I’ve never talked to him, not once. My father said he saw him one time, years ago, when he was just a kid. With a broad grin and shimmering blue eyes, he sat by my father’s feet and gleefully babbled all evening long. But even then, that story was not much to go off of. At most, our connection was just through blood: we were second cousins. So why did I find myself thinking so much about someone who was basically a stranger to me?
Maybe it was his age. After all, he was as old as I was when he was enlisted to go fight in the war to defend Armenia. We were still children when he was forced to shoot people. Maybe it was the curious circumstances around his death. No one really knew how he was killed. All we were told was that one day he went missing. His parents were hoping that he was just lost or captured as a prisoner of war. Or maybe, it was the brutality of it all — the fact that they could not find his body for months amongst the chaos of the war. Whatever the reason, he has been stuck in my mind for the past couple of years.
My story is not uncommon among Armenian families. We have all lost someone in the 2020 war with Azerbaijan. However, my family escaped relatively unscathed. We only lost one boy, and his corpse was not mutilated publicly on social media like the others. Most were not so lucky. I’ll spare you the gruesome details.
While his death was incredibly tragic, that’s not what I find my heart breaking over. With Azerbaijan breaking the ceasefire agreement again and bombing Armenian cities, I have begun to realize something: his sacrifice will be pointless. Azeris will continue to attack Armenia again and again and again until they take over the country. So many young boys like my cousin will be sent to fight over and over and over until they are all eventually killed. And the world will continue to watch on in silence and say nothing as my people will be slaughtered in a repeat of the 1915 genocide. To this day, the news refuses to recognize and report the situation occurring in Armenia. It has been left up to individual people like me and my family members to post on social media and ask people to speak up. But despite how much we scream and cry and beg, our pleadings go on unanswered. No one is saying anything.
I will never get to meet my cousin. His name was Aren Khoukasyan. He died at 19. He will never get to go to university like I do and get an education. He’ll never find love like I will and get married. He’ll never start a family like I will and watch his children grow. My life will slowly move on. My story will continue. But his will forever be cut short.
I can’t change the fact that he died. But dear readers, I am begging you. Please, please do not let his death be in vain. Please let it mean something. Say something. Say anything about Armenia.
To Aren, my dear cousin. Rest in peace. You did your part. I will do mine.