Haigazian University celebrates 70 years at Beirut’s Phoenicia Hotel
Going up the stairs tonight reminds me of the entrance stairs at Haigazian University. In the Grand Ballroom of the Phoenicia Hotel, familiar faces greet me. Lamps project colorful lights into a mirror. I lean in—does my hair look good? Is my makeup okay?
In the mirror, I see my great-grandfather. Then, I see my grandfather, who found refuge in Lebanon after the 1915 Armenian Genocide committed by the Ottoman Empire. I then see my father. It is the 1980s, and he is opposing emigration, urging Armenians to remain in Lebanon.
A flying airplane in the night sky draws my attention to the window. The houses, streets, trees, sand, sea and rocks—everything awakens stories that lie within me. I recall a photo dating back to 1936, showing my grandparents at a table in a restaurant in Beirut. The illuminated city through the window reminds me of my father’s 1968 diary, in which he says that he took his fiancée (my mother) to view Beirut at night together, and they toured the Phoenicia Hotel. In December 1968, she took her turn writing in my father’s diary, mentioning that their wedding vacation took place at the Phoenicia Hotel.
I am an eyewitness to the 1975 Ain el-Rammaneh bus incident. The Phoenicia Hotel, along with its surroundings—including Saint Georges, Holiday Inn and Burj el Murr—endured the 1975 Harb el Fanadik (“The Battle of the Hotels”) and stand as witnesses to Beirut’s shifting history between war and prosperity.
In 1990, when I began my university journey, Haigazian University was one of the few institutions courageous enough to reopen its doors after remaining closed to newcomers for an entire year. Haigazian University had temporarily relocated to the Geitaoui building, previously known as CMC Hospital. The chemistry and biology labs were temporarily based in the Petania building in Mar Mikhael.
Gunfire occasionally dismissed us early from classes. By the time I was about to graduate, although the situation had improved, many of us still feared going to distant regions. In May 1993, a students’ trip to Baalbek symbolized our transition from war to healing. I often saw our dean, Miss Wilma Cholakian, in her spacious office behind the large desk, but her presence with us on the bus that day gave me warmth, because she distanced herself from the authoritative role she usually held.
In 2005, as a group of alumni, we were present at the inauguration of the university’s expansion with a new building. My friendship with my circle of classmates, now three decades long, has remained unchanged; every year, we meet in our homes across different regions in Lebanon.
Tonight, in the ballroom, attendees from different age groups enjoy a fine dining ‘gourmet’ dinner at round tables. I feel a sense of connection to each one of those individuals. Many, one after the other, approach Rev. Dr. Paul Haidostian, expressing their gratitude for his wisdom and leadership. Through the decades of ups and downs in Lebanon—whether car explosions or protests, economic collapse, pandemic lockdowns or war—Rev. Dr. Haidostian has maintained the university’s mission for quality education.
This celebration honors not just 70 years of academic achievement but the enduring vision of Dr. Armenag Haigazian, a victim of Ottoman persecution.
The gala banquet is set in a glamorous ambiance. I return to the mirror—not to fix my hair or check my makeup, but to embrace the pride that seven decades have created, a pride that makes me feel beautiful from within.
Arminé Akoghlanian
