Genocide Eyewitness Hampartzoum Chitjian

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A Hair's Breadth from Death

Memoirs of Hampartzoum Chitjian

 

Genocide eyewitness Hampartzoum Chitjian's first-person accounts of the

Armenian genocide and its aftermath tell of his life of suffering, survival by

living as a slave in Turkish and Kurdish households, his escape--via Persia to

Mexico--and subsequently Los Angeles, where a sense of loss and injustice

pervade his being. His raison d'etre becomes to ensure the Genocide is not

forgotten. A very familiar face to the old-time LA community, Chitjian

attended

each and every April 24 demonstration held in the in the 1960s, 70s, 80s and

even through part of the 90s.

 

He died last year before his memoirs were ready for publication. His faithful

daughter finished them, however; the two editions that compilation--one in

English and one in Armenian-- be released next month.

 

LOS ANGELES--On November 15, the Armenian Film Foundation will host a

reception and book signing for A Hair's Breadth from Death, the memoirs of

Hampartzoum Chitjian.

Speakers include scholar Hilmar Kaiser, a German historian who has authored

two publications on the Armenian genocide, Publisher Ara Sarafian of Taderon

Press in London, and Chitjian's daughter, Sara.

"Chitjian's memoirs are a unique contribution to the field of genocide

studies, immigration studies, and the social-economic history of the Ottoman

Empire and Armenia," says Kaiser. "His encounters with other shattered

Armenian

survivors offer a panorama of Armenian survival strategies and the appalling

conditions and choices these few had to make. Students of immigration to the

United States will find the account of the author's journey to the US most

interesting." J. Michael Hagopian, founder and chairman of the Armenian Film

Foundation, will present a short film on Chitjian, who appears in the AFF's

"Witnesses" trilogy of documentary films, and will offer some personal

reflections. Chitjian, who was born in Perri, Kharpert, was J. Michael

Hagopian's babysitter. His daughter will speak about helping her father with

his memoirs, which Seda Maronyan transcribed in Armenian over the course of

several years. Sara translated the memoirs to English, finishing the work

after

her father passed away last year at the age of 102. Sarafian says,

"Chitjian's

life story is remarkable for the amount of detail that is included, and

that is

why these memoirs are one of the most important first-person accounts of the

genocide and survival."

The book signing is at 7 p.m. at the United Armenian Congregational Church

hall, 3480 Cahuenga Boulevard West. Admission is free and light refreshments

will be served. For further information, please contact 805-495-0717.

 

About the Book:

 

A Hair's Breadth from Death represents one of the key memoirs of the Armenian

genocide to date. Hampartzoum Chitjian (1901-2003) fleshes out, in great

detail, the fate of Armenian women and children who were not "deported" in

1915, but separated from their parents for assimilation into Turkish and

Kurdish households. According to some estimates, close to 200,000 Armenians

were targeted for such assimilation during the genocide process, and only a

fraction of them managed to revert back to their Armenian identity after the

defeat of Ottoman Turkey in 1918. Chitjian survived the genocide in the

Kharpert plain, until 1921, when he escaped to Mexico, and later moved to Los

Angeles.

On the eve of the 1915 Armenian deportations, Chitjian's father took his four

sons to a Turkish orphanage in Perri, with the hope that they would somehow

survive. The remaining Armenian population of Perri was soon deported and

killed. Those fateful days became a turning point in Chitjian's life, as the

world he knew collapsed around him, and he embarked on an Odyssey of

survival--picking up the pieces of his lost world wherever possible. The bulk

of his memoirs are a detailed, blow-by-blow account of his survival in Turkish

and Kurdish families, and his escape to the new world. During this period he

found surviving relatives, got married, set up his own family, and become a

contributing member of Armenian communities in Mexico City and Los Angeles.

Yet the Armenian genocide remained an ever-present element in his life, as he

observed new generations of Armenians who were denied knowledge of their

roots,

their ancestral homeland (their yergeer), and who assimilated as a matter of

course. His experience of the genocide never ended; it just entered new phases

over the decades, until his own death in 2003. Perhaps it is for this reason

that, like many other survivors of the genocide, he felt compelled to write

down his thoughts and memories as a debt to his family, the people of Perri,

and the quest for justice he felt compelled to champion.

His memoirs are accordingly written in a passionate, forthright, and

unabashed

style. With his unconventional style, use of vernacular Armenian, Turkish, and

Kurdish terms, Chitjian expresses his fury as a survivor of the Armenian

genocide in the modern world. How could the world forget the crime that was

committed against the Armenian people? How can Turkish governments today

continue to deny the genocide of Armenians? And how can Armenian communty

leaders and political parties fail to unite against this injustice.

Chitjian's work makes compelling reading, and can often be extremely

disturbing. It is over 400 pages long and includes over 150 maps, diagrams and

photographs, as well as a glossary of terms. It is a true landmark of a

primary

account of the Armenian genocide.

Written as an autobiography in Armenian and translated into English, the book

is available in both languages through Garod Books: books@garodbooks.com

and at

the Abril bookstore in Glendale.

 

EXCERPTS:

 

Left at the Turkish Orphanage by his father ...Without hesitating a moment my

father took his four sons and walked towards the small [m]agtab (Turkish

school), leaving the women behind in the house. As we walked, my father did

not

utter a word. He was completely speechless. I thought he was mute from the

cruel beatings and torture he suffered in jail.

No one uttered a word--not a sound was made. We all walked with fear and

dismay in our hearts, not knowing what was going to happen to us or what was

going to happen to the rest of our family--my sisters, my aunts, and

stepmother. Why were we separating? In times of crisis the family should stay

together. Instead we were splitting up and going in different directions. I

did

not want to part from my father. Why was he taking us to that school? I was so

afraid. Custom prevailed, then as always. We were taught not to question my

father's command. We obediently obliged.

My father walked in front, clasping tightly onto Kaspar's hand. It was in our

later years when I found out from Kaspar that my father had spoken as we were

walking. My father's last words were that the Turks were going to send him and

the women to America to unite with our brothers. At that point Kaspar asked

why

the boys were going to the Turkish school and not to America with the family.

His final reply was, "America for us is the river." Kaspar confessed that he

didn't understand his father's last response, and at that point he was more

confused than ever. Unfortunately, we were to find out the true meaning of

that

statement when we heard it repeated so many times in the subsequent months...

We were all too young to fully comprehend what was transpiring. Splitting up

the family when all of the Armenians in Perri were picked up, imprisoned and

tortured without cause or explanation was more than we could comprehend or

bear.

We continued to walk silently. My father's tortured posture showed no emotion

or tears. Had his blood turned into stone? I could tell from his eyes he was

smoldering from within. His mind and soul were completely devastated. I am

sure

he didn't know what to tell us. He feared if he said anything unknowingly it

might jeopardize what we might later say or do, and thereby be harmful for us.

He was a devout believer in God. He did what he thought was best and left

us in

the hands of God."

 

Separating the Older Armenian Boys in the Orphanage for Execution

 

Three weeks later without warning, about ten o'clock in the morning, three

gendarmes entered the Protestant Church before we were taken out to pillage

for

the day. Without a word they promptly started to separate boys according to

their physical size and age. They grouped me with the older and larger boys

aged fourteen to seventeen and kept Kaspar, my twin, with the younger boys.

Not

knowing why we were being separated, I immediately yelled out, protesting that

I did not want to be separated from my younger brothers or my twin. "I'm his

twin, we are the same age!" I felt I had to protect them, and I was desperate.

Suddenly, I felt a strong grasp on my arm. Immediately, I recognized the

voice

of Mihran Mirakian, my older brother's classmate. Mihran was also older and

larger than I was. He quietly whispered into my ear, "Let him go, he might

survive. . ."

 

Witnessing the Kurdish Rebellion of Dersim, 1916

 

The following spring, the Kurds, another subjugated minority under Ottoman

rule, rebelled against the Turks. They were advancing towards Medzgerd from

the

mountains of the Derseem, looting and burning the houses as they headed

towards

Perri. The Turkish soldiers weren't able to stop them.

There were a number of Armenian fedayees fighting with the Kurds. Together

they had become a strong force.

As the Kurds got closer to Perri, Turkish soldiers were sent to help the

Turkish civilians escapemany of them used their kaylahgs (river rafts) to

cross

the Perri River over to Hoshay.

One morning I had gone to the Gahmarr Fountain to fetch water. Suddenly

Doodaughsooz (cut-lipped) Khehder, Ehmeenehm's brother, approached me. He had

acquired that nickname when his upper lip was cut away as punishment for a

crime he had committed. The prosecuting lawyer who found him guilty was an

Armenian. Thereafter, he despised all Armenians. He knew me as Korr-Mamoe's

slave and was unaware that I was Armenian. He rushed up to me and told me to

forget the water, to run home quickly and tell Korr-Mamoe to get on his horse

and rush down to the river.

I hurried home without the water and told Korr-Mamoe the news. "The avenging

Kurds have advanced as far as Bahsue. The Gavours (infidels) were among them.

They are burning and looting everything along the way!" Alarmed and without

further questioning, he grabbed his horse and we rushed towards the river.

Winters usually began in early October in Perri and lasted through the middle

of March. There were always heavy, bitter snowstorms. The rivers froze

three to

four feet deep. Anyone traveling with a horse or donkey with a heavy load

could

safely walk across the river with relative ease during the peak of the coldest

season.

In no time we reached the bank of the Perri River. Because it was early

spring, thick blocks of ice were still breaking loose and floating in the

water. The large chunks of ice made it difficult for the fleeing people to

cross over to Hoshay with their small kaylahgs. Many were thrown off as their

kaylahgs collided with a boulder of ice. Once thrown into the frigid water, it

was very difficult for them to swim ashore or to get back on their kaylahg.

Many people drowned in their desperate attempt to escape.

Suddenly, I saw my twin brother, Kaspar. Almost a year had passed since our

last encounter. I desperately wanted to embrace him. At best, it was a relief

just to know he was still alive and well. He was also escaping with his

Turkish

master, Meudayee Oomoomee, and his family. As they were getting on their

kaylahg, I quickly approached Kaspar and whispered to him to ask his

Effendi if

he would take me too. I felt it would be safer going with them. At the same

time, there might have been a chance we would be reunited again.

 

Saving Armenian Women in the Kharpert Plain at the End of WWI

 

While I was still living at the Armenian orphanage, we began to feel less

intimidated because the Americans were still there--a false sense of calm

prevailed. Both the American missionaries and soldiers encouraged Armenian

boys

to assist Kude Archbishop Mekhitarian to carry out his mission to rescue

Armenians still held in bondage by Turks and Kurds.

Many Armenian women who had been forced to become Turkish and Kurdish wives

left their children fathered by Turks or Kurds and fled to the Armenian

Protestant orphanage. Others refused to give up their children and made the

choice to remain, just as my Aunt Aghavni refused to give up her children and

remained in Perri. I tried to convince her many times but to no avail. While I

realized what a difficult decision that must have been, I greatly admired the

women who left their children and fled when they found the opportunity.

With this opportunity in mind, I remembered the slave who worked in the

gendarme's house in Parchanj. She always treated me well, while her Khanum,

Fahtmah, always taunted me by calling me Gavour Boghee. One day when I had the

opportunity, I decided to go to Parchanj and rescue the slave. I knew I was

risking my life if the gendarme caught me. Nevertheless, I went. First, I

dropped by to say hello to Khanum, the kind, elderly woman who had always

treated me well. It felt good to know she was very happy to see me. She

inquired about my problem with the ghosts. After a short pleasant visit, I

told

her I had come just to see her. Then I left.

I quickly went across the street and went up to the second level of their

three-story house where the slave had her living quarters, above the stable.

The Armenian slave came out as soon as she saw me. Quickly and quietly, I told

her why I had come. I was surprised by her response. Apparently, she and

Khanum

had anticipated my intentions when they saw me in the area and had made their

own arrangements. The slave assured me that she could escape whenever she saw

fit, and that it would be better for me to take Fahtmah Khanum herself. For

some time, she was preparing to escape. Khanum had previously sent her

daughter

away to safety. Now, she was waiting for the opportunity to escape herself and

was willing to part from her sons. So now she was relying on me to take her

away--that day!

I was struck by the sudden realization that the person who had been so cruel

and hostile towards me, shouting Gavour Boghee at me every chance she had, now

wanted me to risk my life to help her escape from her Turkish gendarme husband

who terrified everyone just with his barbaric presence.

I knew the gendarme or his mother could enter that room at any moment. So, we

had to escape immediately. Without giving her suggestion a second thought, I

agreed and quietly followed the Armenian slave up to the third floor. Fahtmah

Khanum was ready and waiting for me to take her away. Silently, without a

word,

she motioned for us to go down the back stairs. She was dressed in her white

charshaff (sheet). Her body and face were concealed. I had never seen her face

before, nor did I see it then. Only her eyes were visible.

"Gee dehk" she said in Turkish. "Let's go!" Bidding us farewell, the slave

whispered, "Be careful--don't get caught!"

When we got downstairs, I peered from behind the house to make sure no one

was

in sight. The coast was clear, so we fled, walking as fast as we could, making

sure we did not attract anyone's attention. Fahtmah Khanum walked briskly

by my

side and never uttered a word.

The walk from Parchanj to Kharpert was about two hours. After walking for

some

time on the road through Kehsereeg, I decided it would be safer to change our

route, even though it would be much longer. By taking the new route, I avoided

passing by the police station that usually had at least sixty policemen

milling

around.

I was greatly relieved when we finally arrived in Mezreh. I took Fahtmah

Khanum directly to the Armenian Protestant orphanage. Without a word, I

quickly

left. All the Armenian women and girls were housed there. Reverend Yeghoyan

had

converted his zhoghovahran, meeting hall, into an orphanage.

 

Discovering the Fate of His Beloved Family Members

 

One day while I was walking alone towards the Hokey Doon, a woman recognized

me. Waving her hand, she called out my name, "Hampartzoum! Hampartzoum!" A

warm

feeling went up and down my spine. It was a nostalgic sound to hear my

Armenian

name called out by a familiar voice from Perri. As she got closer, I

recognized

her. It was a pleasant surprise and realization to know there were other

survivors from Perri!

After a few words, her mood changed and her eyes filled up with tears. She

proceeded to tell me she had seen my sister, Zaruhy, in the Hokey Doon on one

occasion several years earlier and hadn't seen her since. Nor had she heard

what happened to her. That encounter took place when Zaruhy reached Haleb. She

was very exhausted and weak when she began to tell the woman what had happened

to her father and family. As Zaruhy began to relate her story to the woman, it

was obvious she was unable to endure the agony of recalling the painful ordeal

before completing her story. Zaruhy felt faint and collapsed to the ground.

Medical attendants from the Hokey Doon rushed to her assistance and carried

her

away. Thus, the woman was able to tell me only what little Zaruhy managed to

convey to her and no more:

"After returning home from the Turkish orphanage where my father had taken my

three brothers and me, he went home to pick up my stepmother, his sister

Marinos, and my three sisters Zaruhy, Sultahn and Yeranuhi. They joined the

other neighbors from Perri who were being forcibly deported, leaving behind

their personal belongings and their homes. They were not given time to make

preparations for the ordeals of deportation. As soon as they reached the banks

of the Perri River, my father advised my sister Sultahn, who was only sixteen

at the time, to throw herself into the river for a more peaceful death.

Because

of her crippled arm, he felt the Turks would only abuse and torture her, then

inevitably they would kill her. Even though she was a pretty girl, no one

would

take her as a wife. Aware of what they had already done to my father, as

evidenced by the dry bloodstains on his coat, Sultahn promptly threw herself

into the rushing waters of the Perri River.

"After a mournful prayer, the family resumed walking with the others. As they

drew nearer Hoshay, a Turk attempted to grab my stepmother. At that point, my

father tried to stop him, but the Turk reacted swiftly by slicing off my

father's ears...

"As much as we know, those were Zaruhy's last words, and with tears streaming

down her face, she collapsed. Apparently her exhausted body and devastated

soul

couldn't endure any more. We will never know how she managed to escape from

the

demise of the others or how she managed to trudge across the horrible Der Zor

Desert on her own."

 

Hampartzoum Mardiros Chitjian, A Hair's Breadth from Death: The Memoirs of

Hampartzoum Mardiros Chitjian, (London and Reading: Taderon Press, 2004), xx +

434 pp., ISBN 1903656303, maps, photos., illust., gloss., hb., US$35.00. To

order contact books@garodbooks.com

 

ASBAREZ ONLINE

11/05/2004

http://groong.usc.edu/news/msg96533.html

[Guest abcdefghijkl]

If someone specifically asks me to, I can post some pictures of Peri and the Peri river, taken this year.

[Guest abcdefghijkl]

NB:

Azat has just threatened to erase this thread. Talk about doing the Turks' work for them.

 

http://mysite.wanadoo-members.co.uk/virtualani/graphics/spacer2.gif

[Azat]

Look you punk. I did not threaten to delete this thread but to delete all your works. As you have been BANNED from this forum. What part of that do you not understand.

[MosJan]

Azat jan let it go

just bann him wan you see him / or place him under Mod's/Priv