Rusmenglish: Reclaiming my Armenian literacy (and why you should reclaim yours, too)

My fascination with unconventional ideas began at the dinner table. My grandpa, an enthusiastic Soviet-era historian and educator, filled our dinners with exchanges that turned mealtimes into debates. Peppering his many teachings with anecdotes from his own life in Soviet Yerevan, he made conversation on seemingly abstract topics like political theory and history both vivid and immediate. From the Pan-Slavic movement to Holodomor, we explored a range of perspectives, amid the clink of silverware and the comforting scent of Babulya’s tolma

Our dialogue — a blend of Armenian, Russian and English — was characterized by what my grandpa affectionately labeled “Rusmenglish.” To me, it has become an ever-evolving representation of fluidity — connecting past and present, tradition and change. In part through “Rusmenglish,” my ability to bring people together through dialogue was also born at the dinner table.

My family’s journey to the United States followed the familiar yet complex arc of many immigration stories, beginning with Armenia’s energy crisis amid the Soviet Union’s collapse. Upheaval plunged the country into what came to be called the “dark and cold years” — a period marked by widespread job loss, poverty, hunger and freezing winters. Just months away from completing the dissertation he had devoted years to — one that would have made him the youngest person in Armenia’s history to defend a Ph.D., at age 26 — my grandpa packed up everything and moved to Russia, determined to build a better life for his family. In Moscow, my grandparents pieced together a modest living through their new business selling obscure items, including fur coats and toothpaste, in the city’s vast underground metro system. 

As many adapted to life abroad, they forgot or overlooked the language that connected us so deeply. Yet, just as my grandpa held onto the Armenian language and traditions across two foreign countries, I bear the responsibility of doing the same, ensuring that my children and grandchildren understand the importance of our heritage. Many Armenian communities, like mine in Los Angeles, have established language schools in churches and community centers that offer Armenian classes for children. 

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However, I didn’t have the opportunity to attend a formal language and cultural immersion school growing up. Unsurprisingly, my family’s everyday use of “Rusmenglish” didn’t focus on written Armenian. Despite my fluency in spoken Armenian, I struggled with reading and writing. Inspired by the dinner table conversations that were an integral part of my upbringing, I set out to reclaim this missing piece of my heritage: my Armenian literacy. 

I knew I had to get creative in my pursuit. I began slowly. First, I learned the alphabet, with help from many YouTube videos and flashcards. Then, I dug out a book that my grandma would read to me when I was a toddler: a compilation of classic Armenian children’s stories. It had been buried deep in their basement for years. Day by day, I read and copied what felt like hundreds of sentences, gradually transitioning to traditional textbooks. I soon moved on to more advanced literature, building a foundation of complex grammatical and syntactic nuances, even though it still takes me a few (okay, sometimes five) tries to figure out the placement of the question mark in a sentence.

For many second and third-generation Armenians living outside of our homeland, language preservation is a significant challenge — a loss that carries implications beyond communication. This is especially poignant given Armenians’ broader struggle in preserving our history and identity in a world that continually seeks to weaken our connection to our ancestors and their stories.

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Late last year, I encouraged several friends who also felt disconnected from their roots to join, and together we formed a study group. Every Thursday, without fail, we gather, each bringing our notes, reflections and camaraderie. We exchange literature (my current favorite is Raffi’s The Fool), share insights and encourage one another as we navigate the challenges of learning a language that holds so much significance in our lives.

Each mistake reminds me of how far I’ve come and how much further I still have to go, as I nurture the shared purpose and joy of connecting with others through language. More than anything, these mistakes represent my commitment to preserving a part of my identity that I believe is worth fighting for.

I carry my notebook, filled with scribbled notes and uncertain punctuation. Each mistake reminds me of how far I’ve come and how much further I still have to go, as I nurture the shared purpose and joy of connecting with others through language. More than anything, these mistakes represent my commitment to preserving a part of my identity that I believe is worth fighting for.

As I continue my journey, I remain hopeful that future generations of Armenians will not face the same struggles. Through continued efforts within our communities, alongside the development of new resources, we can ensure that the Armenian language thrives. Whether through formal education, community initiatives or personal study groups, we all have a role to play in its preservation and growth. It is through these collective efforts that we can ensure the language continues to be an integral part of the diaspora’s identity for generations to come.

Emily Tarverdyan

Emily Tarverdyan

Emily Tarverdyan is a 17-year-old student from Los Angeles dedicated to shedding light on global issues to foster meaningful dialogue. Her interests center around policy, youth advocacy and the Armenian cause.

2 Comments

  1. The youngest PhD in Armenia’s history was S. Mergelian, a mathematical genius and the author of Mergelian’s theorem. He was 20 or 21.

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