As a strictly Armenian Mathematician, it is not my way of writing critics to incompetent articles that often are posted in non-Armenian language media. Moreover, my last 25 years of careful sociologically oriented computations have gotten me to the prime directive to never publically write articles in languages other than Armenian (especially mathematical research work). Nevertheless, as our Armenian media is being forced to promote the assimilation and abolition of our mother tongue, by the same “globalization” juggernaut, I am being forced to write this critic in English. May our forefather Saint Mesrob Mashtoz forgive us all?

On the day of the decision by the French Senate to criminalize Genocide denialism, the article “Ten Suggestions For Turkey To Face Its Own History” by Hayk Demoyan, was posted online in the English section of Asbarez media [see HD or HD-0]. It would not have prompted my attention so much, if the article was written by someone other than Hayk Demoyan. Moreover, the fact that the author is the director of the Armenian Genocide Museum-Institute at Dzidzernagabert did not surprise me either, since I have grown accustomed to the incompetence that spreads among the Republic’s current officials. What is indeed ironic, or perhaps funny, is that the author of this article had previously and officially stated that Kemal Atatürk rescued Armenian women and children during the Armenian Genocide [see HD-1]. Furthermore, this author approved the Turkish-Armenian Protocols, and during the Turkish President Abdullah Gul’s visit to Yerevan, he was directly or indirectly involved in turning the lights off in Dzidzernagabert Genocide monument in order not to displease Gul’s Turkish-ness feelings during the football match game [See Yergir Media archives for the prove: YM-1 and YM-2].

When I was very young, My Parents, Grandparents, Armenian Priests, and Armenian Teachers, always taught me the importance of keeping my heritage and culture alive. I started by going to Armenian Saturday School to learn the alphabet, reading, writing, history, culture, heritage, then following Armenian Sunday School which taught me about the Armenian Church, history, and christianity. Soon after I graduated both schools, I officially went to the Motherland Armenia to see the real deal. All the beautiful and important things I learned came before my eyes. I could not believe, that I was standing on Armenia's ground and soil. I had tears roll down my eyes feeling ever so happy, yet emotional at the same time.

My first time in Turkey changed my perception of happenings in Turkey totally. Even though it might be not quite objective to try to comprehend Turkey based only on impressions from Istanbul and Ankara, I was amazed to find it so liberal and European-like! Another thing – I am truly astonished to find so many similarities between our cultures and my “native” dialect. Turkish people – just as Armenians – appeared to be exceptionally friendly, incredibly entrepreneurial, but at the same time somehow reserved, distrustful, and sad. Maybe it’s only my own subjective perception, but despite all the jolly looking crowds walking along the Istiklal and the recent economic achievements of the country, Turkey seems to be full of sadness and fear. I used to think that we – Armenians – have been and still are the victims of Turkish government and nationalistic policies. Now I believe that Turkish people too are among the victims of their own government!

Then I discovered Hrant Dink! Quite differently than I knew him from the other side of the border! I used to think of him as an incredibly smart and brave Armenian-Turkish journalist, who fought for truth till the end. But in Turkey I came to know him as someone who shaped a new era  – an era of culture of truth! Pro-government officials and opposition, NGOs and just ordinary people – everyone we met in Turkey divided time in two: before Hrant Dink and after Hrant Dink!

I was lost in Istanbul. The city that I wholeheartedly love – the majestic multicultural architectural heritage, colorful streets, its warm and friendly people… the city that I hate for all the crimes it hosted… for all the violence it silently witnessed. I am lost.

Go left… and then straight forward ..and then again straight – a boy with huge eyes tried to help me out. Straight forward? How do I go straight forward in a city of not a single straight street?

Straight forward to opening borders between countries! Armenia will break out of the blockade! Turkey will stipulate development in Eastern regions! Straight forward to opening borders also between Turkish and Armenian people? Is there a way -  even a twisted one through the mutual distrust, hatred and pain accumulated over so many years?

“I am from Ermenistan” – I said cautiously smiling. “Welcome” – they cautiously smiled back.

Back in Yerevan I keep asking myself, is there a way out of sadness and hopelessness for my exhausted heartbroken people, whose identity is tied to genocide? Is there a way out of silence for these cautiously smiling people on the other side of the border, living decades in a land of military rule and controlled freedom?

Never before in the more than 11 years I have spent in Armenia, have I witnessed an atmosphere of unity and unfettered positiveness in the streets of Yerevan as I have today.  This evening as I battled my way out of Republic Square an hour before the show was to begin, I was awed by the seemingly never-ending wave of people- young, old, groups of friends, whole families rolling towards me...from the square all the way over to Mashtots in Amiryan Street.  They wanted to take part, to witness this.  The square was already stuffed. Party time.

I must have seen hundreds, if not thousands of karmir, kapuit, tsirane-guin decorated cheeks during the day...in the shape of hearts, in three even stripes, in a random sprawl- smiling faces, old ones, young ones. Today they are Armenians first, and pro-gov, opposition, unemployed, street vendor, teacher, oligarch second.

There is a carefree party atmosphere in the air, and everyone wants to soak it up.  A 'we will deal with tomorrow tomorrow' kind of feeling.

There are dissenters.. A handful of people protesting against Russian participation in the military parade and parents of soldiers killed by their own were roughed up by the police...unnecessary and unwise, no pressure valve for dissent permitted.  And on Facebook friends expressed views of a military independence day parade not being their idea of what Armenia should be or saying that Armenia will not be free until gender equality is achieved.

Still, these voices were in the definitively very small minority.

Quite noticeably, my own apprehension at seeing all that military hardware was less this year than previously.  It somehow this year did not seem as ominous, as threatening.  I was fascinated by the female gunner contingents, the priest brigade, and the seemingly papier-mache drones.  I noticed the big missile casings only to wonder if there really was something inside of them, or whether they were the S-300s or the S-400s.  I was quite comfortable with the whole thing.  It was impressive.

And I have never seen President Sargsyan seem so calm, so collected, so confident.

Yet, the problems this no-longer-pubescent country face are big and complex- but not insurmountable.  The oligarchy. The artificially strong currency.  Emigration.  Job creation.  Corruption.  Domestic violence.  Free media.  Sustainable utilization of natural resources.  Acceptance of those who are different.  Truly free and fair elections.  Just to name a few of the ones I personally feel are vital to a healthy Armenia- to a healthy any country.

These are yes, big and complex.  They will not be fixed in a day, a week, a month, a year, a decade.  But each of us has a responsibility to chip away at them to the best of our ability every day, every week, every month, every year, every decade, so there is movement.

Or nothing will change.

But for today, Armenia is in a party mood.  I am happy for them, proud of them.  They exist.  Armenia exists.

Proud of you, Armenia.  Congratulations.

But tomorrow we have work to do.

Chip chip

I fondly remember Independence Days of past. The July 4th variety, that is.

As I was growing up, July 4 in the U.S. was always a day of fireworks, barbecues and family gatherings. But the highlight of the day was the parade down main street. Every town and city would have one, and each would be festive. There would be firetrucks and high school marching bands. Kids with balloons, eating hot dogs and sharing cotton candy. Veterans and their grandchildren with small American flags. Pretty girls waving from classic convertibles. It was a celebration. It was solemn. It was fun.

Today, on September 21, I have watched my tenth Independence Day parade in Armenia. And once again, no firetrucks, no marching bands, no kids and no flags. The event was comprised solely of the Armed Forces of Armenia - marching, saluting, standing in formation, and responding to commands by the president and defense minister of the republic. We had some nice military hardware on display too. And no pretty girls, just grumpy post-Soviet middle-aged men. It was more reminiscent of North Korea than North Carolina.

I guess you could still call this a celebration. I don't think it was solemn, rather it felt staid. But it was most definitely not fun.

I'm sitting in a room with 12 incredibly bright and intelligent young people... I do statistics..

28% of my country is unemployed and on its way to being unemployable. One of three Armenians borrows money for food each month. Around 800 thousand of my countrymen left their homeland for good throughout the last 20 years. My brother left…  I want him back...

My planet is drowning in a sea of debts and crises. Governments shatter, people get recycled ..politicians dangle lofty promises...people grab at anything to believe... hundreds, thousands of “me”-s around want to be noticed, acknowledged and admired  …amidst the world of all the outstanding "me"-s  925 million people just want to be fed … millions need to be cured …and they would and could, if they were heard …my friend’s dad has cancer… I so want him to survive...

I'm sitting in a room with incredibly intelligent young people... I want them to succeed!

A friend sent me his thoughts and impressions on “hunger strike” in Glendale, in front of Armenian consulate.

Subject: notes from the hunger strike last night

Hola folks,

I drove by the hunger strikers this morning at 6:15. This time there was no one awake, no guard or “pahak”. One person was seated on the ground, but it looked like he had dozed off. I stopped the car in the street, right in front of him, but did not sound the horn, he did not look up. I pushed on the gas pedal and stopped again, but he was asleep.

I wonder how safe they are in this condition. They seemed so vulnerable, in the wind and the damp floor.

Last night was very inspiring. They have a program for the visitor’s rather than the other way around. They recite poetry, read short notes from Genocide survivor’s memoirs and sing.
Allen, Asik’s son, was running the whole thing. I approached him and asked how the hotel deals with this, he said that the land is not part of the hotel and it belongs to the city. Glendale city officials and the police have been very cooperative with the strikers. He said the night before 500 people had come to show their support.
Yesterday, too, they asked people to come and show their support.

After the striker’s each made their short presentation, visitor’s were given the hand held microphone to speak their mind. One woman, spoke very eloquently. She said that one of her children had left her family and had come and joined the strikers. She said that therefore, now she had 34 children (the number of the strikers went up from 28 to 34) and that they were like flowers with no soil under their feet, transplanted and brought here. She almost made it sound poetic.
She then said that she has gathered soil from many parts of Armenia and tonight, she had brought soil from Edjmiatsin to the hunger strike. She had put a small amount in small bags and distributed them to all the strikers, for them to put under their pillow or under the make shift bed, so that the flower can grow in it’s proper soil. She spoke in Armenian. She was amazing.
All the participants were quite moving. I had seen one guy who looked particularly moved in the photos online, who was there and he narrated a poem. He turned out the one with the most fervor.

Allen announced on the speaker, that no one from the consulate, had come out to talk to them, or ask their opinion. Nothing. Silence. They urged people to send webfaxes (from stoptheprotocols.com) which I just did and to call the consulate and complain about the protocols. (818) 265 5900.
He said they get text messages at the hunger strike from all over the world in support.

One man, who had returned from Armenia two days ago, who has been living in LA for 20 years, said that there is only one man who runs the show and makes decisions there.
He said that a few years ago in Los Angeles, we said farewell to one “aavaanaak” Levon Ter Petrossian and now we said farewell to another one. No one objected and everyone clapped.

Allen said that during the day, they make signs. there were paint cans. One of the large signs had photos of the Glendale rally. The “mi davajanir” truck is parked on Central, across from the consulate building. Pretty much the four corners of the intersection is covered. A huge sign that says “Hunger strike” and one that says honk for freedom in Artsakh.

I think it is very worthwhile to join them there.

Photos