[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 156 (2010), Part 9]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Pages 13261-13262]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]




        STORY OF ARMENIAN GENOCIDE SURVIVOR: VARSENIK DEMIRJIAN

                                 ______
                                 

                          HON. ADAM B. SCHIFF

                             of california

                    in the house of representatives

                        Thursday, July 15, 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.
  Below are a few of those stories:

       Varsenik Demirjian, a Genocide survivor, eventually made 
     her way to Yerevan, Armenia, where she lived in a 
     comfortable, two-story home with her two sons, their wives 
     and six grandchildren.
       According to her family, she did not discuss what 
     transpired during the genocide for most of her life. However, 
     in her final years, she found the strength and will to tell 
     her children and grandchildren what happened. Edward 
     Djrbashian, her great grandson, translated her experiences 
     that took place in Adabazar, Turkey, in 1915:
       ``I had no idea what the future had in store for me. Yet, 
     my father and mother had heard of what happened to the 
     Armenians in neighboring villages, so they asked our Arabic 
     neighbors to take care of me, just in case something 
     happened. On April 24 of 1915, when I was only five years 
     old, the bloodthirsty Turks invaded our village. Just as my 
     parents predicted, my mother quickly told me to run to the 
     closet and to stay there.
       ``Panic-stricken, I curled up in the dark closet and in a 
     blink of an eye I heard loud screaming and a loud bang! Out 
     of fear, I dropped the bag of gold coins my mother had given 
     me. The clinking sound alerted the soldier because I heard 
     the clicking of his boots on the hardwood floor coming closer 
     and closer. Thankfully, as he was approaching the closet, one 
     of his superiors called him down and he left the house 
     without finding me. As my eyes closed, I slowly fell asleep.
       ``After a very long time it seemed, I heard a voice 
     calling, `Varsenik, Varsenik!'
       ``The familiar voice comforted me and gave me courage to 
     rush out of the closet.
       ``My heart sunk when I saw the tears in Hassan's and his 
     wife's eyes.
       ```I am sorry to be the one to tell you this, but your 
     parents have been murdered,''' Hassan told me.
       ``Since that day, my life had never been the same. I lived 
     with Hassan and his wife for a few months. They gave me my 
     own room and fed me well. I didn't mind living with them, but 
     the thought of my parents being dead hurt me greatly. One 
     morning as my eyes just opened, Hassan came running to my 
     room and told me to wear my clothes and quickly hide in the 
     closet. As I did what he said, I heard a knock on the door. 
     It was an American's voice. As I closed the closet door, 
     flashbacks of my mother screaming went through my head. It 
     seemed like only a few moments had passed by, and before I 
     knew it, the closet door swung open. There were two men. One 
     seemed to be an American, and the other was an Armenian. I 
     couldn't resist not answering the questions the Armenian man 
     asked me, and eventually he nicely asked me to pack my 
     belongings because he was going to take me to a Red Cross 
     orphanage in Jerusalem. That was the last time I saw Hassan.
       ``In the orphanage, I learned to read and write English and 
     Armenian, cook and knit. I made a couple of friends, but none 
     were ever close to me.
       ``After living in the orphanage for twelve years, my 
     teacher gave me a reason to smile again. She called me up and 
     said, `You are nearing the age of 18 and I have very good 
     news for you, Varsenik. Your uncle from Greece has somehow 
     contacted our Orphanage and we have agreed to let you decide 
     if you want to leave.'
       ``Of course, I was grateful for receiving news that would 
     spark a ray of hope in my melancholic life.
       ``The remaining weeks at the Red Cross orphanage were very 
     delightful, because I knew that in a week or so I would be in 
     a beautiful country, Greece, with people I can call family. 
     As the time approached for me to leave, I thanked everyone in 
     the orphanage house and the teachers for all they had done 
     for me.
       ``What I found in Athens was my future husband, Hakop, whom 
     I married a few years later. We had three children and our 
     family survived during the harsh times of the WWII era, when 
     the Nazis occupied Greece. Finally

[[Page 13262]]

     after the war, we decided that it is time to return to our 
     real homeland, Armenia. In 1947, we boarded another ship 
     which took us to Yerevan.
       ``I knew that this was my very last destination.''

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