of Sateneeg's husband, found my great-grandmother and her two children, and lied to Turkish authorities. He was a doctor in the Turkish Army and risked his own life by claiming Sateneeg and her two children were his own. He wrote a letter to his mother and sisters in Syria, and sent Sateneeg, Souren and Araxi to Aleppo. Souren and Araxi would be known as Ali and Fatima and would begin living as Muslims with a family they never met, living on my great-grandfather's word.

The war persisted for 4 years, and for 4 years they lived behind a veil of secrecy. During this time, Mustapha saved 23 Armenian women, by claiming he needed nurses to treat wounded Turkish soldiers. One by one, he sneaked these women out to safety. I still have letters from the American Red Cross (dated 1917), thanking Mustapha for all of his efforts. His heroic rescue of the Armenian women is captured in an Armenian book called, "Antranig."

During the course of the World War I, Mustapha was eventually captured by the Russians; seeing his value as a doctor educated in Lyon, he spent part of the war in St. Petersburg, where he taught himself how to speak and read Russian.

My mother used to tell me that she would find him reading this strange language,when she was a child, and he would tell her that it was Russian. Even after the war, my great-grandfather remained fascinated by Russia; I still have a samovar (literally "water-boiler" used to make tea) that's traveled and survived the Diaspora to make its way into my dining room.

After the Treaty of Versailles was signed, and peace was restored, Mustapha returned to Aleppo. He told his mother and sisters the truth; four years had passed since he had sent Sateneeg and her children to safety. Mustapha gave my Sateneeg a choice (a fiery redhead, who had been somewhat of a free spirit, who went on hunting excursions, was outspoken, the prized and rebellious only daughter of a wealthy Armenian coal mine owner): she could return to New York City or she could do him the great honor of becoming his wife.

The Chelebi Family, Aleppo Syria 

Sateneeg chose to become his wife. She and Mustapha would have 5 children, and lived a highly eccentric and uncharacteristically modern and Western life. Santeneeg became his right hand in the desert. Though illiterate, my grandmother said that she knew all of the medicines and would join Mustapha in his safari hat and his Jeep to go out ton treat the poor free of charge. Mustapha was somewhat a modern-day Robin Hood: he'd overcharge the rich, and treat the poor for free. Their cook, Mahmoud was a man who would have gone completely blind had it not been for treatment. My grandfather took a liking to him, and offered him a cook's position, which he accepted. My mother grew up with Mahmoud, who listened to the radio as he cut onions, she'd ask him questions, and grew up in a highly unusual environment due to the cultural influences that were penetrating the Middle East in the late 1950s.

Eventually, my grandfather, Fuad (Frank) would become involved in politics; my mother, her brother and my grandmother would move to Lebanon during the outbreak of the war, while my grandfather was imprisoned. His sister, Belkis would help him escape by distracting the prison guards; he would leave the country in the back of a car trunk, and with the help of the American Government, would enter New York as a stateless citizen.

This is a story of Hope. My maternal great-grandmother's side wasn't so lucky. All of her family members were massacred save for herself and her father. The atrocities are documented by several foreign observers at the time, there are photographs, and their survivor stories.

The Chobanian Family (my maternal grandmother's family: next post will feature her story)

2015 is the centennial anniversary of the Armenian Genocide; I would like to spend the next two years, collecting stories and photographs of survivors and their families. Perhaps, the United States will not recognize the genocide, but my generation, and the generations that follow will have their histories: the stories of our grandparents and great-grandparents so that we NEVER FORGET.

Kurt and Layne – By Allan Raible

19 years ago today, we lost Kurt Cobain.  11 years ago today, we lost Layne Staley.  Two men lost before their time.  Two men in a lot of pain and a lot of trouble.  One, I considered one of my musical heroes, changing my view of music forever.  The other was less of an influence but still someone I looked at with great respect.

I was in high school when Kurt died.  His death hit me hard.  It was a sudden shock as a huge Nirvana fan.  It was unthinkable.  I listened to “Nevermind,” “Incesticide” and “In Utero,” as if on a continuous loop for an extended period  of my teen years.  I expected to look forward to more music from someone who had enlightened me what pop music could be.  To have him cut himself down in his prime was a true tragedy I could not fathom.  I wanted to hear what was next.  I didn’t know it was the end of the line.  Today, it still is quite upsetting.  He missed out on what could’ve been a bright future and we missed his now absent potential output. 

I was an adult when Layne died.  I listened to him less than Kurt, but nevertheless, he still stood large among the Seattle-grunge luminaries.  His death was sadly less of a surprise.  It was as if he withered and wasted away for a number of years.  He’d faded a little from public consciousness at the time of his death. At that time, Alice In Chains hadn’t released a proper studio album in seven years. And yet, I remember during my teen years being impressed by his versatility.  He had a very different approach than Kurt.  I remember being impressed by the many intricate sonic layers of “I Stay Away,” whereas Kurt was able to make something really brutal come out like a pop song.  Layne had a more traditional, brooding approach. 

Both men managed to get groundbreaking music on Top Forty radio. Both men exuded angst. Both men used their music as mouthpieces to spell out their pain and their struggles.  Both men were ultimately done in by their demons.  Both men are legends who deserve the artistic respect of generations to come.  Both men should still be here.  We are weaker and sadder in their absence. 

Remembering Roger Ebert: 1942-2013 - By Allan Raible

The lights are a little dimmer tonight.  Hollywood has lost one of its biggest fans.  In fact, Roger Ebert approached movies in a very cerebral way.  One could argue that modern cinematic criticism was built around a framework that Ebert and Gene Siskel established.  And now, sadly they are both no longer with us.

I was a huge fan of Ebert’s work.  I remember being a small child, first discovering film and coming across random episodes of “At the Movies.”  I would pay very close attention to the well-thought-out “thumbs up” or “thumbs down” reviews.  I, of course, wouldn’t take them as gospel.  They would serve as mere background foundation to make an informed decision about which movies to see.  If I really thought I wanted to see a film, a “two thumbs down” review wouldn’t deter me.  There were times, in fact, when I disagreed with Ebert’s reviews, but more often than not, he was a respectable barometer whose love of his medium showed through.  You could tell he really lived for those celluloid images.  It wasn’t about building people up or cutting them down.  It was about wanting to see excellent movies.  Gene Siskel died in 1999, and this was still the case in later years with Richard Roeper by his side.  When you watched “At The Movies” (or any one of his similarly branded shows)or read one of Ebert’s columns, you knew you were in for a master class on criticism.  The man won a Pulitzer Prize for an obvious reason. 

Drawing by Allan Raible.

In fact, when I think about it, Roger Ebert was one of the reasons I got into criticism in the first place.  His love for the movies was a big influence on me.  In my case, I write more about music than movies, but loving both mediums just about equally, in Roger Ebert I still saw a kindred spirit.  He was no one’s hack.  He didn’t mince words and he wasn’t out for an easily quotable tagline.  He was a man who viewed entertainment in a scholarly way. 

I would guess the majority of movie, music and book critics working today owe a debt of some kind to Roger Ebert.  I really hope his reviews will be studied for generations to come.  For more than forty years, his opinions mattered.  So few of his peers approached the medium with the love and respect he gave.  Many try and many leave their marks, but there will sadly never be another Roger Ebert. 

So, dim the lights, sit in the middle of the theatre and please let’s put out an extra popcorn bucket for Roger.  Without him, the cinematic experience will never be the same.     

The Age Of Semi-Useless Duplicate Technology By Allan Raible

I remember very clearly back in 2001, as a DJ who liked to make mixes for myself,  spending a sizable sum of money on a CD burning component.  It was made by Philips, and of course it died right around the time the warranty expired.  Of course, I remember thinking it was amazing whenever it worked properly.  

Back in the day when you wanted to make a cassette dub of a CD you bought, you’d of course lose sound quality, but with this technology no quality seemed to be lost.  “How could this be available to the public at my local electronic store?” I pondered this with great seriousness. 

In the wrong hands this could be detrimental to the music industry.  Of course this was just at the dawning of the age of declining CD sales.  Little did I know that the future would hold the age of iTunes when any hapless sap with access to a computer could download a sizable bit of his or her collection onto a DVD  and pass it along to his or her friends with no loss in quality.  Little did I know that the CD itself would be replaced by a sonically weaker medium, (the mp3) and that there would be a day when people wouldn’t want to read the liner notes of every album they purchased.  Music, itself was sadly growing disposable in the era of instant gratification. 

Our need to keep our media omnipresent and at our fingertips at all times is a double-edged sword.  Yes, the convenience such technology affords us is invaluable, but yet at the same time it makes it too easy for the consumer to manipulate and remove it from its original context.  What was once static a generation ago is now malleable.  It’s no longer a solid object.  It now lives somewhere within the confines of the cyber ether. 

It is stranger still that nowadays we often find ourselves with the same product in a variety of formats.  When vinyl returned and began to see a small boom a few years back, you started seeing records not only with bonus CDs bundled inside their packaging, but also with cards for “free” digital downloads.  If you are exclusively a vinyl listener, you aren’t going to want the CD.  If you have the CD (or a record player with a USB drive slot, chances are you don’t need the download code.  But yet the industry still gives us these perks to try to win us over.  Whatever way suits us best, they want us just to keep listening. 

Even more curious is the movie studios’ similar response for the rapidly changing media-conscious environment.  When the Blu-ray disc was introduced, one of the main perks was that it was an interchangeable format that understood the previous technological generation.  The vast majority of all Blu-ray players also play DVDs.  Thus, the development of the Blu-ray/DVD combo-pack is for the most part probably a wasted innovation.  Unless you are a DVD watcher with the foresight to buy the combo pack in preparation for a technological upgrade, you’ll most likely find one of those discs useless.  Perhaps the thought process is that you’ll have the Blu-ray and will be able to take the other disc over to your DVD-watching friend’s house for a social movie night.  Although, I’m sure the movie studios would not like such sharing.  They would probably want everyone to buy his/her own copy or stream it from Netflix. 

Then there’s the whole issue of the free, complimentary digital copy.  This doesn’t come with every DVD or Blu-ray. It should be standardized.  It should be a given.  It isn’t. 

Even worse, when you used to be guaranteed an iTunes download of your movie so you could use it on your portable device, now even that isn’t a given, either.  So-called “Ultra-violet” downloads give you a version of the movie you have to stream on a website, and thus have to set up a password and a special account.  This means you can really only watch your movie if you are watching it on a portable device with wifi or web-access, essentially cutting ipod viewing out of the equation.  Yes, the ipod screen is small and not ideal for movie viewing, but if you are sitting on an airplane, in your seat, or riding a subway, your eyes will adjust and you will deal.  An iTunes movie download is preferable, but I sense the ultra-violet technology was developed in an attempt to knock Apple down a peg.  For the most part, when I get a movie and only comes with an ultra-violet download without an iTunes option, I consider it useless. 

Imagine how many discs are packaged that will never be used.  Imagine how many download codes will never be redeemed.  In an age of attempted universal satisfaction, we have created an environment filled with wasted mediums in an unpredictable marketplace.  This is simultaneously both useful and wasteful.

Until the industry is standardized and say every movie comes in a Blu-ray/DVD/Digital Copy combo-pack, or every record comes packaged the same way, a certain percentage of the public will be let down.  Let downs are a part of life, but not optimal in an age of ever-portable, omnipresent media saturation.