Le Retour in 3 Parts (Adrineh's Blog)

Do You Know the Secret Behind Armenia’s Postal Service?

2012-01-21T15:38:00.004+04:00

Because if you do, please tell me. To this day, Hay Post, the “official national postal operator of the Republic of Armenia,” remains a big mystery. Sometimes I get my mail from Canada, sometimes I don’t (though it always seems the mail I send to Canada is received). And don’t ask me why.

Earlier this month, I went to the post office just to check if the two cards I’m expecting from friends in Canada (good thing they told me they sent me mail!) had arrived. Both friends had sent their cards in December and two weeks had passed. Alas, no mail, but the woman behind the counter asked me to leave my phone number so that they could call me when they get my mail. (For those not in the know, in Armenia we don’t actually have mailboxes outside our homes so any mail you get is delivered to your nearest post office.)

So I began to give her my mobile phone number only to be interrupted and asked for my landline number at home. Now, call me unreasonable, but if I’m at work all day and out of the house (and it should be said answering machines are also not widespread in the country), how am I supposed to get her call? If she’s going to go to the trouble to call me, wouldn’t it be better if I give her my mobile number instead? But I assume she was calling from the post office’s own landline number and, as we all know, calls to mobile phones are more expensive than those to landlines (and sometimes offices will block this option). So a landline number it is — or no call at all.

It was no surprise at all then that the next time I walked into the post office, she told me she tried to call but there was no answer. So how did I know I had mail? By the other system of informing residents: a piece of paper stuck not to my apartment door but to the front door of the building — a single standard form addressed to me AND my neighbor to come pick up our mail. Luckily the wind didn’t blow that piece of paper (then two people wouldn’t have known they had mail) and I did the good neighborly thing of bringing it in and up to my neighbor’s flat to let her know she too had mail waiting for her at the post office.

The next day, I walk into the post office and by now the woman (it always seems to be a woman and always one person who’s assigned to your apartment, eh?) recognized me and immediately went to the back to get my card. She then asked me while I’m at it couldn’t I possibly give my neighbor’s letter to her too? What?! Isn’t this a criminal offense? Perhaps it’s not an offense to have someone else’s mail in your possession, but what if I opened it? That’s a crime, right? Needless to say, Post Office Woman didn’t bat an eye.

And though she knew who I was and which apartment I lived in, we don’t really know each other that well (contrary to the way this story is being told, I don’t go into the post office that often) and I figured she’d have to check my ID (passport, check). But no. So she not only didn’t check that I am who I am and live at the address for which I’m picking up mail, but also gave me my neighbor’s mail to pass on to her.

Oh, and at the end of the work day when I returned to the apartment and finally delivered my neighbor’s mail to her, didn’t she tell me what I feared — that she went to the post office that day to pick up her mail and was told I had picked it for her instead. Sheesh.

As for mail that goes missing (remember I’m still waiting for a card!), when I inquired how this might happen, the lovely Hay Post staff informed me that mail (just like airlines, it seems) doesn’t arrive direct to Armenia but goes to a processing center in Russia first — at least mail coming from North America does. And anything that goes wrong of course isn’t Hay Post’s fault, but that of Russian postal services. How could I argue with that?

Whether it’s the fault of Russian Post or Hay Post (or even Canada Post), it goes without saying that the more drop-off points mail has, the more the margin of error increases. Error would be less likely if mail sent from Canada was received directly by Hay Post. Anyone know why this isn’t the case?

At the end of the day, I have to say it’s still a thrill to receive snail mail from friends and family abroad, and in Armenia, it’s all the more special, because I know that it was just as likely I might never have received it…

(And in case you thought postal service woes were limited to Armenia, I recommend you read this lovely rant about the inefficiency of France’s La Poste by fellow blogger Sion Dayson — I remember reading it at the time and thinking, so it’s not just me? *sigh*)

On Giving Gifts in Armenia

2012-01-07T10:51:00.001+04:00

First, apologies to my readers. I just noticed that it’s been nearly 2 months since my last blog post. To say I’ve been busy is an understatement — but even so and since this is a new year, I want to endeavour to post more frequently on this blog. I’m not sure if it’s a good sign to start off the year’s first blog post with an apology, but I do hope you’ll forgive me.

Though this is not the first time I spent New Year’s Eve in Armenia, it is the first time I did so after I made the move to live here. So this year was particularly special, and recognizing this, I decided to do something special for my family in Armenia: make up lovely baskets of sweets, alcohol, cheeses, crackers and so on wrapped in cellophane — you know, something fairly common in North America to give to friends, family, work colleagues, clients and so on over the holidays.

So imagine my surprise when I found out that such baskets are normally reserved for weddings, engagements, and other such lavish affairs. I mean, no one simply shows up at someone’s house with a basket of goodies unless it’s a special occasion (and apparently, New Year’s and Christmas don’t count). And so it was that I showed up at my aunt’s house and then my other aunt’s house (both families on my mom’s side) and then the home of my family on my dad’s side bearing a basket with goodies wrapped up in cellophane and a big festive bow (see example of one such basket below).

On two occasions, I was told I shouldn’t have spent so much money (note to self: lavish items such as a bottle of Ani Ararat brandy and a package of Brie may not be appreciated when your family is trying to figure out how to make their money last till the end of the month) and on one occasion, the 5-year-old son in the family opened the package and dug into the Toblerone before anyone could blink an eye.

Apparently, I still have a lot to learn.

Though I have to say, the icing on the cake (which brings a smile to my face every time I think of it) is when I went to my partner’s dacha to spend NYE with her family bearing a similar such basket. Well, you can already imagine their surprise — but, this time (knowing about our relationship), they joked how I was the fiancé coming to take their daughter away (in Armenian: եկել եմ աղջիկ ուզելու)! Of course it didn’t help that a couple of days later, I left to return to Yerevan — taking their daughter with me :)

At the end of the day though I think my baskets brought a smile to the faces of my family members and “in-laws” (!) as they were unexpected gifts and not something usually a part of these holidays — kind of like me :)

Disclaimer and Comments to be Now Moderated

2011-11-15T19:50:00.002+04:00

I should listen to my friend Artur Papyan (aka Ditord) more often — or at least follow his example.

Not only because of a recent unprecedented lawsuit against a local Armenian newspaper for libellous comments left by readers (!) on the online version of its website, but also because of an increase in the number of offensive comments left on this blog, I regret but I have chosen to moderate all comments, and, following in the footsteps of said Artur Papyan, am including the following disclaimer:

This is a personal blog and as such the views expressed on this blog are mine alone. Feel free to challenge me or disagree with me in the comments section of each blog entry, but I reserve the right to delete any comment for any reason whatsoever (most notably if I consider it to be abusive, profane, rude, derogatory and/or not contributing to the conversation) — so keep it polite, please.

While I have taken care to be as accurate as possible (including links), please note that I am only human (and humans make mistakes). Also, it is possible that information which was accurate at the time of posting is since no longer true. You are welcome to correct any inaccuracies in the comments section of each blog entry. For the most part, posts are intended to give you a snapshot of my life at the time of writing, but my thoughts and opinions may change and what I wrote a year ago may not be true today.

I promise my best not to knowingly offend, defame, insult or humiliate anyone or any party directly or indirectly. If an individual or party feels I have published information that is insulting or harmful to them, please contact me directly via Twitter.

Thank you for reading!

Adventures in Baking, or Reading Armenia’s Constitution

2011-11-13T22:27:00.002+04:00

Today was Sunday, and one of the few Sundays in a long time where I allowed myself to stay in, read, lounge and otherwise take it easy.

I recently purchased the little 64-page booklet that contains the Constitution of the Republic of Armenia (yes, I know you can read it online AND even get an English-translated version, but I wanted to hold the stapled pieces of paper in my hands and read the original Armenian).

And I found a few rather interesting tidbits: For example, did you know that prisoners can’t vote or be elected (Article 30)? Perhaps I can understand why they can’t be elected, but why can’t they vote?

Also:

“Adult capable persons are obliged to take care of their parents who are incapacitated and in need of such care” (Article 36). Note the word obliged. Adult children have an obligation to take care of their parents.

The vaguness of Article 8: “The church shall be separate from the state in the Republic of Armenia” and yet “The Republic of Armenia recognizes the exclusive historical mission of the Armenian Apostolic Holy Church as a national church, in the spiritual life, development of the national culture and preservation of the national identity of the people of Armenia.” No comment.

Some parts were just too funny (or too sad, depending on how you look at it):

Article 27: “The state shall guarantee the existence and activities of an independent and public radio and television service offering a variety of informational, cultural and entertaining programs.” Independent? A “variety of informational, cultural and entertaining programs”? I guess I just have different definitions of “independent” and “variety” (and I haven’t even touched upon the other aspects of Article 27 which “guarantees” freedom of expression).

Article 32: “Everyone shall have the right to fair remuneration in the amount no less than the minimum set by the law, as well as the right to working conditions in compliance with the safety and hygiene requirements.” Ha!

Article 33: “Abuse of monopoly or dominant position in the market and bad-faith competition shall be prohibited.” Can we say monopoly on sugar, anyone? (And that’s just one example.)

Article 45: “Everyone shall be obliged to pay taxes, duties and other compulsory fees in conformity with the procedure prescribed by the law.” Again I say ha!

However, in all of this, what really stood out for me was Article 35: “The family is the natural and fundamental cell of the society.” Note, the family — not the individual, the family. (Also connected to this point: Article 48: “The basic tasks of the state in the economic, social and cultural spheres are to protect and patronage the family, the motherhood and the childhood.” Italics mine.)

I confess, this explained a lot.

And this was only Chapter 2! I confess, I haven’t read the entire Constitution yet, but after Chapter 2 (“Fundamental Human and Civil Rights and Freedoms”), I needed a break.

So I decided to do a little baking of my own.

And here’s what I came up with: oatmeal cookies with walnuts and mixed dried fruit (apricots, cherries, apples — all local, and all prepared by my partner’s mom). Delicious!

P.S. Confession: I didn’t bake them on my own. It was a team effort :)

Ten Reasons I Love Living in Yerevan

2011-11-10T00:47:00.001+04:00

An exchange on Facebook and finding this blog by repats inspired me to write a list of reasons why I’m happy to be where I am at the moment and why I am enjoying my life in Yerevan, Armenia. Here’s the list (in no particular order):

Living in a small city means I’m not stuck in a two-hour commute to and from work every day. It takes me 10 minutes to ride my bike or 20 minutes by foot to get to work from my home.
Bread (baked fresh! Every day!) costs 100 drams (less than 30 cents!) and though produce (and just about everything else) gets more and more expensive each year, I can still buy fresh, local produce for a few dollars a kilo. Highlights this summer included cucumbers at 100 drams/kg and tomatoes at 200 drams/kg (less than 60 cents!).
The people I meet. I regularly meet amazing locals, repats and expats — all of whom are doing amazing things and, more importantly, are passionate about what they do. Their passion inspires me.
Going out on a weeknight. In Toronto, if I were to ask friends to go out to a bar or cafe on a weeknight, most likely I’d get the response “It’s late” or “I’m too tired” or “I have work tomorrow.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard such responses in Yerevan. Sure, it doesn’t mean that every time I ask a friend to go out she or he agrees. But the fact that it’s a weeknight has never been an issue.
The view of the city from the top of the Cascade.
Not that I’m looking to leave, but if I wanted to take a short trip, Yerevan is only a six-hour drive from Tbilisi, the capital of Georgia. I couldn’t help but compare this with the six-hour (less if you’re speeding) trip between Toronto and Montreal. That is to say, the same distance between these two cities in Canada (dotted by the same landscape) allows me to visit a different country and experience more of a varied landscape here.
I have the personal cell phone number of the electrician in my building. He knows me by name (and “You’re the cyclist, right?”) and I can call him anytime if I have a problem. I have heard of others who have the personal cell phone numbers of their doctors, teachers, what-have-you. This is unheard of in Canada.
No matter where I am in this country if I come across a group of people sharing food and/or drink, I am inevitably invited to join them. And it’s not just me. People share their food (regardless of how little it may be) with total strangers because how can you not? It is good neighborliness that I only wish would be practiced between countries in the region.
My partner. She lives here and so do I. And I am forever grateful that we can be together in the same place.
And of course my friends. I have met more people here than in my entire life of living in Canada that I can confidently say will remain my friends for the rest of my life. People who genuinely care about you and who, even if distance were to separate us, would pick up where they left off at our next encounter. Even transient friends (those who come to Armenia regularly but live abroad) are valuable and it means that I now have more friends in different countries than I ever did in Canada.

Compiling this list wasn’t difficult (it took me maybe 20–30 minutes), and I’m sure there are many more reasons that I’ve simply forgotten at the moment (like how I can be 20 minutes late to work and no one will say anything, or how it’s so easy to have things like tables and cupboards handmade — at a fraction of what it would cost in Canada).

But I want to know: What are some of the reasons YOU love living in Yerevan or Armenia? (Please answer in the comments section.)

(Un)Social Media and the Power of the Media

2011-10-16T10:53:00.004+05:00

Lately, I’ve been wanting to spend less time online — or rather, less time on social networking sites. I have found that rather than help my work (I work in news media) Twitter and Facebook are actually affecting my productivity: in short, social networking sites are a big time waster — no surprise there, eh?

I know that it’s all about filtering (this brings to mind artist and comedian Vahe Berberian’s remarks at a recent public forum organized by Civilitas Foundation), but honestly, this simple act takes a lot more energy from us than we realize. Having to sort through all the non-essential, irrelevant news in my Facebook news feed or Twitter timeline is wearing me out to the point where I don’t have energy or any space left in my brain to do other things or… to contemplate life. And I need those moments of contemplation not only for peace of mind, but also to be able to write a blog post such as this one :)

I have become more aware of all the negative content I subconsciously consume on a daily basis and how much of that is through some form of media. More and more I feel the need to hear, read and watch material that is positive and uplifting (and I’m not talking about watching some Hollywood romantic comedy). Because hearing/reading/watching something positive not only makes me feel better about myself and the world we live in, but also makes me want to do stuff, to be active and present in my life, to reach out to people, to create. And oh how much we need more people in the world who are not complacent, not brainless consumers, but active participants, people who create and connect with others.

The two clips below are videos I watched recently (ironically, both I found out about through postings by friends on Facebook). The first speaks to the (negative) power of the media, while the second speaks to the (positive) power of interpersonal relationships and the power of now. What do you think?

When You Live in a City Without Actually Living IN It

2011-09-06T19:51:00.008+05:00

A couple of days ago a good Hayastanci (born and raised in Armenia) friend of mine, introducing me to a new acquaintance, commented that she considers me բնիկ Հայաստանցի (bnik Hayastanci, a native of Armenia), citing my experiences of living and working here to be just the same as any local.

And though it was meant as a compliment (and trust me, I am flattered when those born and raised here consider me one of their own), I can't help but feel like an impostor. And I would hate to represent myself as someone that I am not.

The truth is, I cannot erase my privilege and difference from local Armenians. As a native English speaker, born and raised in the West, I am privileged no matter where I go in this world. I can travel freely to just about anywhere (well except for maybe Azerbaijan, though I have yet to try) — I only need to show my Canadian passport to get past just about any border with little hassle. But that is only the tip of the iceberg.

Believe it or not, in some cases, I even have more privileges than a local Armenian in her own country. I have access to tools and resources she does not and I have contacts — powerful currency when trying to secure work and locate opportunities to get ahead.

So why do I feel at such a loss?

Coming back from a visit back home, I realized how little I make use of my privilege here; that is to say, how little I use it for not only my but others’ benefit. For example, my ties in the Diaspora (though weak as I preferred to distance myself from the Armenian community in Toronto rather than embrace it) should’ve helped me secure financial and logistical support to help my friend Syu, whose mother in Armenia has been diagnosed with breast cancer and prescribed the atrociously expensive drug treatment Herceptin. Not to say that I didn’t reach out to my family and friends in Toronto, but I feel like I should’ve been able to do more than I actually did (and continue to do as Syu’s mom is still undergoing treatment).

I have realized that for as long as I have lived and worked in Armenia, I have opted to “blend in,” assimilate if you will, rather than acknowledge the fact that I am different and this is an unavoidable fact.

It’s true, my mother was born in Yerevan, and yes, I speak the local dialect with a sprinkle of Russian words that I learned in childhood, which makes me at least more “assimilated” than other Diasporan Armenians and repats. But it doesn’t erase my privilege — nor the fact that I have lived here without feeling like I fully LIVE HERE, despite what my friend says.

And I’m not the only one. So many of my expat and repat brothers and sisters live here without actually living here, without being a part of Armenian society. We have the privilege of being able to surround ourselves in a bubble of expat and repat friends, go to restaurants and gather in places that the average Hayastanci couldn't afford to go to in a million years.

I myself am not part of this circle and actually feel more distant from most repats and expats than my close-knit circle of Hayastanci friends, but this doesn’t exclude the fact that, whether I like it or not, I am part of this group.

And lately I’ve been feeling that I should do something about that. As cliched as it may sound, use my privilege for good instead of running away from it. What do you think?

How Do You Live?

2011-07-10T13:13:00.002+05:00

I’ve always been fascinated by how people live: how people spend their days, how they make decisions on what they will do on any given day. I think this stemmed from a childhood belief that everything was possible, that on any given day, at any given moment, you had an infinite number of possibilities of how you choose to spend your time on this earth and so it led me to wonder how people decide what they’re going to do and how they’re going to go about doing it.

Growing up, to be honest, is a bit of a disappointment. I realized that though there are many different ways to live, so many of us are the same, so many of us choose to do things like everyone else, and what I thought was an infinite number of possibilities is now a finite number — even worse, it’s a small finite number. Worse yet was realizing that not everyone is afforded the same possibilities, that not everyone has equal opportunities in this world. The injustice in this world still affects me deeply today — it just doesn’t manifest the same way as it did before.

Growing up means to accept things as they are (or even if you question the order of things, you still accept that this is how we have created the world to be). On a personal level, growing up means to settle in your life, to narrow your choices, to choose a certain path.

When I was younger, I thought adults knew everything: you could ask any adult any question and he or she would have the answer. And so for me, growing up was being able to know everything, which became a goal to strive toward and so, believe it or not, I looked forward to “being grown up” so I could know everything. Well, you already know how this story ends, and so this became disappointment number two growing up.

Having realized growing up did not mean knowing everything, I focused on my other mission of knowing how people live. I became fascinated with travelling, for I thought I would be able to acquire more examples of how people live (I was older, but as is evident, not yet “grown up”).

Adults would tell me, yes, good, go travel, see the world before you get married, buy a house, have kids and settle down (more or less in that order). I never agreed with that approach because even if I did decide to get married and/or buy a house and/or have children, why should that affect whether I travel or not? You can travel with your spouse and with your kids or you can travel alone — you just have to make the necessary arrangements. And now that I’m older, I still believe that that way of thinking is somewhat flawed, but I have realized something else: it’s not that you get “settled” with the combination of spouse/house/children, but it’s that you get settled in yourself. You become settled in your ways and perhaps more resistant to change. Or, as I said earlier, you choose a certain path in life and this inevitably narrows your choices, and it’s not that you can’t travel, but it’s that you choose other things over travelling — your priorities change and you become accustomed to your life.

However, I have to say, travelling (or more so these days, the thought of travelling) still stirs something in me and I still feel like a kid at heart. Though perhaps I am “grown up,” I still think my life could go in any number of directions and that’s exciting. Sure, things are a little bit more clearly defined now and yes, my options are narrower (let’s be honest, I’m not going to be an astrophysicist or fly to the moon or raise horses for a living in this lifetime), but I still believe that many things are possible. There is still much to do in this life and I never tire of the challenges it brings me.

And maybe that is the great thing of growing up: because as much as in my eyes as a child everything seemed possible, sometimes this was too much, too daunting, and I felt out of focus. Growing up has meant for me being more focused, organizing my priorities, and more clearly defining who I am and what my place is in this world. I realize that the directions my life has taken is because of choices I made. And that’s a wonderful feeling.

I think if we could all say that about our lives the world would be a much better place. What do you think? And how do you live?

On Gay Pride Parades and Why Yerevan Needs One

2011-06-26T15:06:00.003+05:00

Even the most well-intentioned people, those who are tolerant of gays — you know the type: they have friends who are gay or they know people who are gay, they say they don't have a problem with gay people, etc. etc. — can be really frustrating to deal with.

In Yerevan, I have met straight people who hang out with queers, who are tolerant (as much as I hate this word), who support equal rights for all peoples. These people would stand out against injustice in any form and if someone attempted to physically hurt another person because he was gay, they would be up in arms in a second to defend him.

But too often I find that this "tolerance" has a limit, a boundary which cannot be crossed. Sometimes this limit has to do with queers raising or adopting kids, sometimes it has to do with gay marriage and sometimes it's just simply being out as queer. And then there's the disparity when it comes to men and women (and let's not even talk about the disparity when it comes to acceptance of sexual preference vs. acceptance of gender identity): Too often in Yerevan (as I have no doubt elsewhere) I have come across straight guys who say they have no problems with lesbians but thinking about two men having sex is just disgusting (զզվելի) and unnatural (բնական չի).

True Story

I had the unfortunate experience of entering into such a conversation with two men yesterday at a friend's house. There were 8 of us — 6 girls and 2 guys — with 4 of us being queer. As happens all too often, despite women being in the majority (and in this case, half of us being queer identified), it was the 2 men who spoke the most and took up the most space. And in this case, both men (partners of two of the women) were "tolerant" and, I would say, supportive of LGBT rights (including them among the umbrella of human rights), but they simply couldn't imagine two guys together (there goes that word again: "disgusting") and would really just wish queer folks would keep their business in their bedroom.

One of the guys even used the mother of all arguments: ազգի զարկացում (the development of the nation), meaning queers can't procreate so our people would die off which proves his point that being gay is unnatural. Of course I tried to explain that everything still works and we were just as capable of having children as straight people and of course I could've tried to calm his "fears" that our people, the nation, the world wasn't about to become 100% gay so he could relax, but do you think he even heard me?

And these straight, again I say well-intentioned, tolerant guys (let's call them WI.T guys for short) usually talk too much, take up too much space (even though they believe women too should have equal rights as men — as if we need them to affirm this fact for us) and don't realize how much space they take up and how much their discourse is just as dominant — if not more so in this day and age — as the one that says queers should go to hell. Because the saddest part of all this is that they SEE themselves as tolerant, as open-minded and as above those who believe that all us queers should be rounded up and shipped straight to hell (or at least get a good beating).

This WI.T guy used words such as առավելություն ("advantage") and "propaganda" and ցուցամոլություն ("ostentation") to describe queers today. He argued that oppressed groups (citing differently abled people in Armenia as another example) now have the advantage. That he supports them/us, but does not support the "propaganda" of the LGBT community (he didn't use the words "LGBT community," I did) and doesn't understand why we have to be all up in his face anyway (the "ostentation"). No surprise then that he was against a pride parade in his city.

Now how, tell me how, can I explain to this WI.T guy that as tolerant as he is (or thinks he is), he still doesn't get it, and how insulting and derogatory his choice of words and comments are?

Yes, I agree that the state has no place in our bedrooms, but until there are equal conditions, until equality is viewed as the norm and not something to be tolerated or given to us by the patriarchy, until that day comes, we have to have a parade, we have to come out, we have to say we exist, that we are here and we're not going anywhere because if we don't, you'll trample all over us and our rights. Because even though you might "accept" us, you don't SEE us, you still don't make room for us at the table, your revolution doesn't recognize that it has to include LGBT folks and that our voices have to be heard. And I'm not even talking about questioning his notions of what is natural and "unnatural."

Photo of two men kissing: A. Sneider/zefa/Corbis (retrieved from Flickr on Jun. 26, 2011)

Public Displays of Affection

There's another issue here too that my GF pointed out: public displays of affection are not tolerated. So when this WI.T guy says he takes issue with two guys making out next to him, it's not only the fact that they're two guys (though we're not dismissing this fact), but also because they're making out publicly.

The real-life true story that Mr. WI.T tells me and my GF is as follows: two guys at a table next to him in a cafe in Yerevan were all over each other — I mean they were practically having sex, he says — and when he asks the server to talk to them and she says, now, come on, don't put me in that position, meaning she doesn't want to be the bad guy, she doesn't want to seem that she's not tolerant of LGBT folks, I think, good for her. And I want to know what cafe is this and how amazing is it that two guys can make out in public in Yerevan and the staff doesn't want to bother them, but what brings me joy actually causes him discomfort and unease and he wonders why he has to stay silent just because he's straight. I try to explain the concept of reclaiming space, of when there is no space for you, you have to take it where you can and you have a right to that space as much as anyone else. But he sees only an unfair "advantage": he asks the server if they were a heterosexual couple would she say something and she says yes, and so, I guess, believe it or not, he feels oppressed as a straight person in that situation.

But to get back to the title of this post, why Yerevan needs a pride parade: even the Well-Intentioned, Tolerant guys, even the human rights defenders and activists, even those who will stand beside us and be our allies and supporters — even these groups of people don't realize what it means to be queer and live in this society, why we need to be reclaim space and why even though he may be tolerant, deep down he thinks that being gay is unnatural, that queers shouldn't raise kids, we shouldn't marry or attend church, and that really everything would be so much better if we didn't exist and complicate his world.

Making Comparisons

And though I know this problem exists everywhere in the world, I can't help but compare Yerevan and Toronto, a city that is celebrating Pride Week this week culminating in the city's 31st Pride Parade on July 3. Thirty-first! According to the official Pride Toronto website, Pride Toronto has been in existence in various forms since the late 1970’s and annually since 1981 — more or less 10 years after the Stonewall Riots, 17 years before Amsterdam celebrated its first Gay Pride in 1996 and 24 years before Istanbul did in 2003, making Toronto Pride one of the world's longest running organized Pride celebrations.

Photo of Toronto Pride Parade 2008: Wikimedia Commons (Neal Jennings from Toronto, Canada)

When I am confronted with WI.T guys, I can't help but recall the Stonewall Riots in New York City in 1969 and the police raid of bathhouses in Toronto in 1981 that prompted queers and our supporters to organize demonstrations in which we fought for our rights — human rights — and drew attention to, raised awareness of and educated the masses on the plight of LGBT people in heterosexist societies.

And all this on the backdrop of news that on Jun. 24, New York proudly joined the handful of US states and countries that have legalized same-sex marriage (Canada, in 2005, being the fourth country in the world to do so!) and on the heels of a comprehensive Council of Europe report on discrimination on grounds of sexual orientation and gender identity published Jun. 23 that issued 'red cards' to many member states including Armenia for failing gay rights.

Interesting to note in the Council of Europe report was the double discrimination that lesbian and bisexual women face in Armenia — particularly ironic after speaking to WI.T guys in Armenia who discriminate against gay men but not lesbian or bisexual women:

"The family may be experienced by LGBT persons as an institution of immediate social control. This imposes expectations on the gender roles of boys and girls alike, which can be problematic for LGBT children who do not meet them. NGO representatives in Armenia, Azerbaijan, Georgia and Turkey stressed the double discrimination facing lesbians and bisexual women in those states. As women, they are expected to marry and have children, and until they do they must come home directly from the workplace and not go out alone. Family honour is an influential concept."

But Why a Pride Parade?

I'd like to end this post from a quote by a woman in the video (below) by Toronto-based group Queers Against Israeli Apartheid which should be recalled any time someone says they are ok with gay people, but are opposed to pride parades:

"Any kind of freedoms and liberations and rights that have been achieved has been achieved through the struggles of queer people and other oppressed people." Pride parades or demonstrations are a part of that history of struggle.

Not All Queer Bloggers are Hoaxes

2011-06-25T18:29:00.002+05:00

Last week I (as well as my friend Kara Leva, it seems) was contacted by Elif Kayi for a story on the opinions and experiences of real queer bloggers following the cases of a Gay Girl in Damascus and LezGetReal.com — both instances where straight men were masquerading as queer woman online. I’m republishing Elif’s article (originally published online at EMAJ magazine) in full below:

Everybody has heard about “her.” For a few days, “she” had become the most famous queer woman in the Middle East, maybe even in the whole world. Amidst other worrying news, such as the violent repression carried out by the Syrian regime against segments of the population, the abduction of “queer blogger” Amina Abdallah Araf al Omari, presumbably by a group of armed men supposedly members the Baath Party security services or a militia, provoked a massive outcry amongst the international gay community. Support pages were immediatly created in mainstream social media such as Facebook, with slogans such as “Free Syrian Blogger Amina Abdallah a.k.a “Gay Girl in Damascus”.”

Bloggers and journalists active in social media closely followed the story, which once again reminded us of the vulnerability of bloggers in some countries, when they try to inform about their situation in those places. In this case, the blogger was said to be a young lesbian woman, describing her everyday life. Some people thought that her story would bring to light a reality often hidden: the everyday life of gay people. And despite the turmoil surrounding the “abduction,” the story was in fact revealing an issue to the general public, including readers who might normally be hostile, or at least indifferent to such stories. At least, it was news.

This is how Tom MacMaster, a Scottish student from Edinburgh, based in Istanbul, tried to justify his actions when it was finally revealed that the blog “A gay girl in Damascus” had been created not by “Amina” but by Mr. MacMaster. After the hoax was discovered, MacMaster wrote in his blog: “While the narrative voice may have been fictional, the facts in this blog are true and not misleading regarding the situation on the ground. I do not believe I have harmed anyone — I feel that I have created an important voice for issues I feel strongly about.”

Shortly after this, another hoax was revealed. A 58-year-old retired construction worker from Ohio, Bill Graber, admitted to the Washington Post that he had run the US-based lesbian website “LezGetReal.com“ under the name of Paula Brooks.

The gay community’s condemnation was merciless. For example, GayMiddleEast.com wrote: “Shame on you!!! There are bloggers in Syria who are trying as hard as they can to report news from their country. (…) We have to deal with more difficulties than you can imagine. What you have done has harmed many, put all of us in danger, and made us afraid to continue our (…) activism.”

These cases have cast extreme suspicion on blogs and bloggers. Even our magazine EMAJ received this comment after the publication of a post by the reporter Jasmin Roman: “Touching posts, but after all the fake bloggers being discovered, how do we know you are not like the rest? We have fake “pro”, fake “against” and now we have an “in the middle.” This “in the middle” sets quite well with the apologists in the West… Anyway, “Gay Girl” was interesting to read, even though “she” was a “he.” Your stuff is also interesting to read, and from the audio interview we know at least that you are a “she”.”

But getting back to the “queer blogosphere,” let us not evade the fact that there are often people who question the accuracy of information published in blogs, who minimize the problems described, who analyze them with a socio-moralist biais before getting to the point. So what could be better than the discovery of ”fake blogs” to discredit blogs in general?

Adrineh Macaan is a young woman, currently based in Armenia, working for an NGO based in Yerevan that publishes news online in four languages -Armenian, Russian, English and Turkish. Since 2008 she has run her own blog: “My blog is about my experiences as a lesbian Armenian woman originally from Toronto, Canada, but now living in Yerevan, Armenia. I write about my own experiences and things as I see them. I try to connect different issues and build bridges between communities, topics and countries. I started my blog in 2008 when I was planning a summer holiday trip to Paris, Amsterdam and Yerevan — three cities close to my heart. A colleague suggested I start a blog to document my travels and as a way of keeping in touch with family and friends back home. Since then the blog has evolved and the focus is more on local issues, being a repat in Armenia, being queer in Armenia and so forth.”

As to whether she has encountered problems running her blog, Adrineh says: “I haven't encountered any difficulties (no hate mail or inappropriate comments left on the blog). On the contrary, I’ve only received positive feedback!” This is also the opinion of another female Armenian blogger, Kara Leva, currently studying law at the French University in Yerevan and involved in volunteer activities at the Women’s Resource Center in Armenia. “As I’m a social activist and liberal feminist, my blog is about social problems in Armenia, such as the uneducated class, which Armenias call “qyartu”, about violence — domestic violence, violence against women and child abuse — and about incidents in my life which I think about and discuss in my blog with my 1000-plus readers! I write about many other things which concern me personally. But I’ve never received hate mail. Sometimes I have had unfriendly comments under my posts, which I edit and post because everyone has their own point of view about different issues. I’ve never faced difficulties running my blog and so far I’ve received the support of my journalist and blogger friends.”

Regarding the reaction of friends and relatives, Kara emphasizes the positive impact of her blog: “They read my blog and start to understand, feel and know me better: how I see my life, as well as the daily social life of my country." There is one limitation, however: "I never write things about politics.”

Not everyone in Adrineh’s circle knows about her blog: “My immediate family and close friends know about it, as do those who follow me on Twitter, but my extended family or anyone who I haven’t come out to, doesn’t. It’s a fine line: I don’t intentionally evade telling them — for example if someone asked me directly, I would tell them I have a blog, but I don’t go out of my way to tell them about it either. There is also the issue of language since my blog is exclusively in English, and not everyone has Facebook and Twitter or reads blogs. Even close family members who know I have a blog don’t read it regularly, so sometimes I send them a link to a post I wrote so they know what’s going on with me.”

About the everyday problems they face as lesbians in Armenia, Kara depicts a rather difficult situation: “I’m always facing problems like hate speeches by homophobic people around me and the no less homophobic Armenian society. I have fewer rights and I can’t express myself and my opinions as a lesbian. I always feel the psychological violence of the society in which I live.” Adrineh published an article about the issue in the queer Arab magazine “Bekhsoos” in 2010, in which she stated: “In a country where the rights of LGBT people are not protected, there’s no legislation that prohibits discrimination against LGBT folks, there’s never been a pride parade and no establishments are eagerly posting up rainbow stickers in their front windows, an out gay venue is hard to come by. But that doesn’t mean we don’t exist.”

And so the internet is one way to exist, at least for the general public… As many other bloggers, Adrineh was shocked about the revelation of the story of the “hoaxes”: “After the first case came out, I was appalled, but when I heard about the second case, I thought, who would’ve thought that the editor of a lesbian-focused website would turn out to be a man as well! A gay male blogger friend of mine said he didn’t know that being a lesbian blogger had become fashionable! That made me laugh. Who knew I was in vogue?”. But seriously, I was quite offended and surprised at MacMaster’s response, that he didn’t know he would hurt people or that things would get so out of hand. What were you thinking would happen, I want to ask. Apparently, both men wrote as women in order to be taken more seriously, which I also find surprising since as far as I can remember it’s always been women who’ve written as men to be taken more seriously.”

“It was the manipulation of a man who was using the pictures of an unknown girl. Had the girl whose pictures were being misused not gone public, people all over the world might have continued to believe this story about a girl supposedly kidnapped for her sexual orientation,” said Kara. She added, “But I can assure you this story had no influence on my blog. I think this is because I haven’t come out officially.”

All kidding aside, Adrineh concludes: “In the end I think these men did more harm than good. Even if they had good intentions, as MacMaster claimed he had, it doesn’t matter now, because what they did will have an effect on anonymous bloggers and activists who need to protect their identity while reporting on crucial issues. Though I have to say that being anonymous is preferable to posing as someone else: at least in the case of the former, you know that the person is anonymous (who can be male or female, straight or gay), but in the case of the latter, you are deceived about that person’s identity.”

When We Don't Speak the Same Language

2011-06-09T20:19:00.004+05:00

At the roundtable on sexual violence against women in Armenia yesterday, listening to co-founder and executive director of the Women’s Resource Center of Armenia (WRCA) Lara Aharonian talk, followed by remarks by deputy head of the Department for Crimes Against the Individual of the RA General Prosecutor’s Office Artur Davtyan and finally, deputy head of the Armenian Police Department of Juvenile Affairs Artur Vardanyan, I came to a very simple conclusion — we don't speak the same language.

We all seem to be talking about the same thing and sorta-kinda saying the same things, but not really. While Lara was speaking about public perception of sexual violence, gender stereotypes and lack of resources in Armenia to support survivors of all kinds of abuse (and waiting till the end of her remarks to start throwing around some numbers), the two Arturs were, understandably on their guard, praising the work that their respective state agencies have done and apparently continue to do.

Photo by Liana Aghajanian

Neither of the representatives of the state agencies actually addressed the social, cultural concerns Lara raised — but then can you blame them? What did we expect them to say? For one thing, the fact that they were there meant at least that they were sympathetic to the issues raised — or that they felt the need to show that they were sympathetic. Of course they would cite articles from Armenia’s criminal code that charge perpetrators of sex-based crimes (Articles 138 through 142) and of course they would be explain their work in more detail, what they’ve done, what’s involved, what role they can play, because after all, we must understand, their job is not easy.

But what these two men couldn’t see — and interesting to note that the state agencies were represented by men while the NGO working to address the same issues was represented by a woman — what they couldn’t see is the human factor. The larger, societal, macro issue reflected in the micro day-to-day of our lives as women in this country, in this society, in this world. PINK Armenia president Mamikon Hovsepyan tried to at least draw attention to this by asking the men to put themselves in the woman’s shoes, think for a minute what it must be like… alas, I think the experience was lost on them.

One of the participants at the roundtable asked whether police would intervene in a domestic violence situation if the woman in the household was not the one who came forward herself, but, say, for example, a concerned neighbor called the police. Both Arturs responded in turn (it was hard to recall who said what, though the one from the general prosecutor’s office was more eager and forthcoming) that yes, police would investigate the incident; however, they could not actually launch criminal proceedings without the survivor coming forth herself. Which begs the question: Is there no legal obligation by police to intervene (i.e. in the interest of public safety) regardless of whether a victim (and I use the term here as it is understood in the judicial system) has come forth or not? Is there such a precedent in other countries?

The representatives, in my opinion, also did not effectively address the oft-stated complaint by NGO representatives and human rights activists that penalties for sex-based crimes in Armenia are quite lenient. Artur Davtyan stated that many factors are taken into consideration when determining the penalty for a sex offender, explaining that legal battles can be quite complex and proving that a crime occurred in such cases can be very difficult — not that this helped any of us feel any better. Neither did it show that he was viewing the situation from the perspective of the survivor. But again I ask, what did we expect? He was just doing his job.

And that is what frightens me. Even the well-meaning, well-intentioned people working in state agencies (if the two Arturs can be represented as typical examples) don’t reallly get it. They think they are doing all they can, but they are doing only all that which is within the limits of their job description and nothing more. While NGO representatives and human rights activists are fighting tooth and nail for the rights of victims, not only in cases of sexual abuse, but in many, many other areas too.

Photo by Liana Aghajanian

One final note about Lara (pictured, far left): she was a beacon of peace and patience. Somehow ending up between the two men (a quick shuffle of chairs led to this arbitrary arrangement), she was quiet, but strong, letting participants take the lead to speak up and raise their concerns. I got the feeling that she’d raised these concerns enough times and addressed these two state agencies (the general prosecutor’s office and the police) on enough occasions to know their language well.

And though I had the impression that civil society representatives and state agencies do not speak the same language and so cannot see eye-to-eye, Lara seemed to, at least to me, appear hopeful. When Artur Davtyan made an offer for his office to work together with the WRCA, Lara accepted. I guess in trying to find a common language you have to start somewhere.

My Life Revolves Around Nikol Pashinyan (She Says with a Sigh)

2011-06-04T20:27:00.004+05:00

(I started writing this post on May 25, 2011, on the threshold of the release of journalist and opposition activist Nikol Pashinyan, who had been imprisoned in Armenia since 2008 under questionable charges related to his involvement in the events of Mar. 1–2, 2008, in Yerevan. Bear with me as this post goes in a direction you might not have expected, considering the title!)

These days my life revolves around Nikol Pashinyan: what he says, what he writes, who he talks to. Pashinyan is revered like a god by some people while, as I mentioned in a previous post, I’d rather hang on every word that my yoga teacher says rather than any politician — be it from the ruling party, an opposition member or one with no official party affiliation — or opposition activist says (and these days, they seem to be saying a lot, while saying very little — how convenient).

I admit, my work has been wearing me out a bit. The schedule’s still the same and the work itself hasn’t changed all that much, but I’m growing weary of local politics (and I haven’t even been here that long!). I don’t know what it is, but I’m not as excited about the promise of change as I was when I first got here. I guess you could say the honeymoon period is over :)

This became more apparent yesterday when I met a guy who’s originally from Yerevan, but has been living in New York City for the past 6 years. He’s back for two weeks, visiting his aging parents, and his excitement and awe (like a little child) of the everyday things here both annoyed me and made me jealous. I was annoyed because ուրց (oortz or thyme) tea is after all just tea, and having a good time with friends in the evening sharing food (even with people you just met) is practically routine, so what’s the big deal? I forget that for someone living life in NYC or Toronto or London or any number of other cities these experiences might be seen as something to cherish.

I was also filled with envy because I realized I don’t see things here the way he does (keep in mind, I wasn’t born in Yerevan, he was, though I’ve been the one living here) — and I miss it. I miss what Yerevan felt like when I was just a tourist or when I first arrived and everything seemed possible. Now that my life here has become more routine, I’ve lost that հայացք (view, or rather, perspective) and I don’t know how to get it back.

Which is part of the reason why I’ve been thinking about going away for a while. Nothing for certain yet and there are so many things that have to be factored into this decision before it becomes a reality, but lately I’ve been feeling the need to leave Armenia — in some way, I’ve lost my footing here and somehow I think that by being elsewhere I’ll get it back. What do you think? Have I caught the common virus going around this country in which people assume that things will be better in another country, the grass is greener on the other side of the fence, that sort of thing?

All I know is that despite the many amazing people I’ve met here and the many amazing things I’ve been able to be a part of, I haven’t felt like I’m building a future or working towards something meaningful. I feel like I do little things here and there that might make a small difference, but have neither a bigger impact nor a long-term strategy. I do think, however, that this feeling isn’t all that uncommon as most people I know don’t know if they’ll have their job tomorrow or how much longer it’ll be till their money runs out, which makes planning for the future just a tad bit difficult. Seems so many are just living by the seat of their pants — and that has been one of the hardest things I’ve had to adjust to here: the lack of stability.

I’m trying to find that balance between feeling that everything is possible (what I felt when I first arrived to Yerevan) and the need for stability. And it ain’t easy, let me tell you.

I will end with a note by blogger and fellow cyclist Tom Allen, who inspires me not only with a writing style that engages his audience but also with what he writes. In his recent post, he writes about taking control of your life:

“Our lives and [what] we do with them are entirely products of our own volition, given the opportunities available to us. All the inanities of modern existence, the procrastination and pointless pursuits, assume that being alive and healthy are entitlements.

“It's probably worth reminding ourselves that they aren't — then we might look upon our options with more respect, seeing real alternatives waiting to be grasped, not tomorrow or in a few years' time, but today. We all hear stories of those who've had near-death experiences or terrible accidents and have gone on to grab life by the balls as a result of coming so close to losing it. […] it would be tragic to look back on a lucky life of good health and vitality and to realize that it was squandered in a system of living which wasn't your own, and from which you never managed to wrestle control.”

A Placeholder Name

2011-04-25T20:48:00.000+05:00

I decided I just couldn't live with "Le Retour in 3 Parts" for another day and so, to make things easy on all of us I am temporarily renaming this blog "Adrineh's Blog" — till I can come up with a better name of course.

This happened as I was organizing the blogs I subscribe to and realizing I had to rename a few because the titles the bloggers chose didn't fit with the content that I was seeking in their blogs. And of course I figured you might be doing the same things as you organize the list of blogs that you follow in Google Reader or Blogger or whatever you use to organize the information you seek online.

That's why they say writers should read and journalists should scan the news. By becoming informed and seeing what works and what doesn't in the work of others, you improve your own work.

A little bit of insight on a random Monday evening!

Panic attack

2011-04-10T12:14:00.001+05:00

I kept putting off writing a blog post because I never felt like I had enough time, energy or the ability to compose well-thought-out, composed blog posts. Now I realize that’s exactly what I should’ve done: taken a break from all the things I HAD to do to focus on something I LOVE to do in order to feel just a little bit more in control of my life, which lately I’ve seem to lost my grip on.

I realize that I miss my imagination and I miss being passionate about something. Too much of my time in the last little while has been spent on work-related things or things that I just had to do. And the fact that I work in news media means time is always an issue — whatever has to be done has to be done NOW. And I’m slowly buckling under the weight of this pressure of Time.

How can one person hold a full-time job (which includes staying till 7 pm some nights and on other nights — i.e. when there’s a HAK rally — working till nearly midnight), hold a part-time job (with its sporadic hours, depending on when material is available), work on a project on the side that never seems to get finished, go to twice a week yoga classes (necessary for mental sanity and peace of mind), go to once a month Book Club meetings (which involve finishing an entire book before then) plus help a friend fundraise $54,000 US for her mom who’s been diagnosed with breast cancer and lives in Armenia where the state doesn’t pay or even help pay for the expensive $3,000 per dose Herceptin the doctors have diagnosed her to take?

I am on the verge of a panic attack and I figured I should warn you ahead of time.

So if you have told me “get in touch sometime” or you offered to hang out and I kept putting it off, it’s not because I don’t want to see you or don’t want to “hang out” — it’s just that I can’t. Any moment I am away from the things I need to do causes me only further anxiety because I can’t relax in the company of friends while knowing in the back of my mind that I have work to do.

And that’s a horrible feeling.

There are so many other things to blog about — like the project I’m working on called Armenian and Azerbaijani Women’s Voices or the sadness that comes with hearing that yet another repat or expat is leaving Armenia or the numerous lawsuits against local media that have exploded in recent months — but all these take a backseat to my own stress and anxiety. How can one truly devote her time and attention to things quite deserving of these when she herself can’t breathe? It’s a conundrum.

I have to remember that it’s important to feed not only my body, but my heart and soul, which means making time for things that I love and making time for some R&R (without feeling guilty about it). Nothing original in this statement, I know, but perhaps writing publicly about it will foster a commitment from me on these goals. I also have to remember to take on less and know my limits (for example, recently I said I can’t actively participate in a newly formed Diversity group due to time constraints but that I can help whenever and wherever I can).

One step at a time. Or as we like to say here in Yerevan, կամաց, կամաց (kamats, kamats). Thank you for reading.

Back pains and other struggles

2011-03-07T09:29:00.002+04:00

I wrote this post on Feb. 22, but wanted to tweak it before posting. As you can see, nearly two weeks have gone by… so keep in mind, some of this news might already be old news ;)

Here goes:

For the past two weeks or so, I’ve had this knot in my back that’s made it unbearable at times to sit still at my desk (whether at home or at work) and do work. And it won’t go away.

I find that we adapt ourselves to all sorts of irreconcilable situations, and so it is that I find myself trying out different chairs and different seating positions, while performing all manner of stretches in 10-minute increments. This, along with once or twice a week yoga, riding my bike to and from work and occasional massages from my loving partner, has made the pain at least bearable. Like I told my parents yesterday: my back is so much better than it was before.

The same, however, can’t be said for the state of affairs in Armenia.

First came the ban on street trade (though it can be argued, this was not the “first”). In one fell swoop, newly elected Yerevan mayor Karen Karapetyan enforced a law which many before him had quietly left alone: banning Yerevan traders from selling fruits, vegetables, greens, and even household items from makeshift stalls or no stalls at all on the street.

Admittedly, though there was the ever-present issue of sanitation and the fact that a large part of the sidewalk was obstructed by street vendors and their goods, you would think the mayor would have more important things to attend to as his first order of business rather than leave thousands of people out of a job literally overnight. And what’s the plan? Apparently, the city will offer spots in indoor markets to these vendors, who, naturally, will have to relocate their place of business, sign a lease and incur additional expenses.

I don’t know about you, but I prefer purchasing my produce from the street. You develop a relationship with the person selling it to you who is sometimes the person who grows it, or at the very least, is someone more directly involved in the food-from-farm-to-table process than a large chain supermarket.

And if that wasn’t reason enough, the produce I get from the women on street corners, in dalans and building courtyards is fresher and cheaper than what you’d get in the supermarket. Plus, it’s more convenient. By the time I walk to a supermarket, I’ve already passed by half a dozen street vendors who are amicable and who might even round down the price for me (as opposed to supermarkets where they round UP: e.g. a bill that runs 2,355 drams will cost you 2,360 drams not 2,350 since there’s no such thing as a 5 dram coin).

Other things we looked forward to and struggled against in the past month:

Increased prices of consumer goods, including such staples as bread, oil and soon-to-be sugar

(Do you know yesterday, March 6, at the local mom-and-pop shop around the corner 1 kg of chickpeas was going for 1,000 drams? At the most, it used to be 600 drams — that’s an increase of over 66%! And onions at 600 drams, carrots at 500 drams… I’m afraid to ask: how far can the prices go up?)

Human Rights Watch 2011 World Report on Armenia in 2010: nothing we didn’t know, but, well, now the world knows too

Armenian-American businessman and former adviser to Armenian PM Tigran Sargsyan with the unfortunate name of Serop Der-Boghossian was (is?) at the heart of a sex scandal involving him and young boys in Armenian towns where his company, Metal Prince, does business

Gyumri car owners protested the dissolution of a legal loophole that allowed them to pay significantly lower import taxes on cars registered in Georgia. It can be argued that this group (of mainly men and car owners) were the most vocal and had the greatest effect in their protests since they practically had the power to block roads and stop traffic with all their cars. One local MP even compared the events in Gyumri, Armenia’s second-largest city, to Cairo

(By the way, it really amazes me the issues that bring people together and that they rally against. I’m sure these men wouldn’t be protesting to support their sisters in Yerevan who have been deprived of their perhaps sole source of income following the ban on street trade. However, because the increase in import taxes on their cars affects them personally, they probably feel that injustice is being done to them and so they take to the streets.)

Armenia’s parliament approving a longer workweek

Feb. 18 was the HAK (Armenian National Congress) rally, reportedly the largest since the March 2008 post-election protests that left 10 people dead. HAK, the largest opposition force in the country and one on whom many pin their hopes, however, failed:

"Admittedly, the opposition force had nothing to tell thousands of supporters, except for a call to get ready for 'very serious events'.”

Waving Armenian flags, shouting barely audible patriotic chants, and marching on Feb. 19 were youth with Hayots Ardzivner (“Armenian Eagles”). Hauled in from the regions (marzes) on buses, the youth were marking three years of Armenian president Serzh Sargsyan’s term in office and one year since their founding, but you wouldn’t know it if you asked them.

In the two weeks that have passed since I wrote the post above, there have been other events (most notably the disappointing HAK rally on March 1 and the recent clash between Heritage Party MPs, activists and police), but I won’t get into those. Needless to say, I’ve been feeling more and more hopeless about the situation in the country, which is only enforced through conversations with friends and colleagues and what I hear and read in the news and on blogs that I trust.

As one Facebook user wrote: could someone please tell me some good news?

Moving soon?

2011-02-02T22:26:00.005+04:00

Words I received today from my favorite psychic, my friend's mom (and also a friend) who lives and works on Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada:

"I glanced at this new photo of you and had to email you to tell you the feeling I got. You are wiped out, arent you? And I also feel a move for you and your love soon to a French-speaking community. You will be abundant, happy and peaceful."

Wow. Who knows what tomorrow will bring, eh?

What to do when the lights go out

2011-01-28T00:44:00.006+04:00

So I came home from work, walked in the apartment, and switched on the lights (as I usually do). And what happened? Nothing. Yes, nothing. No lights, no electricity, no humming sound from the fridge. Oh oh, what did I do? Quietly backing out and closing the front door, I rang the doorbell of my next door neighbor.

Me: “Um, my lights don’t turn on, do you have electricity by any chance?” (Thinking the electricity’s off in the whole building perhaps, but asking a stupid question as I can clearly see the lights are on in her apartment.)

Lovely neighbor that she is, Gayane helps me troubleshoot the situation. After a few questions, she gets to the kicker:

Gayane: “Do you have any outstanding payments on your electricity bill?”

Oh oh (I think again). But I don’t understand: this month, I went to pay the bill (albeit on the 25th of the month and I now understand you should pay before the 23rd of the month) and found it atrociously high. Upon closer inspection, I noticed I had an unpaid amount of over 12,000 drams from the month before. But how can that be? I have diligently paid my bill every month (before the 15th, might I add) and always in full. Where did this outstanding credit come from?

I’m sorry to disappoint you, dear readers, but I still haven’t found the answer to my last question. What I did find out was all you need to restore the electricity is call the electrician guy who shut off your power personally (yes, on his cell phone) — well, that, and pay your bill in full.

Lucky for me, Gayane is the unofficial superintendent of the building (most likely the building’s oldest resident) and had Misho’s number (the guy who shut off the power — yes, apparently, it is just one guy). I am encouraged to plead with him to turn on the electricity tonight by saying it’s the only way I can heat the apartment (true) and do the many other mundane things one does in one’s apartment (cook food, store food in the fridge, read a book by lamplight ;) — but all minor compared to the heating issue (remember, this is winter). Then I’m encouraged to tell him it’ll be worth his while (i.e. slip a couple 1,000 drams to him, off the record, or as Gayane said, հայավարի ;). However, before I can get into all that, Misho advises me to go pay the amount using the automatic teller machines around the city (it’s about 7:15 pm at this point and no banks are open) and then take the receipt to the office (oddly enough, open at this hour but closing at 8 pm so I should hurry) and basically show them that I paid and plead with them to turn on my electricity tonight (keep in mind tomorrow is a non-working day because of “Army Day” and then it’s the weekend…).

Gayane advises me to call my girlfriend.

I do, she comes. We rush to VivaCell on Northern Ave. (open 24 hours) thinking I can pay the direct amount instead of rounding up the figure which I would have to do with the machine, only to find a long line-up. I give up, but not before running into a fellow repat (also named Adrineh incidentally!) who’s happy she ran into me prior to leaving the country this Sunday. No time to chat, I say (I’m so cruel), and she comes with us part of the way, as we go make a payment at a machine.

All this time, my girlfriend is telling me to calm down. I love that she’s so level-headed, because really, one night without electricity isn’t going to kill us. Besides, we could always just go over to her place ;)

So payment made, receipt in hand, girlfriend by my side, we weave our way through the streets to said office, which we enter to find three men casually hanging out with a TV in a fluorescent-lit room. They smile at us. One guy says he was expecting us at twenty to eight. I told him the guy (Misho) told us you close at eight so we should just be there before eight. I apologize profusely, explain the situation, say it would be so super-duper amazing (well not in those words) if they could turn on the lights today. I show them the receipt(s). They confirm payment has been made in full. They pull our legs a bit for kicks (one even asked if we came by bike — I’m not creeped out, I figure he knows I’m the cyclist in the building), then say let’s go. We pile into their (of course) white Lada and drive the 5 mins to my apartment. We get in the foyer; they unlock the huge padlock to the box with all the circuits for all the apartments in the building. Stick some wires together and voila! Ask me to go upstairs to make sure it’s all on. I do, it is.

I go downstairs to let them out. Girlfriend asks if I brought money. Oh. I do have money on hand, but didn’t realize this situation called for it and besides, how much do you give? Instead, as girlfriend and I are walking the boys to their car, I offer them a box of chocolates which I say I brought from Canada (true, though you could probably find something similar here ;). They decline, say no, it’s not like that. Then GF and I simultaneously ask how else can we repay them. And they shake their heads, get in their car and drive away.

I am surprised, but now feel like I am in debt. Girlfriend says, get used to it. Welcome to Armenia.

P.S. Girlfriend also says what might’ve scared them is (a) my being Diasporan and (b) more likely, finding out I work in news media. They did say, make sure you write about how the guys from the electricity office do nice things like this too sometimes, they’re not always the bad guys, why does the media always write bad stuff about them? I think GF might be right, but I still feel like I owe them.

Thanks, electricity guys! First they cut off your electricity, then they restore it. Magic ;)

(Reminds me of a post by Lara jan in which she writes about having her doctor's personal cell phone number — unheard of in Canada.)

What Happens When You Can't Go Back?

2011-01-18T01:04:00.001+04:00

What happens when you can't go back? Not because you physically can't go back, but because you're no longer able to adapt, to that pace, to that lifestyle that is North America. What do you do then?
(some thoughts after meeting with a fellow repat and strolling the streets of Yerevan)

Being the Bridge Connecting Armenia to the Diaspora & Vice-Versa

2011-01-15T23:33:00.000+04:00

Probably the hardest thing I find about living in Armenia is being The Bridge. The Bridge between Armenians living in Armenia and those in the Diaspora (interestingly, this feeling of being a bridge doesn’t arise in quite the same way with non-Armenians).

Having just returned from a few weeks visiting family in Toronto, I feel like I have to make time to visit various family members in my first week back. Honestly, I haven’t had a day off from family (and family drama). The expectation of news from abroad and most likely gifts and — ideally — money. I am an unofficial Fed Ex employee, Western Union agent, and carrier pigeon all rolled into one. None of these are roles I particularly enjoy or wished for myself. But, alas, it comes with being Armenian and visiting the homeland (more so if you have family in Armenia).

I have spent the better part of my week back meeting with family and sharing details of family in Toronto. How can I explain to someone who’s never lived or even been abroad how life is not only difficult in Yerevan, but elsewhere too? How it’s colder in Toronto, takes 1–2 hours to get around (especially in traffic) and the sheer volume and variety of products in stores is enough to make your head spin (not in a good way). How it’s not what you imagine it to be, though I understand how life in Yerevan is not perfect either.

Being in Toronto makes me miss Yerevan and being in Yerevan makes me long for the smooth sidewalks and roadways of Toronto, government agencies that function and the availability of eggs (and other items) in stores year round.

But who to tell about the wonderful Yerevan weather (more sun and always much, much warmer than Toronto), the 10 minutes it takes to get around town (and, if you choose to, you can even walk or bike it), and the people who call you ջան (jan) only a minute after meeting you and who make you feel like you’re family.

The important thing I’ve realized is to appreciate the beauty and make the most of wherever you happen to be. The other important thing I’ve realized is though I understand and empathize with my family in Toronto and my family in Yerevan, I find it difficult to explain the experiences and viewpoint of the other to them. Too often I take on the burden of explaining, but no avail. In the end, the only thing I achieve is burn out.

Have you experienced this feeling of being a bridge between two cultures or two communities? If so, how do you deal with the issue? Do you manage or do you feel burned out (like I do)?

It’s Cold... But Not in Yerevan

2010-12-19T20:51:00.001+04:00

It’s cold in Toronto and not just physically or literally. People are cold. I want to knock on my chest like Julia Roberts in Eat, Pray, Love and say “Empty!” it’s empty in here, there’s no life here. I am reminded of a blog post I wrote two years ago when I came to Armenia in the summer of 2008, when I met my partner and a whole host of amazing women, and when I decided to try to make the move to live here. I wrote “There is so much life here.” And coming back to Toronto has reminded me why I decided to move thousands of miles across the ocean to another country, not just to be with my partner, but to experience life, with all its hardships and joy.

I am surprised by the level of consumerism in Toronto, how much it permeates people’s lives. I walk down Queen St. West and the word that comes to mind is “hipster.” But Queen St. West has always been hipster, so why should I be surprised? I assume it’s because I’ve been away so long, because I’ve been living another life, a different life, and I am surprised at how much consumer culture defines Toronto.

I ride the subway, overhearing conversations that seem so superficial to me. Maybe it’s because it’s the subway and people don’t want to get into intimate conversations, even with those they love and are close to. But even though couples hold hands and stand close and are comfortable enough on the subway to lock lips for periods of a time, I don’t hear the love. Conversations between friends about the latest gadget or comparing different products, where to get something for the best price really depressed me. Is this what Toronto is? Or is it what it seems to me, being here for a little over two days?

Again, I am reminded of Eat, Pray, Love (not that I thought it was a great film; it’s just the references it brings up): what is the word that describes Toronto? I toy with money, business, grey, cold, lacklustre (another word for grey?). None of the words paints a positive picture of a city that is supposedly the “most multicultural city in the world” and that is the engine that runs the country (i.e. financially).

The roads are so wide, the cars so big, the dizziness too much. I can’t help but feel as if I’m looking at this city through the eyes of someone else. Someone who never lived here, who came here from Europe (“Oh! Un vrai camion américain!” as one French-speaking European once said during his first visit to North America, when I picked him up from the airport and drove him on a highway that he described as being straight from Hollywood films), or from a smaller country such as Armenia.

But I have lived here and if I dig deeper, I will find that the city has never changed, it is what it has always been, it is I who has changed. Or maybe it’s a bit of both?

I was so excited to come back, to taste food that I have missed, the cultural diversity of this city which is one of its best assets. And yet I find the food tasted so much better in my memory than it does in real life and I see the change in my family’s diet, how my mom eats chicken now and avoids all carbs. The way the dishes are prepared with the addition of processed foods, something she swore off years ago and still mostly avoids. But it’s easier you see and adds flavor, she says, and I realize that my palette and hers have become very different. An analogy of our lives.

Artifical. Perhaps another word to describe this city. Superficial — somehow related. Stuck. Speaking to friends and former co-workers over these past two days, I’ve realized the number of people who confess to feeling stuck, the number of people who have decided to make Toronto their home not because they love the city, but because it has opportunities (financial, career-wise). Because they need to be here, not because they want to.

The majority of people I’ve spoken to have confessed to this, have complained about things getting worse in the city, in the country, so much so that it starts to sound familiar. This, however, being only a handful of friends and acquaintances and by no means a conclusive assessment. However, between observing people on public transport and speaking to friends and family, I have been left with a feeling of sadness, of feeling stuck and obsessed with buying all those things that I don’t need but want just to surround (protect?) myself with my “mountains o’ things” (don’t you just love Tracy Chapman?).

And I can see why people go mad. It is insane to live in Toronto. It is insane to live this life, to constantly be chugging ahead, not knowing why you’re going so fast, where you’re even going exactly and why you have to keep moving with the current. You think you’re doing the best thing for you and your family. You think you need this. But the more you move ahead, the faster you go, the more you realize you need more. That what you thought would be enough is not enough. And in the center of it all is this wide, gaping hole of emptiness.

And I am reminded again of my blog post two years ago. What had affected me so deeply in the three weeks I was in Yerevan, the bug that I caught that I have seen so many others catch too, those who decide to move to Armenia: There is life here. Yes, I complain, yes, there is so much that doesn’t work (չի ստացվում :), yes, there is discontent. But we have each other. All of us are in the same boat. None of us (among my friends and my family anyway) are better off than anyone else. We’re not running to the stores to spend all our money on useless things because we don’t have money and there aren’t really THAT many things to buy (well, of course, now there are, but in no way can you compare the small shops of Yerevan to the megastores and shopping malls of North America).

Yes, we want lots of things that we don’t have. But we are not empty inside. I have met some of the most amazing people in my life in Armenia (and I know I’ve said this before). I realized long ago that people are more important that products, that making meaningful connections with another human being(s) is more important than making a connection with your computer or your job, that living life to the fullest means never feeling “stuck,” but feeling passion, what it means to be alive.

I don’t want to delude myself, or you, dear reader: I’m sure there are people who feel stuck in Yerevan, just as there are people who feel alive in Toronto. This cannot be a generalization of two cities. But it is a generalization of experiences, at least my experiences, and maybe my outlook on life. I don’t know if I’ll live in Yerevan forever (in fact, I have dreams of travelling to other places, of living briefly in other cities, in other countries), but I don’t want to live in Toronto forever either. It’s a familiar city, where I grew up, where I lived most of my life — but it’s not my city. I don’t know where I’ll be five, ten years from now, but wherever that may be, I will make sure to remember to live life to the fullest, to at least try not to feel “stuck,” to see the beauty wherever I am.

“Whatever [or wherever, I'd add] you are, be a good one” is the name of my friend Arpik’s blog. A fitting line, I think, on which to end this post.

P.S. I’ve been wanting to change the name of this blog for quite some time now. Yesterday, the phrase “Here is Life” came to me. What do you think, is it too vague for the title of this blog? I like the line, but think perhaps the blog should include “Armenia” or “Armenian” somewhere in the title since it is who I am and where I live. What do you think?

Is Living in Armenia Financially Sustainable?

2010-11-17T10:25:00.001+04:00

Lately, I’ve had doubts. Doubts about living here, surviving here, settling here. For let’s be honest, I’m still not quite settled. I remember the big question I had before I made the move to live here: is it sustainable? By sustainable, I don’t mean is it environmentally or ecologically sound to live in Armenia; I mean, can one live and work in Armenia without any outside support (financial or otherwise). Are the resources inside the country sufficient to make a decent living?

To elaborate further: I know that those who have savings and investments built up from a life abroad, those who work for international agencies in Armenia where the money comes from outside the country and those who’ve established businesses in Armenia, but their sole (if not the majority of their) earnings come from clients outside the country — all these groups of people can live in Armenia quite comfortably, but it doesn’t solve the equation: the money is still coming from outside.

The more I’ve looked into this issue, the more depressed I’ve become. Because, if only by surveying the many, many others I know who live and work here, I’ve come to the conclusion that no, living in Armenia is not sustainable.

And that’s what’s gotten me depressed over the past few days.

Conversations with friends and acquaintances have also made me realize that I’m not alone. Perhaps it’s the changing of the seasons, the first signs of winter in the air that’s getting us down. But I think it has to do with more than that.

For instance, a good friend of mine Artur recently published a post on his personal blog that resounded with me: he, a young man in his thirties, married with 2 kids, is finding it more and more difficult to justify staying in Armenia. He works hard (he knows he does — and I know he does too!), he has a fairly good job working in media and he’s quite active online and in the journalistic community. He has offered and attended many trainings and continues to improve his skills/trade/craft by being involved in new projects and continuing his education (in a broad sense).

He is a professional in his field.

And yet he sees no hope in this country. Or, more specifically, he sees no future for his children. To be honest, Artur blogs a lot about local politics and events and, working in news media myself, I too follow the numerous opposition rallies, the struggles for freedom of the press, Armenia’s relationships with its neighbors, the Azerbaijani film festival in Yerevan that seems as if it might never happen, the latest racist remark that either Sargsyan or Ter-Petrossian and his supporters made. I too see no true alternative voice in politics, which really only adds to the bleak picture.

Because as much as I am frustrated at how much importance Armenian citizens put on good government, I understand the need to have good, honest, educated people running the country.

In an earlier post, I had been critical of this and said it was a “leftover Soviet mentality,” and I still think that’s partly true. I argued that revolution never came from top-down: one only needs to examine countless other countries’ histories to know that revolution comes from the people. But I also understand what change — much needed change — could come from having good government in Armenia. And until one sees even a glimmer of hope in this issue, the situation in the country paints quite a depressing picture indeed.

But back to my original point: sustainability. I still don’t see it and even if an ideal government were to be established in Armenia tomorrow, I think that it would take a long time for the country to stand up on its feet and for its citizens to be truly independent.

If only because I like to end on a positive note (!), if there’s any “glimmer of hope” that I see in this country it’s the people. I have met such talented, amazing people while living here that if it were not for them, a lot of the change (even if it’s a drop in the ocean) wouldn’t be happening and the hope that some of us keep would be non-existent. People like Artur, and the countless others whose presence does give me the hope that maybe, just maybe, change will come sooner rather than later.

P.S. I would just like to add shout-outs to fellow blogger Lori, who I met for the first time yesterday, and Kirstin, working in Armenia on contract, who I also met yesterday. Learning that there are people who I don’t know who follow my blog, and knowing what I throw into cyberspace is actually received by someone somewhere, really made my day. Thanks, guys ;)

Ode to Yerevan Nights

2010-11-07T11:39:00.001+04:00

I had forgotten. I had forgotten how this city changes at night. How the expression “as different as night and day” takes on new meaning in the Armenian capital. And I have missed it. Oh, how I have missed you, dear Yerevan night.

Walking the streets of this city at night, you see the queers, the foreigners, the misfits. If you never went out at night, you would think that Yerevan is “proper” Armenian girls, young boys laughing in groups, schoolchildren, and older women buying produce, while older men talk politics. During the day, you see the mountains in the distance, parents taking their children to ride 200-dram toys in the square, men in groups in dark-colored clothing talking politics in the park.

In the early evening, you see young pregnant couples strolling the streets, people — young and old — sitting at outdoor cafes (until it gets too cold and the cafes move indoors), young men with fast, flashy cars and gaggles of girls dressed up to go out for the evening.

But it is a night — even better, late at night —, when the “proper” Armenian girls have gone home (after all, they’re not allowed to stay out past midnight), when the young men with their flashy cars have possibly retired for the evening, and when families are fast asleep, that Yerevan wakes up and shows you the possibilities of what this city can be.

I hear more languages at night than I do during the day. I see people I didn’t know live here, doing things I didn’t know people in Yerevan do. I see all manners of people being accepted because the night is different: it allows for certain freedoms (most likely aided by certain amounts of alcohol) that would simply be frowned upon during the day.

Of course, it’s not all rose-coloured glasses: the stereotypes and the conservative opinions are still there, but I suppose they’re not felt as much, or perhaps they simply lose their potency at night.

And I guess I can understand why the foreigners and the diasporan Armenians here on volunteer stints go out at night, crawling the bars, drinking more than they did back home and becoming all manner of silly. It’s their small dose of freedom in a society they haven’t fit into yet (and perhaps never will in the short time they’re here) and it’s a bit of the familiar, surrounded by their diasporan and foreign friends, speaking English and making their foreign-ness known more loudly than they would allow themselves during the day.

And though this might read like I’m painting a negative picture of foreigners and diasporan Armenians in Yerevan (of which I am one), it’s not. I had missed being out in Yerevan at night because I had been too busy working, conforming, living my daytime life, and seeing friends in the early evening in intimate settings, before retiring to bed with my partner (who, by the way, works more than I do!).

This might sound odd, but Yerevan at night reminded me I’m queer. And that I love my queer brothers and sisters. In the past couple of nights, I met many more new misfits and came to the following revelation:

The ratio of queers to straights in Yerevan is probably higher than in Toronto, and maybe even London and New York.

You might find this hard to believe, but trust me: just come to Yerevan. And go out at night. Yerevan is a small city compared to many other capital cities around the world, but it has an infinite amount of possibilities.

For all the stresses of the day, the anger over the nationalism and xenophobia that exists when someone tries to organize an Azerbaijani film festival in Yerevan, the fact that in the Nagorno Karabakh “frozen conflict” there are still dead bodies and prisoners of war, that the price of natural gas to heat homes and food has gone up and now the price of local cheese, and the lack of any proper or legitimate government, it is the night that saved me.

Yerevan at night reminded me why I love this city and its people, and brought to mind this quote:

“With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.”

Hatred and Xenophobia is Alive and Well

2010-10-25T19:58:00.006+05:00

Poster for the event

A Facebook event page on a film festival in Yerevan has sparked hateful and nationalist comments since it was created a few days ago. Why? Simply because the festival will showcase films by Azerbaijani filmmakers.

Though the event page on Facebook seemed to have been created by Armenian writer and LGBT activist Lusine Vayachyan, the actual event is organized by the Yerevan-based Caucasus Center for Peace-Making Initiatives NGO, with the support of the US Embassy in Armenia. As of this writing, the event FB page shows that it was created by Georgi Vanyan, the president of CCPI.

In fact, Vanyan has since added a note to the event, which also appears on Vayachyan’s wall as well as his own wall, asking individuals who have concerns or complaints regarding the festival to direct them to him: “Each individual concerned about the festival, please leave writer Lusine Vayachyan alone. Lusine simply spread the news about the festival.”

“The festival is organized by Caucasus Center for Peace-Making Initiatives NGO, of which I am the president, and naturally, the person responsible for the festival. Please, step_ccpmi@yahoo.com,” he adds, leaving the email address where to send queries and comments.

Though of course that hasn’t stopped FB users from only adding hateful, discriminatory, nationalist and xenophobic comments on the page — though now not directed at Lusine, but focusing on the nature of the event itself.

As of this writing, one FB user by the name of Sasun Sasunian has added a photograph showing the Armenian flag being burned, as well as a couple of illustrations with the words “I love Azerbaijan” and “F*** you Armenia.” In one image, a child wearing the Azerbaijani flag is shown peeing on the Armenian flag, apparently equating the organizing of a festival to expressing anti-Armenian sentiments.

Of course, he’s not the only one. There’s HoVo Aghajanyan (and really, how do we know these are their real names?) who has posted the link of another FB event on this event page: this time for a protest to take place on the same time and place as the festival of Azerbaijani films. The counter-event seems to have been created by Hrachya Barkhudaryan and already has 178 people attending.

The comments are almost exclusively in Armenian, and of course there are some people thankfully who have other views. These comments mainly seem to try to reach out to people through "Christian values" and humanity, asking users to stop spreading hate. Some comments state that organizing a festival screening of Azerbaijani films or comments which support such an event shouldn't be equated with being "anti-Armenian" or being a "traitor."

Responses to such comments have included accusations of being Azerbaijani, being traitors to the Armenian people and so on, with each additional comment receiving support by another commenter, inciting more hatred and almost camaraderie by fellow racists.

I don’t know what else to say at this point except “disgusting.” Absolutely, wholly, almost-to-the-point-of-ridiculous-if-these-views-weren’t-so-very-deeply-and-unfortunately-sincerely-held-by-these-young-Armenian-nationalist-men-and-women disgusting.

For those who are interested in reading and perhaps responding to the comments (in Armenian), the Facebook event page can be found here: http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=118393321556010

On Beauty Contests and Violence Against Women

2010-10-09T11:13:00.002+05:00

Armenia’s Ministry of Diaspora organizes a beauty contest for local and Diasporan Armenian women, while another woman suffers abuse at the hands of her husband and mother-in-law.

"As you are already informed, on October 1, 2010 in Masis town a shocking murder was committed. A 20 year old Zaruhi Petrosyan was killed by her husband and mother in law as a result of torture and physical violence,” reads an open letter by local NGO Society Without Violence.

The case, covered by local news agency News.am, is getting little attention in other media. The latest news is that Zaruhi’s husband, Yanis Sarkisovi, has been detained and charged with “causing severe bodily harm.” This is as much as has been reported so far. A video on YouTube (in Armenian with English subtitled) in which two women close to Zaruhi talk candidly on camera about the incidents before her death can be viewed here.

"Petrosyan’s case, while unique by the fact that her family has spoken publicly about her ordeal, is common. Over a quarter of women in Armenia are said to have been hit by a family member, yet authorities failed to prevent, investigate and punish violence against women, according to a 2009 Amnesty International Report,” writes Liana Aghajanian in an article on domestic violence in Armenia Ianyan.

Meanwhile, the country’s diaspora ministry organizes a beauty contest in which contestants are expected to have 'mastered' the Armenian language, to be familiar with Armenian cuisine (including how to cook Armenian food), and to top it off, to "preserve the image of an Armenian woman."

When asked what exactly defines “the image of an Armenian woman,” the minister responded by saying, "To tell you the truth, I don't accept filthy, ill-mannered girls." According to her, a woman must be "modest." (Epress.am, Oct. 8, 2010)

Furthermore, she goes on to say that though she understands there are other many other examples of women around the world, the “traditional Armenian woman” is different: she is a good mother, a good daughter, a good wife (apparently in that order).

And then we wonder why gender stereotypes prevail in our country and why women continue to be abused at the hands of men. When notions of “man” and “woman” get defined and confirmed by government officials, why are we surprised when violence — physical, emotional, financial — prevails in society?

When are we going to say enough is enough?

Namaste, or More Culturally Appropriate and Locally Relevant, Peace

2010-09-28T23:26:00.007+05:00

Photo: Wikimedia Commons

It’s been a few weeks since I got out of my routine of going to yoga classes (mainly because of my work schedule), so I decided to get back into my routine by starting with the beginner’s class today. I’ve been to this class many times and can probabaly consider myself no longer a beginner, but I thought just to be on the safe side, I should ease my body back into doing yoga poses with an easy class.

And so, while I’m sitting there on the mat with my legs crossed, I realize I am looking up at my yoga teacher and listening attently, hanging on to her every word, much like I imagine Levon Ter-Petrosyan’s supporters do when they listen to him talk at an Armenian National Congress rally. And this of course reminded me of my recent post and I thought, “My yoga teacher is my god” (sacrilegious, I know, not to mention perhaps offensive to supporters of Ter-Petrosyan, or really any other “political force”).

Because I would rather have my yoga teacher running the country (if she so decided to do so) than a man who’s already had his run of politics. (And please don’t think for a minute that I support Sargsyan — or Kocharian, for that matter.)

Think of it: her words are guided by no other motive other than to have you feel your body, to listen to your body and do only what’s good for it. She speaks of releasing tension and living in a state of calm and gratitude.

She is herself the embodiment of calm.

Words such as conflict, territorial integrity and elections never leave her mouth (well, at least not in yoga class). She greets the students with a smile and ends with a bow, in an unassuming seated position, palms together and with that word of all words, “Namaste.”

Now when was the last time you heard an opposition leader or government official say that?

The "Dream Team" that Stole Armenia's Self-Rule

2010-09-24T21:15:00.001+05:00

I hope The Armenian Observer (Ditord) won't mind, but I'm reposting a blog post of his which quite nicely follows my earlier post. You have to see the original post, if only because of the amazing photo series he chose to go with the post. Wonderful.

Here it is, in full, below:

"Armenia’s past and incumbent presidents – Levon Ter-Petrossian, Robert Kocharian and Serzh Sargsian, couldn’t force themselves to come together and celebrate the country’s Independence Day on September 21th.

"September 22 marks another anniversary. 14 years ago today Armenia turned back from the path of self-rule and democratization as a result of flawed Presidential elections in 1996. Levon Ter-Petrossian relied on use of force against opposition protesters to hold his grip on power.

"The three of them had much better relations back then.

"Robert Kocharian was the tame President of Nagorno-Karabakh Republic, who would use every occasion to congratulate and speak highly of Ter-Petrossian.

"Serzh Sargsian was the Minister of Interior and National Security, one of the key officials who helped Ter-Petrossian fabricate his victory over main opposition candidate Vazgen Manukyan and keep it too, relying on police and security service forces. Similar tactics were used by Sargsian and Kocharian to claim victory in 2008 presidential elections and break-up the rally of Ter-Petrossian supporters during the March 1 violence in the streets of capital Yerevan.

"Ter-Petrossian and Robert Kocharian can’t stand each other and have reacted fiercely to each other's critical public statements since 1998, when Kocharian ousted incumbent Ter-Petrossian and became president.

"In recent months there are also speculations about worsening relations between long time allies – Serzh Sargsian and Robert Kocharian.

"One thing they have in common, however, is their determination to take the power away from the people of Armenia as much as possible. That’s where they have been and will remain a ‘dream team’ and that’s what the biggest tragedy of this country is.

PS: Check out this Washington Post editorial which appeared in the wake of the fraudulent presidential election that was held in Armenia 14 years ago today and proved fatal for the country’s post-Soviet history.

Is Revolution in Armenia from the Top Down?

2010-09-19T11:57:00.017+05:00

On Sept. 17, the Armenian National Congress (the acronym in Armenian is HAK) held a rally in front of the Matenadaran (Mashtots Institute of Ancient Manuscripts). The “Congress,” as it’s sometimes abbreviated to in Armenian, is an opposition group and not an actual political party. The leader of the group, Levon Ter-Petrosyan (alternative spelling: Ter-Petrosian or Ter-Petrossian) was the first president of the independent Republic of Armenia (after the collapse of the Soviet Union) and then he was re-elected again in 1996, resigning in 1998.

Many of my friends and people I respect believe that if Ter-Petrosyan were president (again), things would change. But I’m a bit more skeptical: I mean, he had his chance. This isn’t some unknown individual we’re talking about. It’s a man who was elected president, not once, but twice. Why do you think a third term would change anything?

Photo: courtesy of Armenian National Congress website

The other thing that brings out the skeptic in me is how Ter-Petrosyan has achieved almost god-like status. He is revered like a saviour, a man who will bring the country out of the many messes that it’s in. He is seen to be a man of the people, but yet, I wonder: was that the case when he was president? I doubt it.

I want to say, listen, we all want change. Many, many people are unhappy with how the current government is running things. Yes, there are people still imprisoned for their views, yes, there’s corruption, yes, there’s poverty... but why are you so sure that if Levon Ter-Petrosyan is president, things will change, or at least get better?

I want to say, listen, I want a revolution too. But in the course of world history, when did revolution ever happen from the top down, from the government? Revolution comes from the people. It is grassroots-based. There are many examples in history to prove this and in other countries that have been worse off than Armenia.

I was talking with a good friend yesterday and she confirmed what I had suspected: it’s a Soviet mentality. The belief, the expectation that the state will take care of you. That things will only change (and get better) if you have good government. Someone in power who will make it all happen for you. But why would you think that a single (and in this case, I can use the accurate term here) Caucasian man make it all better?

I believe in the power of the people, not power attributed to a single individual (whether that be a man or a woman, Caucasian or not), but to a group, a collective. I didn’t grow up in a Soviet country. Sure, I had it easy: Canada has a well-developed (what some call) socialist system. To a certain extent, it can take care of its citizens. However, there were (and still are) things that need to change, need to get better. I have participated in those rallies, I have seen how the facade of the state easily breaks down, I have struggled for change. I don’t want to compare what “struggles” I’ve had or participated in Canada with the struggles here in Armenia, but the point I want to make is wanting change, wanting revolution is nothing new, and not exclusive to Armenia. The difference is in many other places and reviewing the histories of many other countries, change didn’t come from change in government (which Ter-Petrosyan and his followers are calling for).

Change comes with revolution and revolution comes from the people.

I’ve just started reading Thomas de Waal’s Black Garden. It’s interesting to read what transpired 10, 14, 16 years ago and trace the history to understand how we got here. (And this through the eyes of an “outsider,” someone who’s neither Armenian, Azerbaijani or Turkish.) Highly recommended reading for our times and for better understanding the South Caucasus. It’s also interesting, though perhaps not surprising, that the same players are involved: I’m reading the names of the same politicians who are still around today, in some form or another. Does nothing ever change?

What do you think? If you follow Armenian politics, do you support Ter-Petrosyan, Serzh Sargsyan, some other politician or no one? What do you think needs to happen for the situation in Armenia to improve?

In Yerevan, it’s dangerous to get used to the quiet

2010-09-10T20:20:00.020+05:00

Photo: Wikimedia Commons

My apartment is my sanctuary. Every day, I come home from work, tired from cycling and stressed from the sort of the day that only come if you work at a news agency. I realize how much I crave that moment: that moment of stepping into my place, quiet and serene, where I can remove — both the physical and metaphorical — layers of the work day I carry with me, jump into the shower and de-compress.

Perhaps it’s not so much the nature of the work that I find stressful (which, of course, it can be), but the environment in which I work.

I work in a rented unit that’s part of a large apartment complex in a busy part of Yerevan. By large, I don’t so much mean that the building is tall, but that there are many buildings connected to each other overlooking a central space that can be considered primarily to be a parking lot. The room I work in has lots of windows which is great for natural light, but not so great when it comes to looking into your neighbors’ windows and hearing every single argument and noise coming not only from the neighboring units, but also from outside.

Every day, at least 2 or 3 children call for their mothers from the concrete square that though is mainly a parking lot, it’s also a children’s playing area, a spot for an impromptu game of backgammon between older unemployed men, and the spot from which watermelons are sold out of the trunk of a car as a man yells “Fine watermelons! 100 dram! Delicious watermelons!”

Come to think of it, I haven’t heard that man in a while, but over the span of a few days not too long ago, I heard the price of watermelon go down from 120 to 100 to 80 dram per kilo (don’t assume the price is the cost per watermelon — oh, no, it’s the cost per kilo) and my heart went out to the vendor and his business, competing with the low prices offered by supermarket chains.

Apart from children calling out to their mothers (why, by the way, is the intonation always the same so even when it’s a different kid “Mama!” sounds the same?) and women calling out to their husbands or brothers or, surprise, surprise, their children, I have the fortunate opportunity to hear the sound of a vacuum that comes on and off daily while I struggle to get that news piece online, or, say, find the best translation into English for a particular Armenian word.

At first, I thought that our neighbors followed the adage “cleanliness is next to godliness” and had a penchant for vacuuming EVERY DAY, but it turns out that’s not the case: rather, there’s a guy operating a car cleaning service out of a garage right below our window. And as if it’s not enough that I have to hear the sound of a vacuum every day (trust me, you can only imagine how lovely silence sounds after the vacuum is turned off), our dear friend likes to turn on the music from whatever car he’s cleaning at the time and entertain the neighbors with the latest Armenian rabiz hit song.

Despite the party soundtrack, I don’t have the urge to dance.

So you can imagine how, in comparison, my apartment feels like a sanctuary. And yet, in Yerevan, where one is inundated with sounds and smells at every turn, I think, it’s dangerous to get used to quiet.

And now, I sit here in my apartment with the window open, overlooking yet another residential courtyard (a hayat as it’s known), usually quiet, but today there are contractors working on adding another room to an apartment across the way and the sound of the circular saw is a reminder that no matter where you may be in Yerevan, you cannot separate yourself from its sights and sounds...

Hearing more than one, and different, stories

2010-09-06T21:04:00.000+05:00

Hearing novelist Chimamanda Adichie's TED talk about “The danger of a single story,” I was reminded of media reports on Armenia and Azerbaijan. Too often, we hear (and read) the same nationalist rhetoric that is conveyed to us by biased media coverage from both sides.

And it’s not just hearing one story, but hearing the same story that is dangerous. A friend of mine in Canada recently reminded me of local activist work, which seems to involve organizing the same events and highlighting the same causes, of course through the same Eurocentric, Western lens and I have to agree with her: it’s tiring to see people with good intentions doing what was already done before and not actually making any strides forward.

So how do we move forward?

Well, for one thing, we understand that no single story can define a nation, a culture, a sect or any other myriad of all those aspects of our identity. It is important to read, hear, watch many stories, and when we think we have a complete picture of that nation/culture/people, we watch, hear and read again, and again, and again. Because I don’t believe that’s possible to ever have a complete picture of a nation/culture/people.

That’s why I’m excited about the Eurasia Partnership Foundation’s unbiased e-media coverage in Armenia and Azerbaijan project. According to the EPF Armenia website, the project aims to contribute to accurate and unbiased reporting of the bilateral relationship between Armenia and Azerbaijan and the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict, especially in the online media and blogosphere.

As someone who works in online news media, I’m glad that more attention is being paid to this not-so-new field, and specifically in the area of unbiased media reporting between these two South Caucasus states.

Now here’s hoping the proposals they’ve received take into account reporting on more than one story... ;)

Being Queer and in Love in Yerevan...

2010-08-11T22:03:00.003+05:00

... so reads the title of a guest post by yours truly on Bekhsoos.com.

Bekhsoos.com is a queer Arab magazine published weekly by the amazing folks at Meem, "a community of lesbian, bisexual, queer & questioning women and transgender persons in Lebanon."

According to the website, Bekhsoos' "objective is to fill the gap of lesbian- and transgender-produced writing in the Arab world through articles, reports, investigations, personal stories, opinion pieces, and creative writing." The website publishes articles in Arabic and in English, and I even noticed a poem published recently in French.

Though I'd be hard-pressed to say that Armenia is part of the Arab world, I was asked to contribute a piece on what it means to be a queer woman living in Yerevan, Armenia, by a friend of mine, a fellow queer Armenian living in Beirut who happens to be working at Meem. I was — and still am — flattered to be asked and I hope they weren't too disappointed by the piece I submitted. Writing it gave me a chance to write from a personal perspective — something I find hard to do in public.

What about you? Do you find it difficult to be candid and personal in your writing when it appears in public? Or are you more comfortable writing your personal thoughts than presenting others' stories or reporting the goings-on around you?

Moving the conversation forward: Armenian-Azeri dialogue

2010-07-21T14:33:00.009+05:00

I just came across a new blog that I wanted to share with you. It's called "Global Chaos" and the name was enough to draw me in. Blogger Yelena (or Lena) Osipova's latest post is on "the other" — growing up in Armenia and being taught to hate "the other" (in this case, Azeris), a group of people whom Lena had never met but whom she had heard so much about.

This post was republished by EurasiaNet, which is how I found myself on Lena's blog. EurasiaNet published the post along with another article on the same topic: Scary Azeri's article "Sometime in my lifetime" originally published by Oneworld: The Caucasian Knot as part of their Overcoming Negative Stereotypes in the South Caucasus project (yay, Onnik!).

Apparently, another new article on the Armenian-Azerbaijani dialogue will appear on Oneworld soon: this one by one of my favourite journalists, Liana Aghajanian of the online magazine Ianyan. Look out for this and other stories on moving the conversation between Armenians and Azeris forward. Great work, everyone!

On taking risks

2010-07-01T16:18:00.001+05:00

Load the ship and set out. No one knows for certain whether the vessel will sink or reach the harbor. Cautious people say, "I'll do nothing until I can be sure." Merchants know better. If you do nothing, you lose. Don't be one of those merchants who won't risk the ocean.

- Rumi

(Thank you to a good friend of mine who reminded me of Rumi with this post of hers.)

A queer woman’s take on living in the Caucasus (or at least Yerevan)

2010-06-25T13:54:00.008+05:00

I live with my partner. In Yerevan. That might sound exceptional to some, but that’s just the way it is. We sometimes hold hands in public (especially if we’re rushing across the street in oncoming traffic). If we get any odd stares, it’s usually directed at my partner who gets odd stares anyway, even when she’s alone, from the way she looks. When we’re together, people ask her where she’s from, assuming I’m the one who’s from here and she must be from somewhere else.

Public displays of affection are limited, naturally, but then again you don’t see many heterosexual couples making out either. (I find that, in general, sex and sexuality — gay or straight — are taboo.)

When my partner goes to the doctor and he or she asks her if she’s having sex, she says no. Because we all know what is meant by that question: are you having heterosexual (a.k.a. penetrative) sex? Though I have yet to come across a doctor who clarifies the sex question. And it’s too bad really because how can you diagnose or treat someone if you’re not getting the full picture?

Actually, before asking the sex question, doctors often want to know your marital status: are you married? (And don’t think for a moment that this question might mean are you married to your same-sex partner.) As if from your response the doctor can assume that you’re having sex (ha!). But just to be sure, Doctor asks whether you’re sexually active after he or she has satisfactorily received a response to the marital status question. *sigh*

When we travelled in the region together, hotel and B&B staff assumed we were friends and so gave us a room with two separate single beds. But being an artist and a writer, we’re often inclined to be creative ;)

You should know that there’s no Pride Parade in Yerevan. [And no one I know has attempted to do what these activists did in Moscow this year. Though there was a symbolic gay wedding in Armenia a few years ago.] There are no rainbow flags on storefront windows proclaiming “Queer Dollars Welcome Here,” or banners advertising the next local queer event. There are no gay couples kissing in the street though I swear I’ve seen straight men more affectionate with each other in public than anywhere else I’ve lived. And unfortunately the odd gay man that might be depicted in a TV series is usually portrayed in a negative way.

There’s no law that specifically prohibits discrimination based on sexual orientation or gender identity, though thankfully there are a few NGOs that work with the LGBT community (in terms of support, advocacy, education, resources), as well as educating the mainstream public on what it means to be LGBT, explaining/educating on terminology and history, outlining human rights.

And of course, we are here. And there are many of us. Unfortunately, the ignorant views (often guided by religious beliefs and/or “family values”) makes it harder for us to come out and even threatens our safety.

Take for example British-based Armenian band VO.X who, in their latest video, label homosexuality a “perversion.” But, hey, they’re just expressing their personal opinion, right? Wrong. Even worse, VO.X has not only changed the settings on their video on YouTube so that comments are no longer allowed, but also added a description which says that this video is about Armenia ONLY (caps their’s) and the views and opinions expressed therein are “purely and subjectively Orthodox Christian and as such, within Armenia’s context, do not violate human rights.”

Are you kidding me?

I could go on and on about this topic, but others have already written extensively on it and so for more information, read blogger ArtMika’s post here, along with his follow-up post here, as well as Global Voices coverage here.

Armenia might have endorsed the UN statement against discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender identity in December 2008, but it doesn’t mean it has any laws that actually protect LGBT people from discrimination. [See this Wikipedia article on LGBT rights in Armenia that also includes a brief history... in case you’re ever confronted with the argument that it was Europe who “brought” the notion of same-sex relationships to Armenia — ha!]

The truth is, it’s not easy being queer anywhere. And yes, I agree that it’s especially not easy being queer in Armenia. But please don’t for a moment think that there aren’t any LGBT folks here, or that we can’t live our lives here like everyone else.

Life is full of contradictions. You don’t have to go far or look too hard to see the diversity that exists in the lives of those around you... even on these ancient lands.

Things I Love

2010-06-23T13:46:00.005+05:00

Photo from my personal collection.

Eating. Cooking. Traveling. Writing. Blogging. Now if only I could combine these ingredients into a recipe for paid employment ;) Yesterday, I watched Julie & Julia and became inspired. Today, a brief post to remind myself (and you, dear reader) that anything is possible. Now back to the hustle…

The many faces of nationalism and xenophobia

2010-06-07T14:53:00.003+05:00

I know there exists nationalist rigour in Armenia but I find it difficult hearing it on a personal level, on a one-on-one level and from people who I consider to be understanding, in general, and open-minded at best.

I very recently began volunteering with this great environmental NGO. I won’t go into the details here as this post is not about pointing fingers, but a wonderful, educated, and otherwise understanding man who’s been working at said NGO for over 12 years recently said some things that I, in my naïveté, was surprised to hear.

When talking about possible upcoming vacation time, I asked whether he’d be spending some time at Lake Sevan in Armenia or Batumi in Georgia (a popular tourist destination for Armenian citizens). He said he would rather die (or something to that effect) than give any of his money to Georgia and the Georgian people. He then went on to paint an essentialist picture of Georgians and how they only pursue their own interests, and that, at the expense of others. I was surprised because until then we’d been having a wonderful conversation about local and Diasporan Armenians and more interestingly on those Diasporan Armenians who repatriate to Armenia (case in point: me). I could understand his perspective and in general, I thought we understood each other. But on the topic of Georgia and the Georgians, he was quite firm and quite racist/xenophobic. And from there, our opinions diverged.

Then, yesterday I got a chance to meet a well-known Armenian sculptor. Another interesting conversation ensued, but more so on the topic of art and artists and we seemed to be in general agreement. And then, suddenly, he says how we (i.e. Armenians) forced the Turks who were living here (here? as in, in Armenia?) out and how towns and villages in Eastern Armenia had Turkish names (?). Now I don’t know about the facts of his statements, but the fervour in which they were spoken, the way he seemed so proud that we kicked out the Turks, really irked me. And yet, I didn’t find any way of saying anything otherwise since it would be his word against mine (read: older Armenian man born and raised in Armenia vs. young Diasporan Armenian who hasn’t lived in Armenia for a full year yet).

Incident number 3: a Facebook post by a friend of a friend who encourages Armenians outside of Armenia to return to Armenia, raise their kids here and not to intermarry with non-Armenians and produce children who, as he says, might be European or American. Um, hello? Do you live in this country? (He does.)

Look around you, my friend: quite a lot, and I repeat, A LOT, of local Armenians are not 100% Armenian by blood. Many are mixed, often Russian-Armenian. These type of statements only contribute to the false idea of “full-blood Armenians” which apparently are those who live in Armenia. Those outside of Armenia, be warned: you could have mixed-race or mixed-ethnicity children. Oddly enough, no one talks about that reality inside Armenia. Or about how this country has never been populated only by Armenians, and even today, there’s a sizeable Yezidi and Kurdish population (not to mention, the Iranian community, which has been growing in recent years).

And finally, another moment where I thought even in the best of intentions, even among those educated, open-minded groups of people that I fortunately have a chance to interact with regularly, there are age-old racist and xenophobic sentiments that may be hidden, but at any given moment can rise to the surface.

Case in point: Well-known journalist Onnik Krikorian who writes for Global Voices presented on “Social Media and Conflict Transformation on Armenia-Azerbaijan relations” at Bar Camp Yerevan yesterday. A nice refreshing change from the usual rhetoric when it comes to this touchy subject. However, during question and answer period, a couple of individuals stated that Azerbaijan should be the first to take a step (toward conflict resolution) and that it’s worse “over there” and what about all those lies the Azerbaijani media publish about Armenia? And with the snap of your fingers, we were once again confronted with age-old beliefs about the enemy and the “us vs. them” mentality.

Instead of pointing fingers, I say, instead of saying “they” should go first, why don’t you look at your own actions? You can only speak for yourself and only control your own actions, so this should be our point of departure. Otherwise, the conversation goes nowhere. These type of statements are road blocks: they don’t move the conversation forward, they only lead to dead ends.

Onnik spoke about his Azerbaijani friends, about cooperating with Azerbaijani journalists and activists and how Armenians have more in common with our neighbour than we might think. He also made special mention of Social Innovation Camp Caucasus, which I was lucky to have been a part of earlier this year.

Another Bar Camp participant, who also said she has Azerbaijani friends (Onnik, you seemed surprised ;) asked, how effective do you think this grassroots level of connecting one-on-one really is? Shouldn’t it be the governments’ (both Armenian and Azerbaijani) responsibility to initiate conflict resolution? To which Onnik brilliantly replied, “If you’re going to wait for governments to initiate change, you’re going to be waiting a long [and I add, long] time.”

I think it’s all about the grassroots level. It starts here. It starts now. With us. We don’t wait for governments, nor should I say NGOs. We start with each of us. Though I believe we should address the nationalism that’s touted by the media and by the state, I don’t think that’s where change happens or where we should start from. We start with you and I.

Stop the xenophobic comments against Georgians, Azerbaijanis, and Turks. Stop the generalizations and the essentialism. It doesn’t move the conversation forward. These are age-old beliefs and though, yes, history must be addressed, I agree with Onnik: we don’t start mending relations with our fellow Azerbaijanis by talking about Nagorno-Karabakh. Let’s talk about something else. And once we’ve found our common ground (because, trust me, we have a common ground), only then can we move on to tackling the tough issues.

Love and Fear

2010-05-25T13:09:00.004+05:00

Returning to Yerevan after a week in Amsterdam, I realize that it’s been nearly a month since my last post (I’m not too happy about that). Lately, I’ve felt somewhat removed from what was going on around me: I haven’t been catching up on local and international news (except to find out that ash clouds continue to impede people’s travel plans ;) and I haven’t been reading fellow bloggers’ posts and Twitter updates. I guess I’ve been focusing more on what’s going on inside than what has been happening outside in the world.

I’ve been revisiting memories by revisiting places I lived and people who I knew before I moved to Yerevan, and I’ve been listening to my heart, trying to tell her it’s okay to be afraid, but just don’t let the fears overtake you.

Seeing my ex who’s now a good friend reminded me of how I learned to love. How I opened up my heart in ways that I had never known it was possible to be before and how that has had a profound impact on my life since then. It’s also shown me where I was and where I am now.

I think it’s important to examine our past, but not to let it consume us in the present.

It’s important to know where you come from, how you arrived here.

My past provides guidance because it shows me the mistakes I made (and the ones I didn’t) and the choices I can make now to move in the direction I want to go. It provides the focus that I sometimes feel that I’m lacking, especially these days when I’m unemployed and trying not to let fears of this unfamiliar state consume me.

I’m trying to focus on what I love. “Where there is love, there is no question,” so reads a post on Tara Agacayak’s blog. I love Tara’s writing and this blog in particular, which inspires us to do what we love.

Where do you find your love? What about your fears? Is it possible to provide space for both in your life (without letting the fear overtake you)?

Introducing: Artists in Residence in Yerevan and Diplomacy at Work

2010-04-29T19:48:00.001+05:00

On April 24, instead of making the annual trek to Tsitsernakaberd Genocide Memorial in Yerevan as Armenians (especially Diasporan Armenians living in or visiting Yerevan on this day) are expected to do, I went to the opening of an art exhibit at my friend’s apartment. The artist, Linda K. Anderson, an older American woman who’d come to Yerevan by way of Sweden and then the Netherlands, was here for two months as an artist-in-residence through the Art and Cultural Studies Laboratory (ACSL).

However, due to unforeseen circumstances that involved a falling out with the ACSL Artistic Director, she ended up completing her work and arranging other accommodation outside of the residency program. I really admired her courage and initiative in taking what turned out to be a bad situation and making it work for her. She ended up completing the work she came here to do, but on her own terms.

Her work, called “Armenian Cave Paintings,” was exhibited in what she called “Gallery Shushan” (named after the woman, my friend, whose apartment she was staying and working in). The huge canvases (as well as a few small ones) were spread out throughout the apartment. Linda had made a blackberry crumble and prepared other hors d’oeuvres for the occasion and her son, David, had composed music for the event which was played throughout the evening. We had a chance to meet Linda’s family via Skype. All in all, it was a cozy atmosphere.

One friend, an art critic and contemporary art professor in Yerevan, recalled how the exhibit-in-an-apartment reminded him of Soviet times when institutions didn’t exist for art that wasn’t the socialist realism that was the main stay of the period and “nonconformist” artists would organize exhibits in their apartments. And though I have never lived in a Soviet country, I had a chance to experience what that might’ve been like, if only just for a moment.

The unforeseen events which resulted in this exhibit in a residential apartment and the feeling of being part of amazing moments that happen on the fringes are the same wheels in motion which resulted in meeting Asheer Akram, another artist from the US who — wait — is also here as an ACSL artist-in-residence.

Asheer was given my number from a mutual friend of ours who had called me to say that an artist from the US (Asheer) who was in Yerevan had his Macbook power adapter stolen from his luggage and could I please lend him my power cable so he could at least recharge his laptop till a new one arrived from the US? Of course I agreed.

But wait — stolen from his luggage? Yes. Apparently, Asheer, coming from another artist-in-residency program in Pakistan to Yerevan (by way of Dubai) had his plastic-wrapped luggage opened and checked by Armenian customs and the result: a missing Macbook power adapter and a carton of Pakistani cigarettes. Can you believe it? It’s quite possible that Armenian customs officers kept those items for “security” purposes with plans to sell the power adapter and most likely smoke the cigarettes themselves. I mean, really. Ouf!

Luckily, Asheer wasn’t missing anything else but buying a charger from the “Apple” store in Yerevan was out of the question: $200?! Yes, apparently what costs maybe $70-80 USD in the States costs $200 in Yerevan. I told Asheer: economies of scale (and perhaps the ability to get away with charging atrocious prices that no average Yerevan citizen could afford.)

Making Connections

My personal goal of “Making Connections” last year seems to have carried over into this year. With that in mind, I decided to introduce Asheer to Linda. I believe that artists should meet other artists. And you should always hear all sides of the story ;)

Informal, impromptu gatherings in Yerevan are part of what I love about being here. Not just among artists, but among diverse groups of individuals. And this, I find, happens on a regular basis.

Meetings between Armenian president Serzh Sargsyan, Azerbaijani president Ilham Aliyev and Russian president Dmitry Medvedev on settling the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict or any other number of local conflicts are nothing compared to the many informal trilateral and multilateral meetings that take place among locals, repats, expats and visitors.

The conversations and topics that are covered are truly diplomacy at work. We complain about local and regional issues [whether that be the art scene(s) or politics or a host of other issues], but respectfully. We understand that we’re all in this together. We understand the importance of community. Of living in this small, globalized world. Of respecting differences and history. And sometimes amazing things happen. Collaborations, connections, cooperation.

And though this blog post is about visiting artists, it very well could be about repats or expats or locals discussing issues they may not agree on or expressing their frustration at the state of affairs.

Yerevan’s just like that. To me, it’s still full of surprises, “coincidences,” random meetings, and making connections.

Magic.

A Correspondence Between Two Lebanese-Armenian Lesbians on the Armenian Genocide: Bekhsoos

2010-04-27T12:13:00.000+05:00

Queer Arab magazine Bekhsoos by the amazing folks at Meem, a group of lesbian, bisexual, queer and questioning women and transgender persons in Lebanon, published a correspondence between two queer Lebanese-Armenian women who talk about their identity and the Armenian Genocide.

Here it is, respectfully republished, below (thanks to Unzipped: Gay Armenia where I first found out about this correspondence).

P.S. I know Shant personally, albeit virtually, and apart from being a feminist and a warm, genuine person, she's also a great filmmaker and artist ;)

__________________________________

Dear Sarag,

When I first realized I was queer, it wasn’t anything shocking for me as I was always the minority of some other minority.

My first cause ever was the Armenian genocide and I held on to it like someone holds on to their dear life. The idea that another group wanted to erase something very essential in my being and eradicate it was enough for me to want to resist.

It’s not easy to know that someone wants you to no longer exist.

So when I look around now and I think of the homophobia and the people who want to eradicate us because for them we are a disease, it’s not something new. When I think of all the gendercide and how a lot of our societies break women and burry their existence in petty beliefs, it’s not something new.

I am a queer Armenian Lebanese woman; a half-breed to add to that and this is the essence of my survival. For 95 years our people have been screaming for justice and we will keep on shouting and screaming even when the dearest feminists shout back but who cars about this now? How is it relevant to our cause?

I want to tell you how relevant it is. It is relevant because it is my cause and I am a feminist and it’s a human cause.

It is relevant because its Darfur and Gaza, it is relevant because when we got here we were thrown in camps and orphanages and built our lives from rubbles, it is relevant because women were raped and killed and children sold, it is relevant because justice has not been restored. And you know, when justice is not restored the whole order of your world crumbles. You ask me why I still want them to utter words or recognition? Because I want to be in peace, I want to believe in the good order of the universe, I want to know that the good prevails that there is hope. This is why I fight as a feminist, this is why I fight as a queer, it is why I choose these battles where small victories fuel me with hope

and I think of bigger ones.

Imagine you had 5 more years, only five years to prove that you’ve been raped and beaten, your land stolen. You had five years and you show humanity proof and ask for justice to be made and you know that once those five years go by, humanity’s corrupt system will erase your trauma from its history and move on. You are silenced and mute and your rapist still wandering out there. What would you do? We have 5 more years and then it’s the centenary and after that according to international laws our cause is a lost one. Wonderful example to give to states like Israel, practicing apartheid.

Love,

Shant

___________________

Dear Shant,

You already know, I relate to everything said in your e-mail.

I have always been a part of a minority, ever since I was born.

As I discovered more and more about myself, I became a minority of a minority and it has always been a struggle.

A struggle mainly for my rights. For my rights as an Armenian living in Lebanon, as a Woman, and as a Queer.

A struggle for belonging.. I was born in Lebanon but let’s face it, do I really belong here? It doesn’t really feel like it since I have always been pointed out as The Armenian among the Lebanese. It doesn’t really feel like it since el 3arabeh taba3 el arman mkassar, since we have a different culture and different traditions.

The next question would be. Do I belong in Armenia? Here… This breaks my heart. I don’t even belong in Armenia, because I am only a tourist there. A tourist that doesn’t even speak the same language as the Armenians there.

I have heard so much about Armenians since I was in school by my teachers, my parents, and my grandmothers. I have heard so many stories about my own family, about my own grandfather and my great grandfather and grandmother.

What do I do with all that? Get over it? Let it go?

It’s impossible…

It has become a part of me. A part of my core being.

It is in the blood.

What I find messed up is how countries like The United States or the European union use the Genocide as some joker card against Turkey. They don’t care about the recognition, they hold on to that card so that they can have political stances and gains. The U.S. gets to have army bases and fly into Iraq from over Turkey and the E.U. uses it to stop Turkey from getting in its sphere. And our history relies on their twisted politics.

We fight every day for our rights as queers. We want justice, we want acknowledgement.

We get frustrated and irritated. We go insane when we hear about all the queers and transgendered people that have been murdered.

All this blood spilled… Who could really get over it? Who could really accept it in the first place?

Hate, denial of our existence and their desire to annihilate us…

It’s something none of us should shut up about.

The Armenian cause is so close to all the other causes we believe in and fight for.

You don’t have to necessarily be an Armenian to feel this… You just have to be human.

And there is a big difference between human and “human”.

Love,

Sarag

Social Innovation Camp Caucasus

2010-04-22T19:27:00.003+05:00

This 10-minute film on Social Innovation Camp Caucasus, which took place in Tbilisi, Georgia, from April 8 to 10, says it all: What an experience!

And for a more thorough article on Global Voices by Onnik Krikorian, click here.

Coincidences aren’t really coincidences.... or, Not really random encounters in Yerevan

2010-04-17T12:59:00.001+05:00

Since I’ve quit my job, I’ve found that I’m busier now than I was when I was working full-time, believe it or not. And that’s a good thing! I’ve had a chance to meet amazing, creative people doing amazing, creative things — and with such a passion for life! People I might not have crossed paths with if I was still working at my former job.

It all started with my trip to Tbilisi for an intense couple of days at Social Innovation Camp Caucasus (and I know I promised to write more on that; it’s just that there’s been so much else going on... I"ll try to get back on that topic later).

Oh, and the fun didn’t stop there.

Only a few days ago, I had the opportunity to meet with Alexis Ohanian, co-founder of Reddit.com, and Drew Curtis, founder of Fark.com, at a bar in Yerevan (and drinks were on them!).

Drew’s in town only for a few days (a little over a week, if I’m not mistaken), while Alexis has been in Yerevan for about 3 months now. He’s here as a Kiva Fellow; in fact, he left Reddit.com in October of last year, but, like me, it seems, leaving his job hasn’t made him idle; in fact, he seems to have his hands full with a host of other projects.

Apart from his first ever trip to Armenia (he’s half-Armenian, half-German, by the way) and working with Kiva, Alexis has also been working on an uncorporation (I love that term) he founded called BreadPig.com, which creates and sells geeky products, donating all profits to charity (according to Alexis’ bio on the Kiva Fellows page).

Not only that, he’s the guy behind TEDx Yerevan, an independently organized TED event to be held in Armenia on September 25, 2010. How cool is that? (and for the TED connection, you should check out his TED talk on “How to make a splash in social media,” where, with a touch of humour and a well-chosen example, he demonstrates the power of social media in just four minutes).

The day after meeting Alexis and Drew, who do I run into randomly on the street but Tony Bowden of MySociety.org? Tony’s originally from Belfast, Northern Ireland, but he currently lives in Tallinn, Estonia (Margit, you have to connect with him: he’s on CouchSurfing and he organizes CS events in Tallinn. And one of these days, I’ll come visit you both! :)

I had the chance to meet Tony, the world-traveller, in Tbilisi where he was presenting at the Social Media for Social Change conference (happening in the same venue and at the same time as SI Camp Caucasus). I knew he was coming to Yerevan, but though we had connected online, we hadn’t yet arranged a Yerevan rendez-vous, and yet here he was! I’m sure he was just as surprised to see me (with bike and all) as I was to see him. We agreed to meet for drinks the following day.

It crossed my mind that maybe Alexis and Drew would like to meet Tony and maybe Tony would like to meet Alexis and Drew, so I tried to coordinate a get-together for Friday night. Alas, I didn’t have a number for Alexis (nor Drew) and Facebook and email were, for once, failing me. I sent a Facebook message to Tony to meet for drinks for his last night in Yerevan anyway.

I was to meet Tony at his hotel lobby on Friday night, but I was running a little late, and when I got there, he was nowhere in sight :( Luckily, my friend Anoush had connected with him and told me that we were to meet at Baobab (oddly enough, same venue where I first met Alexis and Drew only days before... coincidence? I think not).

Anoush and I agreed to meet at a specific intersection than walk over to Baobab. As I was on my way to meet Anoush, who do I run into but a brother of a friend of mine who’s been living in Armenia for over 3 years, but who I had not met till now? He was the spitting image of his brother and for a moment I thought it was him (Berj) but it turned out to be his brother Hratch. He didn’t know me, so I introduced myself and we talked a bit, while I searched for Anoush (at the same intersection, mind you).

As Hratch and I were walking along (and I was playing phone tag with Anoush), a man suddenly asks, “Adrineh?” and I say “Goga? What are you doing here?!” A friend of mine and my sister and brother-in-law’s, Georgy (or Goga, as we call him affectionately), originally from Armenia, was studying in Toronto when we met him a number of years ago. He then moved to Moscow where he currently lives. So you can imagine my surprise at “randomly” running into him on a street in Yerevan. Turns out he’s in town for 9 days, so I gave him my number and we agreed to connect.

All this, while I’m still walking with Hratch and then I see Anoush across the street. She comes over, Hratch takes his leave, I introduce Anoush to Goga. It’s a brief moment of many things going on at once, different people coming together, but though I’m a bit disoriented, I’m relishing the moment and the coincidences that aren’t really coincidences when you live in Armenia.

But, alas, the story continues.

We get to Baobab where I see a number of other familiar faces, mostly from SI Camp Caucasus. A pleasant surprise! As we’re sitting and talking with Tony et al., who happens to come to our table? If you haven’t figured it out by now, it was Alexis and Drew.

For all the organizing and coordinating I attempted to do over the past couple of days, the meeting I was planning happened beyond my control.

I couldn’t help but smile.

I quit my day job and went to SI Camp...

2010-04-10T08:47:00.005+05:00

... and both decisions were probably the best things I’ve ever done in my life.

And the great thing is I’m still here.

Over 70 ideas submitted, only 6 selected, and only 40 participants (out of 150 that applied), Social Innovation Camp Caucasus, taking place from April 8–10 in Tbilisi, Georgia, is not a conference, not a bar camp, and most definitely not for the faint of heart.

A group of mainly youth, from Armenia, Azerbaijan, and Georgia (with a few expats, mostly American, and one repat, me ;) working on ideas that address issues we find in our countries using social media tools.

For more on Social Innovation Camp, go here. To see the six ideas selected, go here.

I’m working on “No Problem!” with Karine Mkrtchyan, Ali Resh (Reshad) and Aleksey Chalabyan, a great idea submitted by Karine that seeks to uncover and report on all those problems which government officials say don’t exist and mainstream media don’t report on.

We’re mainly journalists in our group, but we’re lucky to have Aleksey, a whiz at Drupal, the content management system we’ve decided to use to execute our idea. Like with most of the other groups at SI Camp Caucasus, we were lacking a web designer (though Reshad graciously filled that role in the interim, providing wonderful ideas on layout and design).

At 8 pm last night, just before we left Cultural Center Muza to head back to our hotel, Nodar Davituri appeared like magic (recruited by Anna Keshelashvili, I think — thank you!) and announced that he would design our site. We gave him our sketch for the layout and explained the various elements. He said he would begin working on it at 10 pm (poor guy, I think he was running around and probably had his plate full, doing more than what most of us do on a Friday night ;)

I’ll have more to report on SI Camp Caucasus after it wraps up tonight. But I will mention one thing: getting a group of Azerbaijani, Armenian, Georgian youth together in one room is no easy task. We tend to stick with our own, with the people we came with. But I’m so happy to see that our 6 groups are mixed: there are Azerbaijani guys working on an idea envisioned by an Armenian woman that, initially anyway, focuses on an issue in Armenia. There’s an Armenian guy and girl working on an idea created by an Azerbaijani woman about an issue that she’s found in Azerbaijan (and for a website — or I should say, “online platform” — that will be in Azerbaijani). There’s a couple of American expats working on an idea submitted by a Georgian journalist. It’s a good mix of people.

And with a good mix of people, you can’t go wrong. Something amazing is bound to happen ;) More to come on that later.

Why are you in Armenia?

2010-03-12T23:41:00.001+04:00

I know a few expats and even more repats in Armenia, but I think I might be the only queer repat or expat who’s here to be with the person she loves. There are at least a few men from the US (often who came initially as volunteers with the Peace Corps), not to mention others, who came to Armenia, met an Armenian woman, got married, and stayed (and in some cases had kids). Not an unfamiliar story.

There are a number of Diasporan Armenians who are not from here, who have repatriated. They’re not expats, they’re repats, because their ethnicity is that of the dominant majority: they (we) are Armenian. Or as Merriam-Webster defines it, to repatriate is “to restore or return to the country of origin allegiance, or citizenship.”

Some of us repats speak Armenian, some don’t. Some of us speak the Western dialect, some of us the Eastern dialect (that which is spoken more commonly in Armenia). Some of us are here on a one-year program funded by grants, some of us have started businesses or created NGOs and charities, sometimes from the ground up. Some (like me) got here, then looked for work to earn an income (it helps, though, if you prepare in advance).

There are also those of us who are half-Armenian or a quarter-Armenian (if we want to play the numbers game) who are here discovering our roots or at least experiencing first-hand the country that we have read about, heard about and — perhaps — dreamed about. I don’t consider myself part of this group. Not simply because both of my parents are Armenian, but because I have family here, I’ve been here before, and I never really held this idolized image of a “homeland.”

I grew up in Toronto, Canada, where I went to an Armenian private school for the first 12 years of my life. I was rooted in my community, while feeling that I unable to fully express myself in what I considered to be (and still do) a closed-off, conservative Diasporan community.

Then I went to Catholic school and from that point on, most of my friends were not Armenian and I found myself going to events in the Armenian community less and less (to my father’s chagrin). All the same, I never felt like I belonged in either the Armenian community or the dominant majority culture in Canada. But what does it mean to belong anyway? Might “belonging” not be a fluid experience, changing in different communities, in different spaces, in different countries?

In Armenia, I can’t say that I feel like I belong. I am here; I live here. But I find myself unable to express myself fully in Armenian, though I speak the language. And I’ve realized that language, too, is not simply knowing words or even the meaning of words. Language is a gateway: to culture, to a way of seeing the world, to an approach (This reminds me of a recent post by fellow repat Raffi Niziblian). And I have an English-language approach. I think and read and write more in English, I problem solve in English, I analyze in English. But the truth is, I feel in Armenian. And that is why I could never reconcile myself in English whilst in Canada. I can express myself logically, with words, to someone in English. But they will not fully understand what I mean, or rather, what I feel, because for me, that is in Armenian.

So what else is new? It is the experience of the hyphenated Canadian (in my case), the Diasporan, the immigrant, or the expat/repat all over the world. Fellow blogger Anastasia M. Ashman, in her blog “Furthering the Worldwide Cultural Conversation,” asks good questions about the “hybrid self” and the “hybrid life” here and on fluidity here.

But the funny thing is (or maybe it’s not so funny, maybe it’s the most logical thing in the world), I find myself able to relate more to the expats in Armenia, that is, those who are not Armenian, who might never have even heard of Armenia before coming here, but who came and fell in love and stayed, than the repats, the Diasporan Armenians who chose to come here, who came with their partners or came solo, who came to do good work, or just to see what living in the “homeland” is like.

Though I told my grandmother before she passed away that I would like to live in Armenia for year (long before I met my partner), it wasn’t because I was searching for home or longing for culture. I don’t know why I said that. Perhaps I wanted to live in a country where I heard and spoke in Armenian all the time, where it wasn’t compartmentalized to one part of my life (speaking it at home with my family, for instance).

Perhaps I just wanted to experience the adventure of living abroad for a year (an experience I had afterwards, but in Europe). Perhaps I told her I wanted to live here because it would be something she might be proud of, seeing as I was yet unmarried and childless — life stages I should have already reached (“accomplished”) by my age, something she could be proud of.

I don’t know why I said it, but I know that I meant it at the time. And living here became a reality when I made the move last year not only because I met the love of my life, but also because I met amazing women, artists, activists, and a lively LGBT community (though perhaps few would use such terms, or even identify themselves as belonging to “the community”). I wanted to come here to work with them, to create art with them, to create change through art. I could see the possibilities during my brief stay here, and yes, I felt a sense of community.

And maybe, just maybe it felt a little like coming home.

My Top 10 New Favourite Blogs

2010-03-11T22:55:00.004+04:00

None of these blogs are new per se, but some of them I only came across yesterday (hence, they’re new to me). Others I’ve been following for some time (like Unzipped).

I wonder, where do these bloggers have the time to write? None of them (as far as I know) make their living from blogging. And yet they put together well-thought-out, insightful, engaging stories (not to mention photographs and videos) on a regular basis.

I have complete respect for these writers and analysts (for they are analysts even if they may not say so themselves), artists, activists, journalists, moms, and cultural workers.

Here they are (in no particular order):

http://jonathanmakiri.com/blog/

Jonathan Makiri, American living in Istanbul. Currently in Yerevan. Beautiful photographs. See what he sees.

http://tom.ride-earth.org.uk/

Tom Allen, English cyclist and web guru living in Yerevan with his Armenian wife from Tehran, Iran. His first solo exhibit featuring photographs from touring (by bicycle, naturally) in the Middle East and North Africa opens at the Armenian Center for Contemporary Experimental Art (ACCEA, or NPAK in Armenian) in Yerevan tomorrow.

http://dividingmytime.typepad.com/my-blog/

Dividing My time: Finding the Funnier Side of Life in Russia

Jennifer Eremeeva. American expat living in Moscow. I think the title says it all :)

http://scaryazeri.blogspot.com/

Scary Azeri in the Suburbs

Mom from Baku, Azerbaijan, now living in the UK. I love her writing, and how accessible it is.

http://flyingcarpetsandbrokenpipelines.blogspot.com/

Arzu Geybullayeva. Young blogger, and social and political activist from Baku, Azerbaijan. Lived in the States for a year and has studied in Turkey and in the UK. Returned to Baku, where she works with the European Stability Initiative. Interests include conflict resolution (she writes extensively on conflicts in the South Caucasus), gender studies, and sustainable development.

http://gayarmenia.blogspot.com/

Art Mika. Gay Armenian man from Armenia currently living and working in the UK. I live in Yerevan, but somehow he seems to know more about what’s going on in my city than I do :) A trusted source on just about everything gay and Armenian (not to mention the Eurovision Song Contest :)

http://anastasiaashman.wordpress.com/

Anastasia Ashman (aka Thandelike). US expat living in Istanbul. “Furthering the worldwide cultural conversation: Raising the feminine voice on issues of culture and history, self improvement and the struggle for identity — in one family to entire hemispheres.”

http://rosedeniz.blogspot.com/

“Love, Rose”

Rose Deniz. American expat living in Turkey. Art is Dialogue curator. Writes about identity, mothering, hybrid lives, art. Just came across her blog yesterday and even though I’ve only touched the tip of the iceberg, I want to read more about what this writer and illustrator has to say.

http://arpinegrigoryan.blogspot.com/

“Whatever you are be a good one”

Arpiné Grigoryan. Armenian living in Armenia (can you believe it? Not an expat :) I relate very much to what she writes about, which is simply the day-to-day of living here, in Yerevan and in this life.

http://larajan.blogspot.com/

"Motherhood, Repatriation and other fictions" (I love the title.)

Lara Aharonian. Expat mother of three from Montreal, Canada (but Beirut, Lebanon, before that), living in Yerevan. The title says it all (side note: Lara is a friend of mine.)

And there you have it. Yes, there are many expats and yes, there’s a focus on the region (Azerbaijan, Turkey, Armenia). However, if you’re reading this (and if you read my blog, in general), I think you might be interested in what these bloggers have to say.

And if you’re a blogger writing about similar topics, drop me a line, introduce yourself. I’d love to read you :)

P.S. The idea for this blog came from here.

Organic Evolution: From CouchSurfing to Blogging to Twitter

2010-03-04T19:44:00.003+04:00

A little over 5 years ago, I was living in Amsterdam and travelling in the Baltic states. I used the online service/community site CouchSurfing and was able to secure places to stay by generous people who I met online and then in person.

I was amazed (and still am) by the kindness of strangers.

The first person I ever stayed with was M. in Tallinn, Estonia. I was her first CouchSurfing guest and she was my first CouchSurfing host (not counting the person I stayed with in Berlin, who I had met through friends in Amsterdam). My brief stay in her small apartment, meeting her friends, drinking good coffee at the chain of cafés she worked at, and eating vegetarian food at the local Hare Krishna restaurant are memories that have stayed with me over the years.

Fast forward 5 years.

I, a Canadian of Armenian descent, have moved to Yerevan, Armenia. On a whim, I contact M. (whose number or email I do not have) through CouchSurfing. She writes back! I find out she’s working for an EU organization, while working on a Master’s degree. I tell her I’ve moved to Yerevan, where I’m living with my partner and trying to eek out a living. She sends me her Skype account details. I send her mine.

A couple of days ago, she calls me on Skype. And I have a chance to speak to an old friend who I have neither seen nor been in contact with for 5 years... the conversation is brief as we both have to return to work, but it is reassuring, comforting. I am so happy to hear her voice.

She tells me there’s been progress: she’s now living in an apartment that has hot water and a washing machine (luxury items she didn’t have in the apartment she was renting, and in which I stayed, over 5 years ago). I remember sleeping on a mattress on the floor in the middle of a not-too-too-cold Estonian winter. I remember her greeting me at the airport, getting to her apartment, tired and hungry, and her offering to make me crêpes for dinner! (Before then, I had considered crêpes to be an exclusively breakfast food item :)

That day (though it was evening when I arrived) was probably the start of my trust in the universe. Of trusting in serendipity. CouchSurfing in a way led me to Friendster which led me to Facebook, then blogging, then Twitter. The organic evolution of using online networks, social media, and the resources available on the world wide web to effect change in real life — whether that be a small change in my own life, or a larger change, impacting more people, across borders and boundaries.

And yes, the kindness of strangers.

Thank you, M. If I didn’t say so then, those crêpes were yummy!

Not really a day off, but...

2010-03-03T19:56:00.001+04:00

Today, I worked from home. A simple text message to my colleague in the morning: “I need to work from home.” And work I did; in fact, I think I am more efficient, less stressed, and generally more content with my day if I don’t go into the room we call our office (see earlier post).

It also gave me an opportunity to eat warm food (thanks to the opportunity to heat food which exists at home, but not at work), to stare out the window occasionally, and catch up on some much-needed reading of fellow bloggers’ posts.

Reading other people’s writing inspires me. (This reminds me of a post by one of my favourite bloggers, Arzu Geybulla, who writes on her personal blog, Flying Carpets and Broken Pipelines.)

And when you work long hours at an unfulfilling job, it can be difficult sometimes to get inspired and motivated to write... hell, it becomes difficult to just gather your thoughts even, in order to form coherent sentences that someone might actually want to read.

Today was a day full of ideas. And positive energy. And both of these things I hope to take with me when I go to the Social Media for Social Change conference in Tbilisi in April, which I’m very much looking forward to.

Drop me a line if you’re reading this post and will be there too. Interesting things always happen at crossroads...

I work in a room

2010-02-23T09:46:00.004+04:00

I work in a room. That is my workplace — a room. There are white walls (at least the ceiling is high), fluorescent lights, one small window, a heater. If we keep the blinds open, a lot of sunlight can get in through that one small window.

In that room, there are 4 long boardroom-type desks, 11 computers, a small table and chair for eating one’s lunch, 2 cupboards. There is a water cooler that provides both hot and cold water. A small electric jazzve for making “Eastern” coffee (also known as Armenian/Arabic/Turkish/Greek coffee) though no one uses it.

There are 2 types of coffee available. Instant and “Eastern” (which very few drink here and when they do, they don’t make it with the jazzve, they make it like they would make instant coffee). I don’t consider instant coffee, coffee, yet what other choice is there? No café or restaurant nearby offers coffee that’s neither instant nor Eastern. The automatic machine downstairs offers cappucino (which is as good as it gets) except it, too, is made from a mix.

I’m not a fan of Starbucks, but oh how I wish sometimes I could just pop downstairs and get a latté (I’m not even asking for a soy latté or a chai or a matcha green tea latté) or some sort of forthy milky real coffee beverage (preferably made with fair trade, organic coffee beans).

But I digress.

In that room, there’s no kitchen, no microwave, no toaster oven, no electric kettle (the hot water from the water cooler will have to suffice). There isn’t even a separate room in which to enjoy your lunch break in peace (but do you even get a lunch break? Let’s start there).

Most people here begin their workday at 9 am, leave after 6 pm (sometimes 7 or 8 pm). The newer staff, eager and dedicated, but also in charge, don’t even take a lunch break. Most of us eat at our desks. Can you imagine working 9-10 hours a day without a break, barely leaving your seat, glued to your computer, not eating more than a salad or a sandwich all day and then coming in on Saturday to do it all over again? I don’t agree to these conditions. I don’t accept them. And unlike most everyone else, I don’t have to. Being a native English speaker in a country whose main language is not English, I have more options available to me. Being a citizen of a “developed” country, I can set my terms. They know that I’m neither used to nor accepting of such workplace conditions.
I can’t say for sure, but I probably get paid more than they do — and I work less hours. It’s enough to make you sick.

Today is February 23. We have not yet gotten paid this year. We have worked nearly all of January and February is almost over. As a general rule, pay is monthly and often paid for the month worked before. We should have received our January pay cheque earlier this month. But we all know (from experience) not to expect to get paid for January till nearly the end of February. How do they do it? How do we survive?

Under these conditions, we should be happy we have jobs. We work (and supposedly we get an income). There are far too many who are worse off. But again, I ask: how do we do it? One begins to act cautiously, carefully, sometimes in fear of losing their jobs: we don’t even demand our pay cheques anymore. We simply ask, kindly, politely, please, boss, might you be so kind as to let us know when you will be paying us?

I asked him yesterday. He said either today (yesterday) or tomorrow (today). I knew from experience not to expect to get paid on the same day I asked (even if he did say so). I think that if we get paid today, it’ll be a miracle. It’ll mean he was true to his words. Which, as experience has shown, has never been the case.

But we wait. I wait. And when I see him today (he has a habit of not always being around, not coming in every day), I will ask him again. And again, and again. But it gets tiring sometimes.

Monsanto? Improving Farmers' Lives? Gimme a break

2010-02-22T20:29:00.002+04:00

It's about four months too old, but I happened to find this Monsanto ad in the October 12, 2009, issue of New Yorker magazine (which I borrowed from the American Corner resource centre in Yerevan; what can I say, I get my English-language news however I can :)

I was about to turn the page after simply rolling my eyes at the layout (and of course, the overall message) when I saw the words "Improving Farmers' Lives" (shown at the bottom of the photo below) which caused me to nearly choke on my sunflower seed.

Whatever Monsanto might say about Food Inc. (the film on the U.S. food industry which heavily criticized the multinational agricultural corporation), the truth is the company did sue small-time Canadian farmers whose crop happened to be contaminated by Monsanto seeds. How can you control where your seeds pollinate? How can you call this "improving farmers' lives"? Oh and did I mention that farmers have to pay to plant Monsanto's genetically engineered products which can only be planted for one year? Farmers who wish to plant Monsanto seeds have to purchase them every year (unlike other seeds that can be re-sown) and this becomes a high cost for farmers. Not to mention that they're genetically modified. Tell me again: how does Monsanto improve farmers' lives?

My horoscope this week (Feb. 15-21)

2010-02-15T00:25:00.003+04:00

From: astrobarry.com

"When I tell you 'love is in the air' for you, plenty of you simply won't want to hear it. When I report your rivers of personal creativity are gushing forth at unusually high levels, the more disgruntled among you might quip, 'Yeah, but what's that doing for me?' And when I insist, Scorpio, that no matter how grueling your present battle against that unsightly lack of recognition, outer-world opportunity and/or unjust power-structure may presently be, you're standing on the shores of more pleasure and joy than is imaginable by many… well, I just can't allow you to shut down my upbeat spin on your life, even if it requires arm-wrestling you into submission.

"I have repeated a similar message for you over the past few weeks, not because I'm running out of things to say (please: I'm never in short supply of words) but because (1) what I'm telling you is true and (2) you have enough justifying evidence to disbelieve me that this truth begs a continual drilling-in. So, have I drilled deep enough yet? Have I gotten you away from those hollow want-ads, the angry emails to disrespectful supervisors, your perpetual microscopic focus on where your best efforts don't appear to be leading you? Let's just put it this way: If I were there with you right now, I'd start tickling you until you couldn't help but giggle… and once that giggle slipped out, there would be no going back. Please don't make me come over there. Coax that giggle out from its hiding place now."

I love it. What a great way to start the week.

Yerevan Bicycle Action (December 2009)

2010-02-14T15:10:00.004+04:00

I participated in this ride in Yerevan on December 6 to promote cycling as an ecological, safe, and fun method of transportation. The organizers behind the event (Tom Allen, an English guy living in Yerevan; and Bicycle+, a local NGO) filmed the event then sent it to Copenhagen to be screened on the sidelines of the much-publicized UN Climate Change Conference.

As an avid cyclist, I very much support the idea of cycling as a safe and empowering form of transport. Though folks interviewed in the video say it's not safe to cycle in Yerevan, I think that if more people would, then drivers would become more familiar with cyclists on the road, thus, making it safer for all.

I bike just about every day (from home to work and back again), though lately I've been walking or taking public transport as, I admit, the snow and cold can be a bit of a deterrent. Plus, I need to take my bike into the shop to get my gears looked at (the chain keeps jumping). But I can't wait till I'm back on the saddle and feeling the (albeit, cold) wind on my face again...

Ride Planet Earth Messages - Yerevan, Armenia from Tom Allen on Vimeo.

On the 6th of December 2009, Yerevan joined cities around the globe in a bicycle action to call for a fair and effective agreement to be made at the UN climate change summit in Copenhagen, starting the following day.

Candlemas or the celebration of Pagan traditions or simply a co-opting of St. Valentine’s Day?

2010-02-13T19:12:00.014+04:00

Photo by Kenneth Hawes (source: Wikimedia Commons)

Tonight, in Armenia, the tradition of Tyarn'ndaraj (Տյառնընդառաջ, also known as "Ter'ntez") is celebrated. This religious holiday goes by many other names: Candlemas, the Feast of the Presentation of Jesus at the Temple, the Meeting of the Lord, or Presentation of the Lord — all quite serious-sounding names, the sound of which would be enough to turn many away (including yours truly).

However, from what I’ve found out over the past couple of days, the holiday in Armenia is celebrated with a little something extra: with lighting of bonfires and well wishes for newlyweds (the former appealing to me more so). Of course, in line with the Christian holiday, the devout go to church this evening where they will light candles that they will then take with them and light in their homes. Oh, and the forementioned newlyweds get to be blessed by the priest.

But along with this — more typical —celebration of the Presentation of the Lord, is the other, pagan, tradition: young newlyweds jumping over bonfires in their backyards, in front of their homes, and in Lovers’ Park, perhaps? From what I’ve been told, this is to ward off evil in the couple’s relationship, but a Wikipedia entry says women jump over the fire to purify themselves before conceiving, while men, apparently, come along for the ride :)

The bonfires also signal the end of winter and the coming of spring, though, it being February and there still being snow on the ground, I’m a bit skeptical.

Oddly enough, the celebrations begin on the eve of February 13, apparently 40 days after the birth of Jesus. That got me stumped because I was doing the calculations from December 25, and also because elsewhere Candlemas is noted as being celebrated on February 2 to 3. Then I realized the calculation should be done from January 6 (Eastern Orthodox Christmas, or Epiphany), though that would mean the holiday would fall on February 15, non?

In any case, celebrations begin tonight, but the actual holiday is considered to be tomorrow, February 14. Funny coincidence that is, don’t you think? Is it perhaps the Armenian Church’s attempt to take back sacreligious St. Valentine’s Day and make it a day for couples albeit with God’s approval and under Jesus’ watchful eye? According to this one priest, St. Valentine’s Day is nothing but a holiday invented by business owners and there is no such saint named Valentine in Armenian tradition. Besides, Armenians get to celebrate another day for lovers: St. Sargis Day. And what’s the harm in that?

But this evening, I’ll make sure to keep an eye out for bonfires across the city. I wonder what happy revelers would say if my partner and I held hands and decided to jump over the fire? I wonder if they’d ask us if we’re married first? :)

In any case, all this lighting of candles and bonfires is sure to make the city a little warmer tonight…

Just Dance

2010-02-08T21:41:00.005+04:00

Yesterday, I had a chance to participate in a what-I-know-to-be-a-first-in-Yerevan event called Yerevan Online Party. Organized by Deem Communications and DJ Tsomak, the idea behind the party was that anyone, anywhere could request songs to be played at the party and join in on the fun.

A couple of days before and even during the event, you could send your requests (including YouTube video link) by email or SMS, or post them on the event Facebook page. Then, during the party, Tsomak played the songs (in the order she received them), projected the videos on the wall, and had a webcam going so that those who wanted to join in on the fun could see the event via webcam, connected through Skype.

Can you imagine the technology and coordinating involved in pulling off an event such as this in a country where internet connection isn’t always reliable? To be honest, I thought there would be more technical glitches than there actually was. The only downfall with Skype is that only one user at any one time could actually view the event through webcam (since, if I’m not mistaken, you can’t have video calls with more than one user at a time).

So Tsomak had to not only DJ the event, keep track of the songs coming in (with Raffi’s help, of course!), but also juggle between various Skype callers. There was constantly an incoming call and we just couldn’t answer them all at the same time. So if you were one of those people who called, you might’ve gotten through, maybe even saw some precious webcam footage, only to be cut off a few seconds or minutes later. That was probably because we answered another video call and had to put you either on hold or cut the video (in which case you would’ve heard the music but lost the image).

In any case, it was totally fun and the 2,000 AMD entrance fee was worth if you consider that it included a drink ticket and a performance at the Hamazgayin Theatre (tickets for theatre productions at Hamazgayin normally cost 1,000 AMD).

A couple of drinks, some amazing tunes, a handful of great friends and dance partners, and videos projected on the wall (including the occasional view of a Skype caller) made for an amazing, memorable, and pretty innovative evening in downtown Yerevan on a Sunday night.

And most important of all for me was that it gave me an opportunity to reconnect with this city and with my place here.

It had been a long time since I went out dancing and let loose. In a way, the space and, as Paulo pointed out, the plastic cups of alcoholic drinks with “yerevan online party” written on them, reminded me of highschool parties, but so what? Last night, for me, was more about reliving those brief periods when nothing else mattered except dancing.

And that is why, the soundtrack to this blog post, without a doubt, is Lady Gaga’s Just Dance.

Ruminations on a Friday morning

2010-02-05T09:45:00.003+04:00

When I decided to move to Armenia, I was clear and focused. I knew I was coming to live with my partner, that I would find a job, and that we’d take it one day at a time. Until then, we hadn’t lived together in the same continent, let alone the same city. And, of course, we had to give it a go: we had to see how our relationship would grow, what directions it would take, once we were in regular, live (not live as in with a webcam through Skype) contact.

Since I’ve been here, I find that I’m less focused, less clear — not in terms of my relationship (the one very solid, very real thing in my life), but in terms of work, future plans, hell, even current plans. The routine of a full-time day job (including Saturdays, can you believe it?) takes away time and energy to think of more creative, or even future, pursuits. I find it’s easy to get sucked into the everyday, the mundane, and lose sight of the bigger picture. And I like to think of the bigger picture.

I’m considering post-grad studies, but not in Armenia. I haven’t even been here that long, but I’m already thinking about leaving. At least, temporarily. It’s just that the more I think about it, the more I find my options limited here. Perhaps I haven’t found my niche. Perhaps I haven’t found my place in this country, in this city. And though it’s important to remember the past, I believe in living in the present. But one still has to be able to make plans for the future. And living in a country where most people I know live hand-to-mouth, where you can’t trust the state to provide for you, where you don’t know what the future will bring (because it can never be relied on anyway), I find it harder to think ahead.

In Toronto, I would most likely be making plans for the summer by now. But somehow, it seems out of place to mention the summer in the middle of winter. In my experience, people don’t advertise events more than a week (or two at most) in advance. You would forget the date, the details. And organizing for an event? Unlike what I know to be true in Toronto, and I assume other North American cities, you can begin organizing maybe a month ahead, but not a year. It’s like that anecdote my mom said: when she was visiting Armenia a few years back, she inquired about booking a restaurant for my sister’s wedding when she was thinking about having the ceremony in Yerevan. She asked all sorts of details from the restaurant (or banquet hall, can’t remember which) manager: price, number of people they can seat, and so on. When he asked when the wedding was to take place, she said next year. He, taken aback, pushed his calculator aside (ostensibly, for doing all those calculations for the cost of the affair), looked at her and said “Do you even have the groom?” Then proceeded to tell her that by next year, the space would look different, he would renovate everything and the prices would change. Next year, there were no guarantees. But next month? Well, that we can do.

And therein lies a perfect example of diasporan Armenian meets local Armenian. Of living in Toronto vs. living in Yerevan. Perhaps here I am living in the present. That which all the self-help books tell you will keep you sane, keep you grounded, keep you focused. But here, it takes on a whole new meaning…the more I live here, the more I find that one can’t only live in the present. That it’s all about balance. Too much rushing headfirst into the future, constantly planning ahead, and not fully appreciating what you have now doesn’t work (or as they say here, «չի ստացվում»). But too much living in the everyday and not thinking ahead doesn’t work either.

It’s all about balance. And right now, I’m trying to find mine.

Time as we know it

2010-02-03T20:02:00.002+04:00

Memories of Tbilisi

2010-01-18T21:01:00.000+04:00

Today I was gasping for air

2010-01-18T19:58:00.006+04:00

I come from the second largest country in the world (in terms of land mass, not population size): I’m accustomed to wide, open spaces. Well, okay, I come from the suburbs, but, more or less, I’m accustomed to large things. Tall buildings (in which I lived), large-scale appliances, wide roads. These days I find myself in a tiny country, with lots of people and almost exclusively small spaces.

When Asya would send me photos I’d always comment on how there were so many people in them; she seemed never to be alone. I envied those gatherings, the comraderie that I saw in those photos. The photos I sent her where often void of people or showed just me in front of something I thought worthy enough to have photographed. I studied the difference in our environments: in those wide, open spaces, I felt alone, isolated, surrounded by trees instead of friends. In her spaces, I saw the social environments I craved.

Now I find myself in the places in those photographs Asya sent. I am surrounded by more people than I care to know and some days, the congestion is suffocating. I yearn for wide, open spaces where I can breathe (in smoke-free environments, no less) and hear the wind whistling through the trees instead of people speaking into their cell phones.

Don’t get me wrong: I don’t regret moving here. And I realize this feeling of being suffocated in small cities is not exclusive to Yerevan. It’s just today, on this unusually warm, snow-less January Monday, I felt there wasn’t enough air to breathe in...

I think a trip to Dilijan or Tsakhadzor is in order..

If you are feeling ill, STAY HOME

2009-12-22T12:39:00.002+04:00

… and I’m not just referring to the A/H1N1 flu virus (otherwise known as swine flu). How many people (and it doesn’t matter where you live or what you do) feel obliged to come to work even when they have a fever, their head is spinning and they’re getting the shakes? What is it about our work culture that makes employees feel like they’re bailing out (or the place will come crashing down without them) if they decide to take a day off?

I am one of those people that feel that your health is one of the most important things you own. If you’re not feeling up to par, you won’t be able to get around to accomplishing even half the things on your long list of things to do. If you are feeling ill, you are a risk to your co-workers and even more so, in danger of becoming even more ill if you don’t take care of yourself. Not to mention, at the end of the day, you won’t be able to be a productive employee — if this is what you’re really thinking is the reason you must go to work.

If by not going to work, your employer will not pay you (that is, he will not grant you a paid sick day), then either try to bring about change in your workplace or leave your job. If you live in a country where every one tells you that it doesn’t matter if you change your job, the same situation exists everywhere, then find another way. Your health and your well-being are IMPORTANT.

So go home, drink some tea, and get some rest. You’ll need it.

My view of the city

2009-12-21T20:10:00.001+04:00

View of Mt. Ararat from top of Cascade in central Yerevan

2009-12-20T17:07:00.001+04:00

This photo was taken during the opening day of the Cafesjian Center for the Arts in central Yerevan on November 8, 2009.

Queer Parenting in Lebanon

2009-12-19T10:18:00.004+04:00

I really enjoyed this article published in Bekhsoos, a Queer Arab magazine... although it's a few days too late, I thought I'd re-post it on my blog. These two lines spoke to me in particular:

"No matter where we decide to live, we will be compromising one part of [our] identity in an effort to strengthen another. What this all comes down to, for me, is the importance of building community wherever we end up."

Thanks, Lily!

Here's the article and here's the original source:

Although I demonstrated at the Israeli embassy in New York in July 2006 and obsessively sought out Lebanese falafel while living abroad in Dakar, my tangential connections to Lebanon would probably never have culminated in a trip here if I hadn’t fallen in love with my partner. As an Arab-American woman, the Middle East has been an important place for her to periodically visit as she explores the Lebanese and Palestinian parts of her identity both personally and in the context of America’s current political climate. Suzy’s work and activism center on the places where her Arab and American identities intersect, focusing on trying to educate Americans about the Middle East and to change our government’s involvement in the region. As we imagine a future together, I thought it was important for me to come to Beirut in an effort to understand more about this part of her life and this part of the world. An additional motivation is our desire to have children — which Suzy has been talking about since our first month of dating. (Talk about pressure!) Although I refused to discuss it for the first year of our relationship, knowing that this was always in the back of her mind started me thinking about where, how, and why I wanted to have children. Since arriving in Beirut, I’ve been eager to talk babies with the queer women I met here, knowing that this country and the queer community within it will be an important one to my future family.

Being a lesbian mom — starting with figuring out how to have a child — is not easy anywhere. In Lebanon, the difficulties are closely related to those associated with single motherhood. Lebanese citizenship is only transferred through one’s father, so if an unmarried woman has a child, this child has no legal status in Lebanon. On top of this, female-headed families have to deal with the often severe social stigma attached to having a child out of wedlock. One woman I spoke to told me that it would be impossible for her to have a child independently because she doesn’t have the support of her family and wouldn’t be able to both work and care for the child on her own. I heard of another woman whose partner married a gay man and had a child with him which they then all raised together. While I was encouraged to hear that some women are finding ways to have children despite these challenges, the price for this family was that they all had to remain closeted in their dealings with the outside world.

Wondering if adoption was a more socially-sanctioned alternative for “single” women, I discovered that adoption is controlled by religious institutions. Because Islam largely forbids adoption, instead directing that children in need of care be sponsored or fostered by another family, the institution of adoption — in the sense that the biological parents’ rights to the child are severed and replaced with the adoptive parents’ rights — is only available through Christian churches, most of which have religious requirements (that the adoptive parents be of the same sect as the baby’s birth family), age requirements (that the adoptive parents are over the age of 40 or 45), marriage requirements (with the exception of the Catholic sects), and sometimes a requirement that the adopting couple provide proof of their infertility. Even if a prospective queer adoptive mother met most of these requirements, she would obviously have to hide her sexual orientation (and the existence of her partner, if she was coupled), raising questions about how to explain the circumstances of adoption to the child later in life. In our discussions about adoption, Suzy and I briefly talked about the possibility of adopting a child from a Lebanese orphanage, but chucked the idea when we realized how much subterfuge would be necessary.

In my search for information about adoption in Lebanon, I came across a blog written by Daniel Drennan, who was adopted from Lebanon as a baby and grew up in the U.S., returning to Beirut as an adult. Drennan believes that adoption creates more problems than it solves, writing, “Adoption is based on the leveraging of inequality by a dominant class in order to procure children for those who have none from those who ideally would keep their children except for circumstances that are a direct result of this class difference to begin with.” In reading his and other blogs by anti-adoption activists, I realized that the conditions which force women to give up their babies for adoption are the same ones that currently make it almost impossible for single or queer women in Lebanon to adopt or have babies of their own. Stigma against unwed mothers, the resulting loss of family support, the financial difficulties of supporting a family without a male wage-earner, and poverty keep the control of babies in male hands and male-headed households.

Drennan also critiques adoption for creating serious problems of identity and depression in children who are removed from their birth families and, in the case of international adoption, entirely from their home countries and cultures. Islam’s teachings about fostering children rather than adopting them makes a lot of sense in this context. Drennan writes, “Since moving back to Lebanon three years ago, I have realized that the Qur’anic invocation concerning adoption has everything to do with children maintaining their lineage, their name, and their place in the community. Most remarkable then is the fact that these very concepts — of lineage, name, appearance, and original community — are the issues that most plague adult adoptees.”

In the U.S., there is a movement for “open adoption” that stems from concerns about these identity issues as well as the class dynamics of adoption. In open adoptions, the birth and adoptive families agree to have on-going contact and honestly explain to the child the circumstances of her adoption. The frequency and nature of this contact is mutually agreed upon, ranging from exchanging letters once a year to a visit or two a week. Rather than taking the child from her birth family and treating her like a blank slate, without her own history or identity independent from the adoptive family, this approach allows both families to contribute to raising the child, and permits the child to figure out who he is and how he relates to both families as he grows up. Open adoption is also a reminder to the adoptive family of the inequalities that led to the child being placed for adoption in the first place–and motivates continued activism towards a world where adoption isn’t necessary because all babies are wanted and able to be raised by their families of origin.

As a lesbian, my instinct to dismiss biological imperatives is strong. After all, the queer idea of family is that love isn’t based on biology — if we don’t pick the person we fall in love with based on our ability to reproduce with them, why do we need to be genetically related to our children? Our chosen families so often care for us better than our flesh-and-blood families. All the same, if I or my partner were to get pregnant we would want the baby’s father to participate in our family’s life. As a woman raised in a heteronormative family, knowing without question the people I come from, I don’t think I can make the choice for my child not to have access to this information. Obviously there are many children who don’t feel that they need to know their fathers–just as many adult adoptees don’t have the need to find their birth families — but it’s impossible to know what my child will feel, so I want to leave this option available to her. It’s possible to recognize the importance of knowing the people you are biologically connected to without believing that it’s all-important. By raising a baby in a queer family and queer community, I’m already demonstrating that biology isn’t everything.

All of this is well and good hypothetically, but the reality is that homophobia often forces us to have children in less than these ideal circumstances. There are so many challenges to having a child that having open and personal relationships with everyone connected to that child can be nearly impossible. Most of the women I’ve spoken to in Beirut said that if they wanted to have children they would have to live abroad, in a country where queer and female-headed families receive greater recognition and protection. What are the implications of this choice in terms of sacrificing other parts of one’s identity? One of my and my partner’s top priorities is to raise our children in a place where they will have a strong connection to their cultural and racial identities. If my partner or I decided to give birth, we would choose an Arab or Arab-American man as the sperm donor, and we would want to bring our children to Lebanon and Palestine to learn about these parts of their history and community —perhaps live in Beirut for a year or two. However, I worry about needing to keep the family closeted here and sending our children the message that there is something shameful about us. I know that, growing up in the racist U.S., they will not be able to avoid negative messaging about Arabs and the Arab world. No matter where we decide to live, we will be compromising one part of their identity in an effort to strengthen another.

What this all comes down to, for me, is the importance of building community wherever we end up. Homophobia isolates many of us from the support of our families; those of us lucky enough to have their support are often forced to move away for school or jobs. Because of this rejection and isolation, the communities we create become all-important. Meem is a wonderful example of a community that allows women to make connections with one another, share life stories, and develop an integrated analysis of the ways neo-colonialism, patriarchy, and capitalism undermine women’s and gay rights–and inspire us to fight for a world where we can all build the strong queer families we dream of.

At least I can say there’s never a dull moment

2009-12-14T19:30:00.002+04:00

Today was really the icing on the cake (and the day is still not over). The last few days have been a whirlwind of emotions ignited by a number of events. It turns out being gay and Armenian and a Diasporan living in Armenia and working in local news media is not so easy after all (in case you were wondering…).

It has been challenging, to say the least. I have been challenged by individuals and situations that I probably would not have come across or had to have dealt with had I still been living in Canada. I have attempted to be a bridge, connecting people, with little success. And I have come to realize that yes, though it is important for one to recognize their own privilege, it’s also important to know the right time and place to invoke that privilege, and other times, to just shut up.

It’s important to know that you do not get to coordinate and control and organize everything in your life. Perhaps this is nothing new to most people, but being in control is the way I’ve been wired (otherwise, known as a khasiat in that other language that I speak though I’m pretty sure the word itself is not Armenian). Over the years I have come face to face with this issue and it’s been difficult each time. But I have been lucky to have met such wonderful people throughout my life who have been patient with me as I’ve come to terms with the term ‘letting go.’

Of course, each time I begin again (always with good intentions of course… but you know what they say: “the road to hell is paved with good intentions”) and each time I am reminded that being in control is not always a good thing. That being said, most of the time (and for most of my life), it’s worked out fine, even to my advantage. But I have to learn to recognize when to invoke it and when to just ‘let it go.’

And as a good friend of mine reminded me not long ago, (a) be thankful and (b) don't be so analytical (otherwise known as ‘think with your heart’). I would also add that it’s important to be honest, first with yourself, then with others. And I find that it is when I am speaking with my heart that I am honest. But so many other things get in the way, in this world, in this life, that makes it difficult to just say what you mean.

And speaking about saying what you mean and being honest, at work today, the icing on the cake: what I feel to be violations in freedom of the press in Armenia. When you are told to continue working the way you do, but every once in a while, we’ll have to slip in a story or a piece to satisfy some oligarch or hotshot with power in the country, just so we can keep working, would you not call that a violation of freedom of the press? When just about every other news source in the country is bought out, purchased, owned or run by an oligarch, a man with money and power, who gets to dictate what gets published, would you not call that a violation of freedom of the press? Well, today, I saw that in action, up close and personal.

It is difficult being here, I have to admit. Though I would love some peace and quiet for a change, I can’t imagine being anywhere else right now. Maybe down the road, sure, and there are things I want to do that will take me beyond the borders of this tiny country, but for now I’m here. And that means coming face to face with my (and the country’s) challenges.

And again, as that same good friend of mine, wrote to me, “Never underestimate the wisdom of life. What you are offered is not really currency.” But it’s more valuable. And right now, I’m cherishing every minute of this life, with my blood, sweat and tears…

Today, I remember...

2009-12-07T19:28:00.002+04:00

... the victims and survivors of the 1988 Spitak Earthquake.

along with other anniversaries, such as those which mark current man-made atrocies, including the Athens riots in the wake of the one-year anniversary of the death of 15-year-old Alexandros Grigoropoulos.

Today Armenia is like an itchy wool coat I’m trying to fit into

2009-12-01T13:24:00.001+04:00

Armenia is like an itchy wool coat I’m trying to fit into
It fits, but it’s a bit tight
It’s for me, but it’s a bit itchy
It covers me from head to toe, but it has holes
Gaps in the seams
I’m trying to fit into it
Really I am
But I wish it wasn’t so itchy and full of holes
I wish it was a better fit…

Armenia’s Future Lies in its Female Athletes

2009-11-27T22:27:00.008+04:00

For all the hustle and bustle that “Football Diplomacy” has struck up since last year (see here and here), I think the true champions in diplomacy and international relations are Armenia’s female athletes competing in basketball and weightlifting.

A few local residents confessed to me that Armenians aren’t good at sports where they have to play as a team — it’s all that ego and overall male chauvinism. Hence, the twice-defeat by our male football players (soccer in North America) against Turkey in last year’s notable home game and this year’s, if one could say, even more notable away game (played in the Turkish city of Bursa — Armenia lost both times with the same score, 0-2). Both games were World Cup qualifiers.

But take sporting events like chess and weightlifting. Now these are some events Armenian athletes can actually excel in. But basketball? That’s a team sport, isn’t it? Maybe the reason basketball stands out from the rest of the team sports as being a sport Armenia seems to be doing well in is because, in Yerevan’s women’s basketball team HATIS at least, the majority of players are not Armenian by descent. I hate to say it, but the top players in the team (Maurita Reid, Ganna Zarytska, Bojana Vulic) have been recruited from elsewhere (and thank god for that!).

The latest victory is HATIS’ “major upset” against Turkey’s BESIKTAS. They played in Istanbul the day before yesterday (on November 25, the UN-designated International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women: interesting coincidence) and won the game by a landslide (87-64). This is the team’s second victory in the 2009 EuroCup Women tournament: on November 19, they beat Russia’s CHEVAKATA (103-99). Russia and Turkey: two very strong teams. Good for you, HATIS!

For more info on the team and a schedule of their upcoming games, visit the team’s page on the FIBA Europe website here.

The other recent winning victory for female athletes was Nazik Avdalyan winning a gold medal in weightlifting. Avdalyan competed in the 69kg group in the 2009 World Weightlifting Championships taking place in Goyang, South Korea.

Apparently, in weightlifting there are two types of lifts (both with really odd-sounding names!) and to win the ultimate gold medal, you must win in both categories. First, Avdalyan won a “small” gold medal by winning the Snatch (yes, that’s the name of the first type of lift) with 119 kg. The next lift, called the Clean and Jerk, found Avdalyan competing once again with Russia’s Oxana Slivenko. Slivenko finished at 146 kg; in order for Avdalyan to win the championship, she had to lift as much as her opponent. The 23-year-old weightlifter did better than that: she beat Slivenko by 1 kg, finishing at 147 kg.

This means that Nazik Avdalyan gained the World Champion title by lifting a total of 266 kg. Can you believe it? That’s amazing! For further details, you can visit the 2009 Goyang World Weightlifting Championships’ official website here.

I love that we have such amazing female role models, not only representing Armenia (which Armenia’s high-ranking officials are only too happy to declare only after they bring back a gold medal), but also showing Armenian audiences (both male and female) the power that women have — and for men, who so dominate the sports arena, both in talking about it and participating in it, this is something they can only praise and give it it’s due respect.

My friend Chris (who’s male, by the way) was right: The future is female.

Gender Activism meets Environmental Activism meets Queer Activism: all in one day and all in Yerevan

2009-11-25T20:49:00.003+04:00

The “16 Days of Activism against Gender-Based Violence” annual campaign kicked off today with a press conference followed by a march organized by the Women’s Resource Center in central Yerevan.

Highlights of today’s march include:

*Women (and a few men) carrying huge posters that read “Don’t be Silent” while informing participants that this is a silent march (I find out from one of the organizers that part of the reason, anyway, for the silence is that it was a condition on getting a city permit. The mayor wanted confirmation from the Women’s Resource Center that they wouldn’t disrupt the peace. Can you believe it?)

*Famous Armenian environmental activist Mariam Sukhudyan (of SOS Teghut, though also known for voicing her concern that staff mistreated and abused children at a special needs school in Armenia; see here for more info and here and here) peeling off sticker paper with violence against women stats on it that WRC volunteers and march participants had stuck on trees (being instructed to sticker everywhere and anywhere). To her credit, Mariam had a calm, peaceful smile on her face while removing the stickers. I understand her reasoning, of course, the sticker paper harms the trees. And it seems volunteers were either unaware of that or too engaged in the purpose of their act to notice.

*Meeting one of the followers of my blog: yay, Trui! And welcome to Yerevan (I don’t think I offered a proper greeting upon meeting you, so here it is, in my blog, where you could say, we first met :)

*Meeting a fellow queer Armenian woman who’s been trying to get in contact with those of us behind the Queering Yerevan blog for some time. I love happenstance encounters!

*Meeting another fellow queer Armenian who’s had quite the presence in the blogosphere as of late, but seeing as we didn’t have too much of a chance to talk (and not knowing how much he would like to be outed here in this blog), I won’t go into too much detail other than to be glad that I had a chance to meet him in person today.

All in all, I feel quite energized from these encounters and from this, albeit solemn, affair. I commend the organizers of the march for a well-organized event.

Why don't I know this woman?

2009-11-02T19:46:00.003+04:00

There are amazing people around the world doing amazing things, and today, this thought fills me with joy. I came across this Facebook post and felt the need to re-post the information on this blog.

Zaruhi Shushanyan is an LGBT activist in Armenia and, I'm sad to say, I don't know her. But I do know another Armenian LGBT activist, Lilit Poghosyan, who is the Programmes and Policy Officer at ILGA-Europe. Originally from Armenia, she's now based in Brussels. I was lucky and happy to have met her during her recent visit back home in Yerevan.

More about Zaruhi Shushanyan: http://gayarmenia.blogspot.com/2009/11/faces-of-lgbt-activists-from-armenia.html

A little bit about Lilit Poghosyan (also re-posted here from Art Mika's blog): http://gayarmenia.blogspot.com/2009/03/armenian-human-rights-activist-lilit.html

Two amazing woman I'm very proud of, and today, they have inspired me. Thank you.

Visits from an Armenian political prisoner and editor of Turkish-Armenian weekly Agos

2009-10-31T00:03:00.006+04:00

In the last week, we've had two memorable events take place at the news agency where I work: (1) a visit from former just-released Armenian political prisoner Tigran Arakelian and (2) a visit from Agos editor Aris.

Tigran Arakelian is much much shorter than he appears in the photos we posted on our site (and that probably appeared in other local media). He is young and thin, and was charged with assaulting not one, but three police officers. Any person in their right mind could tell this short, small — no, petit — young man would be unable to resist three, assumingly large, police officers. And no offense to short or small people; I'm not saying short people can't overtake tall people. I'm talking about this particular case and the charges against him... and let's not forget, police officers have guns, or at least batons, while very rarely do activists have such weapons.

For more background on what happened in the case of this Armenian National Congress youth member, read Onnik Krikorian's August 15, 2009 article on Frontline Club at http://frontlineclub.com/blogs/onnikkrikorian/2009/08/armenian-youth-rally-for-detained-activist.html.

The second visit (which happened to be today) was by Agos editor Aris. Agos is a weekly newspaper published in Istanbul, Turkey, one of the only Turkish-language publications in the country that includes an Armenian-language supplement. Agos is perhaps better known for having Hrant Dink as its chief editor from its inception in 1996 till Dink's assassination outside the newspaper's offices in January 2007. The paper now has an English edition available online at http://www.agos.com.tr/eng/.

Needless to say, it was an honour and privilege to meet both Tigran Arakelian and Aris.

The danger of working in a news agency

2009-10-27T17:13:00.006+04:00

About an hour and a half ago, 2-3 men in black suits came to the news agency where I work and told us to leave everything as it is and go home. Someone asked if we should shut off the computers and they said no, not to even shut off any open programs or files. When asked about our personal email, they said, yes, we could log out of our personal email accounts. We gathered our things and stepped out into the hall, after which the owner of the company (who had accompanied the men in suits) locked the door to our office behind us.

One of my colleagues asked a very respectful and what one would consider to be a harmless question to one of the Men in Suits (seeing as the Men in Suits neither presented themselves nor said what was going on); he was responded with a curt and harsh "This isn't a theatre performance. Why are you asking questions?" ("էս թատրոն չի, ինչի ես հարց ու փործ անու՞մ")

One by one, Men in Suits along with the owner of the company went to the other offices and told everyone to leave, locking the doors behind them. I work for an online news agency that is part of a larger media enterprise that publishes a monthly business magazine, a financial print newspaper, a sports news site and a couple of other media outlets. We thought initially the issue was with the specific news site where I work since we publish political news whereas the other departments publish sports, business, and so on... basically, you could say that our department publishes more controversial news.

However, since they kicked us all out, we became confused and suspicious. It's important to note that on this date exactly 10 years ago was the notorious parliament shooting in Armenia. A handful of individuals were able to sneak into the National Assembly (Armenia's parliament) with firearms and proceeded to shoot eight government officials including then-prime minister and parliamentary speaker.

Something tells me that because of this eventful day, national security is on high alert today... However, regarding what happened at work today, it's all speculation until I know for sure. Perhaps we published something that alerted the national guards? Perhaps they're going around to all news agencies and shutting them down today so we don't report anything related to this particular day? I really don't know, but hell if I'm not dying to find out...