[Congressional Record Volume 156, Number 133 (Wednesday, September 29, 2010)]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Page E1815]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]


           HORIPSEMA ``HELEN'' MENESHIAN: A SURVIVOR'S STORY

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                          HON. ADAM B. SCHIFF

                             of california

                    in the house of representatives

                     Wednesday, September 29, 2010

  Mr. SCHIFF. Madam Speaker, I rise today to memorialize and record a 
courageous story of survival of the Armenian Genocide. The Armenian 
Genocide, perpetrated by the Ottoman Empire from 1915 to 1923, resulted 
in the death of 1.5 million Armenian men, women, and children. As the 
U.S. Ambassador to the Ottoman Empire Henry Morgenthau documented at 
the time, it was a campaign of ``race extermination.''
  The campaign to annihilate the Armenian people failed, as illustrated 
by the proud Armenian nation and prosperous diaspora. It is difficult 
if not impossible to find an Armenian family not touched by the 
genocide, and while there are some survivors still with us, it is 
imperative that we record their stories. Through the Armenian Genocide 
Congressional Record Project, I hope to document the harrowing stories 
of the survivors in an effort to preserve their accounts and to help 
educate the Members of Congress now and in the future of the necessity 
of recognizing the Armenian Genocide.
  This is one of those stories (submitted by Shirley Collins):

       My name is Shirley Kalashian-Collins. I was born in 1951 to 
     Armenian parents. My mother was born in Aintab, Turkey, in 
     1920 in the midst of the genocide of Armenians. My mother and 
     my grandparents narrowly made it out alive and found refuge 
     in the U.S. My paternal grandmother also had a harrowing 
     story. Due to the threat against the Armenians she was 
     shipped to the U.S. at 15 years old to marry an Armenian, 
     only to find out a few years later that her parents were 
     killed and her younger sisters kidnapped. My mother tried 
     hard to put all these stories down on paper so the world 
     would know what happened to our families. After she passed 
     away, I attempted to finish her project. After nearly 10 
     years and hundreds of hours of work, I put the story 
     together.
       Now I want to thank our Rep. Adam Schiff for his efforts to 
     put these stories that are left untold in the Congressional 
     Record. I know my mother, if she were alive, would be dancing 
     up and down with joy. You can't imagine how exciting this is 
     for me after all the years of work to make sure these stories 
     are kept alive and heard so that history will be recorded 
     accurately. Thank you Rep. Schiff. This is such a wonderful 
     and amazing idea.
       This is the story of my Grandmother, Horipsema ``Helen'' 
     Meneshian, as told by my mother, Azadohi Kalashian:
       My mother was a remarkable woman. She was born in Aintab in 
     1895. She was the only daughter of five children born to 
     Soghmon and Khanoom Meneshian.
       In 1914 she married Armen Guleserian. They had a big and 
     fashionable wedding party that lasted for three days. Their 
     first child was a beautiful and bright little girl who gave 
     them much joy. This child 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.
       Only whatever could be placed on a donkey's back was 
     allowed to be removed from the house. Then the Turkish 
     soldiers sealed all the doors, windows and locks of our 
     house. We were all ordered to march in the direction of the 
     Syrian Desert.
       My mother's 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!
       Armen had been sent off to the military and Hripsema had 
     been left alone in Damascas. She tried to reach her father 
     but they would not let her travel because she was Armenian. 
     So, she found someone to travel with to go to Hama where her 
     relative, Kevork, was. In an interview with daughter, Azad, 
     in 1979 she says:
       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 in 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.'' 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 and sat by the store. And it got dark, it was evening. 
     Then I saw my father-in-law's grandson, 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. I was looking 
     for them. He got very surprised and asked what 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.
       He knocked on the door; they opened the door, a month, or a 
     month and a half. Papa's brother's wife was there. She was 
     Guleserian as well. In about a month the child who was in my 
     arms died. I was devastated. Then papa came and asked, 
     ``Where is the boy?'' I said, ``May your soul live, you'll 
     have another one.'' He was such a nice boy. They had asked to 
     have him, ``Give him to us, we'll raise him up'' in Damascus. 
     I would not. How can you give your own child?

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