There were five of us on that June day in 2012 — the Armenian Weekly team and Unger Tatul Sonentz-Papazian. “Heave, ho, and up she rises, early in the morning,” sang Unger Tatul on the bow of the ship cutting through the water to Provincetown, as we sipped rum from plastic cups. He promised that sitting outside, facing forward and drinking rum would keep sea sickness at bay. He would know; he and his spouse, the late Seda Khatanassian, had come to America by boat in 1957 — a voyage that lasted around two weeks.
The ferry to Provincetown on the June morning described in the opening of this article. (Photo by Nanore Barsoumian)
Born in Egypt in 1928, Unger Tatul graduated from the Mekhitarist College in Vienna, Austria, followed by the Academie Libre des Beaux Arts of Cairo. He took the Armenian Revolutionary Federation (ARF) oath and became a member in 1946.
An artist and a designer, he worked for the graphics departments of leading Egyptian newspapers from 1949 until 1951. These included Al Ahram, Le Progres Egyptien, La Bourse Egyptienne and the Egyptian Gazette. For the next seven years, he worked for the U.S. Information Agency (USIA, part of the U.S. Foreign Service) in Cairo as an art director in the publications and public relations section — it was in those years that his work first appeared in a Hairenik publication, when James Mandalian published his poem in the Armenian Review.
A young Tatul Sonentz-Papazian in Egypt. (Photo courtesy of the Sonentz-Papazian family)
Once in Boston, he continued to hold executive and creative leadership roles in printing and publishing houses, designing and producing numerous books for Harvard University Press, MIT press and indie publishers. After 1978, he worked as a freelancer in publishing, editing, design and print, often bringing his services to Armenian organizations.
Tatul Sonentz-Papazian in the 1960s. (Courtesy photo)
Unger Tatul told many stories that involved Armenian literary and political life, but — as is the case for those who have lived in different worlds — certain memories seemed especially vivid. He brightened when recounting episodes from his early life, zooming in on moments that had left him awestruck. He talked about the thrill of flying Cessnas — the rush and the freedom. A favorite of his was the story of how one morning knots of cobras were found in the U.S. Embassy in Cairo. Terrified, the Americans consulted locals, and soon an Egyptian snake charmer was summoned. What followed was a miracle of sorts. The baffled Westerners watched as the charmer led a quiver of cobras out of the embassy using nothing but spells and commands. When Unger Tatul would tell this story, I too would feel the wonder, as though we were conceding that perhaps there was a deeper, hidden law of nature connecting the world.
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“I am a sun-worshipper,” Unger Tatul would say, squinting at the sun. He would pace the perimeter of the Hairenik building, smoking a cigar and wearing a cargo vest. He preferred grays and army greens. He owned a flat cap and a Greek fisherman’s cap; they had a proletarian flair.
Tatul Sonentz-Papazian receives the E. Agnouni Award in 2015, honoring his decades of service to the Armenian Relief Society. (Photo by Helena Bardakjian)
Around the centennial anniversary of the Armenian Genocide, Unger Tatul’s poems gushed out of him — as did his poetry translations. We published many of them, including his stunning translation of “Requiem” by Hovhannes Tumanian.
That year — 2015 — I asked if he would contribute a piece to the special magazine issue I was editing, “The ARF at 125.” What he wrote — a short creed, “The Dashnaktsakan…” — crystallized what it means to be a revolutionary. The article was anchored in ARF leader Vahan Navasardian’s words: “There were Dashnaktsakans before there was Dashnaktsutiun” (“There were ARF-ers before there was an ARF”).
Unger Tatul believed in a national liberation movement entrenched in a transnational struggle against oppression. Freedom only existed insofar as it materialized for everyone else. At the core of that ideology, he saw empathy — in its clearest and most uncompromising form.
Unger Tatul believed in a national liberation movement entrenched in a transnational struggle against oppression. Freedom only existed insofar as it materialized for everyone else. At the core of that ideology, he saw empathy — in its clearest and most uncompromising form.
“…[T]he true Dashnaktsakan is an empath with a revolutionary soul, sworn to a life of service, ready to challenge all forms of injustice and oppression emanating from systems based on privilege and discrimination,” he wrote. “In this epic struggle, the ARF-er is not alone, and never will be, for as there were Dashnaktsakans before there was a Dashnaktsutiun, there will always be Dashnaktsakans, long after the Dashnaktsutiun is only a memory.”
Everything I can tell you about Unger Tatul will be too little, too incidental. In his presence, life’s pettier aspects receded and what emerged was a purposeful resolve. Our Dashnaktsakan was a man who contained a vastness as wide as the ocean that carried him here — to us.
A 2005 Hai Sird cover designed by Tatul Sonentz-Papazian incorporating his proposed Armenian Genocide memorial design.
To Hairenik.
Tat. Tatul. Baron Tatul. Unger Tatul. Comrade Tatul. He responded to them all.
“Ayo, jans.”
He was a contributor to the Armenian Weekly for 70 years. Maybe more.
That contribution, however, cannot be measured in words published — he was a constant source of guidance. With his command of Armenian history, culture, politics and language — along with profound insights into the ARF and its sister organizations — his input proved invaluable across decades. That, of course, had as much to do with his knowledge as with his extraordinary generosity and patience.
He combined institutional devotion with a strikingly progressive worldview.
When I first came to Hairenik as an employee in 2009, one of my roles was to sift through mountains of boxes containing donated books and papers, cataloguing them. Unger Tatul’s den was also in that basement where the air smelled sweet and musty. At first, I would timidly rap on his door before entering to show him some exciting find. It wasn’t long before I realized his door was always open to everyone—and their door was always open to him.
Hairenik building employees in 2013 representing the Armenian Weekly, Hairenik Weekly, Armenian Relief Society, Armenian Revolutionary Federation and Armenian National Committee of America offices. Seated, from left: Khatchig Mouradian, Lala Demirdjian-Attarian and Michelle Fiorenza-Hagopian. Standing, from left: Nairi Khachatourian, Nanore Barsoumian, Maral Choloyan, Ojik Gregorian, Vartouhie Chiloyan, Nelly Nerkizian-Kevorkian, Nora Mouradian, Tatul Sonentz-Papazian and Zaven Torikian. (Photo by Armen Khachatourian)
At the time, Khatchig Mouradian edited the Armenian Weekly, while Nayiri Arzoumanian was copy editor. In those years, I worked alongside them as a staff writer and later assistant editor. On the Armenian-language Hairenik Weekly side, Zaven Torikian was editor, assisted by layout designer Nora Mouradian, proofreader Garbis Zerdelian and me as backup proofreader and translator. Unger Tatul was often on the newspaper floor as well, as everyone consulted him for just about anything — from language usage to design to testing our historical and political interpretations of events.
Editor after editor, we found in him a mentor and a friend — in many ways he embodied the Hairenik.
And even those did not encompass the full extent of his service to the Weekly. There were also his drawings, masthead and logo designs, and caricatures. Sometimes, they arrived as delightful surprises.
A caricature sketched by Tatul Sonentz-Papazian for an Armenian Weekly op-ed.
One day, after Azerbaijani President Ilham Aliyev likened Turkey to an elephant and Armenia to an ant, I began drafting an op-ed. Unger Tatul walked up to my desk and slid a small piece of paper toward me. He had sketched an elephant hunched with exasperation, wearing a Turkish fez, glaring up at the tiny ant — with perky antennae, skinny arms and legs — sitting on top of its hat. The ant was waving the flag of the Armenian sun-cross (arevakhatch) — an eternity symbol tattooed on my shoulder. We burst out laughing. He didn’t want credit for the drawing. He signed it with a “T.” It appeared alongside my article in the paper. Framed, the drawing has sat on my desk ever since.
Unger Tatul carried within him the institutional memory of not only our newspaper and its sister publication, the Hairenik Weekly, but also of all the organizations headquartered at the Hairenik building. Through the years, he served as director of the ARF and First Republic of Armenia Archives, editor of the peer-reviewed Armenian Review journal, and executive director of the Armenian Relief Society’s (ARS) International Office (1993-2002). He was elected to successive ARF Eastern U.S. Central Committees, was a pillar in the Boston Gomideh, and brought his talents to the Hamazkayin Armenian Educational and Cultural Society, particularly the Hamazkayin Theater.
A birthday celebration at Hairenik in 2016. Standing, from left: Ojik Grigorian, Tatul Sonentz-Papazian, Zovig Avedissian Kojanian, Lala Demirdjian-Attarian, Vartouhie Chiloyan and Nelly Nerkizian-Kevorkian. Seated, from left: Nanore Barsoumian and Maral Choloyan. (Photo by Rupen Janbazian)
But even here, I’m only listing titles. From press releases to translations to speech-writing, he stretched himself as thin as the work required. When the Spitak Earthquake destroyed a third of Armenia, left 25,000 dead and scores injured, Unger Tatul threw himself into the humanitarian efforts of the ARS. The devastation was immense — but so was Unger Tatul’s dedication.
Until 2024, he served as the archives and publications director of the ARS. It was he who put out the “Hai Sird” magazine. When he retired, he was 96 years old.
Tatul Sonentz-Papazian’s digital portrait of Armenian poet Vahan Teryan, created around 2019.
For his lifelong commitment to the mission of these organizations, he was awarded the Mesrob Mashtots Medal from the Catholicos of the Great House of Cilicia, the Armenian National Committee of America (ANCA) Eastern Region Vahan Cardashian Award, and the E. Agnouni Award from the ARS Eastern Region.
By now, you won’t be surprised when I tell you that this was not all, that he experimented with various forms of art—from paintings to sketches to collages — and that his work was displayed in exhibit halls. I could also tell you that Unger Tatul was such a masterful translator that, according to one reliable source, writer Hakob Karapents only wanted him to translate his work. Return & Tiger (1995) is a selection of short stories translated by Unger Tatul.
Rupen Janbazian and Tatul Sonentz-Papazian outside the Armenian American Social Club in Watertown with their translation of Letter to Yerevan. (Photo by Araz Chiloyan)
I believe Karapents’s trust was shared by the majority of his literary peers and publishers. Through the years, Unger Tatul brought the works of both literary masters and newcomers alike into English. In 1988, together with Martin Robbins, he published Land, Love, Century, Gevorg Emin’s poetry collection. In 1994, came Artem Haroutiunian’s Letter to Noah, followed by young poet Areen Armenian’s Three Seasons. In 2018, he and former Weekly editor Rupen Janbazian published their English edition of Andranik Tzarukian’s 1944 Letter to Yerevan. In 2021, Daniel Varuzhan’s Song of Bread (Hatsin Yerge) appeared in a bilingual volume, followed in 2022 by Souls on Fire, a compilation of Yeghishe Charents’s poems— both edited by Viken Tufenkjian. This list is likely incomplete and does not attempt to tally volumes that featured his work, books he edited, or newspapers and magazines where his words appeared.
What you should know above all else is that Unger Tatul never bragged, never flaunted his accomplishments, and never sought credit. It was always just another day in service to the Armenian cause.
What you should know above all else is that Unger Tatul never bragged, never flaunted his accomplishments, and never sought credit. It was always just another day in service to the Armenian cause.
Tatul Sonentz-Papazian leafs through a book at the Hairenik building. (Photo by Nanore Barsoumian)
Unger Tatul was born on May 26, 1928 — two days before the ten-year anniversary of Armenia’s First Declaration of Independence. As we approach the 118th anniversary, he may not be here physically, but his life will always be tied to the legacy of the First Republic of Armenia.
For many, he was the heart of Hairenik.
He was our Unger Tatul. Our North Star.
To his family, especially his sons Armen and Vicken, thank you for sharing him with the rest of us.
Rest in sunlight, Unger Tatul Sonentz-Papazian (May 26, 1928 – May 6, 2026).
***
Below is a selection of four poems from those Unger Tatul shared with me over the years. Three are his own, and one is a translation.
For him, poetry was a gift he gave others.
REMNANT OF THE SWORD
To my Grandmother
Yes
You too became
A remnant of the sword
When its blade beheaded your love
Your spouse your dreams
Your life
When your offspring
Still blossoming on love
Were deprived of the canopy
Of his shade now a mere shadow
To be recalled in the night
That followed the shedding of the blood
Meant to be their lifeblood
Leaving only your blood
In their budding veins
To sustain them
In the night
That followed the flash
Of the sword…
The roof of your house
The hearth of your mothers
Fathers brothers
And countless forebears
The walls that kept
The winters and wolves at bay collapsed
Leaving dark sinister skies
As sole canopy
Listening to your prayers
Murmured in your sweet voice
To the stone deaf ears
Of an entity you trusted
All your life…
Yet
Your betrayed faith
Sustained you
To be passed on to us
As the essence of life in death
And sudden demise of all
That one believes in and loves
With silent passion
Sustained in screaming pain
Like the one you kept from us
Come rain or shine
The new brood of your own offspring born
Under alien skies whose ancient blood
of the same seed was shed
on that dark day under a glaring sun
when the sword severed you
from the love of your life
in his prime…
In a world besotted with blind hate
You remained all love and light
Sustained in your soul
Glowing in your dark eyes
And on your smiles
Lavished on us
Present and future remnants
Of the sword…
……………………..Tatul Sonentz
2016
***
P A T E R
“Come,” he said,
Taking me by the hand
And leading me towards
The clear, visible horizon, and
Beyond it, as it turned invisible,
Onwards, through sunflower fields
Moonlit trees and many galaxies
Of fireflies frozen as stars
Pointing to countless
Other horizons…
“It’s all yours,” he said,
“But keep in mind, son,
“The mere blind possession
“Of one single thing robs you,
“—In its sightless obsession—
“Of everything and all
“That was yours from
“The very beginning…
“Just for the not taking,
“But giving…”
————— Tatul Sonentz
2016
***
A THORN IN THE FOOT
To Nanore
I have a thorn
In my foot, a thorn
That followed me home
Embedded in my sole
Like a seed in living soil
As I walked barefoot
Stepping on a thistle root
Or a broken rose bush
Strolling in the woods
Insouciant, unshod…
It may sound inane
Yet aside the slight pain
That thorn in my foot
Dead as it may be
Ripped from its roots
Of perhaps thistle
Or a crushed rose bush
Now embedded in my sole
Prevents the demise
In mind and soul
Of that unshod stroll
And the lingering ache…
That followed me home
After a spring break…
……………………..Tatul Sonentz
2015
***
FORTUNE TELLER
Reading my palm, at her cavern,
The fortune teller said to me,
“Three wrinkles I do discern:
Dissimilar roads, all three…”
“One takes you on a land spree,
Leading to woods in moonlight,
Where golden streams flow free…
Break your staff, stay out of sight!”
“The other is born from the seas
And leads you to an island green,
Where a beguiling virgin dances…
Break your staff, remain unseen!”
“The third is the road to heaven.
Spread wide your very own wings
Until stars burn your heart, then
Fly forever on those bearings!”
———— Daniel Varoujan
Translated by Tatul Sonentz
