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A Voice from the Homeland: A Message of Despair and Hope

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  • A Voice from the Homeland: A Message of Despair and Hope

    A Voice from the Homeland: A Message of Despair and Hope

    17:25, December 13, 2014
    By Andranik Michaelian


    While on my way to buy some milk andmadzoon from Aparan, I greeted a
    neighbor with the local "vonc es?" (how are you) to which he replied,
    holding a few pills in his hand, "You see these? I wish these pills
    were poison, then I could be done with all this. This is no
    country..."

    He said this with all seriousness. A day earlier, when asked how I was
    doing, I answered that I was in the same condition as the country, to
    which my friend said, "I'm in worse shape than the country." Although
    said with a smile, he was just as serious as the neighbor with the
    pills. Another neighbor, when I asked how he was doing, replied
    saying, "I'm waiting..." When I asked what he was waiting for, he
    said, "for things to get worse, which they will..."

    I moved to Yerevan 15 years ago. Our home was in Ajapnyak, near the
    corner of Bashinjaghyan and Margaryan.

    At the time, it seemed the streets were deserted, with only a few
    small shops operating and an occasional Lada or Niva passing by.

    My first few years passed in this neighborhood, peaceful years so to
    speak, working at a Fresno-based agricultural firm, traveling, and
    enjoying life in Armenia. Although the country was still recovering
    from the earthquake and war, and the economy in far from good shape,
    people, at that time, at least had some hope for the future. Small
    businesses started, and people weren't afraid to buy and spend.

    Then, sometime after 2010, things changed - negative feelings growing,
    small business owners telling of their problems being overtaxed, etc.,
    and farmers often unable to grow their crops, due to the overwhelming
    cost of production. Due to these and other problems, Armenia's
    population began dropping considerably.

    It was then, starting in 2010, that my wife and I spent part of three
    years in the USA. Although the time spent there was for the most part
    pleasant, working and often spending time with Diaspora Armenians,
    something was missing - the call of the Homeland bringing us back to
    Armenia for visits each year.

    What was it we missed in the Diaspora? The good intentions and
    Armenian spirit weren't enough to withstand the forces of
    assimilation, especially in the realm of folk song and dance, and
    culture in general.

    Most so-called folk dance groups were re-producing Soviet Armenian
    choreographed dances, while the smaller groups were often embarrassed
    to dance folk dances in the traditional way, changing things according
    to the director's taste.

    And folk singing, except for the well-known Komitas songs, didn't
    exist, except for rare exceptions. Also, except for the occasional
    classical music group or folk ensemble, our Armenian organizations
    have gotten used to inviting pop stars from Armenia, singers who are
    sect members as well as other what I'll call shortcomings, the
    organizations thinking they're saving Armenian culture.

    On one hand, though, this is what they see on Armenian television,
    which seems bent on doing what it can to destroy true folk culture and
    culture in general.

    There, during our three-year stay in America, I realized even more the
    effects of living away from the Homeland, whether for a short time or
    for generations. And it is pointless to tell or try to convince
    someone who is satisfied with this situation that perhaps things could
    be better.

    This summer, we returned to Armenia.

    If one is prone to being depressed, there is plenty going on to help
    in that direction.

    People are out of work. Even die-hard Hayastantsis are leaving the
    country, either out of work or disgusted with what they say are the
    problems of inequality and corruption.

    Religious sects are getting stronger, doing their part to ruin
    Armenian society. Internal and external forces seem to be working
    against the country. For instance, if one gets his impressions only by
    what's on television, Armenia isn't far off being Sodom and Gomorrah,
    pop star videos and concerts and cheap, violent serials being the
    rule.

    Yet, even though one might have to look for them, there are reasons to
    think there is hope, especially with the younger generation. I'll
    mention several recent events I've been to that lend in this
    direction.

    One was a new presentation by the Malyan Theatre. The acting was
    superb, as usual, and the play had Armenian flavor to it; a flavor
    that can only be produced in the Homeland.

    Another was one of two folk music festivals, where older, established
    ensembles, as well as several ensembles with younger members,
    performed traditional folk song and dance in a way I missed during our
    stay in the Diaspora.

    Also, a recent performance by the rock group Bambir was exhilarating
    to say the least, the group not only playing high quality rock music,
    but their excellent rock version of "Khio, khio" being far better, in
    my opinion, than the attempts made by many folk groups, both in
    Armenia and abroad.

    A few short days ago we went to a hogihangist for a doctor friend's
    father, in the Armenian Apostolic church in Malatia.

    Priests chanted their ancient services and spoke to those present. The
    sadness aside, it was a real Armenian atmosphere, the old stone
    structure and sad Armenian faces.

    Then, a call came in, a friend rushing outside to take the call. Tears
    again started. Well known translator Samvel Lazarian, a close friend
    of many there, had died. We all knew he had been sick, but his passing
    was still a shock. He was a great friend and unsurpassed translator,
    his efforts including the works of Shakespeare and James Joyce'
    Ulysses, a monumental task in itself.

    Samvel will be missed, tremendously. His close friend, and Armenia's
    best novelist, Levon Khechoyan, had died a year ago to the day. Maybe
    this was meant to be.

    (Andranik Michaelian was born in Dinuba, California, a small town near
    Fresno. He has been a farmer, teacher, journalist, and sub-deacon in
    the Armenian Apostolic Church in California's Central Valley. He has
    traveled extensively in Western Armenia, including his ancestral roots
    in Moush, Bitlis, and Sebastia. He now resides in Yerevan.)

    http://hetq.am/eng/news/57786/a-voice-from-the-homeland-a-message-of-despair-and-hope.html

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