My father was what you would call a community man. His entire life revolved around service to the Armenian community. It gave him such joy to see people come together for a common goal. He would often say that consensus was the hardest thing to achieve in our communities. Having opinions was never the problem—in fact, expressing diverse views usually brings the best solution forward. The challenge lies in the transition from opinions to consensus to decision. That’s why community life can sometimes feel messy, filled with conflicts and disagreements. But as long as the dialogue is focused on the merit of the issues—and not egos—eventually, the best solution will emerge.
He was at his best as a participant in that process. Our family’s social life was deeply integrated with the Armenian community. Although both my parents were born in this country, most of their friends were Armenians. We took family vacations, but they were always scheduled around community events. My father served as a deacon of the church and planned carefully to ensure continuity in the community. There were times when, as children, we considered it a bit of an annoyance, but over time, we came to admire the dedication and commitment our parents humbly displayed.
Many years ago, we were on a family vacation to visit cousins in the Midwest. During the trip, my father was informed that a tragic fire had destroyed our church in Indian Orchard. Our vacation was not interrupted, but on the way home, we drove straight to the church so my father could observe the damage and begin meeting with other community members. The tragedy created an unexpected crossroads for the parish: Would rebuilding be a bridge too far for a community with limited resources? I was in my early teens and listened to the debates. It is often said that major community projects, such as building a new church, require visionary risk-takers who relentlessly defy the odds.
It was an inflection point in my young life. I saw that our father was one of those people. Together with other outstanding people, they built a beautiful edifice, its design inspired by St. Hripsime Church in Armenia and Holy Cross Cathedral on Aghtamar Island on Lake Van. Consensus was difficult, but their resolve to work together was stronger. Building that harmony can produce incredible results. They argued but brought solutions to the discussion. It is the absence of that spirit that leads to division and failure. It’s too easy to turn our backs on each other. It is more challenging, but far more productive, to search for commonality.
Conflict within our diasporan communities is often initially viewed from the perspective of opposing sides. Eventually, as time heals, we find ways to understand each other. For example, very few of our brethren in the Etchmiadzin diocese know that during the last unified diocesan assembly in September 1933, a group of pro-Etchmiadzin delegates walked out—fearing the loss of a vote to replace the Primate—and established their own assembly at the nearby Hotel Martinique. This unauthorized gathering was later sanctioned by the Soviet-controlled Vehapar as the legitimate diocese. As a result, the group that had followed the by-laws became estranged and came to be known as the “unaffiliated” parishes, until they petitioned to become affiliated with the Great House of Cilicia in Antelias.
While those events in 1956-57 are often cited as the formal start of the church division, we rarely consider them through the lens of generational trauma. These Armenians were cut off from the Mother Church, despite remaining faithful to the church’s legislative process. In the 23 years before the Cilician Prelacy was formed, these parishes survived thanks to a few heroic priests who traveled to multiple communities to celebrate Badarak and offer the sacraments. Our parish in Indian Orchard was one of those isolated churches. They were mocked as illegitimate (an ironic term), and in many cases, were tragically denied sacraments.
I often thought about how this affected the psyche of these blossoming communities. It was a time when the survivor generation was handing over leadership to their children—the first generation born in this country. Many misconceptions were driven by stereotypes. One was the belief among the “unaffiliated” parishes that diocesan members were “Bolsheviks”—a term used to describe pro-Soviet thinking.
The reality was quite different. Certainly, there were hardline “Bolsheviks” within the Etchmiadzin diocese, but the majority had much milder perspectives. Many Armenians remained affiliated with Holy Etchmiadzin because of its historical status—it was the Mother See in their view. Politically, others simply felt the goal of an independent Armenia was unrealistic and were grateful for a nation-state, even under Soviet rule. These were different perspectives than those of the nationalists, who remained firmly committed to continuing the struggle for freedom. When we separate ourselves from the emotion and trauma of that time, we can see that it was a division of ideals versus practical conformity.
There was very little difference of opinion on Turkey and the Genocide. Certainly, the murder of Archbishop Tourian in December 1933 added an unfortunate emotional element that compounded divisions. During the years prior to and after the Cilician affiliation, attempts were made at reconciliation, but the wounds were too fresh. There was hope that a new generation could resolve the conflict. It is now apparent that the hierarchical Sees must resolve their differences. Tremendous progress has been made at the local and parish level, but it has not translated into administrative resolution. My father was there in 1956 when the churches in North America petitioned the Holy See of Cilicia. It must have been a trying decision.
Certainly, they knew they would be blamed for cementing the division by creating two jurisdictions in the same geography, but they were thinking of their communities and children. With reconciliation a non-starter at that time, their parishes were exploding in size and locations. They needed priests and infrastructure to not only manage the growth but to ensure its sustainability. The newly established Prelacy quickly expanded, creating new parishes and organizational systems.
We often focus on the jurisdictional split, but perhaps we miss another important point. The Prelacy has succeeded in bringing thousands of American Armenians under the spiritual umbrella of the Armenian Church. What would have happened had they chosen to continue isolated in 1956? Sometimes, we must consider the long-term impact. My father never stopped believing in our collective harmony and a free Armenia. External factors have clouded our vision in periods of internal conflict. But if we look deeper, we will find that we have far more that unites us than divides us.
While church issues have transitioned into substantial cooperation, the diaspora finds itself facing another challenge: its relationship with the Republic of Armenia has become awkward. I should note that the term “diaspora” is convenient but misleading—it actually represents a very diverse grouping. Nevertheless, criticism of the Armenian government—and by extension, Armenia itself—has become widespread. Significant segments of the diaspora disagree with the government’s negotiating tactics and willingness to compromise with Azerbaijan. Critics argue that appeasement will not satisfy the genocidal appetite of the Aliyev regime and only embolden him.
In our democracy, the executive branch—specifically, the State Department—sets foreign policy. Most of our public advocacy work focuses on high-profile members of Congress. This is admirable, but often they are not responsible for foreign policy. They can pass legislation to influence policy or hold oversight hearings, but most of the time, we are heartened by well-intended but powerless statements. The U.S. government has been a strong advocate for an Armenia-Azerbaijan treaty. What is the impact, then, of Armenian advocacy efforts that oppose the peace process, and therefore, U.S. policy? Does this diminish our credibility or make us look fractured?
I have listened carefully to the criticism, but I have also waited patiently to hear alternative solutions. I think this may be at the core of the issue: when options are limited, we default to criticism. My father used to say that criticizing should always be accompanied by a solution. PM Nikol Pashinyan is betting that portraying Armenia as a “good faith” actor will earn it enough international credibility to force Azerbaijan to sign a treaty and prevent further military conflict. It is easy to say it won’t work, because President Ilham Aliyev is a genocidal dictator. So, what adjustments should be made that can achieve peace while minimizing the possibility of conflict?
We need solutions, not disunity. Armenia elected its government. We are ardent supporters of Armenia, but we are not citizens. Do we feel entitled to influence Armenia’s foreign policy? It is a difficult decision because of the passion we feel for the homeland, but we need to bring our disagreements in-house and project more harmony to our global stakeholders and our own people. This will require leaders—both in the diaspora and in Armenia—to take some risk with each other, to find the balance between holding our leaders accountable and becoming part of the solution.
Stepan Piligian
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