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My Uncle, Catholicos Zareh I of the Holy See of Cilicia

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  • My Uncle, Catholicos Zareh I of the Holy See of Cilicia

    Roads and Kingdoms
    Aug 26 2014

    My Uncle, Catholicos Zareh I of the Holy See of Cilicia

    by Arto Vaun


    The large black-and-white photo of him in our living room never
    frightened me. His long dark beard; the pointy black hat; his thick
    fingers gripping an ornate staff; heavy crosses on chains draped over
    his black vestments; and his tired, kind eyes. I would sometimes
    notice the photo as though for the first time and just gaze at it, at
    him, locking eyes for a moment. This stranger who had died before I
    was born, who was sacrificed at a young age in one of the most
    pivotal, tumultuous periods in the history of Armenia, the Cold War,
    and the Middle East. This melancholy, radiant, overweight man looking
    at me year after year. Then one day as I was watching him watch me, I
    realized: without the beard, the vestments, and weight, he looked just
    like his youngest brother, my father, a working-class mechanic in
    Boston.

    My uncle was Catholicos Zareh I of the House of Cilicia. And if that
    doesn't mean anything to you, don't worry: it took me a long time to
    understand the man and his legacy. I'm still working on it, in fact. I
    knew him from stories: he was born during the Armenian Genocide of
    1915, that he was truly spiritual even from a young age, that he died
    young as well: a victim of heart attack, brought on, many say, by the
    stress of a great division among his people. I knew that the nearly
    half a million shocked people who poured into the streets of Beirut in
    February 1963 for his funeral were not all his supporters--Armenians
    were at war with themselves in those days. But recently I've been
    visiting Beirut, and I'm finding that the Armenians there know him
    still, and they've been teaching me what the man truly meant.

    <img src="/assets/thumb/image.php?w=680&q=78&src=http://roadsandkingdoms.com/uploads/2014/08/zareh-uncle1.jpg"
    alt="" />

    The author's uncle, Catholicos Zareh I. Controversy over his election
    as Catholicos in 1956 was due to his outspoken stance against the
    USSR's version of communism. Photo courtesy of Arto Vaun.

    The August humidity is intense as I head to Antelias, the Holy See of
    the Cilician Armenian Church, which dates back to the 4th century AD.
    After the genocide, the catholicosate (one of two seats of the
    Armenian church) was forced to move from its historic home in Sis, in
    present day Turkey. First it moved to Aleppo in 1921 and then settled
    in Beirut in 1924. The church has always played an integral role as a
    refuge and center of identity after pogroms throughout the ages, and
    it was no different after the genocide, when it provided the only
    semblance of unity, hope, and perseverance in the face of mass
    devastation, migration, poverty, and loss.

    I've decided to just show up in Antelias without letting anyone there
    know about my connection to Zareh. An older man with white hair and a
    moustache lets me into the church compound, greeting me warmly, then
    disappearing back into his office. No one else seems to be around. I
    walk into the quiet, wide courtyard that's pale and glowing in the
    searing sunlight. I can hear the musical chaos of Beirut traffic on
    the other side of the high walls as I approach where my uncle is
    buried, next to the main cathedral. The first thing I see is one
    violet carnation placed casually on his tomb. All I can bring myself
    to do is lightly place my hand on the warm marble and touch his name.

    Stalin had deceived many thousands of Armenians into "repatriating" to
    Soviet Armenia

    The controversy around Zareh's election as Catholicos in 1956 was due
    to his outspoken stance against the USSR's version of communism, and
    its mistreatment of Soviet citizens, specifically Soviet Armenians.
    Only ten years earlier, Stalin had deceived many thousands of
    Armenians into "repatriating" to Soviet Armenia. The bulk of those who
    fell for the ideological bait were from Syria and Lebanon. They gave
    up relatively stable lives for an idea that was, in the end, nothing
    close to the reality. When they reached Soviet Armenia, their assets
    were seized and they were forced to live in mostly abject conditions.
    Many were sent straight to Siberia. Yet opinion about the place was
    surprisingly divided among Armenians--some saw it as the first Armenian
    homeland in decades, while others wanted to rescue their brethren from
    Stalin. It was very much a visceral issue, polarizing Armenians all
    over the world, but especially in the Middle East, where the large
    portion of genocide survivors had ended up after WWI, and where the
    Cold War was now being played out in different ways. Although all
    Armenians knew of the awful conditions in the Soviet Union, they were
    bitterly split on whether to support Soviet Armenians and work in more
    diplomatic ways to assist them, or to more directly organize and
    struggle to undermine Soviet Armenia and communism in order to
    "liberate" Armenia. Both sides grew increasingly entrenched and
    extreme in their approaches.

    <img src="/assets/thumb/image.php?w=1024&q=78&src=http://roadsandkingdoms.com/uploads/2014/08/antelias4.jpg"
    alt="" />
    The author visiting his uncle's tomb at the church compound in
    Antelias. Photo by: Roubina Margossian

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    That polarization in Beirut during Zareh's election lead to violence
    and chaos. At no other time in modern Armenian history have Armenians
    clashed with each other the way they did during those few years.
    Pro-Soviet Armenia factions sent prostitutes to taunt him; there were
    protests by pro-Soviet parties; ancient relics were stolen from
    Antelias; and cartoons depicted him as, among other things, a donkey.
    It got to the point where the Lebanese president at the time, Camille
    Chamoun, ordered the army to patrol and secure the Armenian
    neighborhoods in Beirut. When Zareh's mother (my grandmother) died
    suddenly in 1958, Zareh was not able to attend her funeral in Aleppo
    because of fear that his opponents might keep him from returning. Five
    years later, he would follow her, at age 48, due to sudden cardiac
    arrest. One can see in his photos between 1950 to 1963 a
    transformation that speaks volumes about his position and the times--a
    robust, jet black-haired young man turning into an exhausted,
    gray-haired old man, whose eyes still flicker, but whose face gives
    away a profound frustration, sadness, and pain.

    <img src="/assets/thumb/image.php?w=1024&q=78&src=http://roadsandkingdoms.com/uploads/2014/08/antelias2.jpg"
    alt="" />
    A single violet carnation had been placed on Zareh I's tomb. Photo by:
    Roubina Margossian

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    During my first trip to Beirut in 2002, I was bowled over by the
    energetic and passionate reaction I got from people who were told that
    Zareh was my uncle. Just the fact that my Lebanese-Armenian friends
    felt it necessary to point out my relationship to him whenever we met
    new people was peculiar. It's not something I bring up or talk about
    much. But now that I've been there a few times, I think there's a
    collective guilt on all sides, and that's part of the thoughtful
    reactions to him, 50 years after his death. Each person who talks
    about him to me, no matter their background, says something like, It
    was so sad what happened to that man. He was a saint, in the wrong
    place at the wrong time.

    I usually smile slightly and say, That's nice of you, thank you. What
    else can I say? I'm not one-tenth of the devout, selfless man that he
    was. I don't deserve those kinds of gracious responses from people
    about someone I never even knew. But the more I'm drawn to Beirut, the
    more I understand that my tiny, transient role is to allow people to
    express those feelings, which are, amazingly, still so strong all
    these years later. And in a way, it helps me connect to the man in the
    photo who watched me grow up, and who I feel a deeper tie to with each
    year.

    <img src="/assets/thumb/image.php?w=680&q=78&src=http://roadsandkingdoms.com/uploads/2014/08/antelias5.jpg"
    alt="" />

    The author in the church compound at Antelias where his uncle was
    buried. Photo: Roubina Margossian

    1983: I'm a little kid in our kitchen in Boston. My mom's older cousin
    is sitting at the table with my parents, having coffee. He begins to
    softly and uncomfortably tell my dad that his father, my grandfather,
    has died in Aleppo, at age 98. My father crumples like paper. Soon
    after his brother Zareh died in 1963, my dad, who was in the Syrian
    army at the time, left Syria to avoid being called to fight in the
    growing conflict with Israel. He never saw his father again. As I
    watch him sob, all I can do is wrap my little arms around his neck and
    cry with him. Seven years later, I will suddenly lose him too, one
    Sunday evening in November. He'll go the exact way his oldest brother
    did.

    My family's story is, like that of so many other Armenians, and
    non-Armenians, from the Middle East, riddled with loss, uphill
    battles, and unwanted sea changes. And this ties me forever to Beirut
    and Aleppo, drawing me like a warm light inside a home. They are two
    cities that are again struggling to breathe in a claustrophobic deluge
    of ideological and political shortsightedness, extremism, and outside
    meddling.

    On the flight back to Armenia from Beirut a few weeks ago, I thought
    about that random carnation on my uncle's tomb, then remembered
    suddenly: Carnations were my dad's favorite flower - he used to buy
    them often for my mom for no particular reason.

    During these trips to Beirut, it seems, I am not just visiting my
    uncle, but also being visited by him.

    Arto Vaun is a poet, writer, and musician originally from Boston,
    currently living in Yerevan, Armenia where he's a lecturer in
    literature at the American University.

    http://roadsandkingdoms.com/2014/my-uncle-catholicos-zareh-i-of-the-holy-see-of-cilicia/

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