The theme of community has been relevant of late due to its critical impact on a thriving diaspora. We can learn and improve from reflection on how we connect to our communities. If we have learned anything in the last 100 years of our post-genocide diaspora, it is that there are many roads that carry us on the path to identity and community connection. We all search for a personal identity in our lives, whether professional or relational.
Many of these paths are traditional through a matriculation of family participation in community life, which naturally transitioned into their young adult life. There are alternative roads that are equally important in a diaspora where identity eventually becomes a choice. I remember a young woman from the north shore of Massachusetts who participated in an Armenian identity panel at a local university. Her story was remarkable. She is Armenian on one side of her lineage. She was not raised in the Armenian community but had a family relationship from her Armenian side that left a deep impression on her. Her connection to her heritage began and was limited to her home. It did not translate into participation in community life or even a clear identity until her young adulthood. When the time was right for her, she decided to explore her Armenian identity through the Birthright Armenia program. Initially, it was challenging. She did not “look” Armenian and did not carry an Armenian surname. She did not speak any Armenian or have a functioning knowledge of the culture. Despite these realities, she was driven to pursue her personal journey — a successful journey that led her to extend her service in Armenia. Her story was inspiring and reflected the diversity of our experiences. We can learn much from unique journeys.
Regardless of the paths chosen, for many the family unit is a common thread. The emotional bonds of Armenian identity can usually be traced to a family connection. It can vary on one axis from parents, siblings, grandparents or other extended family members or on another axis from early childhood to adulthood. Identity is about the alliance of our personal needs and the available vehicles of identity. Ethnic or religious heritage are common vehicles for serving the needs of individuals in our diverse society. There are many short term identifiers that are usually not sustainable, such as what I call the “guilt complex.” This can best be described as when one participates in the community based on a past relationship. For example, participating simply out of respect to our parents or grandparents, who may have had a prominent role in the community, is usually not sustainable. Something in the identity vehicle, in this case the diaspora community, must directly touch your heart and one of your needs as an individual.
For many American-Armenians, our first experience with the Armenian community is with our families. It may be through Sunday school or Armenian school attendance. It may come later with participation in youth groups such as the ACYOA or AYF. In many cases, it can lead to a lifetime of service in the numerous educational, philanthropic, advocacy and social organizations. In other cases, it fades into the alternative space of American assimilation. During this evolution, we transition from participating as a family member under the direction of our parents to making a personal choice about our connection to our ethnic identity.
One of the major differences between the homeland and the diaspora is the choice (conscious or not) we all will make to connect, participate and contribute to our heritage. We know both sides of this equation. Ask yourself how many of your friends from Sunday school, Armenian school, ACYOA and AYF are still involved in the community as adults and parents of their own families. It is a simple and personal barometer of the impact of assimilation. We all have “where are they now” stories from camp days and youth organizations. It should serve as a stark reminder that the challenges are real and constant in the diaspora. For every heartwarming experience of seeing young people grow into community participation, we have equal acquaintances with those who have drifted into the fabric of western society, leaving their Armenian heritage behind. The good news is that identity and community participation can happen at any point in our lives. As our lives evolve, our needs for socialization and identity change, which can create new opportunities. It is a joyful day in our communities when we meet new participants who found their way into our sanctuary. It is analogous to welcoming someone home.
The escape of the Armenians into the diaspora from 1915-23 was seen as a relief from Turkish oppression. Four full generations later, we are experiencing the impacts of ending one’s lineage as thousands of Armenians assimilate into the culture of the host society. Of course, my definition of an identifying Armenian is more conservative, because it is taken in the context of community participation. An individual identifying as an Armenian but remaining aloof from the community infrastructure unfortunately does little to nothing to sustain our global nation. There are many individuals who contribute with generous financial resources to build community, and they are an important part of the identity equation. When we speak of a thriving, vibrant and influential American diaspora, there is a direct reference to the vitality of community infrastructure. It is the engine that fuels our vast organizational network, international philanthropy and advocacy credibility.
When we speak of a thriving, vibrant and influential American diaspora, there is a direct reference to the vitality of community infrastructure. It is the engine that fuels our vast organizational network, international philanthropy and advocacy credibility.
My story of identity is fairly typical for my generation and similar to that of many of our readers. I was fortunate to grow up in a household headed by committed American-Armenian parents. My parents were proud Americans (my Dad, like many, served in World War II) who enjoyed the blessings of our hyphenated lives but spent the vast majority of their free time with Armenians and our extended families. Redundancy has its benefits as a teaching tool. Unlike today when parents give their children the choice, the expectation was clear that we would go to church. My father was a deacon and my mother a Sunday school teacher for over 50 years. The times were different, but our family was the source of our identity. My father would say to us as teens, “Whatever you do with your friends on Saturday, the car is leaving with everyone for church at 9:15 a.m. Sunday.” We always left early, because my father participated in the morning service, and we helped Mom set up for Sunday school. We were not always happy about the process, but slowly the church community became our identity.
We build friendships to address social needs. I loved basketball and played on our AYF team. We were the kids whose parents were late for Cub Scout Pack meetings or Little League games, because Mom and Dad had guild, church board, “Garmeer Khatch” or “Gomideh” meetings. I will never forget the look on my school friend’s face when I told him my Mom would be late because she had a “Garmeer Khatch” meeting. I am so grateful for the remarkable role modeling of my parents. Of course, they would never refer to it as role modeling. They were simply committed Armenians who chose to raise their family with these values. As a young pre-teen, I was always with my father when he welcomed visiting clergy and prelates to our parish. It was an opportunity that I grew to cherish as I aged. It helped me develop a deep respect for our clergy.
I know many fellow diaspora Armenians who had similar upbringings and lament their inability to replicate that experience today as parents and grandparents. Times have changed, but not the equation. We are quick to ask our church to make adjustments to improve our Sunday schools but loath to address the decline in our homes. Throughout our history, Christian education began in the home. Sunday school is a more modern phenomenon and in some ways is a surrogate for what is not happening in the home. Our children go to Sunday school to learn about their Christian faith and return home to live their faith. Is the latter actually happening? Do we pray at home, or do we limit it to church? If we don’t attend services, are we instilling any faith in our children? When we allow our children to participate in sports on Sunday morning, are we truly focused on their long-term interests or simply succumbing to peer pressure? How many of us have taught our children our family story of migration from the homeland and family trees? Do they know how we came to be here? Each decision counts, because family is where it begins.
When I think about the impact of family and home life on our Armenian identity, I think of the experiences of our survivor grandparents’ generation. They were mostly lacking in formal education and due to their horrific expulsion from the homeland were of modest financial means. Despite these challenges, they had a remarkable level of commitment, which always began in the home. Due to their sacrifices, today we are a well-educated community with the resulting wealth, yet our commitment, in totality, has declined. When looking to improve the impact of family and home on identity, there are important lessons to learn from our recent past. Our identity finds its roots in the home with family.
Stepan Piligian
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Great article Stepan. We can relate.