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Glendale News Press
LATimes.com
July 17 2004
WRITING THE RIGHT
Bridging a gap once thought too wide
ANI AMIRKHANIAN
I remember walking to school dressed in my checkered uniform wearing
a tight black veil around my head. Indoors, the veil would come off
and I could breathe a sigh of relief. But as soon as I stepped
outside, the veil came back on.
It was a time of unrest and an era of uncertainty. It was as though I
was living in two different worlds - like so many children of my
generation at the time - as the revolution divided the lines and set
boundaries between Christians and Muslims.
I lived in Iran for the first seven years of my life. When I stepped
indoors into an Armenian school - intended for only those of Armenian
descent - I was an Armenian of Christian faith. The teachers read and
taught the lessons in Armenian and the students staged the skits for
the Christmas pageants, while the nuns preached from the Bible and
repeatedly said that God was watching.
But walking outside into the Muslim world, I had to "become" Muslim
and abide by Islamic law. Women - whether Armenian, Muslim or other -
covered their hair and neck, always careful not to reveal any flesh.
Men wore long sleeves and reserved shorts and other more revealing
attire only for the beach.
Muslims attended mosques and prayed, while Armenians went to church
to pray. Christian Armenian students learned to pray in Armenian and
studied the teachings of the Bible, while Muslims read and lived
their lives by the Koran.
Christians never married Muslims or vice versa. It was forbidden.
Each had their own places of worship, schools and other institutions
that set them apart.
Despite the fact that Christians and Muslims did co-exist, they were
separate but equal in their own terms. A Christian - or in my case,
Christian Armenians - were told to keep a distance. There was mutual
respect and understanding, but the line between the two was never
crossed.
A Muslim family lived next door. They were hard-working, decent
people who shared similar values and morals. We were good friends and
often visited each others' homes regularly. My brother and I were
friends with their son and daughters. We always had an understanding
for each other and enjoyed the company we kept.
But then again, there was the issue of "us" and "them." We kept a
distance. I don't remember a time when we went out in public
together, or celebrated birthdays with each others' families and
friends. There was socialization, but it was kept to a minimum - we
were restricted from getting too close with our Muslim neighbors.
It's funny when I think back to that time. I never saw my Muslim
neighbor friends as "people who were Muslims." To me, they were like
any other people who were living in a society where the social and
political climate dictated their lives and required them to obey a
strict religious and moral code.
I don't think there was ever a time when they thought of us - a
Christian family - as "them." We were no different from each other,
with the exception of religion.
Flash-forward 25 years later in America when a significant number of
Christian Armenians have already migrated to the states along with a
large portion of the Muslim Iranian population.
Here, it seems as though Christian Armenians are no longer setting
boundaries with Muslims and vice versa. Although there is still
tension between Christians and Muslims in general, there are fewer
boundaries, divisions or distances that once existed between people
on a daily basis.
As a child, for just a few short years of my life, I witnessed and
experienced a divide between people - all in the name of religion.
Now, as an adult, I can't help but be grateful that I don't have to
abide by rules that set me apart and distant from people who happen
to be of another religion.
A Muslim friend of mine once said she felt confused whether to
consider herself a Muslim or Christian. She said she felt more "like
a Christian," but didn't deny the fact she was raised as a Muslim.
Maybe, I said, it was because she had always had Christian friends.
"Does it really matter - Christian or Muslim?" she said. "I'm just
glad we have been good friends."
- ANI AMIRKHANIAN is a resident of Glendale, a graduate of USC and a
freelance writer. Reach her at [email protected].
LATimes.com
July 17 2004
WRITING THE RIGHT
Bridging a gap once thought too wide
ANI AMIRKHANIAN
I remember walking to school dressed in my checkered uniform wearing
a tight black veil around my head. Indoors, the veil would come off
and I could breathe a sigh of relief. But as soon as I stepped
outside, the veil came back on.
It was a time of unrest and an era of uncertainty. It was as though I
was living in two different worlds - like so many children of my
generation at the time - as the revolution divided the lines and set
boundaries between Christians and Muslims.
I lived in Iran for the first seven years of my life. When I stepped
indoors into an Armenian school - intended for only those of Armenian
descent - I was an Armenian of Christian faith. The teachers read and
taught the lessons in Armenian and the students staged the skits for
the Christmas pageants, while the nuns preached from the Bible and
repeatedly said that God was watching.
But walking outside into the Muslim world, I had to "become" Muslim
and abide by Islamic law. Women - whether Armenian, Muslim or other -
covered their hair and neck, always careful not to reveal any flesh.
Men wore long sleeves and reserved shorts and other more revealing
attire only for the beach.
Muslims attended mosques and prayed, while Armenians went to church
to pray. Christian Armenian students learned to pray in Armenian and
studied the teachings of the Bible, while Muslims read and lived
their lives by the Koran.
Christians never married Muslims or vice versa. It was forbidden.
Each had their own places of worship, schools and other institutions
that set them apart.
Despite the fact that Christians and Muslims did co-exist, they were
separate but equal in their own terms. A Christian - or in my case,
Christian Armenians - were told to keep a distance. There was mutual
respect and understanding, but the line between the two was never
crossed.
A Muslim family lived next door. They were hard-working, decent
people who shared similar values and morals. We were good friends and
often visited each others' homes regularly. My brother and I were
friends with their son and daughters. We always had an understanding
for each other and enjoyed the company we kept.
But then again, there was the issue of "us" and "them." We kept a
distance. I don't remember a time when we went out in public
together, or celebrated birthdays with each others' families and
friends. There was socialization, but it was kept to a minimum - we
were restricted from getting too close with our Muslim neighbors.
It's funny when I think back to that time. I never saw my Muslim
neighbor friends as "people who were Muslims." To me, they were like
any other people who were living in a society where the social and
political climate dictated their lives and required them to obey a
strict religious and moral code.
I don't think there was ever a time when they thought of us - a
Christian family - as "them." We were no different from each other,
with the exception of religion.
Flash-forward 25 years later in America when a significant number of
Christian Armenians have already migrated to the states along with a
large portion of the Muslim Iranian population.
Here, it seems as though Christian Armenians are no longer setting
boundaries with Muslims and vice versa. Although there is still
tension between Christians and Muslims in general, there are fewer
boundaries, divisions or distances that once existed between people
on a daily basis.
As a child, for just a few short years of my life, I witnessed and
experienced a divide between people - all in the name of religion.
Now, as an adult, I can't help but be grateful that I don't have to
abide by rules that set me apart and distant from people who happen
to be of another religion.
A Muslim friend of mine once said she felt confused whether to
consider herself a Muslim or Christian. She said she felt more "like
a Christian," but didn't deny the fact she was raised as a Muslim.
Maybe, I said, it was because she had always had Christian friends.
"Does it really matter - Christian or Muslim?" she said. "I'm just
glad we have been good friends."
- ANI AMIRKHANIAN is a resident of Glendale, a graduate of USC and a
freelance writer. Reach her at [email protected].