Behind the scene:

From unnamed sources. I have no way of disputing the veracity of the claim of what went behind the scene.

Behind the scene:

It is September 19 and 20, 2023-time frame. Aliev is reporting to Putin on what is going on in Nagorno-Karabakh Oblast.

Aliev:      “Vlad, I have a list of 8 men I would like to have them taken to be tried in Baku for treason.”

Putin:      Who are they?

Aliev:     “Davit Babayan, Arkady Ghukasyan , Arayik Harutyunyan, Davit Ishkhanyan, Davit Manukyan, Levon Mnatsakanyan,Bako Sahakyan, Ruben Vardanyan.”

Putin:     hmmm…

Aliev:  Vlad, mind you, I am not talking about our friend Samvel Shahramanyan. You know, he helped us a great deal to have this end without further bloodshed. 

Putin:     I have to have this matter forwarded to my interior minister.

Aliev:    You know that Ruben Vardanyan renounced his Russian citizenship. This is altogether an Azeri matter

Putin:      I signed for the cessation of war between you and Nikol Pachinyan on November 9, 2020 and ordered our military to send peace keeping forces. I have to take this matter with the military.

Aliev:       Look, I am willing to let my interior minister release a million barrels of oil, per person. That is 8 million barrels of oil.

Putin:     I still have to take this matter with my military.

Aliev:     How about if I tell my interior minister to have 1.5 million barrels of oil per prisoner released. That is 12 million barrels of oil. Would that help you ease bringing the matter to the military given the war situation and the military’s need for oil? Your military may take Samvel to Armenia.

Putin:      I believe that may help me to have my commanders right away agree to stand by and have your men capture these Armenians and have them taken to prison in Baku.

Aliev:      Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin, you drive a hard bargain. It is a deal. 

 

 

Proud to have

Vahe H. Apelian

From page 3 of the 2022/23 Annual report

A few days ago, I received AMAA’s 2022/23 Annual Report. It is a 70 pages long report. I want to post its table of content to make my point. Below is a copy. 

From page 3 of the 2022/23 Annual Report

The first 18 pages of the annual report comprise of reports from AMAA Board of Directors, the president, the executive director/CEO, the treasurer.  The next 6 pages, from page 19-25 are reports about AMAA ministries, its evangelism and discipleship, its outreach to churches and missions, its humanitarian relief programs, and to its education assistantship. 

I want to make a point  about the AMAA’s scholarship program quoting from an article Rev. Guiragos Chopourian wrote in the AMAA news  (2002-Vol. XXXVI).  I quote: “I was having second thoughts about the AMAA Scholarship program that the Board instituted in 1972. I did not verbalize or write about my concern to the Board. It was rather a “retirement contemplation” when there is much time to dream. My concern was stimulated by my remembrance of a letter that reached the Board years back when the writer said, “What business does the Board have in providing scholarships?” At the times I was convinced it was the business of the AMAA to help educate Armenian youth because it was the best capital for youth to have, especially those who were mostly emigrants or children of emigrants. On top of that I learned that the student loans the Association had granted were not all being returned.” He further noted that his thoughts were repelled because of a letter he received. For the past 50 years, from 1972/73 to 2022/23 academic years, countless students have been beneficiaries of the student loans and now support association in its missions.

But what I intended to dwell was the financial report presented in the annual report. From pages 27 to 48, that is to say 19 pages contain an independent auditor‘s financial report in minute details. The financial report is followed by listing of all the endowment funds and other financial info, on the following next 16 pages, from page 50 to 67. The sum total of the financial report then comprised almost 40 pages out of the 70 page long annual report. Frankly speaking I know no other Armenian organization in the Diaspora that puts such a detailed, transparent, independent third party audited report at the disposal of those who have trusted the organization and shared with it the fruits of their labor for common good.   

I became reflective and remembered the banquet that was held in NJ in honor of Rev. Dr. Guiragos H. C hopourian who was retiring as the executive director of the AMAA.  Rev. Dr. G.H. Chopourian is reported to have retired in 1987. The rumor had it that the Board was to announce the person they were appointing as the next executive director. It turned out to be Rev. Dr. Movses B . Janbazian who would lead the AMAA onto new fields in the newly freed and independent Republic of Armenia and beyond. I remember Rev. Chopourian’s charge to new director. The following has remained etched in my memory. He said to Movses that there will be times when the overhead expenses of the AMAA’s office will not justify the time and the resources spent to acknowledge the donation received but that it was his charge to see it done with gratitude. 

Organizations have their own culture that come about through the efforts of many. Through the dedication of many exemplary leaders who served the organization in various capacities, the AMAA has built a stellar reputation so much so that, my cousin Ara Apelian M..D, who served on the board let me know that the government of the United States has made an exception to AMAA to forward its financial support to the Armenian community in the sanctioned Syria through established channels. I quote from Wikipedia – “The US sanctions against Syria are the most severe, as they affect third-parties as well, and amount to an embargo.” In fact, Nazareth Darakjian MD, the president of the AMAA, ended his report on page 5 of the annual report noting that “AMAA as a charitable organization has permission to send humanitarian aid to our communities there (Syria).”

The summary of the investments in the endowment funds as of July 31, 2023 is listed on page 50 of the annual report to be $158,243, 937.  By the standards of other charitable organizations whose outreach is global, much like AMAA’s, such as once Vartan Krikorian led Carnegie Foundation whose endowment assets is in billions, AMAA’s endowment assets may be considered modest. But surely its outreach to the Armenian communities across the globe is not.

Zaven Khanjian is the present  Executive Director/CEO of the AMAA when the organization along with the Armenian nation face enormous challenges because of  the occupation of Artsakh and expulsion of its native Armenians. He wrote  the following on page 7 of the annual report and noting in bold letters:  “The AMAA has become a global organization and its involvement in community life around the globe has its weight, measure and effect. You can be proud of the organization you are privileged to be a member of, as it continues to emulate the life of our Lord Jesus Christ on earth.”

Surely, the Armenian Diaspora is proud to have the Armenian Missionary of America – AMAA - in its midst.

 

Friends fishing in Lebanon

Vahe H. Apelian 

Recently three friends -  two of whom I have gotten to befriend on line, although Bedros and I are graduates of the Armenian Evangelical College high school  but a few years apart - posted pictures of the fish they caught off the Beirut coast. It evoked a lot of memories in me for I am an avid fisherman since my days in Lebanon.  Fishing is a national and a natural pastime in Lebanon. It was not uncommon to see people angling off main highways or roads in the greater Beirut. What triggered me to reflective is the type of fish they had caught, especially that one of them Simon Constantinian appears to mostly do spear fishing. I have done that too.

Recently my pharmacist friend Krikor Kradjian had gone for a fishing trip with a friend on a boat. He had posted picture of the fish they had caught (posted above). Those from Lebanon immediately recognized that among the fish they had caught was the prized culinary fish, known as Sultan Ibrahim. They are the reddish colored fish. Hagop Toroyan had commented on the picture noting that the “red mullets are exceptional”. Indeed, they are. It evokes memories in me as well. Jbeil or Byblos, some 25 miles north of Beirut, was a rather dormant town in my days, some four decades ago. It boasts a cozy small historic fishing harbor. Next to the harbor there was / is a restaurant that served Sultan Ibrahim. A delicacy no one visiting Lebanon should miss tasting, especially seated in a restaurant overlooking the Mediterranean’s Sea.

Sultan Ibrahim is mostly caught farther from the coast, as Krikor and his friend did on his friend’s a boat, further from the coast. Wikipedia noted the following about Sultan Ibrahim fish, “Red Mullet in English. One of the most delicious fish in the sea. Called the “Woodcock of the Sea” as gourmets traditionally ate the fish whole.” I do not know how Krikor and his friend ate the fish they caught, but as Sona Armenian had commented “Sahtein”. It is an Arabic word that has made inroads in the Lebanese Armenian conversational language. Wikipedia sums it this way: “The Arabic word “sahtein”, or “to-health,” is used at meal times to wish someone good eating, to which the. eater replies “ala-albeck” or “to your heart.”

Bedros Logikian had posted his recent catch (see above). I immediately recognized it. We knew the fish as Mosta, although I am not sure if that is its official designation. They are caught immediately off the coast. They are ferocious, aggressive fish for their own good. They do not seem to have a discretionary taste. Almost any edible bait attracts them. They are maybe the easiest fish to catch and are abundant. There probably is no fisherman in Lebanon who has not caught them. Almost everyone who takes fishing as a hobby in Lebanon had started by first catching Mosta.  The most they seem to grow is palm size. But the fisherman has to be very careful in removing Mosta from the hook. Their spikes are extremely hurtful. Naturally they protrude their spikes when baited. Removing them from the hook becomes a challenge to the fisherman. 

Simon Costantinian has taken spear fishing for a hobby. It was not an uncommon fishing hobby, especially back then when there were patches along the Mediterranean coast that we could use for free. Many paying beaches along the coast were known as Saint this or that. In popular parlance these free patches along the coast came to be known as “saint balaash”. Balaash is a common Levantine Arabic word that means free or no coast or minimal coast. That too had made inroads in the colloquial conversation of the Lebanese Armenians.

But Simon has taken spear fishing on a different level. Doing it at night. I have done that too. Armed with a rubber flashlight in one hand and the spear gun in the other hand, you start exploring the crevices of the rocks and caves underneath the Mediterranean Sea, along the coast. When the light is flashed into the crevices, the fish among the rocks seem to be caught off guard and remain still within the beam making for easy spearing than during the day.  But that hobby is not for the faint hearted. In the pitch darkness of the night, with the lights of the city glittering far on the coast, the spear fisherman is on his own farther from the coast into the dark sea. After a few tries I gave up on that sport and I do not think I spear fished any. I had to dive deeper and a venture farther from the coast. But my friend did spear fish.

As I pen this blog the allmighty dollar trades for almost 100,000 Lebanese Liras. The country is in despair and almost pitch dark. For all practical purposes it is a failed state. Public utilities are provided for a few hours a day, if that. The president’s seat remains vacant. The government is a care taker government. The Armenian community is much less than what it was. The demography of Bourj Hammoud, which my late friend Hratch Bedoyan would liken it as the Armenian Diaspora citadel, I am told, is very much changed. Many of its neighborhood Armenian schools have closed.

 But life in Lebanon goes on. After all, by hook or crook, life has to go on.

Detroit and other things.

The attached is my abridged translation of Kevork Bedigian’s heartwarming write-up about the Armenian Detroit that evoked similar sentiments in me. For many years Detroit became my substitute of the Armenian Beirut thanks to my maternal uncle Antranig Chalabian and his wife, aunt Seran. They settled in Southfield, a block from the St. John’s church campus where the Armenian school is located. My maternal uncle’s family had given a fresh luster to Motor City’s long established Armenian community that I too long for. Worcester, or Boston have not filled that void. Not even the present-day Detroit has! Բնագիրըկ կցուած է։ 

“I am in Detroit, with my younger brother. This year, we decided to have our family traditional "Thanksgiving Day" gathering in Detroit. Two brothers, with our wives, children, grandchildren and cousins, have turned our habit of gathering in one place once a year, into a family tradition. A strictly intimate family gathering, a nostalgia of sort.

Detroit, especially because of its Armenian community, was always a "different city" for me. Since the second quarter of the last century, thanks to the efforts of the orphaned generation who had survived the Armenian Genocide – the Medz Yeghern - the community had experienced its hey days and had become prominent across America, distinguishing itself with its Armenian center, Armenian halls, Armenian churches, various associations and day schools; and especially its two, day schools.

I have told all of these at every occasion and with sincerely to those around me. For me, Detroit was neither like Boston, nor New Jersey or any of the other Armenian-populated cities of Eastern America. It was a different city. Personally, I have always been remained convinced of this, because I got to know America through Detroit Armenian community. Years ago, more precisely, when I first set foot in this country, and for the next five years, in the newly built Armenian day school in this very city, I held the Armenian language teacher’s position. It was clear to me that I had drawn a beautiful, convincing and practical boundary, one part of which was Armenian and Armenia, and the other part was the rest of the world. In another word, my two identities were in harmony.  I became reflective.

Here, in Detroit, a "newborn" life had come about for me, both Armenian and "foreign". But I will admit that one day, due to the circumstances, and with the inner turmoil of an Armenian person who left behind an unfinished task, I moved away from the city and settled in another state. Moreover, having lived on this flat and vast land and experienced many events that have now morphed into historical events of my life, I often spend many hours recalling them. They were at times simple, sometimes noisy, but always stamped with longing, depth and familiarity. From the distance of many years, I remember vividly every face and event with tender feelings. Such a feeling may seem strange to many. But that does not bother me.

Although it was not the first time that I visited this city and its Armenian community, but this time around, it seemed to me that I was meeting it for the first time. I didn't know why and how, during my short visit for a few days, I was left with the impression of seeing it for the first time. Therefore, like an elephant, I put my feet firmly on the ground, looking for my old memories, with all the fragments of my good past.

Before meeting any relative, friend or acquaintance, I definitely preferred to visit the Armenian center, the school I was in charge of, and of course the church, the house of faith of the community, which has been firmly seated next to the school for many years. Memory plays amazing games, giving way to feelings for seeing and experiencing the past. And I visited them in that order.

First and foremost, let me say that I saw many things changed. The church was renovated with its interior and exterior and with its spiritual pastor. The Armenian Relief Society’s (ARS) day school had also experienced the same sad fate of other Armenian day schools in several other states. It had closed its doors for many years.

How to decipher the reasons and decisions of the day, when times and people are tangled? My mind began to revolve around the same subjects and suffer from old pains. "It is closed," they said. "It's shut down," they elaborated. "We don't have an everyday school," they repeated. There is no more. There was no more. They have rented the space to foreigners. There are no words that encompass a lifetime. In a moment, an unusual and untimely tension was born in me, like a rising wave. I was shocked.  Here also, an Armenian school had closed its doors for decades.

I approached the school building. The doors and windows were really closed. It was obvious that the Armenian Center had given up its "aroma" of Armenianness. It "smelled" foreign. Ah, it was its fate. All of a sudden old images from my memory flashed in front of my eyes. There was a time when inside those walls that contained Armenian vitality, I was called Baron Kay. Many people thought that my name was Baron and Kay was a name like Aznavour’s family name that did not end in “ian”. And on every occasion, when we came together, old and new, new comer and old generation American-Armenians, we would laugh heartily.

And now, it was as if I had come across deadlocks that were hidden in people's minds and souls. A crisis that is tangible and of a special kind. From my inquiries, it became apparent that the old familiar elders of the community had left for good. The new were all strangers to me and they were looking at me as one would look at a stranger. I was really a stranger to them. Already the past was swept under the burden of the present and its worries. I wanted to come to terms with the reality and keep my composure. I would have liked to find the "good" that was once mine, but alas. My eyes were filled with sadness. It was noticeable.

How can I reconcile with the present reality of life? I didn't know. Because it was unmistakable that the Armenian life of the community had already threaded along in its changed course. The present had covered the community’s past with its bright and not so bright blankets. People, for reasons of their own, had threaded along different dreams. All these were not new across America. They are tangible and painful realities; ordinary and often repetitive.

 A family reunion in Detroit

***

Days later, when I had already returned home, I would spontaneously remain immersed in my thoughts for hours. I had carried with me the uneasiness of the realities I lived. And every day, inside my room, I tried to shed light on my imagination, of what I had seen. I felt the need to seclude myself for days, perhaps to find myself again. In my privacy, at that moment, no one but me could know, and be informed of what I was thinking and what I was speaking in my mind, what I was pondering about and even what new decisions I would make. I kept repeating in my mind - as a nation, as Armenians, we love to just talk. We will attempt to say things. We also love saying after losing. We appreciate after breaking. We appreciate "after its over".

We all have a thousand and a thousand reasons to be dissatisfied, to complain and complain. This is why we often lament. We make each other upset. We justify what we do. We blame our fate, but we forget that our dedication is also essential to our fate. Attitude and understanding are essential - I repeat that it requires effort, long-term patience, along with favorable conditions. 

However, more than anything else, we need the "fuel" to warm our lives in the diaspora.

And I wait for that day, so that my heart’s longing does not remain only in my words.

bedig43@aol.com

 

 Բնագիրը՝

Տիթրոյթ եւ ուրիշ բաներ

Գէորգ Պետիկեան

 

Տիթրոյթ եմ, փոքր եղբօրս մօտ: Այս տարի «Գոհաբանութեան Օր»ուան առթիւ աւանդութիւն դարձած ընտանեկան մեր հաւաքը Տիթրոյթի մէջ որոշած էինք: Խորքին մէջ, երկու եղբայրներով, մեր կիներով, զաւակներով, թոռներով եւ զարմիկներով այսպէս տարին անգամ մը մէկ տեղ հաւաքուելու սովորութիւնը ձեւով մը աւանդութեան վերածած էինք: Զուտ ընտանեկան ե՛ւ մտերմիկ այցելութիւն-կարօտ-հաւաք:

 

Ու Տիթրոյթ, յատկապէս իր հայ գաղութով, ինծի համար միշտ «ուրիշ քաղաք եղած էր»: Անցեալ դարու երկրորդ քառորդէն ի վեր, մեծ եղեռնէն հազիւ ազատած, եւ որբացած սերունդին շնորհիւ, գաղութը իր վերելքը ապրած էր ու Ամերիկայի տարածքին աչքառու դարձած, իր հայ Կեդրոնով, հայկական սրահներով, հայ եկեղեցիներով, զանազան միութիւններով եւ միօրեայ դպրոցներով եւ մանաւանդ իր երկու ամէնօրեայ վարժարաններով:

 

Այս բոլորը եւ ամէն առիթով եւ անկեղծօրէն պատմած եմ շուրջիններուս: Ինծի համար Տիթրոյի՛թ, ո՛չ Պոսթըն էր, ո՛չ Նիւ Ճըրզի եւ ո՛չ ալ արեւելեան Ամերիկայի այլ հայահոծ քաղաքներէն մէկը: Տարբեր քաղաք էր: Անձնապէս եւ միշտ ես զիս այսպէս համոզած եմ: Որովհետեւ, Ամերիկան իրմով ճանչցած էի: Տարիներ առաջ, աւելի ճիշդ երբ առաջին անգամ այս երկրի հողին վրայ ոտք կոխած էի, նոյն այս քաղաքին նորակառոյց ամէնօրեայ վարժարանէն ներս, հինգ տարի իբրեւ հայերէն լեզուի պատասխանատու ուսուցիչի պաշտօնը վարած էի: Հոս էր որ այդ վարժարանէն եւ նոյնիսկ գաղութէն ներս օրին գեղեցիկ, համոզիչ եւ գործնական, սահմանագիծ մը քաշած էի, որուն մէկ բաժինը հայն ու Հայաստանն էր, իսկ միւսը՝ աշխարհն ու Հայաստանը:

 

Մէկ խօսքով, երկու ինքնութեան համերաշխ առճակատում: Ու կ’արդարանամ.-

 

Ահա, ինծի համար «նորածին» կեանք մը, իր ե՛ւ հայատրոփ, ե՛ւ «օտար» բովանդակութեամբ: Ու ինչ մեղքս պահեմ, օր մը, պայմաններու բերումով, եւ գործը չաւարտած հայ մարդու ներաշխարհով երբ իրմէ բաժնուած եւ ուրիշ նահանգ հաստատուած էի, հոն ալ, այս տափակ եւ տարածուն հողատարածքին վրայ ապրած եւ անցուցած կեանքիս շատ մը դէպքերը պատմական յուշերու վերածած, օրուան ժամերս յաճախ անոնցմով լեցուած էին, շատ պարզ, երբեմն աղմկոտ, սակայն միշտ կարօտի կնիքով մը, տպաւորիչ խորքով եւ հարազատ: Տարիներու հեռաւորութենէն լուսաւոր զգացումով կը յիշէի ամէն դէմք եւ դէպք:

 

Ու այս զգացումը շատերու համար տարօրինակ կը թուէր: Սակայն հոգս չէր:

 

Իրմէ հեռանալէս ետք, թէեւ առաջին անգամս չէր որ այս քաղաքն ու իր գաղութը կ’այցելէի, բայց ինծի այնպէս կը թուէր որ ես իրեն նոր կը հանդիպէի: Չեմ գիտեր՝ ինչո՞ւ, եւ ինչպէ՞ս, քանի մը օրերու համրանքով այս այցելութեանս ընթացքին, զայն առաջին անգամ տեսնելու տպաւորութիւնը ձգած էր վրաս: Ուստի, փիղի մը նման կ’ուզէի ոտքերս գետնին վրայ ամուր հաստատել, փնտռելով հին յուշերս եւ մտքի խաղաղութիւնս, բարի անցեալիս մասնիկներով:

 

Անոր համար որեւէ բարեկամի, ընկերոջ կամ ծանօթի հանդիպելէս առաջ, կը նախընտրէի անպայման, նախ, իմ պաշտօնավարած դպրոց-հայ Կեդրոնը այցելել, եւ անշուշտ անոր կից, երկար տարիներէ ի վեր հաստատ նստած գաղութի հաւատքի տունը՝ եկեղեցին: Յիշողութեան զարմանալի խաղ: Ձեւով մը սեփական եղանակ զգալու եւ տեսնելու եւ նախկինը ապրելու: Եւ կարգով այցելեցի:

 

Նա ըսեմ որ շա՜տ բաներ փոխուած տեսայ: Եկեղեցին նորոգուած էր իր ներքինով եւ արտաքինով ու հոգեւոր հովիւով միատեղ: Իսկ Հ.Օ.Մ.ի այդ ամէնօրեայ հայ վարժարանը, Ամերիկայի տարածքին կարգ մը նահանգներէ ներս հայկական վարժաններուն տխուր ճակատագրին նման, հայ կեանքի ե՛ւ հաւաքական, ե՛ւ ազգային իր անբնական կացութեան իբրեւ հետեւանք, տարիներէ ի վեր արդէն իր դռները փակած էր:

 

Արդ, ինչպէ՞ս թափանցել օրուան պատճառներուն եւ որոշումներուն, երբ խճողուած են ժամանակներն ու մարդիկ: Միտքս նոյն նիւթին շուրջ սկսած էր պտոյտներ ընել եւ տառապիլ հին ցաւերով: «Փակ է»,- ըսին: «Գոց է»,- պարզեցին: «Ա՜լ ամէնօրեայ դպրոց չունինք»,-կրկնեցին: Չկայ…: Չկար…: Օտարներուն վարձու տուած էին:

 

Բառեր կան, որոնք իրենց ետին կը պահեն ամբողջ կեանք մը: Վայրկեանին մէջս անօրինակ եւ անժամանակ լարում մը ծնունդ առաւ, աճող ալիքի նման: Ցնցուեցայ: Հոս ալ հայ վարժարան մը իր դռները փակած էր, տասնամեակներէ ի վեր:

 

Մօտեցայ դպրոցի շէնքին: Դուռ պատուհան իրապէս գոցուած էին: Բացայայտ էր, թէ հայ Կեդրոնը դադրած էր հայկականութիւն բուրող իր «կոչումէն»: Օտար «կը հոտէր»: Է՜հ, ճակատագիր: Յանկարծ յուշերէս հին պատկերներ ուրուագծուեցան աչքերուս առջեւ: Կար ժամանակ որ ես այդ պատերէն ներս «պարոն Քէյ» կը կոչուէի: Հայկական կենսունակութիւն: Շատեր կը կարծէին որ անունս պարոն էր եւ «քէյ»ն ալ Ազնաւուրին նման առանց «եան»ի մականուն: Ու ամէն առիթով երբ իրարու մօտ գայինք, հին ու նոր, եկուոր կամ տարեց սերունդի ամերիկահայեր, երկա՜ր կը խնդայինք…:

 

Իսկ հիմա…: Կարծես հանդիպած էի անելի մատնուած վիճակներու, որոնք թաքնուած էին մարդոց մտքերուն եւ հոգիներուն մէջ: Տեսակաւոր եւ շօշափելի տագնապ:

 

Ապա հարցուփորձերէս երեւան եկաւ թէ գաղութի ծանօթ հին մեծերն ալ գացած էին, իսկ նորեկներն ալ՝ գրեթէ մէկական անծանօթներ, զիս կը դիտէին օտար աչքերով: Իրապէս իրենց համար օտար մըն էի: Արդէն անցեալս մնացած էր օրուան եւ հարցերուն բեռան տակ: Կ’ուզէի գիտակցիլ եւ մնալ արթուն: Կ’ուզէի գտնել այն «լաւը», որ երբեմն իմս էր: Բայց…ափսոս: Անոր համար աչքերս տխրութեամբ լեցուած էին: Զգալի էր:

 

Արդ, ինչպէ՞ս հաշտուիլ կեանքի ներկայ իրականութեան հետ: Չեմ գիտեր: Որովհետեւ նշմարելի էր որ արդէն գաղութի հայ կեանքը քալեր էր յարափոփոխ իր ընթացքով: Ներկան իր փայլուն եւ տխուր վերմակներով, ծածկած էր գաղութի անցեալը: Մարդիկ, իրենց համար յարգելի պայմաններու բերումով քալած էին ուրիշ երազներով: Ամերիկայի տարածքին այս բոլորը նորութիւններ չէին: Տեսանելի եւ ցաւալի իրողութիւններ: Սովորական եւ յաճախ ալ՝ կրկնուող:

 

***

 

Ու վերջը, օրեր ետք, երբ արդէն տունս վերադարձած էի, ինքնաբերաբար ժամերով խորասուզուած կը մնայի նման մտածումներուս մէջ: Որովհետեւ հետս բերած էի ապրումներուս խորհուրդը: Ու ամէն օր, սենեակէս ներս կը փորձէի աչքերուս մէջ ամփոփած ջիղերուս երեւակայութեանս լոյսերը բանալ: Օրերով առանձնանալու կարիքը կը զգայի, թերեւս ինքզինքս վերագտնէի: Առանձնութեանս մէջ, այդ պահուն, ինձմէ զատ ո՛չ ոք կրնար գիտնալ, տեղեկանալ, թէ ես ինչե~ր կը մտածէի եւ կամ մտովի ինչե~ր կը խօսէի, ինչե~ր կը խորհէի եւ նոյնիսկ ալ ի՜նչ նոր որոշումներ կ’առնէի: Անճանաչ տագնապ: Մտովի կը կրկնէի,- ազգովին իբրեւ հայեր, կը սիրենք՝ միայն խօսիլ: Կը փորձենք՝ բաներ մը ըսել: Նաեւ կը սիրենք՝ կորսնցնելէ ետք: Կը գնահատենք՝ կոտրելէն ետք: Կ’արժեւորենք՝ «բանը բանէ անցնելէ ետք»:

 

Դժգոհելու, տրտնջալու եւ բողոքելու հազար ու հազար պատճառներ ունինք բոլորս ալ անխտիր: Ահա թէ ինչո՞ւ յաճախ կ՚ողբանք։ Մենք մեզի կը վրդովինք։ Կ՚արդարանանք։ Կ՚այպանենք մեր ճակատագիրը, բայց կը մոռնանք, որ մեր ճակատագրին հետ, մեր նուիրումն ալ էական է։ Կեցուածք եւ ընբռնում պարտադրող ազդակ է պէտք,- կը կրկնեմ, որ ճիգ կ՚ենթադրէ, պրպտում եւ երկարատեւ համբերութիւն կ՚ուզէ, նպաստաւոր պայմաններու ստեղծումին հետ միատեղ։ Սակայն ամէն բանէ աւելի հոգեկան կարիք ունինք սփիւռքի մեր կեանքը ջերմացնող «վառելանիւթին»:

 

Ու կը սպասեմ այդ օրուան, որպէսզի մարմաջս միայն բառերուս մէջ չմնայ:

 

 

 

bedig43@aol.co

Give me your poor and huddled masses....

Vahe H. Apelian

First and foremost, I command Hoory Minoyan for taking her time and writing an article in this week’s Armenian weekly (December 6, 2023). The title of the article is “National Assembly Committee votes against “Hayakve project in Armenia.” This is the first article I read penned by her.

In the article she wrote that “The suggested modifications to the Criminal Code of the Republic of Armenia proposed the addition of two new articles. Article 1 proposed the incorporation of Articles 420.1 and 420.2 into the existing Criminal Code of Armenia. Article 420.1 states that “recognizing Artsakh as part of any other state on behalf of the Republic of Armenia is punishable by imprisonment for ten to fifteen years.” Article 420.2 pertains to penalties, including imprisonment for 10-15 years for refusal to recognize the Armenian Genocide or public denial, justification or belittling of the Armenian Genocide on behalf of the Republic of Armenia. Article 2 stated that this law would come into effect 10 days after its official publication.” 

I followed the “Hayakve” initiative. Not one signatory I know of was reported to have signed the proposals presented above. I challenge anyone, foremost Hoory, to produce documented evidence that signatories of the “Hayakve” initiative - 58,000 -  signed for the proposals she outlined, I may have missed. All those who signed for the “Hayakve” initiative signed “A statement of Confirmation” (Havasdakir), to the following: "Today you take control of the constitution and the laws of your state, the fate of your generations”. In Armenian, the statement reads as follow: Հավաստագիր` «Այսօր դուն տէր կանգնիր քո պետութեան սահմանադրութեան ու օրէնքներին, քու սերունդների ճակատագրին».

The picture posted accompanying the article, depicts a girl holding a poster that reads. “The RofA Constitution forbids recognizing Artsakh as part of Azerbaijan”. I presume she holds that poster because the “Hayakve” initiative called for taking “Control of the Constituion……”, (see above).  Anyone with a cursory interest in the Constitution of Armenia knows that it came about in 1995 and was amended twice in 2005 and in 2015. Artsakh is not mentioned in the Constitution of Armenia. There again I challenge anyone to cite the article of the Constitution of Armenia that cites Artsakh, or Armenia's commitment to Artsakh, I may have missed.  let alone to the fact that the term Artskah for Nagorno-Karabagh did not exist then.  

Statement of Confirmation - Hasdadakir - of the Hayakve Initiative

It is not a matter whether the committee was justified or not justified in rejecting what was presented to them. It is what the public at large was invited to sign and what apparently was presented to the committee. What concern me is this deliberate muddying of water when clarity, transparency is due for the sake of Armenia. 

It is understood that an opposition campaigns in poetry while a government or an administration governs in prose, the opposition will do when in power. My concern lays in the extent to which this culture of emotionally charging the Armenians over unsubstantiated claims appears to go. It appears to be an emerging endemic trait in the budding Armenian political culture for self-governance. It needs to be eradicated. After all, what goes around, comes around. Next time it will be the opposition who will face this sort of “music” when they assume power. 

I do not know why was I reminded of “Emma Lazarus-ian”’s famous words: “Give me your (Armenian) poor, your (Armenian) huddled masses yearning for a sovereign state, and I will give them  pundits in abundance. “

There is no season for gifting

 Vahe H. Apelian

(updated)

It is the season for gifting. In Lebanon then, maybe presently as well, we opened the season’s gifts not on Christmas day but on the New Year day. The gifts remained wrapped under the ornamental tree until the first day of the New Year. I say ornamental tree because Lebanese Muslims and Christians alike decorated a tree in their homes and in their business showcases. Let us not forget that the symbol of Lebanon is the biblical Cedar tree. The Christians included a nativity scene under the ornamental tree.

Several incidences come to my mind about gifts and gifting.

I was in my HS junior or senior year when a guest came from the United States and stayed in the inn my father ran, the famed Hotel Lux. She said she had brought a gift to my friend and classmate from his relative in the U.S. I told him to come and pick the gift and he did. But he, I, and my parents as well were taken back when she presented the gift. It was a dispenser of single razor blades we used for shaving. This was fifty plus years ago and the United States of America was the distant land of milk and honey for us. My friend courteously accepted the gift, inquired about his relative but he left the dispenser behind when he took leave of us, letting us know that I can keep it or give it to someone else.  Surely there  was an element of understandable hurt there for having received shaving blades from his relative from the U.S.A. To ease him out of the situation I did not refuse him. The incident has remained etched in my memory. I refrain from mentioning my friend’s name. Many of my readers know him.

The second incident about gifting is a story our frequent Afghan guest to Hotel Lux, Mr. Mohammad Zaman, told us about the incident with amusement. There was a time when the United States and Afghanistan had warm relations.  President Eisenhower and his Vice President Richard Nixon visited Afghanistan. According to Wikipedia it was in 1953 when Vice President Nixon visited Afghanistan. It so happened that a high placed friend of Mr. Mohammed Zaman was designated as Nixon’s driver. The talk of those who knew driver had been the tangible monetary gift the driver would likely be receiving from the vice-presodent of the U.S. Nixon at the end of his tour. But at the end of the tour, all that Mr. Nixon had presented to the driver to his astonishment was his personalized White House business card. The gesture had not only caused a huge disappointment if not an embarrassment to the driver but also to all those who knew him. I doubt that the driver could have made use of that business card then as a tender for a loaf of bread in Afghanistan. Gifts can be no gifts at all.

The third incident I remember about gifting happened to me in 1995/96, during my visit to Lebanon after an absence of almost twenty years. Throughout my stay there I became a guest of my cousin the Hoglinds and with a few other relatives. As a parting gift I bought a set of worry beads, or middle eastern social rosary to my elder relative who hosted me and I presented him the gift after our lunch as a family with his children and their families. He thanked me but not only he did not open the gift but took it to his room and left it there. I had forgotten that in Lebanon  we considered a gift a private matter and did not open it in front of the presenter of the gift especially if there was company. I am not sure if that was a universal custom in Lebanon but it was within my social circle in contrast to the expected customary proclamations of appreciation I had come to learn during the past twenty years in the United States where we unwrapped the gift we received and uttered our unabashed appreciation. Of course in doing so we show our appreciation of the gesture more so than to the gift itself.  I saw our elder relative using the worry beads the next day. It was not an ordinary worry beads. No word was uttered, but I knew he had liked it and had already started using it.

Gifting is an art and a difficult one at that. We naturally appreciate the thought and the gesture and yet we cannot discount the gift  as it may become the subject of our appreciation no less.  

As to that single blades dispenser, I soon realized that it was not the ordinary matchbox size dispenser. It contained far more blades than the ones we purchased from the store. Consequently I ended up using the blades from the dispenser for months and whenever I discarded the used blade and replaced it with a new one from the dispenser, I remembered the gift and I realized how a beautiful and thoughtful gift it was.

That incident also set a pattern for me. Next to books, on most occasions I gift razor blades. Things have changed, so have the razor blades. The single blade razor is now gone into history. A new generation of cutting edge technology houses up to five sharp edges on single blade. Such blades are a la mode nowadays and can be expensive.  One cannot go wrong with such a useful gift to the guys. 

But gifting books remain my favorite because books make for far more lasting gifts, provided they are personified. Most may not read the gifted books, but they remain on a book shelf or somewhere in the house and pop out at an unexpected moment rekindling memories and remembrances. Recently my paternal cousin Ara Apelian, M.D., posted a snap shot of a book I have gifted him in 1992, thirty years ago. I realized  what I had suspected all along that books make for a far more lasting gift. I do not remember the occasion but from the date I can tell it was not meant to be as a year end holiday gifting.

 Yes, there is no season for gifting, especially books.

As to gifting the gals, that is my wife’s domain and I pray it remains that way until the last days of my life.

Happy gifting.

The ever-encroaching Diaspora Armenian illiteracy

Vahe H Apelian

 

A few anecdotes come to my mind that may help structure my thoughts

I was an elementary student in Sourp Nshan Armenian school when we were told an Armenian writer who writes satire and makes people laugh, is visiting us. All the students and the teachers were gathered in the hall and the guest was introduced to us. I remember the event as if it was yesterday.

In the midst of his speech the guest said – France is luxurious, luxurious, then he held his breath for a  few seconds and uttered the word, “cemetery”. To this day I wonder why our teachers found the statement amusing and applauded. Since they applauded, we, elementary school students, applauded too.

It would take a long time to understand what had transpired. The visitor was Nshan Beshigtaskhlian from France and he meant to say that in France, Armenians were better off, but that there are no Armenians schools and that the young Armenians in France do not attend Armenian schools and are destined for assimilation, while in Lebanon the Armenian life was modest but it was vibrant and live with Armenians schools and all. Indeed, it was.

After Levon Shant passed away, Simon Vratsian was invited from the U.S. as the principal of Djemaran and in order to raise funds for the school he undertook a tour of the United States with Antranig Zarougian, the rising and popular young writer he was at the time. It is Zarougian who narrated in his book “The Greats and the Others”. During their tour in the United States, at a fund-raising event, someone from the audience made a remark that the Armenian Americans are treated like a milking cow. Instead of negating the assertion, Zarougian responded that it is indeed so. That they have come to make use of their milk for the literary nourishment of the young in Lebanon. Having an Armenian day school in the U.S. was regarded an impossibility, until Gabriel Injejikian made it possible.

Antranig Tzarougian, Courtesy Tsolag Hovsepian

Vicken Hovsepian, was our classmate at the Armenian Evangelical College high school. His maternal uncle Gabriel Injejikian taught at Haigazian Univeristy which was next to our school. Vicken, who was from Kessab, lived with them. In 1964, during our junior year, he brough a few of the promissory notes Gabriel had issued. The signatory of the note, promised to donate the amount he had indicated upon Gabriel Injejikian founding a day school in the U.S.  We were so enthused by the idea that all of us signed a promissory note . The idea of founding a day school in the U.S. was considered an impossible task. “Ayk” newspaper kept a daily column that read something, along the line “Is this a joke or what?”. The newspaper had included the promissory note in that column. Years later I asked Gabriel what happened to those promissory notes. He said he had them in a box and lost them. It included the first promissory note signed by Catholicos Khoren I in his red ink. 

Gabriel returned to Los Angeles and founded the Ferrahian Armenian school in 1964. During the ensuing two decades marked a spree for founding Armenian day schools in the U.S. and  a number of schools were founded, mostly in California. But after 1986 no other Armenian day schools was opened in the U.S. – save AGBU Vatche and Tamar Manougian school that was opened in Pasadena, CA in 2006 but was closed in 2020.  A few other Armenian schools in the U.S. were also closed after 1986.

Gabriel Injejikian

During the last few decades, a number of Armenian schools were also closed in the Armenian communities of Middle East, such as in Lebanon Syria, Jordan, Egypt, Ethiopia, Sudan, Iraq. More and more Armenian boys and girls there are also attending the local schools. And those who attend Armenian Schools, Levon Sharoyan from Aleppo noted, are not paying due attention to their Armenian classes even wanting to avoid it. However,  the benefit of an Armenian school in a community is far more than for the handful students who attend it but care less about its Armenian class.  

Recently, during a conference in Armenia about the Armenian communities of the Middle Eastern countries, Syria's ambassador extraordinary and plenipotentiary to Armenia, Nora Arisian, said that the Armenian communities of the Middle East are facing a crisis for preserving Armenian identity.  She was reported to have said that although middle Eastern Armenian communities differ from others but they face similar challenges. (Horizon 12/1/2023).

Dr. Ara Sanjian who visits Lebanon every year, noted on his Facebook page on Maya 17, 2022 that out of the six Armenian parliamentarians who were recently elected to fill the six seats reserved for the Armenian community, only one of them can read and write Armenian. The rest have a passing or a barely conversational skill. For all practical purposes there is no more an Armenian bloc in the Lebanese parliament. The community seems to be politically fragmented.

 It is not the Armenian communities in the West any more. The Armenian illiteracy is ever-encroaching upon Diaspora as a whole, including the Middle Eastern communities that, a few decades ago, were considered the bastions for preserving and perpetuating the Western Armenian culture in the Diaspora. The cold war era of post genocide Armenian Diaspora, where the Armenians in the western countries assisted financially the Middle Eastern communities to preserve literacy and perpetuate the post genocide Armenian culture  and thus complemented each other into a self preserving Diaspora is a thing of long past now.

It is beyond the scope of this blog to elaborate on the negative connotation of the ever-encroaching Armenia illiteracy in the Diaspora on the preservation of the Armenian identity and on the influence, it may have on the course of Armenia.  

Against that grim reality there remains one bright reality, the ray of hope, and that is the free and independent and democratic Republic of Armenia, and the Diaspora’s relation with the homeland as the only hope for the long term preservation and perpetuation of the Armenian identity in the Diaspora.

 

Courtesy Zvart Apelian