Category: 2023

Tara Ourfalian

Speak Armenian, love your culture, cherish your heritage, protect your community…

But to what end?

For many diasporan Armenians, these patriotic words are nothing short of ordinary. They have been ingrained into our hearts and our minds, having become second nature for us all.

As a “lifer” of Armenian institutions, I was raised to always honor and appraise these values, regarding our motherland with the utmost respect and admiration. I was raised to place my culture and my heritage on the highest pedestal because of its sacred and rich history and the countless ways in which it has facilitated the survival of our marginalized race. However, I repeatedly found myself in distress regarding the use of my own language – the same language that constitutes the very essence of what it means to be an Armenian and that has bolstered our community for thousands of years. Despite my intensive language education, why was it that when I utilized Armenian, I refrained from venturing beyond my familiar horizons, from taking risks that challenge the immunity of socially determined margins?

Ultimately, it was the result of a lack of exercise. During my years as a youngster studying at an Armenian school, from preschool to high school, I learned how to speak, read and write in my native tongue. Yet, in doing so, I developed an inclination to isolate the Armenian language – a tendency to place our sacred tongue on a pedestal, guarded from any foreign corruption. This behavior has become increasingly normalized in our diasporan community. As a bilingual diasporan myself, this trend not only impeded my personal language development, but it can also have grave implications for the future of all bearers of Armenian culture.

To reach this realization, I had to live through countless grueling, and oftentimes unpleasant experiences, the significance of which only struck me upon my pursuit of a higher education. And that is exactly what I did: pursue higher education – not one signified by a diploma, but rather one marked by spiritual and intellectual enrichment.

During the winter quarter of my sophomore year at UCLA, I chose to enroll in my first college-level Armenian language course. Putting all of my expectations aside, I joined the class entirely impartial, yet confident in my proficiency with the Armenian language, because I believed that after graduating from an Armenian school, I had to continue to speak, read and write in Armenian. I had to ensure that I did not forget the grammatical frameworks of my language. I had to surround myself with other like-minded Armenian youth who held similar patriotic values. This was my obligation as a descendant of genocide survivors and migrant parents who evaded assimilation. These were my responsibilities to fulfill in order to preserve my allegiance to my heritage.

I started to ponder: what was the purpose of this compulsory duty that weighed so heavily on my conscience? For years, I blindly followed this nationalist messaging that I have been fed since childhood, without taking a moment to consider its intent or ramifications. What exactly would result from speaking Armenian? Why do we appraise our language with such significance? The answers to these questions had finally started to unveil themselves to me.

During our first class meeting, we were given an excerpt from Krikor Beledian’s “Mdmdook”…I was at a loss for words. Grasping little to no understanding of the piece, I wondered how I had gone so long without ever having seen such sophisticated and complex ideas represented in Armenian literature, despite having gone to an Armenian school my entire life. I recognized, in that very moment, that I had intuitively enclosed Armenian within bounds, restricting my ability to harness the full potential of all of its bountiful richness and intricacies to express a higher order of thinking. I had monumentalized and sacralized the language by limiting its application to strictly Armenian-affiliated motifs and ideas. For so long, this predisposition inclined me to establish an inherent classification, whereby I would only utilize Armenian for concepts relating to our history and other cultural associations relevant particularly to the past, while I defaulted to English in order to express myself, create, reflect and analyze ideas pertinent to the present and the future.

Throughout the duration of this course, I encountered countless new ideas and novel perspectives that encouraged me to embark on a transformative journey to relearn and reimagine my mother tongue. It was important to assume responsibility with a willing desire. Making the decision to undertake this language revolution was critical to ensuring that it did not revert to a tedious or undesirable obligation. I welcomed the opportunity with a newfound aspiration to expand the horizons of my bilingual intellect. The result was an explicit testament to the fundamental significance of choosing to endorse this evolution, as opposed to an enforced compulsion originating from the pressure of external forces. As such, my relationship with the Armenian language had acquired a new shape, and I had procured an entirely new outlook on the academic groundwork established and transmitted through our institutions.  

My first endeavor was to overcome the unease and timidity that stemmed from my fear of writing in Armenian – my fear of making mistakes, of being criticized for being wrong, of being misunderstood. There had been several instances in this particular course when I struggled to respond to unfamiliar abstractions or vague prompts that we had been assigned to answer on a weekly basis. I found myself repeatedly sitting for hours on end, my eyes frozen on the blank page that loitered on my laptop screen. After several minutes, I would write a sentence, only to erase it and relapse to where I had started. It was a destructive pattern of confusion, self-doubt and hopelessness. I had established an unrealistic expectation to continuously produce a “perfect” product, an exceptional outcome that I was proud to consider impactful and meaningful. But it wasn’t until I learned to accept that this expectation was virtually unattainable that I finally began to defy the bounds of my self-imposed intellectual imprisonment. I stopped fearing, and rather welcomed, criticism as an instrument of progression. Step by step the barriers started to crumble, and I entered a new world of possibilities where my imagination diffused into a realm far beyond the margins of an ethnocentric rationale.

I then knew that the next stride I had to make would be to read my first full-length Armenian book, as that would be critical to expanding the breadth of my vocabulary and enhancing my ability to think critically through the lens of a different language. That book happened to be yet another work by Krikor Beledian, titled The Name Under My Tongue, per my professor’s recommendation. Just as I had anticipated, I came face to face with the same hurdles. I read the first ten pages, then twenty, and then fifty, without the slightest comprehension of what was being said. It became increasingly difficult not to succumb to the temptation of surrender and defeat. However, one lesson in particular allowed me to persevere: learn to not understand. In other words, come to terms with not understanding every term, every sentence or every concept. Avoid turning to a dictionary every time you come across an unfamiliar word; refrain from rereading the entire page even if you couldn’t grasp the meaning; untie yourself from the weight of mastering the material, and eventually, you will begin to see all of the fragmented pieces come together to form a coherent story. Gradually, I learned – or rather unlearned – my process of understanding to develop a genuine deeper comprehension of the texts I had been reading. This allowed me to entirely immerse myself into Beledian’s transcendent world of verbose run-ons and uncover the elaborate postulations that were veiled beneath his assemblage of long-winded passages. As I began to implement these critical adjustments in my day-to-day habits, both within and outside of the classroom, I started to appreciate the value of literature more than ever before, and my love for reading heightened.

Through my experiences as a maturing college student outside of the protected bubble of my upbringing, I have come to a few new realizations regarding the work being carried out by our cultural institutions in the diaspora. It goes without saying that Armenian schools and educational establishments play an instrumental role in setting the foundation to foster generations of bright and spirited youth, of which I am a proud product. However, they appear to lack a salient element of any organization, being a clear vision and a purpose. Instilling the overbearing pressure to keep our culture alive has limited effectiveness if it does not translate into concrete, measurable outcomes. Most Armenian-based instruction emphasizes the importance of knowledge about our culture and the duty to preserve it, but fails to instill the desire of integrating oneself into the culture by consuming it and creating in it. As students, we have been conditioned to serve our language – revering it, as opposed to utilizing it as a space where we can intellectually thrive. Today, this vision has transformed into a fantasy of idealism, while the mission or the means of pursuing it has been replaced by the act of paying respects to the ideal. Although the importance of invoking a vigorous spirit and pride in one’s heritage is undoubtedly necessary, the vision of Armenian community schools has to embody a bold shift that embraces consumers and producers of language products to pave the path for a prosperous future. As diasporans, it is pivotal that we generate producers, writers, poets and inventors, who will continue to enrich our culture and our language with their instrumental efforts.

Despite being a life-long product of Armenian culture, my experience with the Armenian language feels like it has only just begun. As I take on this mindful and willing journey of rediscovery and break down the barriers that had once shielded me from the boundless opportunities my native tongue can bestow upon me, I impatiently await where I will find myself in the coming years.

“The Ant and the Grasshopper” from Aesop’s Fables, Illustrated by Milo Winter (1886-1956) (Wikimedia Commons)

While Mayr Hayastan stands high overlooking the hills and valleys of our beloved homeland, Snoop Dogg and his entourage will be sharing the tropes that made him famous in West Coast rap with the people of Armenia in a concert on September 23. Snoop Dogg has faced criticism for his objectification of women and his use of derogatory terms which perpetuate the negative stereotypes that are pervasive in Armenia’s often chauvinistic and sexist society. The Doggfather’s shameless use of chauvinistic lyrics like, “B*** ain’t shit but hoes and tricks,” combined with derogatory and dehumanizing visuals of women performing the most demeaning sexual acts, are often overlooked with his catchy beats and danceable songs. I doubt that the majority of the Armenians in Armenia who love hip hop have deconstructed the meanings and subtext of much of Snoop’s lyrics.

Let me preface this with the fact that I actually appreciate hip hop – it is the discourse of a generation, and I use it in the classroom in my lessons on register and code. To many generations of African Americans, hip hop is a genre that has complex meanings and implications related to their experience as Black Americans. There are numerous researchers who explore raciolinguistics, and there are even more hip hop artists who have become vehicles to express the oppression and plight of Black Americans.  Pulitzer Prize-winning Kendrick Lamar, Alicia Keys, Mary J. Blige, Tyler the Creator, Jay-Z and our once pessa now “he-who-must-not-be-named” Kanye West have all woven the fabric of the rich genre of hip hop, which has propelled social change with its revolutionary undertones. Hip hop has overtaken rock and roll as the most popular musical genre, and I would be lying if I didn’t say that I have Lauren Hill and Rakim on my iTunes list. It’s clear that Snoop Dogg is a brilliant entrepreneur with cookbooks, wine branding, numerous philanthropic projects and many other talents.

But this is not what this piece is about.

Seeing social media posts about Snoop Dogg’s concert in Yerevan has made us, in many ways, wake up to the metaphorical opiate that has been nefariously pacifying the people of Armenia.  It was Karl Marx who stated, “Die Religion…ist das Opium des Volkes,” which means, “religion is the opiate of the masses.”  The new religion of Armenia is one of pacifism and apathy, blinding the people with the idea that “all is ok” – send over 50 Cent, Kanye and now Snoop Dogg. Give the baby a pacifier, placate your people, and you can guarantee a few hours (in this case a few years) to do the dirty work of rotting a country at its core. It is the stuff of a dystopian novel – burn the books, use rhetoric, make photo ops with famous pop figures and you have yourself a lovely little ochlocracy. “So what? We get drunk. So what? We smoke weed. We’re just having fun. We don’t care who sees. So what we go out? That’s how it’s supposed to be – living young and wild and free.” I never thought I would quote Snoop Dogg and Wiz Khalifa in an article about my homeland.

As a teacher, I am generally focused on all things education related. When you study a country’s educational system, it gives you a glimpse of a disease that can be diagnosed and hopefully healed. Armenia’s education system is in a desperate situation. There is a lack of opportunity for students, not only in Yerevan, but also in rural Armenia. Armenia’s education system is not future oriented. Many band-aid programs have mushroomed focusing on robotics, and of course we have the amazing TUMO program. Yet as for the daily educational system, Armenia lacks the momentum to move away from Soviet-dominated pedagogical strategies that integrate critical thinking. I had the opportunity to learn about this firsthand last year at the Teach for Armenia conference held at UCLA, from educators such as Dr. Serop Khachatryan, director of the Children of Armenia Fund. Many of the speakers stressed the need for building infrastructure. I watched the Minister of Education take copious notes and agree that the failure was systematic in the schools of Armenia. Wendy Kopp, the CEO of Teach for All and one of my personal heroes, stated that programs such as Teach for Armenia create a collective purpose, and that we must cultivate leadership by teaching marginalized communities, a transformative process for students and teachers. Meeting teachers like Ninelle, a Teach for Armenia instructor from Artsakh, was inspiring. Now, I am devastated to see her social media posts as she reports from blockaded Artsakh. That spark of hope is still in her eyes, but there are other needs at stake. Pedagogy is placed on the back burner when you’re focused on picking the last of your tomatoes and don’t have the ability to shower.

The conference used the metaphor of the national dance of Armenia, the Kochari, the archetypal symbol of unity for our people. It focused on our own Kochari, the 2050 promise – a declaration to deliver the kind of education needed to be a leader in Armenia.

But that Kochari has been broken. In Artsakh, 120,000 Armenian souls are on the brink of starvation and blockade – that in itself is the pus-filled infection of the last few years, caused by a prime minister ransacking the country of its health. Meanwhile, PM Nikol Pashinyan and his “gangstas” are “Rollin’ down the street, smokin’ indo/Sippin’ on gin and juice/Laid back with (their) minds on their money and (their) money on (their) minds.”

Perhaps the nation should go back to our own children’s storyteller—Atabek Khnkoyan (Khnko Aper)—whose rhyming versions of Aesop’s fable “The Ant and the Grasshopper” ring true every time I see a post about Snoop: “Չաշխատեցի՞ր Ամառը, Ասա՛, ինչ էր Պատճառը:” (You didn’t work all summer…tell us the reason), and the dancing grasshopper, full of hubris, answers: “Էդպես բանի, Սանամե՛ր, Էլ ժամանակ Ո՞ վ ուներ. Էն խոտերում Բուրավետ, Երգում էինք Մերոնց հետ…” (Who had time for that? We were too busy dancing with each other in the fields). (Sippin’ on Gin and Juice…)

Nobody is saying that our brothers and sisters in Armenia shouldn’t have fun. Fun has its place and time, and we are a country that is experiencing its dark ages. Just last summer, as I watched the mother of one of our soldiers tear at the granite of her son’s gravestone in the village of Akhpradzor, it became clear that our country is in a shared “brow of woe.” Grief is cyclical, and a person experiences a long list of a range of emotions while grieving. Yerevan had an aura of paralysis – people walked in the streets, cafes were full, but everyone was in an anesthetized state. Forcing the country into a state of unresolved grief and blowing smoke into the faces of the Armenian nation has led to the kind of numb disconnectedness that opens the portal to the dangerous state of apathy that our homeland has now embraced.  It was Noam Chomsky who stated, “All over the place, from the popular culture to the propaganda system, there is constant pressure to make people feel that they are helpless, that the only role they can have is to ratify decisions and to consume.” We are not helpless. Armenian schools are growing in the diaspora; Armenian camps are full of the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of genocide survivors; internships and non-profits in Armenia have proliferated; the Armenian National Committee of America (ANCA) is actively engaged in nation building; Teach for Armenia, the Hidden Road Initiative, AYF Youth Corps, the Armenian Relief Society and programs to build Armenia’s infrastructure are still actively engaged in nation building. We refuse to be patronized, infantilized and shamed into silence.

It is my hope that the people of Armenia will look up to Mayr Hayastan, reminding themselves that we are the people of stone, of women who raised arms to fight, of mothers who gave their sons to fight for our lands. We are not to be infantilized by puppet shows that attempt to distract us from the nation building (in and outside Armenia) that calls us to work. Almost 4,000 souls were sent to their graves in a war for Artsakh – and their mothers and families refuse to be silenced by the almighty pacifier that Pashinyan attempts to force into their (and our) mouths.  Enough.

My writing of this may reach the eyes of some. I hope you, dear reader, feel the same kind of angst that so many of us do. I hope you are doing something – anything – while our homeland experiences the most catastrophic existential threat of our lifetime.

Nothing against you Snoop – we love your famous song, “Who am I (What’s My Name)?” However, the Armenian nation knows who we are. We have known for thousands of years. Even as we watch enemies, foreign and domestic, attempt to gaslight us into thinking otherwise, we must remind ourselves that the first line ever written in our ancient language was, “To know wisdom and gain instruction; to discern the words of understanding…” and refuse to close our eyes to the smoke that attempts to blind that understanding.

Let’s hope Khnko Aper’s grasshoppers don’t become the ultimate metaphor for our nation…

Երգո՞ւ մ էիր… 

Շատ բարի, 

Այժմ էլ բռնի 

Վեր-վերի, 

Քամին ծափ տա, 

Դու պարի՛:

(You were singing?

Oh how nice! 

Once the cold winds hit you,

let’s see how you dance.)

Being Armenian no longer simply means having an “IAN” or “YAN” at the end of your last name. Being Armenian no longer means being able to speak or read Armenian. Being Armenian no longer means sending your children to Armenian schools. Being Armenian no longer means joining Armenian organizations and singing patriotic songs. Being Armenian no longer means enjoying Armenia from afar. Being Armenian no longer means spending your summer as a tourist in Armenia.

Being Armenian has forever changed in my mind since November 9, 2020. It has become a duty to better the free and independent country we have today. Being born in the diaspora, Armenia always seemed like a fairy tale relayed to me by various Armenian organizations and schools. However, after the 2020 Artsakh War, I realized that Armenia is frail, not strong as described in those fairy tales. Trauma lurked within Armenians all over the world after the tragic end to the war. I owned up to the trauma and answered the call to move to the homeland. It was the best decision I have ever made, as the homeland cured me and provided me with a strong sense of purpose, a purpose that I would never have attained living outside of Armenia. Every day I wake up thankful to be living and breathing on free and independent Armenian land. Although this is not where my ancestors were from, I still feel so attached to the land and the people. The connection with a people, a plot of land, a mountain range, or a body of water has never felt so real or fulfilling.

I live this attachment to the land, day in and day out, contributing to the future of our nation. Hrant Dink once said, “The best thing you can do for your country is to live there.” I agree with him wholeheartedly. However, if one decides to reside outside of Armenia, the work for the nation should always be ever present in their mind. The most important thing is establishing a tangible and real connection with Armenia, whether living inside or outside of the country, that will contribute to Armenia’s betterment. We are fortunate to have a free and independent Armenia today and must ensure it remains free and independent through hard work and “sacrifice.” By “sacrifice,” I mean attaining a purpose and living a fulfilling life—one full of endless gratitude and beauty.

-A Concerned Armenian

Our thoughts and actions today are dominated by our desire to prevent a genocide in Artsakh. The narrative has degenerated from “self-determination” to “territorial integrity” to “genocide prevention.” “Prevention” is commonly defined as the “action of stopping something from happening or stopping someone.” The act of genocide prevention ensures that genocide does not become a reality. 

In 1948, the United Nations passed a treaty for member states to ratify called the “Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide.” It came into force in 1951, and as of 2022, 153 nations have ratified the treaty including Azerbaijan and Turkey, the successor government of the Ottoman Empire. Ironically, genocide is usually committed by member states or as a result of internal conflict. 

Raphael Lemkin’s United Nations General Assembly pass (Photo: Center for Jewish History)

It is important to note that when the convention was ratified, the UN focused both on “prevention” and “punishment.” Early advocates of criminalizing genocide, such as Raphael Lemkin, were influenced by the Armenian Genocide three decades prior to the treaty and the Jewish Holocaust during World War II. Despite the emphasis on codifying the criminalization of genocide and attempting to prevent this lowest form of human aggression, the record has been dismal. Cambodia signed in 1950, yet Pol Pot committed genocide against his people. Genocide took place in Bosnia, though Yugoslavia had ratified the treaty in 1950. Rwanda signed in 1975, yet its government did nothing to prevent the slaughter of the Tutsi ethnic group. In an irony of insulting proportions, Turkey ratified the treaty in 1950 while engaging in an institutional cover-up of the Armenian, Greek and Assyrian genocides. Azerbaijan, with one of the worst human rights records on this planet, signed on in 1996 after years of oppressing the Armenians in Nagorno-Karabakh and before its continuous campaign of human rights abuses and ethnic cleansing in Artsakh. They qualify for an international criminal poster.

The UN has always politicized the labeling of genocide. The Kurds have been slaughtered by successive governments in Iraq, Syria and Turkey, yet it has never been labeled a genocide. If too many genocides are declared, it paints the UN’s prevention objective as unsuccessful. Artsakh is not politically advantageous, so it receives even less attention. Despite what the UN declares, each human life is not treated with equal value. Thousands are dying in Africa, China and Yemen, but the political climate does not favor intervention for these souls.

In the case of Artsakh, the UN continuously fails to prevent atrocities, since it is hopelessly paralyzed by political and ideological division. Even when the UN is on the ground, it is toothless by design. We all recall the movie Hotel Rwanda, in which a brave hotel manager saved many lives from certain death. The film also illustrates the frustration of the UN commanders who were powerless to prevent further massacres. The rules of engagement seem to limit the presence of UN representatives to observer status. When the member states ratified the genocide convention, they declared their intention to govern according to the treaty to both prevent and punish the crime of genocide. States’ track records have made a mockery of this intention, reducing it to a legal reference point with little enforcement. The only exceptions are when “self-interests” motivate intervention.

In the case of Artsakh, Article II c of the convention, which defines genocidal actions as “deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or part,” is relevant. Azerbaijan has checked every box on genocidal criteria, but section c is particularly germane to the months-long blockade. Denying people food and medicine is a clear indicator of intent to bring about “physical destruction,” yet Armenians are left only with words of rhetorical support from the international community. The UN Convention also supersedes all territorial boundaries since most genocides are committed by perpetrators against their own citizens and are not “internal matters.” The crime of genocide is the most heinous act of humanity. The absence of enforcement, therefore, renders these treaties to be a “paper ladle,” in the words of our beloved Khrimian Hayrig.

The United Nations should consider removing the “prevention” clause since it does little to prevent atrocities and selectively addresses punishment. The strongest prevention efforts occur when the UN or member states commit peacekeeping forces to physically contain the aggressor party. Sometimes the presence of third parties can deter open aggression. In Darfur, Sudan, plagued with a civil conflict for much of the 21st century, hundreds of thousands were murdered and over three million people were impacted, yet the punishment process took years, because indictments are difficult to execute. Usually a coup or counter-revolution displaces the criminal, as is the case of Sudan. While international processes proceed at a snail’s pace, thousands suffer as “victims of genocide.” As Armenians, we know about the suffering and risks in Artsakh, but we must also examine this in the context that most Americans know little about genocides, such as those in Yemen or China targeting the Uyghurs. The message is frustrating, despicable and a sad commentary on humanity, but if we are waiting for the international community to save Artsakh, then there is another tragedy in our future. 

There is a difference, however, between trying and relying. We have an obligation to our people in Artsakh and for the sake of civility to attempt international intervention, but we should never rely on it. My grandparents were there when the French abandoned Cilicia in 1920 after utilizing the heroic Armenian Legionnaires and encouraging genocide survivors to return to their homes. Who defended our deceived people? A mandate that died in the U.S. Senate? Europeans’ words of sympathy? It was the Lions of Marash, as quoted by Kerr, and other brave defenses that allowed some to survive. We counted on the support that was promised. 

Even with countless violations of international law and basic human civility, Azerbaijan has not received one sanction. There is only one way to save Artsakh: create enough resistance to force intervention. Diplomacy alone will not lead to peace, justice or even survival. That time has unfortunately passed. The world of powerful nations is fairly proficient at stopping small outbreaks that threaten their interests. They are not very good at preventing them. Observe: 30 years of constant Azerbaijani aggression with zero implications. The oil and gas flow along with Section 907 U.S. aid. What are those interests that Armenians could exploit? All parties are interested in a stable South Caucasus. It is difficult to maintain influence where there is instability. It has little to do with justice, human rights and promoting democracy. Artsakh is locked in a war of diplomatic rhetoric. The combination of Azerbaijani barbarism and the inability of the mediating nations to take preventative action requires a higher profile for intervention. That “profile” must be provided by the Armenians in the form of resistance to encourage meaningful peace building. We must be the catalyst to alter the paradigm. The people in Artsakh have displayed remarkable resilience. This is the foundation of resistance to tyranny. We must be positioned militarily and diplomatically to assure intervention when the Azeris lose their interest in peaceful dialogue, and we must take advantage of the mediating countries and their intolerance for instability. Instead of relying on them as a subordinated party, we must appeal to their self-interest.

Armenia has stated that it is ready to accept Artsakh in the context of Azeri territorial integrity with the guarantees of the “rights and security” of its Armenian population. Sometimes we focus only on the first part of the statement, but not the second. There can be no reciprocal respect of territorial integrity without the rights of the Artsakh Armenians. Given the current situation, the best outcome would be an international peacekeeping group in Artsakh to prevent genocide. Our energy must be focused on how to motivate those peacekeeping nations to take the step that they have been unwilling to take. There is a substantial difference between hoping for foreign intervention and motivating the parties that have self-interest in intervening. It is not in the interests of Iran, the United States or Europe for instability to continue. Our resistance could provide the motivation for balance. This will require those advocating for Armenians to cooperate and perhaps subordinate partisan goals in the interests of the nation. These are questions we are confronted with as the global Armenian nation faces unprecedented risks. Prevention of genocide in Artsakh and the protection of their rights may require meaningful foreign intervention, but is the responsibility of the Armenians to navigate that journey. In a world driven by morality, the criminal aggression of Azerbaijan would be punished. In the current reality of political duplicity, the Armenians must utilize every option to protect their rights. We owe this to each other. 

Alexander Demirdjian at Camp Haiastan

Deep in the woods of Franklin Massachusetts lies “the greatest place on earth,” Camp Haiastan. Armenian parents send their children to camp for two or more weeks over the summer from all over the world so they can spend time with other Armenians. Every day the camp hosts what they call Hye Jahm, or Armenian hour, when campers learn about the Armenian Revolutionary Federation, Armenian history and current events in Armenia. Hye Jahm can be the least enjoyable activity for many campers, but for me, it was transformative. Before my stay at camp in 2022 I had little knowledge of the 2020 Artsakh War and the threats looming over Armenia and Artsakh. Thanks to the Hye Jahm teachers who explained the dire situation in Artsakh, I became interested in following Armenian news. Since then, I made it a habit to read the news on the car ride to school.

When the teacher of my school’s Broadcast Journalism Club offered students the chance to work on personal projects, I immediately thought of the 2020 Artsakh War and the then-recent clashes in September 2022. That day I told my mother about my vision while she drove me home from school, and she said it would be a very difficult feat. Previously I had only worked with video editing, but not with creating content. I proceeded to write a history briefing and a breakdown of the 2020 war and war crimes committed by Azerbaijan as the basis for my script.

This project required approval from the school before I could continue. When I met with two representatives from the Broadcast Journalism Club, they said that my content sounded very biased and radical and would not be approved by the school. They said it would be nearly impossible to get approval for my project, and I would need to interview someone from the region who speaks English and has seen the carnage in Artsakh, as well as someone with political importance. I went home that day determined to prove the disbelievers wrong. 

I shared what I had learned with my mother who encouraged me to pursue my interest. For about two weeks I sent out numerous emails. I wrote to influential Armenians to see if they knew anyone who met my criteria for an interviewee or who could give me guidance. I got many rejections, and most of my emails went ignored. Finally, in January, the President of the Manhasset School Board, a fellow Armenian, wrote back to me and gave me the contact information of Arda Haratunian, a strategic communications advisor and educator. 

Mrs. Haratunian provided me with a lot of media knowledge and guidance. She helped me organize my interview questions and kept me in focus. She put me in contact with  Zohrab Mnatsakanyan, the former Minister of Foreign Affairs of Armenia and the former Representative of Armenia to the United Nations. He was kind enough to grant me my first interview, which took place via Zoom from across the world in Yerevan, Armenia.

I then needed to interview someone who could give me an eyewitness account from Artsakh. After knocking on many doors for several weeks I came up empty-handed. As the school year was nearing an end, I found the breakthrough I needed. In April, I called the Armenian National Committee of America (ANCA) and connected with Elizabeth Chouldjian. She put me in contact with Gev Iskajyan, the ANCA representative in Artsakh. He was the perfect person to interview for my documentary. I was warned that internet connectivity in Artsakh was not reliable, and sure enough, at our scheduled interview time, Iskajyan was not able to join the Zoom meeting. Fortunately, an hour later his internet was restored, and I was able to complete the interview.

From there, I started sorting through the interviews and organizing them into a video. With a few voiceovers and hours of editing, I completed the project on June 9. This day marked six months since I had started working on the project and six months of the ongoing blockade of Artsakh by Azerbaijan. After receiving approval, my documentary, The Humanitarian Crisis You Don’t Know About, went up on Manhasset Broadcast Company’s YouTube channel. 

After knocking on many doors, and with the help of other friendly and like-minded Armenians, this project was able to get off the ground. It shows how second-generation Armenian-Americans and descendants of genocide survivors, like myself, are able to raise awareness of the ongoing humanitarian crisis in Artsakh. This video was an example of civic involvement on local, national and international levels, with the goal of trying to further educate and spread knowledge to both Armenian and non-Armenian communities. All of this was inspired and made possible thanks to my stay at Camp Haiastan in 2022. Camp Haiastan is a place where Armenians scattered across the world can come together and connect with one another. Camp Haiastan motivated me to become a proactive member of Armenian-American society.

AYF Camp Haiastan Day Camp campers

FRANKLIN, Mass.—AYF Camp Haiastan Day Camp is approaching a second decade since its establishment. This year, the Day Camp hosted a record 44 campers. Day Camp runs daily for one week and is limited to children five to seven years old.

Digin Ani Changelian led both sessions of Day Camp. The first took place from June 26-31 and the second from August 7-11. Changelian has been a kindergarten teacher for 17 years and has been leading the Day Camp program for the past 12 years.

An AYF Camp Haiastan alumnus, as a camper and staff member with two years as the Camp’s summer director, Changelian is well-versed in the Camp’s mission, as well as its safety protocol.

According to Camp Haiastan Board member Nevart Apovian Mikaelian, the Day Camp was established, because parents wanted their younger children to attend a camp with an Armenian identity. In fact, this year the Board of Directors added the August session for parents whose children were unable to participate in July but were still very much interested in sending their young children to Camp.

Apovian Mikaelian and Judy Gavoor served as the first Day Camp directors in 2005. At that time, most of the children attending lived locally, but attendance quickly expanded to children from other Eastern U.S. Armenian communities. Their parents would stay in a local hotel or with families that lived in the area. This year, nine different states were represented by the Day Campers. 

Now, parents of the Armenian day schools also are instrumental in organizing children from their communities to attend the Day Camp. “Parents speak to each other on summer plans,” Changelian said. “They organize a fun week while staying in the area. This year, we had 16 campers from the Sisters Academy. The parents made all the arrangements, stayed at the same hotel and made it a family fun-filled week. Parents from New Jersey do the same,” she added.

The parents’ dedication and desire to have their children attend Camp Haiastan Day Camp has resulted in most of these campers attending overnight Camp as they grow older, and some, as we have seen this year, also become staff members.

According to Changelian, the program is evaluated and redesigned every year. “We want to make sure we are up to date with activities that challenge, educate and entertain the children,” she stated. Aspects of the overnight camp are also introduced, such as sitting around a campfire, celebrating the Armenian tradition of vartavar, learning the mess hall chants, swimming in the pool, catching fish on Uncas Pond, arts and crafts and of course, Camp Store.

The counselor staff is key to the success of the Day Camp. In the past, counselors from among the overnight campers were selected to work with the children. But this year, with such a large number of Day Campers, the job was posted instead. “We are grateful that a former head counselor took the lead and recruited alumni members of the staff who were all in their mid-twenties. Having a strong group of counselors makes a difference in the campers’ experience. Campers and counselors form special bonds that go beyond the campgrounds,” Changelian explained. Designating the Day Camp counselor as a stand-alone position is another major step in the growth of the Day Camp.

The last day of Day Camp is devoted to the hantes. The children perform songs and dances for invited family and friends, as well as the older campers who are at Camp staying overnight for two weeks. The program ends with campers of all ages dancing together.  

As the Day Camp is growing, both in numbers of attendees and in significance, the AYF Camp Haiastan Board of Directors is fully committed to continuing to meet the Day Camp’s mission to fully engage campers’ imaginations and encourage them to explore, learn and connect with their Armenian heritage in a warm and friendly atmosphere. This year, as with all previous years, the Board will review the facility and program needs and make the necessary adjustments to assure the continued success of this important aspect of AYF Camp Haiastan.

AYF Camp Haiastan Day Camp