Little Aram was 11 years old, it was 1916, he died on the road to Anatolia along with another million Armenians during the "death marches."
Jakov was 24, he had left Bleiburg with another 50,000 Croats, it was called "operation Keelhaul."
Enapay didn't even know his age, nor what year it was, the 1900s were about to arrive there in America, he never saw it, he is buried somewhere along the "trails of tears."
Taman was only 14 years old, but he could already hold a rifle in his hand; he didn't have time, trapped in Aleppo with thousands of other Kurds.
Cyprien was 37, in Gikongoro on the night of April 21, 1994, the impuzamugambi massacred him with sticks and machetes while he tried to protect his daughters.
Forgotten.
Memory! What a beautiful thing memory is.
But memory is selective: we choose what to remember.
And it is justifying: I wasn't there, how could it have happened? I am not guilty; if I had been there...
Meanwhile, the Mediterranean becomes a gigantic mass grave.
Yet we continue to celebrate the "Day of Memory."
So, happy "Day of Memory" to all of you!
Leonard Cohen - The Story Of Isaac