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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
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