To be honest, I was a little skeptical of the overall political situation regarding its status. Being Armenian, my devotion to the roots my people defend in this land is a given; as an American, however, it is easy to come across different perspectives that often work to instill doubt. Having done my research on the area, I began to notice the atmosphere of Azeri propaganda prevalent on the Internet. A simple Wikipedia search would bring up the region as a part of Azerbaijan that is under dispute, sources favorable to Azeri claims more detailed in the info menus. Pulling up map applications would show the street names either in their Turkish form or Turkified. Absorbing statements that official political figures made would lead one to believe that maybe the land really does belong to Azerbaijan and that the disputes are tragic for both sides. So how does one reconcile these conflicting sides, especially as an Armenian?
The region is isolated to the rest of the world, the most convenient method of access is by a narrow, dangerous road paved through the Caucasus. To the rest of the world, all Artsakh seems to be is a two dimensional piece of land that is too irrelevant to worry about. It wasn’t until I stepped foot off that bus in Stepanakert that my perspective began to shift once again, this time toward reality. Walking down the streets I noticed all the street signs being Armenian, marketplaces selling traditional Armenian grocery items, with people speaking Armenian in the street corners. I opened up my maps once again to reassure myself I was in the right place: the name of the city showed “Xank?ndi.” Our day continued as we traveled to the day camp center in Askeran. I kept pulling my maps app out once again to track our location, once again coming across Turkish spelling with no indication of Armenian heritage. Yet once again, what I saw as we arrived was an Armenian community welcoming us with warmth, the children meeting us with smiles and curiosity with the backdrop of war as their façade, but that didn’t seem to bother them. In that moment it was clear to me: Artsakh is Armenian. A two dimensional map doesn’t do the reality any justice, if anything, it is counter intuitive and disrespectful to the identities of those who live their lives in these regions.
I needed to take in Artsakh with all my senses to truly grasp the meaning of Armenian heritage being rooted in this land: touching the ruins of Tigranabert, smelling the fresh air of the country side, tasting Armenian cuisine, hearing the vibrancy of the language all around town, and of course taking in the beautiful sight of the untouched nature that despite the atmosphere of war around it still retains its peaceful tranquility to which the people pride themselves in preserving. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what a map or political propaganda says. What matters is what is on the ground, what I saw with my own eyes and heard with my own ears. From the time of Tigran the Great 2 millennia ago to now, Artsakh is Armenian and always will be.
I’ve been to Armenia twice with my family (2004 and 2006) and once with my 11 class in 2011. The last time I went, I stayed a couple of weeks extra and volunteered at Orran, a center for atrisk children in Yerevan. Those 2 weeks could’ve been spent back in California lounging by a pool and spending time with friends, but the moment I stepped foot into Orran I knew that I’d return to Hayasdan soon to connect with and help the children of my motherland.
“Soon” didn’t happen as soon as it should have, and I’ve found myself drifting further and further away from my home and my roots. Los Angeles, despite it being a huge city, has always felt small and closeknit due to the presence of such a large Armenian community. I didn’t realize this until I went away for school in Santa Barbara in 2013 and was suddenly dropped in a sea of nonArmenians and nearly nobody to eat kebab and speak Armenian with. Little did I know, that soon I’d be studying abroad in Sweden, where the Armenian population is nearly nonexistent. My contact with anything Armenian has been limited to phone calls with my parents, repeatedly listening to Element on Spotify, and the single time I found grape leaves at a small store and was able to make myself sarma.
Youth Corps is my comeback. And I don’t mean in an “Eat, Pray, Love” sort of way where I find myself and reach nirvana while riding elephants in Thailand. I mean it in a “reality check” way, in a “there are bigger problems than your biochemistry final way”, in a “you are first-and-foremost an Armenian” way. I am thrilled at the thought of immersing myself in my mother tongue and feeling like my 5-year old self again, who didn’t even think twice about using Armenian as her default language. I am impatient to connect with my brothers and sisters on the other side of the world and realize that our lives aren’t as different as we think they are. And I hope I’m able to make them feel as proud of our nation and culture as I learned to be through AYF, whether your thousands of miles away from your roots or are fall asleep at night right at the feet of Mayr Hayasdan.
About ten years ago, after hearing endless stories about Youth Corps from alumni, from Sosé, at AYF Camp and at AYF Juniors meetings, I had given an oath to myself that the year 2016 will be the year in which I will finally embark the journey of AYF Youth Corps. The year has finally come, and the suspense of counting down the days to depart with only a few days left has made me even more impatient.
I feel as though this year, in a strange way, symbolizes the commitment and determination of the Armenian Youth Federation even more tremendously; after the scare of the massive ceasefire violations in Artsakh, many were concerned with the possibility of holding back the Youth Corps program for this year. However, I am proud to say that I will be a part of a group that will continue the program despite such discouraging efforts. It only goes to show that the AYF, in the homeland and in the diaspora, is always consistently on the frontlines for the Armenian nation. I, as a member of the AYF Orange County “Ashod Yergat” chapter, am proud to also be able to be at the grand opening of the Gyumri agoump—since the renovations were made possible by AYF OC’s launch of the “We Are Gyumri Campaign.” There is a symbol that we, as a people, will always continue to build—and rebuild, overcoming obstacles to better our nation.
Despite the excitement, I fear some challenges that I will face: to be away from home for six weeks, the language barrier between eastern and western Armenian, and all the tasks that I will be responsible and held accountable for. However, I look forward to overcoming every single one of these challenges. I look forward to leaving a lasting impact on the Youth Corps campers; I look forward to learning from the campers just as much as I hope they will learn from me and my peers; I look forward to finally understanding the eastern Armenian dialect and to be surrounded by the speech of our beautiful and rich language; I look forward to being in my homeland to make a difference with my ungers by my side. Youth Corps 2016 has finally come, and I cannot wait to start my journey.