Month: November 2023

A horrifying scene. A man rides his bicycle along the al-Rashid coast in Gaza. He cries out in grief and horror – ya Allah – as his phone records a moving image of dead women and children, in pools of blood, left lying amongst their few earthly possessions in suitcases, broken and littered along the road like their bodies. As the Israeli government told residents of Northern Gaza to relocate to the South, some heeded the call in hopes that they might find safety there. They did not make it, killed by Israeli forces on the road.

I watched this scene on X, formerly Twitter, on the evening of November 3. I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I couldn’t quite exist. The world broke; it was not possible to be a human in a reality of such profound inhumanity. I sat crying, sobbing, the image continuously replaying. I did not want to watch it anymore. I could no longer bear it, hearing the cry ya Allah, but I felt paralyzed, unable to turn it off.

My reaction was only partially attributable to the video’s own objective display of horror. This could not entirely be the explanation, because since October 7, I have seen images of dead children pulled out of rubble and placed in a line waiting for burial; children who were alive and yet looked somewhere closer to death, whitened with the dust of their home that had just been bombed by Israel all around them; children in shock, unable to cry, unable to speak; children running after the caskets of their fathers, begging them not to leave; children wanting their mothers, but whose mothers could not be found or who had been found dead; mothers burying their children; mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles and grandparents wailing at the loss – their personal loss, their collective loss. While I have cried, while I have sobbed, while I have lived in rage for the last month that such an atrocity is taking place, something else happened to me in that moment. 

Protesters hold Palestinian flags and a banner reading, “Stop the Genocide. Free Palestine.” (Wikimedia)

The scene – bodies strewn, a cry of shock and disbelief, the display of humans outside of the space of humanity, as if there is no such thing as a humanity any longer – pulled out of me, out of my unconscious perhaps, scenes I never witnessed but read about. Scenes that I have only read in words and that have produced pictures in my head. I realized at that moment that the video – the documentation of this unfolding reality – was exactly how I had produced moving images of scenes of horror of the Armenian aghed, the catastrophe. Amid the daily images we are seeing of the horror caused by Israel in Gaza as well as in the West Bank and Jerusalem, that scene was what philosopher Roland Barthes called “the punctum,” that one part of the whole image that stings, that takes you somewhere else, that touches you in particular. The history of the aghed was no longer history, no longer in the past. It was happening right now, and I was witness to it.

What has been unfolding in Gaza is the ansahmaneli (infinite, limitless) suffering that Zabel Yessayan wrote about in Among the Ruins. Let us revisit Yessayan’s writing.

“The destroyed city stretches out under the generous and dazzling sun like an endless cemetery. Nothing but ruins on every side…Nothing has been spared. All the churches, all the schools and all the dwellings have been trans-formed into heaps of charred and deformed stones, among which rises here and there the carcass of an apartment building. From the west to the east, from the north to the south, all the way to the distant Turkish quarters, cruel and implacable hatred has burnt everything, devastated everything.”

In these words, how can one not see the rubble, the ruins of churches, hospitals, schools, homes and refugee camps, that Israel has made of Gaza in just a few weeks? In these words, how can one not see the red skies of constant explosions as bombs are dropped all across the land? In these words, how can one not see the skeletal remains of apartment buildings collapsed, sometimes on their sides, sometimes as if inside out, sometimes in the midst of scenes of people desperately digging to find the dead and, by summoning up all superhuman hope, the surviving? “Are you taking me to the cemetery?” asks a young girl as she is pulled out of rubble. “No, my darling, you are living and beautiful like the moon,” responds a man carrying her out. While there is celebration of having saved one, all those involved know quite well that there is no safety anywhere, for any of them.

More words from Yessayan:

“When I saw for the first time these pale orphans with their haggard appearances, gathered together by the hundreds, I was unable – despite superhuman efforts – to grasp the totality of their misfortune, and still today I cannot. Particular details and images come to mind, certainly, but never have I been able to take account of the infinite (ansahmaneli), bloody history that each of these children represents. For a long time I was incapable of attending to any one of them in particular. I heard a confused, uncertain, indefinite (ansahmaneli) tragic ululation, expressed by the totality of these still childish, still distracted gazes that had not yet understood what had happened. This bloodbath, this stream of spilled blood, this despair of a humanity driven mad, caught between fire and blade, all this remained beyond my imagination, and I believe this was the case for everyone involved.”

In these words, how can we not see the ungraspable, a violence without any sense or possibility of sense, a violence without mourning and possibility of mourning, that is unfolding right now, every day? Surely, we can see the reality beyond imagination that Yessayan writes about in the fact that 825 families from Gaza have now been erased from the civil registry. That doctors now have a new acronym, one that became necessary in the practical work they have been trying to do in Gaza: WCNSF – Wounded Child No Surviving Family.  

I write this not to navel-gaze, not as an exercise in exploring my own feelings. I write this as a plea. Every Armenian, whose sense of history and identity has been shaped in one way or another by the mass slaughter that took place in the hands of the Ottoman Empire at the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth centuries, should be called to this cause as their own cause. Every Armenian who has been watching the mass deportation – the ethnic cleansing – of Armenians from Artsakh in devastation, in horror and in rage should be called to this cause as their own cause. The genocide – the senseless catastrophe – that Israel is doing to Palestinians today is a part of the Armenian cause. To speak about this and to act against this in any way we can is our responsibility as survivors. 

What do the residents of Yerevan do when a man beats or screams at a woman or a child on the street? They simply cross the street and continue on their way, because it’s not their job, and they don’t want to invade someone else’s private life.

Last week, my friends and I were walking through the streets of Yerevan. On Friday evenings, the city is filled with groups of people, always on the move and always with something to say. The area around Swan Lake in central Yerevan was crowded as usual. From the noise of the buzzing city, a woman’s scream suddenly stood out: “I said no, leave me alone,” followed by the threatening, thundering voice of a man. His voice was so terrifying that it created panic among the people walking on the street and sitting in the garden. One group of people changed their path, while others walked away with evasive glances in the direction of the screaming voices.

“What’s going on?” I asked, startled by the threatening voice, and I rushed forward. “Wait, aghchi (girl), it’s dangerous,” my friend said, managing to grab my clothes before I could move closer to the commotion.

As the noise grew louder, a small woman emerged from the bushes, holding the hand of a child who clung to her. A burly man was walking towards them with his hand raised in a menacing and intimidating manner.

My friend and I approached them with uncertain steps. She held onto my shirt to prevent me from going too far. A little ahead of us stood a man with an uncertain look, seemingly hesitant about whether to intervene or not. His legs swayed from side to side but never forward.

Suddenly, the man grabbed the woman’s wrist. She managed to break free from the man’s grip and ran towards a row of taxis while clutching the child’s hand. The little girl looked terrified. The woman, presumably her mother, was practically dragging the child behind her. The little one would turn around every few seconds, looking in the man’s direction with big, tearful eyes—he was following them. 

This time, I was the one pulling my friend’s clothes. We positioned ourselves between the abuser and the woman, attempting to act as a barrier. Approaching the woman, we offered to order a taxi since she had no money. While we were negotiating with a taxi driver, the man appeared beside us.

My hands began to shake as I witnessed him forcefully seat himself next to her in the back seat of the car. The woman started crying loudly, her lips trembling as she repeatedly begged, “Get out, get out.”

The driver sat with his hand on the car keys, unsure of what to do. The man shouted imperatively, “Drive, I’m her husband!”

At one point, I lost all hope and didn’t know what to do. It was my friend’s voice that snapped me back to reality. “Hopar (uncle – a term for addressing older men in Armenia), please don’t drive.” Hopar hesitated, torn between the pleas of three women and the demands of the one man.

I instructed my friend to open the front door of the car to prevent him from driving while I asked the abuser to get out of the car. Asking, of course, was not a way to change a person’s decision who probably solves all of his issues with the help of his fists.

I decided to take an extreme step. “Get out now, or I’m going to call the police,” I yelled, feeling ridiculous even as I confronted him.

I recalled a domestic violence incident I encountered a year ago. A man had been abusing his wife for years, and the police had only imposed a one-year probationary period. I also remembered the many cases when women turned to the police to report their husbands’ abuse, and instead, the police persuaded them to withdraw their complaints and return home to keep the family together, not leaving the children without a father.

I was jolted from my thoughts by the man’s menacing gaze in my direction. I swear, I was anticipating a huge chapalakh (slap) on my face. I stood my ground, fully resolved not to retreat. To my surprise, the expected slap never came. “Call the police or whoever you want, I don’t care. This is my child,” he shouted, turning his attention back to the terrified child and woman.

“Ara (a slang form of address in Armenian), let it go. It’s none of your business. It’s his wife and child,” the driver intervened. The driver represented the collective image of our society, the prevailing public mentality that one should not intrude into the family’s personal life, the pervasive idea that a wife and child are the husband’s property, and he can do with them as he pleases.

The proprietary attitude of the abuser and the driver’s supportive words pushed me over the edge. I started yelling in a confident tone, reciting curses I had heard in various movies. 

Suddenly, the man got out of the car, looking bewildered. “I will call my father,” he declared and walked away with unsteady steps. I couldn’t believe that we had managed to rescue the woman and the child from the abuser. I had mentally prepared for the worst-case scenarios.

After the man left, two young men sitting on a nearby bench who had quietly observed the entire incident approached us. Their eyes were fixed on the woman. “Who was he, and what does he have to do with you?” they inquired. “He’s my ex-husband,” the woman replied, trembling. There is no “ex” in Armenia; if you were once his wife, you forever belong to that man. That’s why the man told the driver, “She is my wife.”

“What did you do to provoke him like that?” one of the boys asked, reminding me of the policemen who try to find the guilt of the victim in all cases of violence. It is common to hear questions like: “What were you wearing when you were raped?” “What did you do or say when you were beaten?”

“Guys, what business is it of yours who this man is or what he wants from this woman? Go sit on the bench and continue observing the world from your vantage point,” I said in a rude tone.

“Kooyrik jan (sister and a slang form of address), we wanted to help,” one of them said. 

“Seems like you’re too late, guys,” I replied in the same grumpy tone.

We sent the two young men on their way and exchanged contact information with the woman and her child for further assistance. We continued our walk, constantly looking around, fearing that perhaps that man was stalking us.

A protest against domestic violence in Yerevan (Photo: Institute for War and Peace Reporting)

People in Armenia prefer to turn a blind eye; it’s easier to live that way. It’s simple to cross the street, change your route and pretend not to witness violence. It’s straightforward to pretend not to hear a man beating a woman with a hot iron next door. It’s easy not to hear or see a man murder his ex-wife’s mother with an ax in the hallway. It’s convenient for a police officer to send a woman with broken bones back home to their abuser, because that man has influential connections with high-ranking officials in the local police department. It is convenient to label their actions as “protecting the holy family’s completeness.”

It’s simple to talk in numbers, saying that the highest rate of violence against women in recent years was recorded in 2022 or that at least 10-15 cases of femicide are recorded in Armenia every year. It’s easy to pass laws without considering the practical effectiveness of their implementation. It’s straightforward to label people who speak out against domestic violence, hold protests and declare the presence of pedophilia, femicide and rape in Armenia as “Soros’s bastards.”

It’s simple to pretend that you don’t hear, don’t see, don’t know…but is it easy to carry that guilt throughout your life? I carry a heavy burden that will stay with me forever. I was 17 years old, having just moved to Yerevan to study at university. One night, I heard a noise from the window – a woman was shouting, “Help me, he’s killing me.” I was too afraid to step outside, to move a single step or to call the police. I don’t know what happened to that woman; I don’t know the outcome. That woman’s screams cover me at nighttime. That cry will always be with me, serving as a guiding light, always urging me to stand up against any form of violence.

YEREVAN—Armenia-based photographer and artist David Galstyan’s latest exhibition Nebula is “a story of alchemy: how the mundane transforms into a cosmic phenomenon,” in his words, offering a unique take on the so-called mundane, everyday elements of life. On the day of the opening ceremony of the exhibition on October 28, the moon was passing into the earth’s shadow, creating a partial lunar eclipse. This coincidental alignment made the exhibition even more enchanting and magical, leaving the guests in awe of both the artworks and the overall atmosphere at Latitude Art Space in Yerevan.

Running for two weeks, the exhibition contains over 40 scanographies, each one containing a piece of the home of the Armenian people. As Galstyan put it, the components of the artworks are “anything that is gathered from the ground. I have found these things in my own land. They represent my culture in its most grounded and physical way.” Although each art piece is open for interpretation, abstracted elements of fire, dirt, tree branches and more can be found in them. “To take something unimportant or something ordinary and to showcase it for it to gain life and form and for others to see. Something you step on – to see its beauty,” the artist reflected.

Born and raised in Yerevan, Galstyan studied acting at the State Theatre Institute in Yerevan. It did not take long for Galstyan to find his calling. “After serving in the army, I changed my path and began to express myself through photography,” he said. “I changed my path and found photography more close to my heart.”

For over a decade now, Galstyan’s works have been exhibited both locally and internationally, including at the Emerging Arts Exhibition in New York in 2012, the sixth Beijing International Art Biennale in 2015, the “Hello World. Revising a Collection” Berlin exhibition at Nationalgalerie Hamburger Bahnhof-Museum fur Gegenwart in 2018 and more. Galstyan was also the cameraman for Lucine Talalyan’s experimental film Post DIY, Adrine Grigoryan’s documentary film Bavakan and the Turkish documentary film A Piece of Armenia. 

“Art allows us to raise questions that otherwise we cannot. Art allows us to raise questions that other fields may not allow,” Galstyan said regarding the role of art in society. At the core of his beliefs, he thinks that in many ways, art reminds people not to think inside of a box. Reflecting on Nebula, the artist admitted, “I cannot say what the influence will be, because we have to allow people to integrate and process that which they saw.”

Galstyan’s technique for the exhibition was scanography. For the creation of each art piece, the artist used a basic scanner, but with a slightly different method than the norm – he chose not to close the top of the scanner. By leaving the scanner open, the information that each piece contains is infinite. There is no limitation on what each piece represents or how it is interpreted. “Because I cannot limit myself to a specific niche, this is an _expression_ of this period of my life, as simple as something that reflects my current times,” he said. 

Galstyan’s studio is at the Art Factory, which is in the same building as the Latitude Art Space. Latitude is an Art Space by the Yerevan Biennial Art Foundation (YBAF), whose mission is to showcase and support Armenian art. Galstyan is the newest member of the foundation, and this was his first exhibition with YBAF.

Latitude Art Space invites everyone to come and check out this exhibition, “where the mundane transcends into cosmic marvels, inviting us to ponder the magic within the every day.” It will run until November 11, and visitors can view the exhibit between Thursday-Saturday from 2:00-7:00 p.m. All the artworks featured in the exhibition are for sale, and a portion of proceeds will go to help families in need from Artsakh.

2023 Hamazkayin Cultural Retreat participants at NAASR

To reflect on this weekend, perhaps it is easiest to start backwards. In his opening remarks during the Artsakh roundtable discussion, Dr. Khatchig Mouradian stated (and I’m paraphrasing from the original Armenian), “For a people who scream against denial, we practice denial ourselves.”

Denial is often touted as the first in the five stages of grief. Such is the Armenian story. We are no strangers to the tower. Artsakh itself is a strange compounding of grief – Arts akh, a collective exclamation. But most therapists will tell you that we do not move through this cycle linearly. Even our roundtable wasn’t round. 

At first, I just listened. I watched the cohort – spanning ages, occupations, languages, travels, and personal memories and ties to this storied land – fill the room with their pain, their fears and their ideas. Our generation was born with an independent Artsakh, and now, we reckon with the loss of our twin. 

Mouradian outlined that this is the fourth era of the modern Armenian nation – following the post-genocide, First Republic generation of the early 1920s; the rupture of Soviet silencing in 1965; and the Artsakh liberation movement of the early 1990s. At each juncture stood unwavering souls – perhaps few in numbers, but strong in will, in vision, in spirit.

Like all great discussions, there was no consensus on where to go – but plenty of queries were posed. These parting questions have traveled back with us to our diasporan homes. From this space, I reflect now.

But I could have just as easily begun with the word(s). Ham-azk-ayin – “of one nation/peoples.” Retreat – “a solitary or communal experience; an act of moving back; (of an army) withdraw from enemy forces as a result of defeat.” The multiplicities within “retreat” reflect the nature of the workshops themselves, which began with the ear (music), through the eyes (photos) and on to the edges (poetry between empires).

Participants with program director Dr. Khatchig Mouradian

Oud master Ara Dinkjian shared snippets of his personal record collection – vintage, rare and (almost) lost Armenian-American recordings. But before he shared the sounds of our burgeoning diaspora, Dinkjian began at the cusp of our rupture, with a 1908 recording of Arorn u Tatrakuh (“The plough and the turtledove”) by the founder of Armenian national music and personification of that collective akh: Komitas Vartapet.

This was followed up by a haunting rendition of “Krunk” with Komitas on piano, and his protégé Armenak Shahmuradyan on vocals. “Krunk” is a folk song that has become an anthem for the Genocide martyrs. But here, we heard a version recorded in 1914. The meaning of the crane song was not yet divorced from its birth. 

Shahmuradyan’s singing was slower than many of the tune’s contemporary renditions. Dinkjian opined that this is an indication of how “Krunk” may have been performed originally, since it is among the oldest recordings we can find of it.

After this, we heard a dizzying assortment of classics by early Armenian-American musicians – most of them amateurs – providing a window into how a musical gathering at an Armenian home may have sounded in the early to mid-20th century. What a delight to hear that Dinkjian’s collection will be donated to the Library of Congress for all to listen and savor our collective musical heritage. 

The next workshop was by Hrair ‘Hawk’ Khatcherian, a Canadian-Armenian photographer, by way of Lebanon. In 1993, Khatcherian was diagnosed with terminal cancer. He made a promise to God that, should he survive, he would dedicate his life to photographing Armenian churches and manuscripts. Like the bird of prey, he held on – and kept his word. Over the next three decades, he ventured to Western Armenia, capturing crumbling churches and moaning mountains, a century on from Medz Yeghern.

In the early 1990s, Khatcherian also documented the Artsakh liberation movement. With the help of a local videographer, these images were assembled into a film. We watched footage of soldiers, mere feet from blastings – Khatcherian in the trenches with them. In the captions, he signed his name ‘Hrair Hawk,’ after the call sign in Star Wars. 

We watched interviews of freedom fighters before their martyrdom in the following months and years of the war. We followed along the journeys of local Artsakhtsis to the recent present – before September’s exodus into Armenia. As the credits rolled, the slanted text moved from bottom-up, like George Lucas’ opus. I then understood the multi-layers of this talk, “Artsakh: The Photographer’s Eye,” which was lifted from the title of Hrair Hawk’s book. 

In the midst of tragedy, levity imbued into art – a recurring message, echoed by all the speakers, that everyone must do their part, however (seemingly) minute and trivial. In this way, we will build a rich archive of our culture, our art, our heritage – not just for ourselves and our posterity, but for the world over.

This sentiment was especially resonant in Dr. Arpi Movsesian’s presentation, which began with a question – why has no Armenian writer ever won the Nobel Prize in Literature? Again, the audience offered a multitude of answers – all valid – which were touched upon in the works she referenced, translated and contrasted. 

“From Periphery to Center: The Armenian Literary Word Between Empires” felt like a sneak peek into one of Movsesian’s classes at the University of Notre Dame, where she teaches Slavic Studies. Movsesian brought to the fore groundbreaking Armenian texts, from Nahapet Kuchak’s medieval hayrens, to the pioneering feminist works of Shushanik Kurghinian and Silva Kaputikyan. 

Her juxtaposition of Sayat Nova with Dante, Kaputikyan with Whitman, and the imagery of the spinning wheel – a common motif in the poems of Hovhannes Tumanyan and other Armenian writers – with the iconography of Gandhi and the Indian flag were novel readings of Armenian text, breaking it out of the confines of peripheral and lunging it into a center. Perhaps not the center, but a more visible lens. 

Movsesian also noted the lack of engagement with non-Russian texts and writers in the realm of Soviet Studies, and how this has disadvantaged Armenian voices among many others in the colonial “periphery.” In the end, we were given worksheets – “homework,” the professor chuckled – to place ourselves in the role of translator, to flex that discerning eye ourselves. Thus, the lesson was left open-ended, for our hands to finish the chapter. 

Over the years, attending many of these conferences, retreats and events, I’ve learned that there are no easy ways to digest and process learning, especially when that learning involves action. 

A key takeaway expressed by all the workshop leaders, and many of the participants, was that we do not know ourselves – our history, our culture, our literature. Armenians are not the center of the world. A sobering truth, swallowed grudgingly. But nor should we try to be. The binaries of periphery and center – colonizer and colonized – oppressor and oppressed – winner and loser – have done us little good and much harm.

Some of the participants at the Armenian Museum of America

As Armenians, particularly in diaspora, many of us grow up with the notion that we are underdogs. Or, in the crass language of our genocidaires, the “leftovers of the sword.” To that, I say, as I munch on last night’s pizza slice – that this language can also empower us. Leftover – meaning “residue,” but also “survivor” and “legacy.”

After the workshops, on Saturday evening, a small group of us decided to drive to Walden Pond, where transcendentalist Henry David Thoreau spent two years of his life, living alone in a small cabin he built for $28.12. Thoreau was propelled by the philosophy that man needed to co-exist with(in) nature, to live deliberately and simply, in a state of self-reliance. 

His rugged individualism stands as a microcosm of this country – the big dog of modern history. As tourists flock to the home of a man who derived peace and wisdom from stolen goods (of the Algonquin tribes), my mind turned again to Artsakh. What kind of legacy will we leave behind? What will this fourth era in the modern Armenian history tome look like?

Khatcherian’s photos captured the devastating destruction of Western Armenia. For the first time in recorded history, Artsakh is devoid of its indigenous Armenian population. What awaits the fate of this ancient land will be no less haunting and frightening. 

Now is not the time to turn away from the sword. Man’s most ancient tool is his tongue. Let us fashion scalpels out of pens. Yes, we have lost the battle, but we will not retreat. We are here and ready to hold down the fort – together. 

NEW YORK—Archbishop Anoushavan Tanielian, Prelate of the Eastern Armenian Prelacy, has announced with great anticipation the visit of His Holiness Catholicos Aram I of the Great House of Cilicia to Armenian communities on the east coast of the United States. 

“At this time of turmoil internationally and in Armenia, Vehapar is taking this long journey to bring his message of faith and hope, and also to express his great support to Artsakh and its brave people,” the Prelate stated. 

The Catholicos arrived at Dulles Airport in Washington D.C., on Monday, November 6, and will remain until Tuesday, November 21, when he will depart from New York’s JFK Airport. His schedule is packed with welcoming Hrashapar services, visits, lectures and meetings with religious, humanitarian and governmental leaders.  

In the nation’s capital, the Catholicos will give the opening prayer in the U.S. Congress on Thursday, November 9, pay visits to the Lebanese and Armenian embassies, present a lecture at George Washington University on Friday, November 10, and conduct a youth forum on Saturday, November 11. On Sunday, November 12, he will celebrate the Divine Liturgy at Soorp Khatch Church in Bethesda, Maryland. 

Catholicos Aram I will then visit the church communities of Philadelphia, including the Armenian Sisters’ Academy; New Jersey, including the Armenian Missionary Association of America and the Hovnanian School; Troy, New York; New Britain, Connecticut; and New York City, including the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese.

The Powerful 24 Translations

On Saturday, November 18, there will be a unique and profound ecumenical service at St. Illuminator’s Cathedral in New York, honoring the 850th anniversary of St. Nerses Shnorhali, a renowned priest, poet and musician. His legendary and holy “I Confess in Faith” will be recited in 24 languages during the Ecumenical Service, followed by a fellowship hour in the church hall and a youth conference at St. Sarkis Church in Douglaston, New York.

On Sunday, November 19, Bishop Torkom Donoyan, Prelate of the Western Prelacy, will celebrate the Divine Liturgy at St. Illuminator’s Cathedral with the Catholicos, delivering the homily. A Thanksgiving gala banquet will follow at the Rainbow Room at Rockefeller Center, with a reception at 2 p.m. and a luncheon at 3 p.m. 

The trip will conclude with several board meetings at the Armenian Prelacy with the Karagheusian Foundation, the Armenian Medical Fund Board, the Near East Foundation Board and with Apostolic Nuncio Archbishop Gabriele Caccia, as well as with a visit to St. Vladimir’s Seminary.

Born in Beirut in 1947, Catholicos Aram I was consecrated leader of the Great House of Cilicia in 1995. His extensive educational background includes studies at the American University of Beirut, the Ecumenical Institute in Switzerland, England’s Oxford University and New York’s Fordham University, where he earned two master’s degrees and a Doctorate of Philosophy.

His Holiness Catholicos Aram I of the Great House of Cilicia

A prolific writer of many articles and books in Armenian, English and French, he was an early advocate of the international ecumenical movement. A multi-year member of the World Council of Churches, he is currently one of its eight presidents and one of the founding members of the Middle East Council of Churches, serving as its president since 2007.

The Catholicos first visited the Eastern Prelacy in 1997. This was followed by visits in 2001 for the 1700th anniversary of Christian Armenia; 2005 for the 75th anniversary of the Cilician See’s Theological Seminary; 2012 for a Pontifical visit; 2015 for the 100th anniversary of the Armenian Genocide; and 2016 for the 20th anniversary of his spiritual leadership as Catholicos.

A Commissioned Trip to Artsakh Refugees

The Eastern Prelacy Prelate, Archbishop Tanielian, recently returned from a trip to Armenia, with a group commissioned by Catholicos Aram I. The group also included Bishop Donoyan, Jirair Habibian of the Prelacy of the Arab Gulf Countries, and Hagop Lousararian, member of the Executive Council of the Lebanon Prelacy.

The group had meetings with Catholicos of All Armenians Karekin II and refugees from Artsakh in several provinces, especially among the 40,000 refugees in the Kotayk province, giving them cash donations.

Archbishop Tanielian pointed out that Kotayk is especially unique in that it has no borders with any neighboring countries.

His Eminence called the trip to the Artsakh refugees “emotionally devastating. Not only have they lost their homes, schools, churches and been cut off from their ancestral land, but they cannot visit the tombs of their loved ones. And now they don’t know what the future holds. This is a renewal of the Genocide.”

Regarding the current trip of Catholicos Aram I to the eastern U.S. communities, Archbishop Tanielian stated, “The presence of Catholicos Aram I in this current situation will bring us, especially the young generation, new hope and faith in our community at large, as well as a new understanding of the Diasporan role in pan-Armenian advancement.”

The Armenian Relief Society (ARS) held its 73rd International Convention from October 16-20, 2023, in Yerevan, Armenia. 

The convention was attended by 41 delegates from the organization’s 12 regions; 10 delegates from 16 at-large chapters; the former 11 members of the ARS Central Executive Board (CEB); 11 guests from Artsakh and various regions; advisor Raffi Donabedian; and representatives of Hamazkayin Artashes Shahpazian and Tigran Papikian, plus 66 observers and five staff members.  

The convention examined the ARS CEB’s 2019-2023 quadrennial activities and found them more than satisfactory, given the fact that they were achieved during one of the most catastrophic periods of our nation’s recent history. 

The convention evaluated the organization’s communications, internal relations, financial challenges and educational, health, social and global assistance programs, focusing on challenges and issues and proposing appropriate actions to ensure the continuity and efficiency of the programs.  

ARS 73rd International Convention, Yerevan, Armenia

The discussions and motions were focused on Artsakh and the forceful eviction of its native Armenian population from its millennial homeland. Attendees comprehensively discussed the enormity of the need and the urgency to stand with our brothers and sisters facing this unprecedented catastrophe by providing assistance through various support programs. Following a briefing on the ongoing emergency relief efforts during the current crisis, a fundraiser dedicated to Artsakh Armenians was held on the spot, during which approximately $500,000 USD was raised from ARS entities and members.

The convention continued with testimonies from ARS Artsakh members, shedding light on the fate and the difficulties of the Artsakh Armenians as refugees in various provinces of Armenia. The delegates also learned about the achievements of the ARS Akhourian “Mother & Child” Health Center, the different health services it provides to area residents and its present challenges, such as the expansion of the center’s facilities. This led to another fundraiser, during which $60,000 was raised to help the center continue its mission. 

The convention agreed on the necessity of continuing and expanding the already adopted programs, particularly considering the economic crisis in the Middle East and the situation of our Syrian and Lebanese Armenian communities, concerns that also were brought to the attention of the attendees. The delegates listened to the difficulties and the needs of our nation’s two historic communities and discussed options to minimize the ongoing crises. 

The convention concluded with the election of the new ARS Central Executive Board for the upcoming 2023-2027 period. 

Arousyak Melkonian (Western USA) – Chairperson

Talin Daghlian (Eastern USA) – Vice-Chairperson

Nayiri Balanian (Eastern USA) – Secretary

Annie Kechichian (Western USA) – Treasurer

Irma Kassabian (Eastern USA) – Accountant 

Siran Ambarjian (Middle East) – Advisor

Arminee Karabetian (Canada) – Advisor

Zoya Kocharyan (Armenia) – Advisor 

Zharmen Mirzakhanyan (Western USA) – Advisor 

Nora Sevagian (Australia) – Advisor

Liza Tchalikian Gillibert (Europe, France) – Advisor

YEREVAN—The American University of Armenia (AUA) Turpanjian College of Health Sciences (CHS) is pleased to announce the launch of the Armenia-U.S. Collaboration to Address Chronic Disease via Education in Social Determinants Science (ACCESS) project in partnership with the George Washington University (GWU) Milken Institute School of Public Health. This is a five-year project supported by the U.S. National Institutes of Health Fogarty International Center and builds on the longstanding relationship between CHS and GWU, which encompasses extensive collaboration and joint publications. The principal investigators are Drs. Carla Berg, Nino Paichadze and Varduhi Petrosyan. The co-investigators are Drs. Tsovinar Harutyunyan and Anya Agopian.

“This program reflects Fogarty’s investment in research addressing global health disparities and our team’s commitment to high-impact research in the region. Our team is excited to expand our network of expert researchers in this region and expand the impact of non-communicable disease research,” noted Dr. Carla Berg, professor and associate chair for research in the Department of Prevention and Community Health at GWU.

Participants in the Fogarty fellowship program, October 2023

The primary objectives of ACCESS are to develop a formal non-communicable disease (NCD) prevention and control research training program and institutional infrastructure; advance Armenia’s national NCD research agenda via mentored research among future NCD research leaders; and catalyze NCD-related research dissemination and knowledge translation to inform policy and practice. 

“The Fogarty fellowship program is a golden opportunity for me as a student. It provides not only financial assistance, but also professional support, as it prepares me for a successful career. It is a perfect way to gain knowledge by working with leading researchers and scientists and developing fundamental skills. Being part of this program means belonging to a significant and encouraging network that will help to grow and achieve short- and long-term goals,” stated Araz Bourounsouzian, MPH student and Fogarty fellow.

The MPH Fogarty fellowship supported by ACCESS is open to any Armenian citizen with a medical degree (M.D.), dentistry degree (D.D.S. or D.M.D.) or doctorate in science admitted to the CHS Master of Public Health (MPH) program. The target demographic is mid-career professionals working in health organizations or clinics with a desire to strengthen their research skills, present their work internationally and publish. Each selected fellow will receive 100-percent tuition coverage, as well as funds to conduct research on NCD, participate in international scientific conferences and publish their capstone projects in peer-reviewed international journals. AUA welcomed the first cohort of four fellows in fall 2023, with the objective of hosting about 25 fellows in the next five years. 

With ACCESS forming an integral part of the MPH program, faculty at AUA and GWU are developing a series of seminars and single-credit courses that are required for Fogarty fellows and elective for other MPH students. Locally, CHS is collaborating with the Ministry of Health, National Institute of Health after Academician S. Avdalbekyan, National Center of Oncology after Fanarjyan, Hematology Center after Prof. R. Yeolyan, Nork-Marash Medical Center, and the Armenian National Center for Disease Control and Prevention. Mentors from these institutions will support the MPH Fogarty fellows in their capstone projects.

“This is a unique and highly regarded program. Besides accommodating Fogarty fellows, it also provides opportunities for selected MPH students to not only get tuition coverage and conduct real research projects on a larger scale than any MPH student could afford otherwise, but also get the opportunity to share their findings with the international professional community. ACCESS is in line with the national health priorities of Armenia and an excellent platform for collaboration with important stakeholders,” added Dr. Petrosyan.

CHS held the inaugural annual meeting for ACCESS on October 9-11, during which faculty members in the college met with fellows and mentors from the aforementioned partner institutions. As part of the three-day event, a select team of GWU faculty members offered a series of seminars open to the community. Dr. Carla J. Berg provided a global overview of the evolving tobacco market and the diversified assortment of alternative tobacco products, including e-cigarettes and heated tobacco products. Her review examined key socio-structural determinants of tobacco use and control particularly pertaining to policy/regulations and industry influences. In turn, Dr. Paul Ndebele highlighted the responsibilities of individual scientists toward society, the environment and animals. He also discussed the responsibilities of the government and institutions in ensuring that scientists can continue to serve as a positive force in society. Also, Dr. Nino Paichadze examined the global burden of road traffic injuries that lead to injuries or disabilities in the millions, predominantly in low and middle-income countries. She highlighted the significant social and economic losses to individuals, their families, societies and countries due to road traffic injuries that are preventable public health problems.

The AUA Turpanjian College of Health Sciences works actively to improve population health and health services in Armenia and the region through interdisciplinary education and development of health professionals to be leaders in public health, nursing, health services research and evaluation, and health care delivery and management.