Suzanne Khardali: “Please help us to return. Let our dead to come and get them duly My gömebilel. We turn to us to find mass graves and memorials of them, what we lose our honor to help. “
SUZANNE KHARDALİ:Beirut-born director. He studied journalism in Beirut and Paris, and in Paris of Armenian newspaper Gamk (Will) was the editor. Khardali settled in Stockholm in 1987 which, in 1988, ‘Ararat’ Return 
to movie began directing documentaries. Taken in 2012, ‘Grandma’s Tattoos’ movie theater with the story of Holocaust survivor grandmother moved.
I’ve never seen the names of places and too absurd to be etched in my mind. Kars, Van, Ahtamar, Malatya, Maras and invisible places like Adiyaman maps, nearly a tattoo on my body. I know them all by heart. Maybe the old maps but also maps of today’s Turkey.
Memleketimden strange details, sounds and smells to me in past cases. Those scrumptious fish in Lake Van, Diyarbakir, the gorgeous watermelon, Sasuke I know how it smells when it rains the soil. How is it, one on one to experience so much information about what happens? The answer is very simple;because I was born with an encoded memory. Of the country, lost the memory of the country …
Maras and Adiyaman my father’s mother and father, my mother’s mother and father came from the Moses Mountain and Belen.
The four of them, to love their children and grandchildren lost territory and taught her the value of giving. Marash was a child my grandfather, was the son of an orphan; has lost all his family. 11 brothers … father disappeared, his mother walking in relocation frozen from the cold while …
My grandmother has been kidnapped and sexually abused. Only 12 years old. Never smiled. His face was no time to laugh, hug me, never has. The walking dead. It was hidden in the silence of words.
My grandfather, he was executed along with his assistant in court was a judge. My grandmother and my grandfather taken away, were life; get a good education, was the chance to be happy and live a normal life.
I grew up a major load on my shoulders. My parents, my grandmother and my grandfather had one request: to forget. Never forget! Loved ones lost in the sands of the desert, the people lost in the memory of the massacre occurred …
Today, people’s lack of a family cemetery is what I understand. The tomb itself, now, past and future is the place you see. Get me what was this sense of belonging and continuity.Today I walk anywhere in the world, I’m looking for my roots, which will be fed me, our memories and our roots which nourish our souls …
I hope that the people of Turkey will understand my pain. In 1915, the suffering was not destroyed during the genocide; In contrast, those ‘ah became permanent and intractable.But justice will be healing.
I wish that that Turkey and its brave citizens dared to remove voice and ensure that justice will find.
Please help us to return. Let our dead to come and get them duly My gömebilel. We turn to us to find mass graves and memorials of them, what we lose our honor to help.
We want to go home.
I want to go home!
Stockholm
The healing can happen through justice
It is so absurd that I have never seen places and names that are engraved in my mind myself. Invisible Maps of places such as Kars, Van, Aghtam, Malatya, Adiyaman area Marashi and tattooed on my body. I know them by heart. old maps may be, but still maps of palces of today’s Turkey.
Bizarre detais, sounds and smells, from the homeland have been passed on to me. I know about the fantastic fish from lake Van, the great watermelons from Diyarbakir, can almost smell the earth when it rained in Sassoon.
How come I am full of information that I have not experienced firsthand?
Simply because I was born with the memory encoded in me. The memory of the land, the home that was lost.
My paternal grandparents c Marashi and updates from Adiyaman, my maternal grandparents c clearance from Musa Dagh and Belen.
All four of them taught their children and grandchildren to love and treasure the lost land. My grandfather was just a boy from Marash, the son of an orphan, he feels lost entire family. 11 brothers and sisters. feeling disappeared father. feelings mother froze to death on the march deportation.
My grandma was kidnapped and sexually abused. she was only 12 she never laughed, she never smiled. She never hugged me. She was a walking corpse. Words were each in each silence.
My great grandfather was a judge who was executed in the court, together with his assistant.
What was taken from my grandparents was their life, their chance to make a decent education, their happiness and normality to chance.
I grew up with a huge burden. My parents and grandparents had one request; not to forget.Never forget! the memory of my loved ones lost in the sands of the desert. the memory of my people lost in the killing fields.
Today I understand what does it mean not to have a family grave. A grave is a place where you see yourself, your present, the past and the future
What was taken from me was this continuity, the feeling of belonging. I wonder drifting around the planet today, searching for the roots that would be me nourish, nourish our minds and our souls.
I hope that Turkish people will understand my plight. The pain Caused notes in the genocide of 1915 has vanished, on the contrary it ahs become, constant and chronic. The healing can happen only through justice.
My wish is that Turkey and its courageous citizens will dare to raise their voice and dispense justice.
Help us to come back. so that we can find the dead and give them a decent burial. Let us find the mass graves and turn them into monuments honoring them.
We want you to return home.
I want to return home!
Suzanne who Khardali
Stockholm