CHOOSING ARMENIAN
TAMAR KEVONIAN
Asbarez
/2009_1
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Everyone from the taxi driver to the grocer to the high powered
financier has a story to tell. Each one with a unique perspective on
life and ideas on what it means to be Armenian.
A hundred years ago, our ancestors lived in a land that was culturally
homogenous. Their identity was a given, their home was known and their
history was second nature. They were either from Adana or Van or any
other point in between and there was no need to explain who they were.
In the ninety-four years since the Genocide we have created microcosm
around the globe of the world our grandparents knew. Hayrenagtsagan
(compatriotic) organizations exist to perpetuate the subtle aspects of
our identity. "Where is your family from?" is a common question that
goes beyond the mere geographic location of where our families found
themselves following the slaughter, but a deeper question to get to
the root of who we are by trying to pinpoint the exact location of
our familial origins.
This may seem redundant, especially now, almost two or three
generations and several continents removed from the source of our
distinctiveness but it belies a deeper question: what is the nature
of our transplanted nation? Despite the existence of the Republic of
Armenia we are a borderless nation that exists within the boundaries
of our adopted countries because wherever we are can always find
another Vanetsi (a person from Van) or Adanatsi (a person from Adana)
and instantly find common ground.
In today’s challenging world we are concerned not only with the
concerns of the politics of our host countries, the communities in
which we live, the needs of our families but also have the added
preoccupation of our tiny republic, our Armenian communities,
our history and the perpetuation of the collective future of the
Armenian Diaspora.
The challenges of being Armenian were a hot topic of debate at a
recent gathering of friends to celebrate the baptism of one of the
newest members of the Armenian community.
"I’m proud to be Armenian," stated Carlo.
"But given the choice would you want to be Armenian?" I asked.
"Absolutely," he affirmed
"Why is this an issue?" asked Raffi, playing the devil’s advocate.
"I wonder how seriously we take our cultural identity when we give
children westernized names and don’t teach them to speak or write
Armenian."
"It’s difficult for Americans to say Armenian names," was the response.
"I have that problem all the time," said Vicken and went on to describe
the various challenges he faces when spelling his last name during
the course of conducting his business.
"But if they can say %u218Schwarzenegger’ and elect him governor of
California, then they can easily say any of our names," I responded.
H. Edward Deluzain in his article entitled Name and Personal Identity
said it best, "This bestowal of name and identity is a kind of symbolic
contract between the society and the individual. The sense of personal
identity and uniqueness that a name gives us is at the heart of why
names interest us and why they are important to us as individuals
and to our society as a whole."
Our sense of identity is shaped by our names (either first or
last name) and practices such as dropping the ian, simplifying or
Anglicizing our last names or using European/American first names
may be the first step in distancing ourselves from our history.
One of the other particular challenges of being Armenian is also
learning the language. The discussion included a larger argument for
cultural responsibility encompassing the Armenian language. Hundreds
of indigenous languages die every day in today’s global world. It’s
an added burden on many parents to fight the overwhelming tide of
the local societies in which they live. Even if they start life by
speaking Armenian, children quickly switch to English once they start
school and parents find themselves responding in kind. Many don’t
bother to learn or teach their children the alphabet.
Most of us are now more proficient in English and opt to use in our
daily communications.
"Sure, I’ll answer a couple of questions," said Varoujan when asked,
in Armenian, for an interview. "Great," I said. "Is it in Armenian?" he
asked in a panic. "I can’t speak Armenian," he said in Armenian.
The Armenian language and its alphabet have been in existence for over
a millennium. Much like the Sumerian hyroglygh, which was in common
use and is the basis for any modern alphabet, it did not survive the
passage of time and completely disappeared from known history. In fact,
after its rediscovery in the 20th century, it remained unreadable
for decades.
A language may have tens of thousands of speakers but be endangered
because children are no longer learning them, and speakers are in the
process of shifting to using the national language instead of their
ethnic languages.
Some linguists, like Michael Krauss and Stephen Wurn, argue that
at least 3,000 of the world’s 6,000-7,000 languages are liable to
be lost before the year 2100. When a language dies, its speakers,
culture, art and history also die. Once that happens there is almost
no chance of reviving them.
In was inevitable that we would continue to exist after the
perpetration of the Genocide. We are a tenacious people as evidenced
by our unwillingness to give up in the face of adversity and to
thrive in unfamiliar environments. But our greatest victory is that
we continue to exist as Armenians. It is a choice our grandparents
made and it is a choice we continue to make. Our ethnic names and
our distinctive language is simply a vehicle to realize our choices.
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