This year I did not hesitate to be a cynical voice among the thousands of Armenians in Los Angeles ready to brandish their flags on their cars and honk in front of the Turkish Consulate or in Little Armenia in Hollywood. No, I'm not participating in marches, protests, or remembrance events (After going to so many last year I went to none this year), I don't have any flags on my hood or waving out of my window... and yes... I went to work today. I suppose this makes me a bad Armenian. But I if I step back just a little bit and reflect on the meaning of this day, it's worth just as much as all the activism that saturates the Armenian Diaspora this time of the year.
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Now just to take a step back, April 24 seems to have two facets. The more mainstream is activism: protests, marches, events at schools/churches/community centers, etc, in other words, the stuff I'm not so thrilled about participating in this year. I'm not saying it's not important, political activism is a key part of remembrance since there were also political leaders who were executed on this day. It's just not my thing, I've had my full and it just gets redundant.
The second is a much more personal level of remembrance. For me, I see this day just like any other day. I'm not going to take off work or go to a protest and yell and scream in front of the turkish consulate when chances are nobody is inside. What I am going to do, and I do this almost everyday, is take time out of my day to sit and read what our writers that died on this day, 92 years ago, wrote down and try to capture a deeper meaning of April 24. Right now I look at my calendar which depicts a different armenian poet every month. This month it's Siamanto, who died on this day, 92 years ago.