Discovering My Armenianess (From One Diaspora to Another.)
I spent my early childhood in Lithuania, a small Baltic state bordering Poland, Latvia, Belarus and Kaliningrad (Russia). Per the most recent census in 2011, there are roughly 1,233 Armenians in Lithuania, constituting a whopping 0.04 percent of the total population.
I remember there were a few Armenian families we would interact with here and there, and on occasions small diaspora gatherings/events would be organized. However in terms of my day-to-day interactions, my familiarity with Armenians and Armenian culture was limited to what my immediate family could offer me.
My family comes from the former USSR (Armenian SSR) where Russian served as the lingua-franca. Although I am full Armenian, oftentimes, we would speak Russian at home, but Armenian was also spoken frequently. In fact, I am really thankful to my family for being able to teach me Armenian while living in a foreign country with so little Armenians.
And yet looking back, my Armenianess was essentially limited to speaking the language (limited at that) and a knowledge that a Genocide was committed against my people by the Ottoman Turks. If anything, being Armenian was more of a unique characteristic, like some sort of a unique physical trait which people knew you by. I was the only Armenian in every classroom, and I immediately stood out amongst my light-haired, pale-skinned classmates. My nationality made me unique in a sense, I was the single source of “diversity” in the crowd of my peers, the vast majority of whom were either of Russian or Lithuanian background.
Moving to Glendale, CA in 2007 served as a sort of a Renaissance for my understanding of Armenian culture, history, and traditions. Suddenly I was engulfed by everything Armenian. People, storefronts, signs, artwork, music. Suddenly, a lot of it seemed foreign to me. I was experiencing a culture shock…from my own culture? My entire life I thought I was as Armenian as it gets, and yet suddenly I felt like I was lacking something, and in some situations I also felt like I didn’t belong. It amazed me how much I didn’t know. It is almost funny to think that I had an easier time adapting to “American” culture, and becoming a part of that, than I did with Armenian culture.
It became clear to me that there was a lot of learning to do. It wasn’t until I started my undergraduate studies at UC Irvine (UCI) in 2014, at the age of 18, that this educational journey really took off. I did the basics: joined the Armenian Student Association, joined an Armenian fraternity, and tried to be active, attend cultural events, and meet people. Undoubtedly, I started to feel a deeper touch with my Armenianess.
A big catalyst in all this was my forming of friendships with Western Armenian speakers (Armenian is largely spoken in two dialects: Eastern and Western). I was aware of that side of Armenian culture before, however at no point was I so close to it physically, and at not point was it so prevalent in my everyday life. If anything, prior to UCI, I saw Western Armenians as these distant cousins with whom I shared very little. Today, I can’t be happier that I was able to break that ice, and connect with so much of it.
The more I think about it, the more I realize how new everything was to me: Sou boreg, Karnig Sarkissian, chi kufteh, Paul Baghdadlian, muhammara? Where was all of this before? It really took me this long?
I took a deep dive into the historical presence of Armenian communities in the Armenian Highlands (modern-day Eastern Turkey), and the post-Genocide diasporas in places like Syria, Lebanon, and Iraq — essentially anything beyond the borders of the post-Soviet Armenian Republic. These are my people, and yet I barely knew of them prior to a few years ago. A lot of these discoveries were made during fascinating conversations with a friend (shoutout to Chris), whose family history was vastly different than mine, but served as a perfect source of new perspectives in regards to what it meant to be Armenian.
In short, over the last few years I have developed a very broad understanding of the Armenian identity. I have embraced the historical presence of Armenians far beyond the borders of modern-day Armenia, and have really engaged with my culture in a more conscious and genuine sense.
Therefore, I can’t begin to stress how important it is to seek out your culture. Oftentimes we are lost in the pseudo-identity, the categorical divisions which we assume provide a free ticket of “belonging.” We’re more concerned with whether someone is full Armenian, Eastern or Western, whether they have a “-ian/-yan” ending last name, rather than looking at the multitude of avenues through which one can connect with their Armenianess. There is a plethora of “full” Armenians who assume this notion of superiority in regards to their Armenianess, without ever developing anything beyond a surface level (at best) interaction/relationship with their culture and identity. Yet they also seem to be the loudest when it comes to segregating “real Armenians” from the “not so real ones.”
If you’re not full Armenian, if you don’t speak the language, don’t let that be a stigma. Don’t capitulate to the faux notions of your somehow “inferior” identity. Instead seek it out, connect with the culture: read, write, listen, engage, speak, think. Don’t be afraid to ask questions, don’t be afraid to inquire about things that you think you should know already as an Armenian. Don’t be embarrassed about not knowing, and instead recognize that there is something inside you which pushes you to learn more, and nags at you to explore further. Listen to it.
And to those who see someone who is interested or curious, make sure to serve as a resource. Make it as easy as possible for them. Make sure to become their path, their bridge, their guide in this exploration and allow them to breathe in all that this wonderful culture of ours and theirs has to offer.
