110 Years After the Armenian Genocide: A Testament of Memory, Reverence, and Pride

After the death of her father, Rev. Balabek Hovsepyan — who had also participated in the historic Battle of Sardarapat in 1918 and whose name is preserved in archival records — the family fell into extreme poverty.

In the aftermath, her relatives arranged her marriage to Baghdasar, who had returned from Europe. The couple had three children: Avetik (Naire’s father), Hasmik, and Hripsime.

Baghdasar’s family from Bitlis maintained close ties with the family of the renowned writer William Saroyan. Nairé recounts how her father often said that Baghdasar lived the remainder of his life haunted by the memory of his slaughtered family, reliving the pain every single day.

Providentially, some of Baghdasar and Srbuhi’s writings and photographs have been preserved. Today, the family cherishes these remnants as sacred relics of their past.

Lusntag Matevosyan

Lusntag Matevosyan’s story stands as a testament to quiet heroism and unbroken memory.

Lusntag, the paternal grandmother of Theresa Matevosyan, was among the few who narrowly survived the horrors of the Armenian Genocide. Born in 1891 in Kars, she was 23 at the onset of the massacres — already a wife and mother to three sons, cradling her newborn child, Albert.

Her ordeal is preserved in the pages of Kaghzvan in Flames, a historical volume co-authored by Vardan Saghatelyan and Ashot Martikyan. But within the Matevosyan family, the memory of Lusntag is more than a narrative — it is a living legacy.

According to family accounts passed down to Theresa Matevosyan, the tragedy began when Turkish soldiers burst into Lusntag’s home, announcing that all men were to be taken away for labor. Her husband and sons were among those seized. In one desperate act of love, Lusntag — who had been boiling potatoes — tried to pass them through the prison bars, as if nourishment might also carry hope. But the hope was short-lived. Days later, news came that her husband and sons had been murdered.

Left with only her infant, Lusntag’s suffering deepened. The soldiers returned and, with brutal cruelty, slaughtered the newborn Albert in front of her.

Stripped of nearly everything, Lusntag was then forced to work as a domestic servant in the home of a Turkish official. Yet, even in bondage, she refused to be broken. Under the cover of night, she joined a group of Armenians fleeing to safety, eventually making her way to Eastern Armenia.

There, amid the ruins of loss, she began to rebuild. She remarried and gave birth to a son — Theresa’s father —Mkrtich. But in her heart, he was Albert, a name that now symbolized love, loss, and survival. That silent devotion was later etched in stone: her son’s gravestone in Armenia reads, “Mkrtich Matevosyan – ALBERT.”

The name lived on through generations. Theresa’s brother, also named Mkrtich, is still affectionately called Albert — a quiet tribute that spans decades and borders.

After settling in Armenia, Lusntag worked in the flower gardens of Dilijan before moving to Yerevan, where she devoted herself to raising her family. She remained a gentle force, marked by deep sorrow but unyielding strength.

In 1972, Lusntag passed away peacefully in Yerevan.

Levon Tokatlyan

Khachatur Melikyan, a public school teacher residing in Los Angeles, recently shared an extraordinary account of his family history — a saga marked by honor, tragedy, resilience, and the enduring power of memory.

Khachatur’s great-grandfather, Levon Tokatlyan, occupies a unique place in history as the first train conductor in the European part of the Ottoman Empire. “At the time,” Khachatur explained, “Turkey didn’t yet have a railway system. French engineers were only beginning to construct the first lines. That’s when my great-grandfather was discovered — his skills recognized and entrusted with a prestigious role.”

Serving as a train conductor during that era was comparable to today’s top aviation positions. He held the title of “chorbaji,” a designation that Khachatur initially misunderstood. “At first, I thought it meant someone who makes soup — ‘chorba’ means soup in Turkish — but I later learned it was an honorific title, higher than ‘efendi,’ granted to respected public figures.”

Khachatur’s grandfather, Levon Tokatlyan, was a successful businessman, remembered in family lore as a bakery owner in the town of Malkara. Whispers passed down through generations suggest he may also have been involved in exporting gold coins to Europe, an act that led to his arrest. Although no official records remain, it is believed he was released due to his family’s reputation. The Soviet era’s political repressions, particularly during the late 1950s, resulted in the widespread destruction of personal and property records — among them, all documentation proving Levon’s ownership of homes and businesses in Malkara, which were later lost in Leninakan (now Gyumri), Armenia.

“My grandfather’s mill still stands in Malkara,” Khachatur notes. “Someone once told me they had seen it.”

One of the most poignant moments in the family’s story when the Tokatlyan family was forced to flee Malkara. As the family prepared to escape, Levon realized he had forgotten to lock the door to his flour mill. Trusting in the goodwill he had cultivated in the community through job creation, he returned on horseback against his cousin Karag’s pleading. “No one will harm me,” he reportedly said. But four days passed with no news. Levon never came back.

Decades later, in 1937 or 1938, a woman from Malkara arrived in Plovdiv, Bulgaria, and told the family she had seen Levon’s body lying on a small hill, while his white Arabian horse was being ridden by his former servant.

Following this tragedy, the surviving family members resettled in Bulgaria, where Levon’s wife, Araksi Garabedyan, raised their children, Anush and Vahan. Araksi’s twin brothers had already emigrated to France, but although they urged her to join them, she refused, unwilling to leave Levon’s relatives behind. The siblings never saw one another again.

The family’s earlier move to Bulgaria was prompted by another harrowing episode. Around 1905, Levon’s cousin Hagop, who owned a café in Malkara, had an altercation with a drunk Turkish soldier who was calling a dog by his name. Insulted and enraged, Hagop shot the soldier. Fearing repercussions, Levon decided to flee immediately to Plovdiv. Years later, when the genocide reached European Turkey, Levon sought refuge in Hagop’s home. Carrying nearly a hundred gold coins strapped to his chest, he made the treacherous journey with his family. Levon urged Hagop to flee the European part of Turkey. The genocide had already reached that region. Hagop fled, following Levon’s advice. He escaped from Malkara. Levon tried to join him later, but was killed when he returned to lock the doors of the flour mill.

Decades passed. During the Soviet years, the Iron Curtain made communication with family abroad impossible. Although Araksi knew her brothers lived in France, the regime’s restrictions prevented any exchange of letters or visits.

In 1991, Khachatur and his family moved to Los Angeles. In 2018, an unexpected encounter would reignite a deeply buried part of their heritage. A visitor from Armenia brought with him a handwritten copy of the Melikyan family genealogy. Driven by curiosity, Khachatur began reaching out to names from the document on social media.

“I wrote a message in English and sent it to about 20 people,” he recalls. “Only one person replied. She told me her grandfather’s name was on the list. She was the granddaughter of Kevork — Araksi’s brother, the same one who tried to bring her to France.”

The reconnection was emotional and profound.

Later that year, Khachatur and his wife traveled to Saint-Raphaël in southern France for a family reunion. Around fifty relatives gathered from across Europe — some even came from Istanbul. “There was a gentleman from London whose grandmother was British, yet he carried the Armenian surname Dichlian,” Khachatur notes. “It may be one of the last remaining ties to his Armenian roots.”

A photograph from that reunion remains one of Khachatur’s most treasured possessions.

The family’s original surname, Dichlian, is derived from the Turkish word for “with teeth” — a nickname given to their earliest known ancestor, who was born with teeth, an unusual trait that turned into a family name. Over generations, geography and politics gradually transformed it into Melikyan.

The family also shares a connection with the late Edward Tovmasyan — a prominent Armenian intellectual, close friend of Hrant Dink, and head of one of Istanbul’s leading Armenian media organizations. Tovmasyan was a relative of Araksi Garabedyan, herself a survivor of the Armenian Genocide.

Reflecting on the emotional reunion in France, Khachatur said: “We embraced each other and cried like children — as if Araksi had finally found her long-lost brothers and sisters.”

As for the trauma that shadows his family’s story, he added, “Forgiveness? I hope life gives me the strength and the chance. But forgetting — no. Not until my grandfather Levon has a grave.”

Almast Nersesyan and Levon Ghazaryan

Anush Nikoghosyan’s family history embodies the trauma and endurance of an entire people. Through her mother’s recollections, Anush shareed the harrowing fate of her maternal great-grandparents, Almast Nersesyan and Levon Ghazaryan. Almast, was a 6-year-old in Bitlis, when her father was killed, her sisters disappeared. In a moment of unbearable exhaustion, her mother hid Almast and her other children under a haystack, never to reunite with them again.

Separated from her loved ones, Almast found refuge in the orphanage of Alexandropol (current Gyumri), where she survived into adulthood. Remarkably, within the orphanage’s walls, she was later reunited with her brother — a rare moment of joy amidst overwhelming loss. Her journey eventually led her to Yerevan, where she married a man whose own family had suffered at the hands of Turkish soldiers.

Anush recalls how her great-grandmother’s eyes would freeze at the mere mention of those dark days. “She used to say, ‘I wish those days would pass and never return,’” Anush shared. Even decades later, Almast never ceased hoping that among the returning survivors from the Syrian dessert, she might one day find her lost sisters. That hope stayed with her until her death in 1979.

Karapet Kalemkerian

Lusina Kalemkerian’s story offers another powerful thread in this tapestry of survival. Her paternal grandfather, Karapet Kalemkerian, was the lone survivor of his family in the city of Yozgat. Hidden under his mother’s skirt during an attack, Karapet witnessed her brutal death but remained concealed.

Rescued by Kurdish neighbors who gave him shelter and a new name, Karapet’s early years were marked by displacement. He later found refuge in an American orphanage and eventually resettled in Greece, where he served in the military and married his future wife. But his longing for his ancestral homeland never waned. When the opportunity arose, he repatriated to Armenia, building a new life founded on perseverance and dedication. Karapet passed away in Yerevan in 1989, leaving a legacy of strength and hope to his descendants.

Hakob Altunyan

Anna Tsarukyan has also shared the story of her grandfather, Hakob Altunyan, who narrowly escaped the Armenian Genocide. The recollections of Hakob Altunyan’s family further illuminate the unspeakable violence of the time and the flickering lights of humanity that persisted. Born in Kutahya, young Hakob was only four years old when Turkish authorities descended on their home under the guise of labor requisition. Foreseeing the impending threat, Hakob’s mother hid a knife in his sock along with family jewelry. When soldiers attempted to kill him, Hakob managed to wound one of them and escape — an act of extraordinary bravery for a child.

Hakob’s memories intertwine tragedy and moments of unexpected kindness. He remembered Komitas — the great Armenian composer — singing songs of hope even as their world collapsed. He also witnessed unspeakable crimes, including the brutal murder of his maternal aunt. Yet amidst this devastation, a courageous Turkish man risked his own life to help the family flee, enabling some of them to resettle in Thessaloniki and France.

The family’s story continued through Hakob’s grandnephew, Boghos Bedros Terzian, who rose to become the 13th Patriarch of the Armenian Catholic Church. His early act of publishing a postcard, it is the first postcard dedicated to the Armenian Genocide published in Rome to commemorate the Armenian Genocide helped broadcast a silenced nation’s cry to the wider world. Hakob himself lived out his later years in Armenia, the homeland he never stopped loving, passing away in 1980.