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I begin with a correction. The title should read AmSCP. Apparently my caps lock got turned on accidentaly.
The Armenian School Connectivity Program is trying to develop relations between the students all over the world. I see they are looking for teachers as well.
Anyhow, I was reading what some of the kids were writing on the Armenian Genocide. I know some will say that children shouldn't be exposed to such things but if we ever are going to learn the genocide mentality and not be deceived by its lies, the kids are going to have to know. Anyhow, this one got to me:
http://forum.projectharmony.ru//discussion.php?id=2180
7 :: An evening in our village
:: [email protected] :: Vanadzor
Date of creation: 21.10.2005 09:51:23
February, 1999, Georgia
As usual the inhabitants of our village were sitting near a fireplace and an interesting talk started. Everyone was telling about the events and cases in their life .All the villagers were telling funny and interesting stories from their lives. Only an old man called Tigran was silent as usual. He was the oldest and was just listening and smiling. His old face with wrinkles was sad as usual. That sadness always surprised me – a 12-year-old girl at that time. Very soon I found out the reason and I wanted to comfort that old man, make him forget for a minute the memories that followed him…
The grandfather Tigran lived a hard life filled with sufferings and difficulties. And that all- because of the genocide in 1915.
My pen is powerless to describe all that he told that evening…He did it, because the villagers asked him. At first he refused, then he started with tears in his eyes:
“In 1915 the Turks were murdering us-Armenians. At first they took all the men to a desert. Cursed was the one who was slow. He was killed immediately. We were walking in the Der-Zor desert, getting fewer and fewer.
What I saw was awful. I wouldn’t wish such things even to my enemies…. My father and brothers were exiled. They, as many others were cruelly killed on the way. My mother was forced to kill my 3-year old brother. But she refused. Then the Turks did what even a beast wouldn’t do – they killed my brother – my mother lost her conscious and fell on the ground. I was bound to the tree and was not able to help them. They cut the body of my brother and threw it all over that place. When my mother came to conscious she was made to drink my brother’s blood…” The old man did not continue...
The Armenian School Connectivity Program is trying to develop relations between the students all over the world. I see they are looking for teachers as well.
Anyhow, I was reading what some of the kids were writing on the Armenian Genocide. I know some will say that children shouldn't be exposed to such things but if we ever are going to learn the genocide mentality and not be deceived by its lies, the kids are going to have to know. Anyhow, this one got to me:
http://forum.projectharmony.ru//discussion.php?id=2180
7 :: An evening in our village
:: [email protected] :: Vanadzor
Date of creation: 21.10.2005 09:51:23
February, 1999, Georgia
As usual the inhabitants of our village were sitting near a fireplace and an interesting talk started. Everyone was telling about the events and cases in their life .All the villagers were telling funny and interesting stories from their lives. Only an old man called Tigran was silent as usual. He was the oldest and was just listening and smiling. His old face with wrinkles was sad as usual. That sadness always surprised me – a 12-year-old girl at that time. Very soon I found out the reason and I wanted to comfort that old man, make him forget for a minute the memories that followed him…
The grandfather Tigran lived a hard life filled with sufferings and difficulties. And that all- because of the genocide in 1915.
My pen is powerless to describe all that he told that evening…He did it, because the villagers asked him. At first he refused, then he started with tears in his eyes:
“In 1915 the Turks were murdering us-Armenians. At first they took all the men to a desert. Cursed was the one who was slow. He was killed immediately. We were walking in the Der-Zor desert, getting fewer and fewer.
What I saw was awful. I wouldn’t wish such things even to my enemies…. My father and brothers were exiled. They, as many others were cruelly killed on the way. My mother was forced to kill my 3-year old brother. But she refused. Then the Turks did what even a beast wouldn’t do – they killed my brother – my mother lost her conscious and fell on the ground. I was bound to the tree and was not able to help them. They cut the body of my brother and threw it all over that place. When my mother came to conscious she was made to drink my brother’s blood…” The old man did not continue...