The Voice That Defied Death: How an Armenian Survivor Sang His Way Out of Genocide
The history of the Armenian people weaves together threads of profound suffering and extraordinary courage. Among the countless stories that comprise this tapestry, one stands out as a powerful testament to spiritual resistance: that of Vahan Ter Arakelyan, who survived the Armenian Genocide of 1915 by singing an ancient folk lament called "Dle Yaman."
His voice pierced through the darkness of death itself, embodying the resilience of Armenian identity in its darkest hour. After escaping annihilation, Ter Arakelyan would go on to become renowned not only as a musician but as a translator who brought world literature to Armenian readers—including Tolstoy's Anna Karenina and Jaroslav Hašek's The Good Soldier Švejk during World War II. He devoted himself particularly to Russian poetry, translating works by Pushkin, Yesenin, Mayakovsky, and Gorky.
A Young Man's Journey Into Darkness
Born in the late 19th century in a village within the Ottoman Empire, Vahan grew up immersed in the rich traditions of Armenian folk music. His family, like countless others, lived under mounting pressure as the empire intensified its repression of Christian minorities. When deportation and extermination orders were issued in 1915, Vahan was torn from his loved ones and forced to join one of the infamous "death marches" toward the Syrian desert—a journey that meant certain death for most prisoners.
The Song That Stopped Time
Oral testimonies collected after the war and preserved within the Armenian diaspora recount an episode that borders on the miraculous. During a forced halt in the march, a Turkish officer—whether exhausted or merely curious—ordered the prisoners to entertain him. Vahan, on the brink of despair, clung to the most intimate thing he had left: he began singing "Dle Yaman," a lament of lost love and eternal sorrow.
The song, steeped in haunting melancholy, captivated his audience. The officer, moved by the emotional power of the melody and the young man's intense voice, decided to spare him. Whether it was pity, a momentary weakness, or the sheer beauty of the music that disarmed him for that crucial instant, it was an instant that saved Vahan's life.
An Alternative Account
Another version of the story, more epic in character, tells an equally dramatic tale. Ter Arakelyan, serving as a soldier in the Ottoman army like many young Armenian conscripts, found himself at the front as the military began "cleansing" its ranks of "Armenian contamination." Vahan was condemned to death without trial. Two fellow soldiers, tasked with the execution, asked him for his final wish—perhaps seeking some gesture of humanity in this senseless death.
Though shackled and facing imminent death, Vahan began to sing "Dle Yaman." When the melody ended, he reportedly sighed: "I'm ready. Do your duty." The two soldiers, shaken, looked at each other and, turning away, told him to leave. But it was a deception. As Vahan walked away, one attempted to strike him down while the other hesitated.
In both versions, Vahan managed to escape shortly afterward, taking advantage of the chaos of the marches and receiving help from local peasants.
A Life Cut Short, A Legacy Preserved
In 1936, Vahan Ter Arakelyan was arrested in Tbilisi and sent to a camp in the Komi Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic, where he died in 1941. Only in 1960 did his relatives succeed in transferring his ashes to his homeland, where he was buried in Yerevan's Central Cemetery.
An Enduring Symbol
Today, "Dle Yaman" stands as one of the most emblematic symbols of Armenian memory. Made famous by world-renowned interpreters such as Lusine Zakaryan and Djivan Gasparyan, it has taken on universal significance: it is the silent cry of those who have lost everything but retained their voice and soul.
Through his performance, Vahan Ter Arakelyan left us a message that defies time and oblivion: culture can be a formidable weapon against annihilation, and beauty can shatter—if only for an instant—the inhuman logic of hatred.
By Carlo Coppola
