In Armenia, the genocide’s memory lingers in limbo
As Armenians mark the 110th anniversary of the genocide that began in 1915, efforts toward recognition and historical research remain stymied, due in large part to strained diplomatic ties between Armenia and its neighbors.
The sound of Edita Gzoyan’s heels echoes on the museum’s tiled floors as she leads visitors to a small corner dedicated to France. Behind glass are clerical writings, diplomatic cables, and other artifacts. Gzoyan is the director of the Armenian Genocide Museum-Institute (AGMI), perched on the hills overlooking Yerevan. The museum preserves evidence of the systematic massacres ordered by the Young Turk regime starting in April 1915. Cold gray walls, imposing architecture, and a sense of solemn gravity define the space, which honors the estimated 1.5 million victims of the genocide—a term recognized by about 30 countries, including France, the United States, and Russia.
Known locally as Tsitsernakaberd, or “Swallow Fortress,” the memorial and its archives have not attained the global stature of Israel’s Yad Vashem. Unlike its Israeli counterpart, which draws scholars from around the world and serves as the premier center for Holocaust research, Tsitsernakaberd remains largely isolated. “The two institutions have no relationship whatsoever,” Gzoyan notes, citing Israel’s refusal to recognize the Armenian Genocide, driven by its strategic ties to Turkey and Azerbaijan. Both Ankara and Baku, which border Armenia, deny that the genocide ever occurred.
Scattered archives, little recognition
That lack of recognition weighs heavily on Gzoyan. At a panel discussion in February, she said it was “unacceptable that there is a scientific institute on the Armenian Genocide in Armenia and yet our voice is not heard at all internationally.” Sitting down for an interview, the historian-director quickly emphasizes that “there is a historical consensus on the genocide.” The institute is entirely publicly funded, and Gzoyan is careful about how her words may be interpreted.
She describes the persistent obstacles researchers face. “Most of the archives are in Turkey, where access is difficult or outright impossible, or scattered across the diaspora,” she says. During Soviet rule, which lasted until the 1960s, any inquiry into the genocide was banned. Early research came from survivors and scholars abroad. “We should have become the hub for this memory work,” Gzoyan laments, though she places hope in the ongoing digitization of documents.
‘History shouldn’t be politicized’
The Armenian government has been accused of neglecting the issue altogether. On April 24, the official day of remembrance, Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan used the term Meds Yeghern (“Great Crime”) instead of “genocide.” Yerevan no longer insists on recognition as a precondition—or even a topic of discussion—in ongoing normalization talks with Turkey and Azerbaijan. One diplomat involved in the negotiations explained: “With the Turks, we’ve agreed to disagree. In the long run, opening the borders will lead to acknowledging the facts.”
Gzoyan strongly disagrees. “History shouldn’t be politicized,” she says. “If recognizing the genocide is impossible, then there’s no relationship worth pursuing.”
Despite the many challenges, she finds encouragement in symbolic gestures. Last month, Benoît Payan, the mayor of Marseille, visited the memorial. The French port city was the first to welcome Armenian survivors in 1915, and Gzoyan hopes stronger ties with the diaspora can help amplify their story.
