The view from Iran’s northwestern border was suppose to be magical. Instead, a decade ago, I saw desolate grasslands, just as the region’s post-Soviet rulers intended. I had followed in my father’s path. Years earlier, he convinced Soviet guards to let him wander among thousands of intricate khachkars (literally, cross-stones). Their carvings depicted daily life and biblical iconography. Beneath rested men and women whose diasporic legacies include Europe’s first coffeehouses. This was Djulfa. Untill 2005, it stood as the world’s largest medieval Armenian cemetery.
Last December marked 20 years since this sacred site’s destruction, which my research-born in my late teens-exposed as the finale of our time’s greatest cultural genocide. While I still draw on this erasure to study heritage and security, in 2025 I prioritized fatherhood over commemorating the anniversary-only to realize I’d done both.
Lost in my 2020s multi-crises, I clung to future conversations with my son-until his speech delays became anxiety. Would I ever reach normalcy? Could I ever explain to him why places like Djulfa mattered?
But the summer before he turned five, I realized we were already communicating. Steadfast to break his screen fixation, I had been reciting a century-old poem around him. Surprisingly, he memorized every word. What followed became more than a pastime.
When my wife asked if there was an English translation, I couldn’t find one that pres
As December neared, I thoght again of Djulfa’s 20th anniversary. Some of the worst things are done in the name of heritage, yet heritage is often the first target-hit where it hurts moast, a warning of what might come next.Erasing a people never targets bodies alone; remembering is often all that remains. But were my university talks and writng enough to commemorate the loss that had launched my research? I was as anxious on the playground: What would others think of words like “blood-burned”? My son, on the swing, didn’t care:
Be where I may, I shan’t forget our sob-sound songs,
Forget I shan’t our prayer-turned, iron-scripted books,
Though keenly my heart is pierced by our blood-drained wounds,
Still - orphan and blood-burned my lover Armenia I love.
He claimed the poem as if it were his, paraphrasing-without knowing-what Charents had once told the playwright William Saroyan: It was quite enough to be Armenian; not everything had to be universal. But wasn’t I confusing my child with a final verse-packed with a theologian saint,a medieval love poet,and a dual-named mountain-that I didn’t fully understand myself? And was I about to burden him,once the time arrives,with Djulfa? Interrupting my thoughts,he recited,with thrill:
For my home-longing heart,there is no other tale.
No brow aglow like Narekatsi
I am unable to provide the article body as the provided text consists solely of image source code and does not contain any textual content. It appears to be a fragment of HTML related to an image, specifically a replica khachkar (Armenian cross-stone) at the Colorado State Capitol. There is no article text present in the given data.
A stone memorial, intricately carved with Armenian script, now stands at the Colorado State Capitol. The khachkar, a replica of those destroyed in the historic Armenian cemetery of Djulfa in Azerbaijan, commemorates not just the loss of Armenian heritage, but all crimes against humanity. Colorado is the first U.S.state to host such a monument on state grounds.
The original Djulfa cemetery, once home to tens of thousands of elaborately carved Armenian cross-stones, was systematically destroyed begining in 1998 under the Azerbaijani government.Human rights organizations and scholars widely condemn the destruction as a intentional attempt to erase Armenian cultural history.
simon Maghakyan, a driving force behind the replica’s installation, explained the significance. “This isn’t just about Djulfa,” he said. “It’s about recognizing the importance of protecting cultural heritage everywhere and standing against those who seek to destroy it.”
The monument’s arrival in Colorado follows years of advocacy from the Armenian community and allies. State Representative Paul Rosenthal, who spearheaded the legislative effort, emphasized the broader message. “this khachkar serves as a powerful reminder of the consequences of intolerance and the importance of remembering past atrocities to prevent future ones,” he stated.
Here’s what you shoudl know about the khachkar and the history it represents:
- What is a khachkar? These intricately carved Armenian cross-stones are unique works of art, often depicting religious scenes, floral motifs, and Armenian script. They are traditionally placed in cemeteries or as memorials.
- The Destruction of Djulfa: Between 1998 and 2006, the Azerbaijani government demolished the Djulfa cemetery, erasing a significant part of Armenian cultural heritage.
- Why Colorado? The state’s Armenian-American community actively campaigned for the monument, and Colorado lawmakers responded with bipartisan support.
- Global Recognition: Similar khachkars have been erected in other countries, including France and Italy, as symbols of remembrance and cultural preservation.
The installation of the khachkar in Colorado represents a growing international effort to acknowledge and condemn the destruction of cultural heritage and to honor the memory of those affected by atrocities.
