It is mid-August again and the heat may be unbearable here in Yerevan, but it is perfect conditions for climbing Mt. Ararat (elevation 5,137 m/16,854 ft)—the best time of year for such an undertaking. In the past month or so, I have heard of a few groups of climbers who have successfully climbed Ararat and proudly announced their achievement. A bit of controversy has been hitting the online news services, as a result, mostly about the reaction from Turkey. There has been a lot of noise regarding whose flag was up there and what it really represented.

I am no mountain climber myself, but coming from the same background as many Diaspora Armenians, I can well understand the desire and appeal for taking on such a challenge. I wanted to know about the real motivation that drives so many to attempt the climb. Mt. Ararat is certainly nowhere near as high as the Himalayas or as daunting a climb.  Even so, one needs to keep the main goal in mind and a burning desire together with sheer strength of will to keep going until one reaches the summit.
I have had very interesting conversations with local friends about this sudden interest in climbing Mt. Ararat. One question, though, keeps coming up: “Why are they so obsessed with climbing Ararat, when there is so much more that they can do, right here, in our homeland?”   Is the quest to climb Mt. Ararat, then, simply a travel adventure, or does it represent something more to Armenian mountain climbers?

Motivation

Here, in Armenia, it is not uncommon to meet repatriates who have a unique sense of mission and purpose. They often start with a set of very ambitious goals and stay in the country for however long it may take to accomplish them. They have a genuine desire to change Armenia for the better. But how about the Diaspora Armenians who cannot make that leap of faith and directly move here? Don’t they have the same attachment to Armenia and nostalgic ties with the motherland through songs, literature and, of course, the iconic image of Mt. Ararat which hangs in most Armenian homes?

For the climbers I met and with whom I have become close friends, the answer seems to be yes. They are the quintessential Diaspora Armenians from Los Angeles, California. They trained for almost a year in order to climb a mountain together.  Their intention was not to climb just any mountain, but to scale the heights of their dream: Ararat.  They said that they had “read Ararat, dreamed Ararat and sung songs about Ararat.”  It was, for them, a natural progression to want to climb the very mountain that had held such a special place in their hearts and reach the summit of which they would have the chance to see, with their own eyes, the valleys of Western Armenia. They wanted to soak up all that could have, and should have, been part of today’s Armenia.

It is not difficult to lead a team of eight males and three females to Mt. Ararat when you are Baghdik Der Grigorian, Vachik Zakarian and Roubik Mardirosian – veteran mountain climbers. What made this team so unique to me was that they all share the same background. All are Armenians born in Iran, but currently living in Los Angeles. All but the youngest member, Mineh, were members of the “Ararat” Sports Club, an incredibly nurturing environment for young Armenians living in Tehran.  Their climbing expedition is aptly named “Ararat 2 Ararat.”

The team’s camaraderie has its roots in their childhood during which time they learned how to follow orders, share a tent, be team players as well as team leaders.  Above all, they learned the meaning of what it is to be an Armenian. They grew up together, sang the inspiring national songs that invariably express the longing and desire to see an independent motherland whilst they held onto the dream of, one day, climbing to the very top of Mt. Ararat. On 5th August, this year, that dream became a reality for the eleven member team.  Moreover, the eight male members continued on with their climb and reached the summit of Mt. Sipan on the 8th of August.

‘Ararat 2 Ararat’ Members

Baghdik Der Grigorian – This was his second climb to the Ararat summit, a more meaningful journey since his 35 year old daughter was climbing with him. “We were better prepared this year,” he said, “because we had more information in hand which made the whole journey a lot easier; so much so that we even climbed Mt. Sipan!”

“The road is long, going through Georgia, crossing Dogubayazit and then Khars, but very interesting.  We had mixed feelings all the way, thinking this land was our homeland.  It was incredibly crowded in the second camp which was a rocky and a rough camp.  Almost 200 people were camping there. At 4,200 meters, we had to go up to the summit from there and get back. We came across Russians, French, Germans and Iranians.  There are lots of mountains that are more challenging to climb, but Mt. Ararat has a special meaning for different individuals.”

“We are planning to create a website for sharing all this valuable information. We had detailed GPS plans. The first two days were not difficult, at all, but the third day was quite challenging. We started at 1.00 am and in five and a half hours, you reach the summit. We were there for 45 minutes then it took another three hours getting down.”

“I believe every young Armenian should do this. Even if they can’t climb the mountain I would suggest they all go to Western Armenia. It is an incredibly interesting place.  I’m not an emotional person, I’m more logical. But the first time that I went there, I could not hold back my tears.  I have climbed many mountains, but always felt that, for me, Ararat was the ultimate climb because it’s been a dream of mine for many, many years.  As for the moment when you reach the summit, I don’t have the words to explain the feeling that overwhelms one. And I had the same feeling when climbing Mt. Sipan.”

“Our success was due to teamwork and having the girls with us made the whole experience particularly special. And the fact that all of us reached the summit together was incredible. It is common practice, when mountain climbing, to raise one’s country’s flag at the summit just to show a sense of pride and to mark one’s achievement.

“This climb of ours has created a tremendous amount of interest.  Since we got back, at least four people have approached me to sign up for a climb next year. My eldest daughter is planning to be part of next year’s team. This patriotic desire is healthy and we should not ruin this for propaganda purposes. I have little time for reactionary talk which I believe is counter-productive and does not serve any useful purpose.  I am, understandably, saddened to see the state of ruin in which Ani, Akhthamar and other similar treasures have fallen. I hope to see them in a better condition, in future.”

Harmik Baghdasarian – Having just turned 50, he had this to say about the climbing expedition: “It was not just a physical challenge for me. We have lived and been nurtured with the idea of Ararat as a symbol of all that is Armenia so this was something I simply had to do. Every step for me was a memory.”  One of the memorable images for me was to see the mountain’s shadow getting larger and larger as we reached closer to the top and turned to look at the Ararat valley.  It is just an amazing and indescribable sight.  You forget all feelings of pain and fatigue.  As you get closer to the summit, you are overcome with this indescribable energy and strength—an adrenaline rush—to reach the very top.”

“We met German and Austrian climbers and they expressed surprise when they learned of our emotional attachment to this mountain.  It felt like home to us all and we were fortunate enough to be there and welcome all these guests to our homeland.  After we descended Ararat, we crossed Lake Van on the following day and went to Akhtamar Island to visit the Akhtamar Monastery. There, we encountered a group of teenagers aged between 14 and 16 who were holding the tricolor Armenian flag.  They were winners of the Hai Aspet’s (Armenian Knight) television contest.  They filed into the church to light candles and to sing, but they were turned out immediately by the guards. Naturally, they were very upset because they had gone there to pray.  However, they danced the Ishkhan (folk dance) outside the church – nothing was more important to these youths than to pay their respects to their ancestors.  I applaud their courage.  I felt that they brought some life into the church.”

Roubina Hovnanian-Manouchehri – A 50-year mother of two teenage sons, Roubina had never climbed a mountain, before. “I actually got up every Saturday at 6:30 am and went training for this climb.  We exercised vigorously and it was worth it! The funny thing is that I was more nervous and stressed over this challenge than I was on  my wedding day.  My emotions took hold of me from that first hour in the bus at the start of the trip. Every step was a tear for me, I was overtaken by emotions which I could not control.”  All the way going up, I never attempted to look at the summit because the goal being far, you do not want to be discouraged by looking at the distance to be covered. I kept my head low and followed our team leader, Vachik.  I never thought that doing something special like this was something no one else could do. Anyone can do this but even with just ten steps to the summit, I still could not believe that I’d make it. I was so nervous that I could not say I realized that I’d done it until I took the last step up! They tell me that on the way back, I literally rolled down the mountain. I don’t doubt it because I have all the bruises to remind me of it. People were just amazing with their words of encouragement. On the way, we met this man who said, “you have come all the way from America to climb Mt. Ararat.  I wish I had a lamb to sacrifice in your honor”.

I asked Roubina if all the tears were tears of exhaustion.  “No, I did not feel fatigue or exhaustion going up.  But, as soon as I came down to my tent after the climb, I could not control myself and I cried for half an hour, straight, from sheer exhaustion.”

Vachik Zakarian – An experienced mountaineer who celebrated his 70th birthday on Mt. Sipan on August 8th had this to say. “I have been an active member of the Ararat Club’s mountaineering division since I was 18 years old and have climbed many mountains in Iran and in the United States. This was my third climb to Mt. Ararat and my first climb to Mt. Sipan. My friends had a big birthday surprise for me waiting on the summit of Mt. Sipan.  My good friend, Greg had been carrying a piece of dry cake (perok) and all other good stuff, all the way from L.A. to the top of Sipan to celebrate my 70th birthday.  There were candles and a banner which had “Happy Birthday” printed on it.  I was truly touched.  I will never forget this birthday.” As it happened, I had a bottle of an Armenian Cognac which  added that extra something to this amazing and unforgettable celebration.  My journey ended with the climb of Mt. Aragats which I completed on the return trek back to Armenia.  I think it’s high time for me to stop these difficult adventures and stick to more simple and easier climbs.  All in all, it’s been a fantastic journey!”

Roubik Mardirosian – This was his second climb to Mt. Ararat and his first to Mt. Sipan. “We had trained well in L.A. and that training paid off. Seven of us had a dream to climb Mt. Sipan as well, and that dream, too was realized! Though it was a much more difficult a climb, this entire journey was an amazing experience which I’ll never forget.”

Greg Sookasian – A first-time climber, Greg had this to say about his experience, “We read and breath Ararat from childhood, but I never imagined that one day I would actually climb Ararat. There was some doubt about my ability to make the climb because of my serious back problems.  I bought my first climbing boots, but since I could not complete my first climb in L.A., I had to return them to the shop. But I did not give up! I bought another set of boots and practiced and stuck with it until I succeeded to complete a climb in L.A.!  By the time we reached the second camp in Armenia, however, I had serious doubts about being able to continue as my bad back was giving me grief.  But, I looked up and the mountain seemed to be calling me so I crawled and limped my way along until I reached the top. I had a mission to track and record every step of our team’s moves on a video camera.  I’m proud to say that I managed to record everyone’s arrival on the summit.  My next wish is to have my daughter, Alina, accompany me on my next attempt.”

Melineh Saginian – A 50-year old proud mother’s account was moving. “This was one of the most important and difficult decisions made in my entire life. I decided to do this for my father, Sevag Saginian.” Melineh’s father was a prominent member of the Iranian parliament in Iran, prior to the Islamic Revolution. “My father had fought for the Armenian cause throughout his life.  However, due to difficult circumstances and his illness, he was not able to see our independent Armenia. Even though I had never, ever, climbed a mountain in my life, I felt that I could climb Mt. Masis and reach the Ararat summit and look towards Armenia from the highest point and let my Dad see our country through my eyes. I’m sure that he now has! We had a great team and excellent team leaders who led us safely to the top. I owe my success in this to our team leaders. And I have to say that if I, a fifty year old female, can achieve this feat after only seven months’ training, then anyone with a strong will and purpose can do the same, also.”

Armen Norhadian – “I did this journey as homage to my parents and my ancestors and for the one and half million Armenians who lost their lives so tragically nearly a century ago,” says Armen, who is 63 years old. “This is my sixth visit to Armenia and when staying in Yerevan, I always try to book a room that faces Mt. Ararat.  As I had always longed to see Yerevan from the other side, as soon as I found out that a few of my friends were getting ready for this expedition, I joined in and prepared for this physically and mentally challenging feat.  The most memorable moment for me was seeing Alexan Bayanduryan, a disabled one-legged Artsakh War veteran climb Mt. Ararat and to reach the summit. I admire him, greatly and he was an inspiration to us all.  Our achievements were humble in comparison.

Mineh Dergrigorian Zadourian – A 35 year old young mother of two, Mineh explains, “My main motivation was to climb with my Dad but as soon as I found out that my aunt, too, was going, I just had to do it!  The ability of males vs females in mountain climbing made no difference to me.  The only thing that was evident was that we had to work a little harder physically.  Reaching the summit with my Dad was something I will cherish for the rest of my life. I would like it if every young Armenian has this experience.  It is for each generation to pay its debt to the past generations in their efforts to continue to demonstrate their patriotism. This experience has left a profound impression on me. I now hope that, one day, my two daughters will follow their parents’, grandfather’s, great aunt’s example and take this same journey.”

Unfortunately, I only had the opportunity to talk to nine of the eleven members of the Mt. Ararat climbing expedition. Each one had a unique perspective and a purpose for this challenge. To my surprise they all became very emotional when talking about their journey. Where do all these emotions come from?  These emotions run very deep and the team’s sense of pride in reaching its goal—after spending so many years sitting around campfires as young scouts, reading and dreaming of this event—is all too clear to see.

To me, these “brothers and sisters” who had realized their dream, had in a sense “reached the moon!” This particular team of climbers seemed to be saying to the world, “We came, we remembered and we will never forget.”  They called it their “bardk” –homage to their motherland, Armenia.

I arrived in Kigali, Rwanda on August 9, 2010: election day. The entire country was in the midst of celebrating their opportunity to re-elect Paul Kagame, a national hero since since leading the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF) to end the Rwandan genocide in 1994. Kigali–the nation’s capital–was covered in streamers that matched the Rwandan flag and every voting center erupted with music, laughter and dance. Shortly after settling into my home in the Kabeza neighborhood, I was invited into the playground of a nearby school-turned-polling-place by a middle-aged man who had just submitted his ballot.

“Come, come!” he said. “Please, be with us today. This is a celebration!”

I had never seen anything like this before–not even when U.S. President Barack Obama was being elected. Children danced gleefully as their parents waited in line to vote, each wearing t-shirts with Kagame’s portrait. Upbeat Rwandan pop music piped into the air from massive speakers. Elderly Rwandan men and women sat  under shady trees, energetically discussing the historical moment they were witnessing. Every single person was smiling from ear-to-ear with pride. Had I not already learned of Rwanda’s history, I would have never guessed that a mere 16 years prior to that moment, Rwanda was a living hell devoured by the pitch darkness of a genocide that claimed the lives of nearly one million of its people.

I re-experienced this pattern of revelation over and over again throughout the month I spent in Kigali. Each day, I would encounter a new aspect of Rwandan culture that would leave me in awe; I had never met such openhearted people in my life.  Perfect strangers on the bus would take another passenger’s child to sit on their own lap if there was a shortage of seats, the elderly were looked upon like national treasures, children played freely outside with no fear of kidnapping, women walked side-by-side with men in the evenings with no fear of rape or petty theft, shop owners offered their own cell phones to clients if the power had gone out…and all this in addition to the kindness shown to me as a guest in their country. Each time I observed or experienced such moments, I would immediately go back to the same question: how did these people exist in such harmony, when less than twenty years ago they were at each others throats?

I traveled to Rwanda to teach a month-long photography course to a group of men and women in Kigali who needed vocational skills and didn’t have access to arts education or equipment. Several of my students were orphaned in the genocide, and almost all were old enough to have distinct memories of what happened in 1994. I didn’t learn any of this until a handful of my students took me to the Kigali Genocide Memorial Centre, though, because there is a general, unspoken consensus amongst Rwandans to actively resist discussion about the genocide; in fact, I was told before my arrival that bringing up the topic of the genocide was considered highly offensive and disrespectful. Until our visit to the Memorial, I had no way of knowing what my students, let alone everyone else in Rwanda, had experienced during and after the genocide unless I read it in a book or on the Internet. I didn’t encounter anything throughout my time in Kigali that referred to the genocide–everything had been suppressed as a means of quickly forgiving one another and moving on, in order to be able to focus on Rwanda’s future and rapid development.

When we were at the Memorial, one of my students finally opened up about losing his entire family in the genocide. He said that it was hard for him to go inside the museum and relive what happened, but that he had no anger in him. He had forgiven the people who killed his siblings and parents and did not harbor hatred towards them.  This ideation was remarkable to me. It was so difficult to reconcile this reality with my frame of reference: my experience in the Armenian diaspora, where any talk of forgiving the Ottoman perpetrators (and their descendants) of the Armenian genocide is practically non-existent.

I learned from an exhibit at the Memorial that many accused killers in the Rwandan genocide have since been released back into society, simply because the families of their victims have forgiven them (as dictated by Gacaca, a tribal-based justice system instituted in the wake of the genocide). As a result, both victims and perpetrators of the genocide are now once again living side by side. Although they are divided by their respective experiences, they are united in thought: that to kill one another is wrong, that the genocide was a bloody lesson in peace and understanding and that the only way for Rwanda to move on and flourish is if each and every Rwandan does their part to move on individually. Of course, this is a double-edged sword: countless survivors of the genocide are now living with severe trauma-related disorders, psychological issues and depression but are actively participating in this repression that will inevitably make their mental conditions worsen. Yet for the people of Rwanda, this seemed to be a worthy sacrifice; to hold back their personal healing for the sake of not tainting the new generation with the disunion, hate and anger that nearly shattered Rwanda just 16 years ago. The result, from what I described at the beginning of this narrative, is a country ruled by peace, love, unity, respect and unadulterated selflessness.

Anahid Y is a 21-year-old student at Occidental College in Los Angeles, where she is studying comparative literature and film theory. She chronicled her experience in Rwanda on her blog, recollectingrwanda.tumblr.com. Her students’ photography will be exhibited alongside her own later this year on the Occidental campus.

Facts about the Rwandan Genocide:

• The Rwandan genocide is officially noted to have started on April 6, 1994 after the assassination of then-president Juvénal Habyarimana; it lasted approximately 10 months and 800,000-1,000,000 people were killed.
• Tensions between the majority Hutu and minority Tutsi ethnic groups had been intensifying throughout the 1900s, culminating in the Hutu-dominated government of the 1990s declaring total cleansing of Rwanda’s Tutsi population. The distinctions that separated the Hutus from the Tutsis were minimal and mostly class-based; they gained prominence at the behest of Belgian and German colonists in the first half of the twentieth century, who then gave privileges to the Tutsis that immediately separated them from the Hutu majority. It was only a matter of time, then, until the Hutus retaliated. By 1962, however, colonization was over and the only people left to weather Hutu anger were the Tutsis themselves.
• Thousands of Tutsis had been living as refugees in neighboring Uganda, Tanzania, Kenya and Zaire (now the Democratic Republic of the Congo), among other countries, for decades at the time of the genocide and so were unharmed. Once the Rwandan Patriotic Front (RPF), led by current President Paul Kagame, ended the genocide, many of these diasporans repatriated to Rwanda and repopulated the country–physically about the size of the U.S. state of Maryland–thus contributing to its current population of nearly 9 million.
• Since the genocide, ethnic terminology has been totally eliminated in Rwanda; any mention of the Hutu and Tutsi distinction is considered highly offensive, and people identify themselves–both personally and on official documents–only as Rwandan.

Rouben Der Minasian

Being in the center of one of the most Armenian populated cities outside of Armenia, the Glendale “Roupen” Armenian Youth Federation (AYF) Chapter feels a special obligation to keep the Armenian youth involved culturally, socially and politically.

Founded in 1977, the Glendale Chapter was named in honor of Roupen Der Minasian, a famed Armenian revolutionary and former Defense Minister of the First Republic of Armenia. Born in Akhalkalk in 1882, Roupen became a key figure in the ARF soon after returning from studying in Russia. He was both an organizer and fedayee, who traveled from Kars, to Van, to Sasoun, leading resistance efforts and defending the Armenian population. His famous seven-volume “Memoirs of an Armenian Revolutionary” serves as one of the most important sources of information on the figures, ideas, and events of the Armenian Revolutionary Movement.

It is in the spirit of dedication and sacrifice set forth by famous heroes such as Roupen that the Glendale AYF seeks to carry out its activities in the heart of the Armenian community of Southern California. Yet, given the diversity of cultures in Los Angeles and the many challenges which confront the youth, this obligation can often be a difficult one to fulfill. Nevertheless, despite the obstacles, what makes the Glendale AYF unique is its strong emphasis on outreach, getting the youth acclimated and interested in contributing to the community, and reaching higher grounds of success.

In 2009, the Glendale AYF Chapter finally received an important resource in its pursuit of activating the youth: the Krikor & Mariam Karamanoukian Glendale Youth Center. The ground breaking for the center was on December 12, 2007, and the opening on July 7, 2009. The chapter finally had an “agoump” that they could call their own.

“The Roupen Chapter might have been on hiatus due to lack of a center,” said Roupen Karakouzian, a member of the chapter’s Executive body. “However, with our new Armenian center, it gives us the upper hand showing the community what activities we are able to carryout for Armenians and non-Armenians.” This community center is shared along with other organizations that serve the community, such as the Armenian Relief Society and the Armenian National Committee.

“We are such a big part of this center and we stepped up to protect it when the city asked for papers from the youth center of financial proof; we took the initiative” explains Anahid Yahjian, a member of the Glendale AYF. “We finally have a center of our own; what sort of family has no home? At times we had to have our meetings in a parking lot” says Anahid.

From the members’ perspective, this center, opens doors to a stronger community, “With our new youth center, Glendale AYF is reaching out to the Armenian-American youth. We organize a variety of social and educational events to bring the youth together” said the chapter’s Chair, David Arakelyan.

This past year the “Roupen” Chapter welcomed the new agoump with activities for the AYF Olympics. After fifteen years it was once again Glendale’s turn to host the annual Olympics, which was held in San Diego. The committee spent months on the preparation and the arrangement of the event. “It was extremely successful and changed our chapter,” says Executive member Kristina Karayan. “It brought us together and it was a blast. We didn’t expect it to rain, though,” she says laughing. Building fun memories and strong bonds together, the chapter continues to grow and fulfill each goal that they have set for themselves and their beloved new home.

Another treasured asset of the Glendale Chapter is its ARF Badanegan (Junior) chapters, “Shant” and “Zavarian.” The main source of transfers to the “Roupen” AYF continue to be Badanees from these chapters. “It’s important that we spend time with them; they will soon follow our footsteps” said Nairie Mirzayan who is a Director for the Glendale ARF Badanees. There are many plans in the works relating to the Badanees to ensure that ties between them and the chapter remain strong.

This is an investment that could not go wrong. They are the future of the chapter and of AYF as a whole. In many ways, the future of the Glendale AYF rests in their hands, along with the overall youth of the community. “The chapter is planning on starting a tutoring program for high school and college students and we will hopefully have that starting next year” said Arakelyan.

Returning to the importance of the new youth center, members regularly point out how it is full of opportunities that are created by the youth for the youth. “With a new café and game room, we utilize this Armenian center as a social environment, as well,” says Karakouzian. “We encourage whomever is reading this to come and experience what I’ve experienced, which are memories for a lifetime.”

The Glendale AYF extends its invite to all youth in the community to come and visit the new youth center. As members constantly emphasize, this center should be for all Armenian youth what it is for them: a home and a place that welcomes all.

For more information about the Glendale “Roupen” AYF or how to get involved with the chapter or activities at the new youth center, you can contact Roupen@AYFwest.org.

When in 1899 the construction of a railroad tunnel in Jajur (the birthplace of the renowned painter Minas Avetisyan) was completed and the first steam locomotive entered Gyumri, the inhabitants of the city gathered at the rail station to see the otherworldly sight. It is said that two youths, Poloz Mukuch and his friend Madoyents Napo, were there as well. After watching the approaching train for a while, Mukuch asked:

-    Napo, how does this train move?
-    Bghov, by vapor.

The eight-year-old Mukuch did not believe his friend. As Napo tried hard to convince him, he expressed his doubt:

-    Tso, if this train moved by vapor, then Dsitoghtsonts bathhouse would have reached London!

The hero of this aneqtod (conversational Armenian for ‘joke,’ borrowed from Russian, borrowed from Greek, borrowed from…) is Poloz Mukuch, the most famous of many renowned witty persons of Gyumri. These tales have become emblematic of the city’s spirit and are a veritable source of joy and pride for the inhabitants.

Poloz Mukuch (Mkrtich Ghazari Melqonian) was born in Gyumri on January 7, 1891. Because of his height, Mukuch (already a colloquial form of Mkrtich) was given the name ‘Poloz’ (colloquial for elongated, asymmetrical, out of proportion). Despite his father being one of the most accomplished blacksmiths and artisans in Gyumri, Poloz Mukuch didn’t learn a trade. He only received an elementary education and, to earn his living, became a podratchi. He would station his cart at different points inside the city and, as he sold fruits, would pepper his humble trade with endless sweet jokes. His impromptu tales—many of which are based on real-life events—quickly made him famous around Gyumri.

Among the witty contemporaries of Poloz Mukuch were Tsitro Aleq, Tutkhal Harut, Madoyents Sirun Napo, Tiraturents Margar, Nal’j Karo, Gramophone Onéss, Dzaghlents Nerses, damrchi usta Kola, Sokh’ Heyvaré, and dholchi millstone Asho.  (If you are really curious, ask a Gyumretsi to decipher for you these phantasmagoric nicknames. I will not do so here due to space constraints).

Poloz Mukuch died in February 1931. The inhabitants of Gyumri loved Poloz so much that a huge crowd accompanied the funeral (As a reminder: the funerals in Armenia consist of having the coffin openly carried out from the home of the dead and, in special cases, the procession walks all the way to the cemetery). Twenty years later seeing that Poloz Mukuch did not have a gravestone, Avetik Ishakyan asks varpet Simik to make one on his behalf. On the one side of the gravestone is carved ‘To Poloz Mukuch (Mkrtich Ghazarosi Melqonyan); on the other side, ‘A memento from the poet Avetik Isahakyan.’

When I was growing up in Gyumri, Poloz Mukuch was an omnipresent and glorified figure. But because scarcely any facts were mentioned about his life, secretly I started to seriously doubt that such a person ever really existed. Most people didn’t bother to talk about his biography. In fact, the jokes with which Poloz had made his mark on the world were much more powerful than any historical facts. Hence, there isn’t a Gyumretsi who not only has heard about, but feels a warm, personal attachment to a figure called Poloz Mukuch. The legend of this man is so dear to a Gyumretsi that innumerable jokes are attributed to him, oftentimes posthumously. Only after living in America for a while do I see the way a city—my home city—has given birth to and nourished a wonderful legend.

Yet, in the 1990s, this pride and humor, although of great psychological use, was surreal and incomprehensible to me. Half of the city was devastated by an earthquake; cycles of harsh winters had left no trees standing in and around the city; the war and a possible conflict with Turkey had made the residents anxious; and people fell into object poverty overnight. Still, they managed to look at the world as if half-seriously; not believing what they see and making fun of it.

To recall, the opening aneqtod mentions a railway being constructed through Gyumri, and a certain Dzitoghtonts bathhouse. Unlike the rest of Eastern Armenia, Gyumri was annexed to the Russian Empire in 1804 at the beginning of the 1804-1813 Russo-Persian war. Already in this period, Gyumri was a major center. In 1829 its population grew significantly due to the influx of about 3000 families from Western Armenia. In 1837 Czar Nicholas I visited Gyumri and renamed it Alexandropol, in honor of his wife, Princess Alexandra Fyodorovna (Charlotte of Prussia). (Almost a century later, in 1924, the city would be renamed again, this time to Leninakan, honoring Lenin…more on this, on re-naming).

Due to its strategic location, Gyumri became a major military station for Russian troops. In many respects, the city’s architecture was determined by this. Thus, two intermingled themes dominated the city: commerce and military presence. Interestingly enough, there are still Russian troops stationed at Gyumri, with a peacekeeping, deterring mission, given the proximity of the current Turkish border (this is the official version of the story). What also seems unique about Gyumri is the fact that during the 19th century the vast majority of its inhabitants have been Armenians.

In the Armenia of today, despite the devastating earthquakes that have periodically occurred in the region, Gyumri has the largest number of standing 19th century buildings. The city was becoming an important commercial and military outpost for the Russian Empire. Ironically, the Russo-Turkish wars of the 19th century were profitable for the commercial class of Gyumri. There were dozens of taverns and large guesthouses. Usually, at the top of the arched gate or somewhere on the front of the building is a slab on which is inscribed the date of the construction, the varpet who built it and the name of its owner.

Early on, the inhabitants of Gyumri lived in houses completely or partially dug into the earth: in Armenian, getnapor and kisagetnapor houses. The latter is also known as glkhatun or ‘Gharnavuj tun’ in the vernacular of Gyumri. These kinds of constructions were used for multiple purposes (living space, storage, workshop, etc.) and were popular throughout the Caucasus and the Armenian Highland. They were built largely with tuff stone and had their own gardens and conveniences. At the same time, another type of building was being perfected: a house-complex with covered internal gardens.

The architecture of these houses already testifies to the growing sophistication of the Gyumri artisans. Their multi-functionality, efficient inner and outer solutions and decorative richness made them exemplary buildings. One of the largest complex houses in Gyumri was the Dzitoghtsonts old house. The Dzitoghtsyan was one of the richest families of the city. It is not accidental that Poloz Mukuch compares their baghniq (‘bathhouse’) to the new railroad in the opening ‘aneqtod’ of our writing. The Dzitoghtsonts complex was built in 1829. Architecturally, this building was one of the masterpieces of early Gyumri cityscape. Like other buildings of its kind, it had many rooms and intricate and highly functional network of halls and entrances.

These prefiguring architectural developments lead to the building of urban house complexes in the second half of the 19th century. There were one and two storied houses and some of them were explicitly called shahutaber (literally ‘income generating’) houses because they rented out frontal spaces and interior rooms for shops and guests, respectively. These houses have intricate designs on their frontal walls. They incorporated details from previous forms of buildings, such as basements, inside gardens, windows on the ceiling and narrow hallways. Once again, the Dzitoghtsyan had one of the largest shahutaber houses in Gyumri. This new two-storied house was built in 1872, according to the inscription on the front of the entrance gate. The first floor was used for commercial purposes while on the second floor, lived the owners of the house. Interestingly, this house had a rare metallic ‘hanging’ balcony on the front-center of the building. Today, this late Dzitoghtsonts building houses the Gyumri museum of popular culture and the museum of Sergei Merkurov – the renowned Soviet sculpture of Greek origins and a native of Gyumri. Anyone visiting Gyumri must visit this museum.

Even though Gyumri has had more prosperous days, it has never been as vibrant and creative as in the second half of the 19th century. In a sense, Poloz Mukuch’s death marked the beginning of a kind of cultural decline for Gyumri. This decline, to be sure, was concomitant with political and economic hardships. There was the devastating impact that the genocidal events of 1915 had on Armenia, in general. With the annihilation and scattering of the Armenian life in Western Armenia, Gyumri lost a great source of economic and cultural growth. The city’s infrastructure and population was put under great pressure by the inflow of refugees. The city lived through harsh winters and devastating epidemics.

Before the collapse of the Armenian Democratic Republic (the first Armenian republic), Gyumri was occupied by Turkish forces twice and in 1920 the infamous Treaty of Alexandrapol was signed there. Soon, along with the current day Armenian Republic, Gyumri became a part of the Soviet Union. Then came a few more years of starvation that were accompanied by forceful efforts to collectivize the economy. This was followed by years of Stalinist repression, and then WW II.

From 1950s on Gyumri experienced major industrial growth. It became the second largest city of the Soviet Republic of Armenia, after Yerevan. Its factories produced textile, high quality electronic devices, industrial parts and construction materials. However, the 1988 Spitak Earthquake and the subsequent economic collapse after the birth of the present Republic of Armenia obliterated the economy of the city.

Unfortunately, even without citing any statistical information it is easily confirmed that to this day Gyumri hasn’t recovered from these blows. There is still wide-spread unemployment; the economic infrastructure is outmoded and sometimes blatantly absent. A new generation of young Armenians who have spent their formative years in an independent Armenia, have not experienced prosperity. The young people of Gyumri lack educational and technological resources. For example, many of them are poorly acquainted with the internet and do not take advantage of the new modes of world-connectedness. Add to this the rampant corruption of the city administration and the future doesn’t look very promising. Instead, for the youth it is completely normal to aspire to move to Yerevan and, even worse, to Russia, Europe, Australia, and especially to the US.

But, I can’t help but be hopeful. Clearly, the multifarious and sophisticated cultural heritage of the city has the potential to reinvigorate itself. Consider all that early-industrial achievement in architecture, artisanship, the arts, and commerce. We should think of how to tap into these potentialities that will allow Gyumri to re-imagine itself. Perhaps this should be left as material for another article.

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Bibliography

• Մաթեւոսյան, Սարգիս. XVIII – XIX դդ. Գյումրիի Ժողովրդական Ճարտարապետությունը. Երեւան, Սովետական գրող, 1985. 144 Էջ.
• Matevosyan, Sargis. Gyumri’s Popular Architecture of XVII – XIX cc. Yerevan, Sovetakan Grogh, 1985. 144 pp.
• Սողոյան, Երանուհի: «Պոլող Մուկուչի եւ Ծիտրո Ալեքի կենսագրության հայտնի ու անհայտ էջերը:» Հետք Online 1 Ապրիլ 2010: Հասարակություն: 3 Օգոստոս 2010 <http://hetq.am/am/society/poloz-mukuch/>
  Soghoyan, Eranuhi. “Known and unknown pages from the biography of Poloz Mukuch and Tsitro Aleq.” Hetq Online 1 April 2010. Society. 3 August 2010.
  
• “Gyumri.” Wikipedia: The Free Encyclopedia. Wikipedia Foundation, Inc. 22 July 2004. Web. 6  Aug 2010.