Armenian enough? Thoughts on Armenian+ diasporans
When I lived in Hong Kong, I was part of a group called ChinaHay, the Armenian community in China. This group comprised many multicultural Armenian families: Armenian and Hong Kong Chinese, Armenian and French, Armenian and Japanese, and the list goes on. I was proud to belong to ChinaHay and inspired by its inclusive nature. We danced kochari on the beach, visited Armenian churches in the region, held gatherings, including dolma making workshops, ate Armenian food, and talked and laughed together. We were partaking in cultural continuity without anyone objecting to our Armenian-ness.
I have since repatriated to the U.S. and recently came across a Huysmedia Instagram post, published May 26, about the introduction of an Armenian+ character, Blaze Manoukian, in the upcoming “Toy Story 5” film. The comments revealed a mixed reception to the character, with remarks about her Armenian-ness. I use the term Armenian+ intentionally because it conveys a strengths-based framework for including multicultural Armenians rather than viewing them through a deficit-based lens.
To my dismay, the comments included xenophobic remarks about “purity” and cultural “dilution,” language that negates the full membership of Armenian+ people by suggesting they are not Armenian enough. This kind of exclusionary rhetoric is counterproductive because Armenian+ members of the diaspora are neither anomalies nor less Armenian; gatekeeping Armenian identity fractures our unity. Why shouldn’t Armenian+ people be able to partake in the collective Armenian “we”?
One of the greatest gifts of repatriation has been the chance for my Armenian+ children to attend Krouzian Zekarian Vasbouragan (KZV) Armenian School in San Francisco. When I attended the school in my early years, there were few Armenian+ kids and many of my peers were the first generation born in the U.S. What varied culturally were our parents’ countries of emigration: Armenia, Russia, Syria, Lebanon, and elsewhere. Questions about being Armenian enough in the diaspora at that time seemed to revolve around the level of Armenian linguistic and cultural continuity preserved within families. Diasporan Armenians came together, yet there were also sociolinguistic distinctions such as “Beiruta-Hye,” “Parska-Hye,” “Hayastantsi” and other subgroup identities that reflected more particular forms of belonging.
Like many in my generation, the fortification of Armenian identity was central to our lives and reinforced by key aspects of our socialization: our parents, educators, faith communities and social environments. I never felt that I needed permission to be Armenian.
Although I will always try to protect my children from “not Armenian enough” rhetoric, I also call on Armenian diasporans to think deeply about the harm such messaging causes Armenian+ children and adults. I hope we can work together to shift these narratives toward inclusion. My children have never questioned whether they are less Armenian because they are also of Austrian and Filipino heritage.
As a parent, I can instill in my children the belief that they are 100% complete and can claim all of their cultural identities; they are not mutually exclusive of one another. But fostering a sense of belonging for Armenian+ diasporans takes a village. A key part of that village for me has been KZV Armenian School, which provides a bilingual and multicultural education to all of its students, including its growing population of Armenian+ students.
When I think about Armenian-ness, the words of Paruyr Sevag come to mind: “…see, we don’t put ourselves above anyone, but we know ourselves. We are called Armenians, and why should we not feel pride about that? We are, we shall be, and become many.”
Let us heed these powerful words and not deprive our Armenian+ diasporans of the pride that comes with being Armenian.
Because we are all Armenian enough.
