Discovering in my mid-fifties that I’m one generation removed from genocide changed my life.
I now live with the understanding that my very existence is miraculous — and I feel a responsibility to fight for the type of world that once opened their hearts to those who suffer.
I’m Assyrian on my father’s side and raised to be proud of my heritage, but I knew very little about the history of my people.
My grandparents left Lake Urmia in Iran in 1921. I assumed they shared the typical immigrant story of moving to another country for greater opportunity and a better life.
It wasn’t until a few years ago that I discovered my grandparents fled their homes as part of the Armenian Genocide, which, unbeknownst to me, included Assyrians and Greeks. It’s estimated that 1.5 million Armenians and many hundreds of thousands of Assyrians and Greeks were massacred.
A WORLD AT WAR
The early 20th century was a time of conflict in the Ottoman Empire, encompassing large parts of the present day Middle East. A coalition of various reform movements cropped up, and one group eventually known as the Young Turks led a revolt against the Ottoman regime.
The Young Turks targeted Christians in the name of Turkish nationalism — rounding up and forcibly displacing families, seizing their land and property and ultimately killing them.
When my grandparents’ village was sacked in 1915, survivors fled by an excruciating walk from Urmia to Baghdad, where my father was born in a refugee camp. The family later fled toward Asia. Immigration and ship records chronicle their sea voyage to Yokohama, Japan, and their eventual arrival in San Francisco through Angel Island.
My grandfather worked as a night janitor, and my family forged a new American identity in response to their trauma — urban, fast-paced and likely filled with angst over feeling powerless to prevent the destruction of their homeland. New memories were created, and old ones concealed.
ONE HUNDRED YEARS LATER, LITTLE HAS CHANGED
The parallels to our present world are impossible to ignore.
Forced separation, displacement, imprisonment, torture, starvation and sexual violence perhaps the best known tactics deployed to control a group of people — and still in use today.
Underneath the surface are familiar techniques of fear, intimidation, misinformation and the stoking of anger rooted in falsehoods.
After World War I and World War II, nations believed a new world would push power toward consensus around a shared purpose. In today’s world, however, power is rarely collaborative or equitable — it’s often tyrannical and repressive. Aggressors fear accountability, so they insidiously and with impunity silence the voices of the oppressed.
It’s easy to convince people they face danger from invading enemies. Resentment, frustration and words are weaponized — and terror and trauma are always the outcome.
And in the process, as we’ve seen in the past, the world forgets how quickly a group of people can be lost forever.
PERSECUTED FOR PRESERVING HERITAGE
Most of the world will never face persecution for preserving heritage. Most will never know the anguish of a homeland slipping through their fingers.
Powerful aggressors rewrite our history. Our identity is seen through the eyes of those wishing to erase us. Victors rewrite the names of our villages, cities and countries. Sacred places are desecrated and destroyed. Archives and antiquities are lost or looted.
We fight an unending battle to prove our existence — virtually erased from modern history, our name is unknown to most of the world.
And when we try to remember our history? We are prevented from creating memorials, like for the thousands of Assyrians killed during the Simele Massacre. To this day, a large, deep depression in the ground marks the site. Due to improper burial conditions, the remains of the victims unearth themselves from their shallow mass grave — their bones protruding from the earth in a symbolic cry to the world to remember.
Assyrians, alongside other persecuted peoples, bear witness to silence and inaction that have left millions with unending suffering without purpose or mercy.
Although the mechanics may be different, we know that genocide will never be a phenomenon of the past.
LESSONS FROM OUR HISTORY
But there is a bright side. Learning about the history of my Assyrian heritage has made me hyper aware of the struggles of others.
Now, I seek out stories of diversity and the experiences of others. This helps me focus on our shared human existence and to adopt a more inclusive view of the world.
Taking small actions is my starting point. I rein in feelings of cynicism and judgment. Slowing down my thought process allows time for careful reflection and deliberation. I practice pausing and asking if my words and actions model my values.
This approach requires consistent effort to resist crossing the line to dehumanization. I’m working to welcome the innate whisper that asks if I embody my best self.
Perhaps at its most fundamental level, it comes down to actively choosing faith and turning away from unfounded fear.
Fear is an essential human emotion that protects us from danger. But chronic fear from exaggerated threats is the foundation upon which polarizing disconnection builds in a society.
In contrast, faith imparts deep-rooted feelings of belonging and hope. This gives me the ability to look at our world and feel ready to face the enormity of its challenges.
I see so many people in our divided society yearning for connection with others. I believe the majority of people who feel emotionally and spiritually tied to other human beings will do the right thing when it matters most.
LESSONS FROM OUR ANCESTORS
I choose to pass on the message that I believe my grandparents would send to our complicated and chaotic world. I’ll always remember the circumstances of their escape from genocide and resettling in an unfamiliar land.
At the time, the world provided refuge for those displaced from their homes. I’m certain they would hold above all else that hope and resilience spring from unimaginable tragedy.
To honor their memory, I reject complacency and despair. Instead, I choose to see promise in a brave and bold future.
Disclaimer: The views expressed here are solely those of the author and do not necessarily represent the views of The Assyrian Journal.
Dr. Julia Bajone Hallisy is a practicing dentist, writer and board member of the Assyrian Foundation of America.