Preserving Heritage Through Legacy Videos

I am a first-generation American, a descendant of survivors. My ancestors fled genocide, and my parents captured the quintessential American dream. I am intimately familiar with my parents’ remarkable stories and am committed to ensuring my children understand the sacrifices made for the life they enjoy in the United States. However, much of the histories of my grandparents and those before them have sadly been lost to time.

The stories of my ancestors are both a source of pride and a lingering question mark. Like many in my situation, the tales of my family’s past—particularly my grandparents who fled genocide in Turkey—are fragments, half-told anecdotes fading with the generations. Their stories were not preserved; their voices gradually grow silent. Precisely this fading of personal histories has ignited a passion in me to create legacy videos, ensuring that these remarkable stories are captured and honored for generations to come.

When I set out to write this first testimonial for BioPic Studios, the intent was to illustrate the value of creating personalized documentaries that preserve our loved ones' legacies. However, as I reflected upon the experience of creating a BioPic for my mother and began exploring my family's history, I came to truly appreciate the profound impact of uncovering and preserving these stories.

The history of my family is an intricately woven tapestry of struggle, sacrifice, perseverance, and renewal. In this article, I pull on just one thread - that of my paternal lineage - exploring the journeys of my father and his father before him, as they navigated immense challenges and forged a path for future generations. Through this exploration, I hope to inspire others to study their own roots and ensure their family histories are preserved.

Enduring Resilience: Our Family's Journey Through Generations

My ancestors' journeys as Assyrian and Armenian refugees is a saga of survival. Sadly, much of their experience remains unknown to me and my family. The impact of their unrecorded stories is a profound silence, a void in our collective memory that can never be filled. This loss is not unique to my family but is a common sorrow among first-generation Americans, whose immigrant parents and grandparents often leave behind more than just their homelands—they leave behind unwritten chapters of their lives.

What I do know of my own family’s story is vivid yet fragmented. My grandparents on both sides are from Diyarbekir, a diverse city in Southeastern Turkey that was home to Christians like Armenians, Greeks, and Assyrians.

Diyarbekir Province in Turkey

From 1915 to 1924, Christians were systematically purged from their ancestral homeland, and my grandparents were part of that terrified exodus to Syria as children. To the Assyrian people, this tragedy is known as “Sayfo”, or “sword”, as in “year of the sword”. Their forced migration and resilience in the face of such terror were experiences I came to know only through articles and research, not from stories passed down.

Assyrian refugees near Lake Urmia

This harrowing journey was undertaken by my great-grandparents, who faced a stark choice: renounce their ancestral homeland, their faith, and their identity to assimilate into Arab society, or face slaughter if remaining in Turkey and discovered. The Ottoman Empire's goal was not merely to expel them from its borders, but to eradicate their culture, language, and even their names in an attempt to wipe them away from history entirely.

Choosing life in exile over potential destruction, my great-grandparents packed what little they could carry, along with their young children, and fled south to the Syrian border. However, survival came at the cost of their legacy.

At the border, any form of identification that could link them to their Assyrian or Armenian heritage was confiscated. This included documents, papers, titles—anything that could tie them back to their roots. Even their family names had to be left behind. They were stripped of their identities and given new surnames that would sever ties to their past and erase all links to their homeland over time.

At the border, new surnames were assigned to each family, often derived randomly or sometimes based on a skill or trade. For some reason, our family was associated with “printed textile” (basma in Arabic), and thus they were rebranded as the Basmajis before being allowed to cross into Syria.

This is the legacy of my great grandparents, and besides their names, I know little else.

My grandfather Housni (right) with his parents, Sayid and Touma, and siblings, Elias and Fahima.

In Syria, as part of a minority refugee population, my family faced numerous challenges but persevered. My paternal grandfather, Housni, and his brother, Elias, were thrust into responsibility when their father Sayid passed away during their late teenage years. They were left to support their mother and sister in a city flooded with refugees all seeking livelihoods. Initially, the brothers struggled to find apprenticeships in trades. Undeterred, they devised a plan to buy spools of goat hair and, with their family’s help, wove blankets to sell at the local bazaar.

Their journey from struggling to make ends meet to achieving modest success epitomizes resilience and determination. Over time, with slow and steady progress, they acquired more advanced looms and eventually owned a small factory equipped with seven textile machines. From living in a cramped one-room apartment blanketed in goat hair to owning a factory, my grandfather and great uncle carved out a measure of prosperity as refugees in Aleppo.

A factory in Aleppo next door to the one my family ran. It used the same machines and process to make the textiles which provided security and a future for my family.

This spirit of relentless hard work and the ambition to provide a better life for their family became a legacy passed through generations. Coincidentally, the legacy embedded in our surname, Basmaji, meaning “textile maker” in Arabic, turned out to be a self-fulfilling prophecy.

My grandfather Housni,1968, the year of his passing.

Of course, legacy is not solely about overcoming obstacles or enduring trauma. It is more profoundly expressed through the love fostered, the lives impacted, and the personalities remembered.

Housni raised a family with Bahia, who brought five children into the world—my father being the youngest. Aleppo was home, and my father and his siblings grew up as first-generation Syrians, speaking their language and assimilating into their culture.

My father with his parents and four older siblings in Aleppo.

Housni is described as being a workaholic and always on the go. Weekends did not exist for him, as every day was a grind to make money to support the family. The family never saved money and never owned a house - all Housni worked for was poured back into his children and their educations. They were all sent to private schools to receive the best education, learn English, and provide advantages that would cascade through generations of his descendants.

Housni worked tirelessly for his family, but at the end of his shift, covered in grease up to his elbows, he loved to take his children out for picnics to be in nature. My father remembers fondly the family gatherings out at the park, playing with his siblings and cousins while his father and uncles grilled and smoked their water pipes. Housni also loved going to the movies, and would take any opportunity to grab his kids and check out the latest film.

My father, left, with his two older brothers, and Housni at the head of the table at a family picnic.

When my father described these aspects of his own dad's personality, I recognized the profound impact he had made on his son. My father has the very same penchants - grilling with the family, getting out in nature, and going to the movies are his favorite past times. As kids, my dad took any opportunity on a nice weekend to take the family out on a hike, an excursion, a picnic at the beach. While I attribute much of my personality and looks to my mother, my love of nature and being outdoors is a core aspect of my identity that I now understand has been passed down to me through generations.

It is these aspects of legacy that we, as inheritors of our family history, should seek to understand and preserve.

My father John grew up in the family textile mill, helping his father and brothers work the machines and learning the trade. Sadly, my dad lost his own father in 1968 at the age of 15. And so my father looked to the West to pursue the dream of creating an even better life for himself and his own future children.

My father and grandparents, 1967.

At 18, he faced a pivotal life choice: to stay in Syria, working in the family factory, but face compulsory military service, or to carve his own path in the United States. He chose the latter. Thus began his own immigrant story, in the pursuit of establishing a better life for himself and his family, just as his father and grandfather did before him.

John would find a foothold in Massachusetts. There, he and his cousins hustled through odd jobs while pursuing their education, such as a night taxi cab driver in Boston. After attending both junior and community college, he eventually graduated with a Bachelor’s degree in Electrical Engineering in 1978, right before the computer revolution of the '80s. After meeting his wife in 1982 and marrying in '83, he worked tirelessly to climb the corporate ladder rung by rung. He was able to provide a beautiful home and a safe community to raise his two children in a small Massachusetts town with a exceptional public schools —a place where his family could thrive and grow, free from the persecution his ancestors had endured.

My father, a fresh immigrant, in Boston.

Coming to this country with nothing but broken English, my father was eventually able to retire early. He worked tirelessly throughout his life to provide every possible advantage for his children, allowing them to choose their own paths and pursue their unique interests, just as his father did before him. He now spends the better part of each year driving from national parks to major landmarks across the United States, fully taking in the beautiful country that embraced him as a young immigrant and gave him a new life. His journey embodies the American Dream—a legacy I will never take for granted.

My father on one of his solo road trips in British Columbia, Canada.

Now, with a profound desire for my own descendants to recognize and value the legacies of their ancestors—to grasp the sacrifices made in order to ensure that they could thrive in peace and prosperity—I am committed to preserving such precious narratives in a form that can be cherished and passed down.

Legacy Videos and the Power of Personal History

For those of us with roots in different soils, understanding where we come from can profoundly affect who we are today. Knowing our ancestors' struggles, joys, and daily lives enriches our identity and strengthens our connection to our lineage. For many, particularly descendants of immigrants and refugees, the disconnect from one's homeland and cultural roots can be profound.

Assyrian World Population

This burden is by no means unique to my people. Throughout its history, the United States has become a refuge for many displaced populations seeking to live in a truly free society. I could list countless waves of immigrants who fled persecution and found solace in the welcoming embrace of Lady Liberty, who promises the opportunity to live free from fear.

For all of us children of the diaspora, our histories are perpetuated mostly through oral anecdotes, the memories of which fade and become distorted over time. As earlier generations age and pass on, all we have of them and their histories are our flawed memories of stories they shared. Hopefully there are at least photographs that have been preserved, though these are likely to be hidden away in a box in someone's closet. The subjects and settings of the photos need context, and only our elders can provide that in many cases. The challenge of how I can pass on my family history to my own second-generation, very American children, has long been a lingering dilemma in my mind.

The solution to this dilemma lies in finding a way to preserve these oral histories with fidelity and vibrancy. Legacy videos offer a compelling answer. They can bridge the generational gap by capturing the stories, languages, dialects, and cultural nuances that articles and second-hand accounts cannot convey.

These recordings not only enable individuals to preserve but also to showcase their unique cultural identities, promoting a sense of pride and continuity among generations. By passing down the legacy of my ancestors through these videos, I aim to help future generations remember the sacrifices made and the rich cultural tapestry that forms their background.

I was proud to capture and share the story of my mother in a BioPic, creating an everlasting tribute video that illustrates her remarkable story. Her past trauma did not darken her aura; instead, out of the ashes of civil war, a beautiful rose grew that spreads kindness and warmth to all around her. I chose not to dwell on specific stories from her difficult childhood but simply to acknowledge them as context for a more joyful tribute.

An image from Rose’s BioPic, which you can view on our website.

Her legacy is not defined only by the obstacles she overcame but by the impact she has made on her loved ones and what she has passed onto future generations. Her love of gardening, the traditional meals she has passed on from her own mother, to never hold a grudge and treat all with empathy, and the unconditional, selfless love and compassion she fosters among her family—these are just a few of the elements of her legacy as she ought to be commemorated, and that I myself strive to maintain.

What’s wonderful is that she is still here to appreciate the tribute we created, allowing all who watch the video to recognize and appreciate what an incredible person she is. She continues to write her story and pass on her compassion and grace to a new generation. As that generation grows, they’ll have this testament to her love.

Stories like my mother's illuminate not only personal histories but also the collective experiences of our communities. In this digital age, the reach of legacy videos extends globally, as broad as our online connections. These films can be shared worldwide, allowing diaspora communities to connect with their heritage and with each other.

While I can’t reclaim the lost stories of my grandparents or earlier ancestors, I can assist others in capturing and sharing the legacies of the important people in their lives. This mission is at the heart of BioPic Studios.

Honoring Heritage: Sustaining Ancestral Stories with Family Legacy Videos

The stories of our ancestors are not merely tales of the past; they are the bedrock upon which we build our identities and our futures. Legacy videos and personalized documentaries not only preserve memories but also strengthen our connections to our past. As we continue to navigate our identities as first-generation Americans, or simply as individuals seeking to understand our roots, these stories offer guidance, strength, and a profound sense of belonging.

This exploration of my family's past started as a simple testimonial for BioPic Studios, intended to showcase the power of legacy videos. Yet, it evolved into something far more significant—an intimate journey through the threads of my heritage and the resilience embedded within my DNA. In this article I pulled on just one thread, following one branch of my family tree - that of the paternal line of Basmajis. Yet there are so many more stories to learn and document, as each of my grandparents and their elders before them have remarkable stories of survival themselves. The conversations I had led to revelations that had I not taken the time to start asking questions, might have been lost on me and my children.

In conversations with my father, I also uncovered a precious piece of family history: a video recording from 1998, when he and his brothers visited Aleppo. In the video, they visit their uncle Elias, capturing a candid firsthand account of the exodus from Diyarbekir when he was just a child. This remarkable piece of our history was just sitting on a flash drive in a drawer, a hidden gem awaiting the light.

Now, I can sit with my father and hear the stories of my grandparents' generation, see the factory that provided a new life for our family, and visit the grave sites of my paternal grandparents. Had I not begun tugging on this thread and asking questions, this relic of our family history would have remained in the dark.

The time for my generation to start asking questions is now. As I watch my own children grow, time seems to accelerate as the years slip by. As keepers of our ancestors' legacies, it's crucial to engage with our elders while they are still with us. You never know what incredible stories might emerge or what hidden artifacts might be uncovered through these conversations. It's our duty to keep the candle of their legacies burning long after they are gone. Take it a step further by finding a way to document and preserve these stories meaningfully, ensuring they can be passed down through generations.Let’s keep their memories alive to guide and inspire the future.