The weight of a nation

2026-02-01 - 16:56

“A man’s ethnic identity has more to do with a personal awareness than with geography,” wrote William Saroyan, the Armenian American novelist and playwright. That quote has stayed with me because it explains something I struggled to understand for a long time. I am Armenian — part of a people who have endured immense loss over centuries. My name is Anush, a name that means “sweet.” Growing up, I didn’t like my name; it wasn’t common. I could never find it printed on a keychain or souvenir at gift shops, like my friends could with their names. It made me wish I belonged to a more familiar culture, one that didn’t feel so different or heavy. I often felt like the odd one out. I didn’t fit common beauty standards, and I didn’t feel like I fit into society easily, either. For a long time, I saw my Armenian identity as something that made me stand apart in an uncomfortable way. But as I grew older and learned more about my people and our history, I began to understand that coming from this background is not a burden; it is an honor. The word genocide describes the mass killing of a people because of their identity. The term itself was created to describe what happened to Armenians beginning in April 1915, when the Ottoman Empire systematically targeted Armenian men, women and children. There was no existing word powerful enough to describe the scale and intention of that crime, so a new one was created. The Armenian Genocide is often described as the first genocide of the modern era, and it remains one of the most denied and ignored. Armenians were deported from their homes, forced onto death marches through deserts, starved, beaten and murdered. Families were destroyed simply because of who they were. Although many history books mark 1918 as the end of the genocide, its consequences never truly ended. The trauma passed from generation to generation, shaping how Armenians see the world and themselves. The hostility toward Armenians has also continued in different forms, including violence, displacement and denial. During the 2023 displacement of more than 100,000 Armenians from Artsakh, Azerbaijani soldiers posted videos showing the killing and abuse of Armenians, images that circulated online and deeply traumatized those watching from near and far. Families were cut off from food, medicine and basic necessities. Children who should have been going to school were instead hiding in basements, unsure whether they would be safe the next day. These experiences are not distant history; they are happening within our lifetime. What hurts most is not only the violence, but the silence. Other global conflicts often receive widespread attention, advocacy and aid, while Armenian suffering frequently goes unnoticed or minimized. Many Armenians feel as though their pain is invisible, overshadowed by more powerful nations and louder narratives. What may be most painful of all is the continued denial of the Armenian Genocide by the Turkish state, and the refusal to fully acknowledge the harm and loss it caused. Until there is recognition and accountability, that wound remains open. For Armenians, the genocide is not just a historical event — it is something inherited. Every Armenian is born not only into faith and culture, but into the memory of violence carried across generations. That trauma has not disappeared. In many ways, it continues to shape our lives and our fears today. During this time, Armenians have also felt deep gratitude toward those who have stood with us — including Greeks, Assyrians and others who may not be connected to us by blood, but who are brothers and sisters by choice. Their solidarity has mattered deeply, especially when so many others remained silent. Armenians continue to survive. We continue to mourn, to remember and to stand. Every year on April 24, Armenians around the world pause to honor the lives lost in the genocide. It is a day of grief and reflection, one that reminds us of what was taken — and what still remains. Despite everything, my people are still here. Armenia is still standing. Every year on April 24, Armenians around the world mourn the victims of the genocide — a day of shared grief and remembrance. It is a day marked by silence, reflection and sorrow. I wake up every day proud to be Armenian. No matter how many times our people have been threatened or erased, we endure. Our language, our faith and our identity survive. And if being part of this nation means my name will never appear on a souvenir keychain, I am more than willing to carry something far greater instead.