Armenian Weekly On-Line, May 5, 2007

[Maghakian Mike]

The Armenian Weekly On-Line
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Armenian Weekly On-Line, Volume 73, Number 18, May 5, 2007

News:
1. Five Turks Disrupt Genocide Book Event

Interview:
2. It's History . But It Does Matter
An Interview with Ambassador John Evans
By Khatchig Mouradian

Commentary:
3. Muslim Armenians: A Bit Ethnocentric, but Interesting
By Nayiri Mgrditchian

4. Where Do We Go from Here?
Renouncing Violence and Decrying Acquiescence
By Kevork K. Kalayjian, Jr.

5. The 24th and After
By Garen Yegparian


Features:
6. The Search: From Tigran Mets to Sayat Nova
Article and Photos by Knarik O. Meneshian

7. Maine Woman Climbs Kilimanjaro for Charity
By Tom Vartabedian


Community:
8. Gymnast Houry Gebeshian Raises the Bar

9. Watertown High School Holds Assembly to Commemorate Genocide

10. Dicran Berberian's Art Shown in Charlestown

11. Violinist Stefan Jackiw Shines at Harvard
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1. Five Turks Disrupt Genocide Book Event

NEW YORK (A.W.)-Five Turks disrupted a book reading by Margaret Ajemian
Ahnert, author of The Knock at the Door, at a Barnes & Noble in New York on
May 1. One of them, 41-year-old Erdem Sahin, was arrested and charged with
unlawful assembly, inciting a riot, disorderly conduct and resisting arrest.

"I was speaking about my book when suddenly five guys got up and started
passing out anti-Armenian pamphlets. The security from Barnes & Noble moved
them off to a side. Then they got louder, more annoying and more abusive so
someone called the police," Ahnert said in an interview with Weekly editor
Khatchig Mouradian. "I am told that one of them threw a punch at one of the
policemen, and immediately they got him handcuffed and took him off to the
police station," she added.

The reading resumed after an interruption of 20 minutes.

The Weekly asked her how she felt during the incident. "I didn't feel
anything at that moment," she said. "I was calm and cool, stood up there,
continued telling my story as though they didn't exist. I didn't give them
the credence that they wanted." The story she refers to is that of her
mother, Ester, and her terrifying experiences during the Armenian genocide.

"When I got back to my room, I was shaking. I couldn't sleep that night,"
Ahnert said. But she is adamant. "My mother is with me. She wanted me to
tell the story and I am going to tell it."

The Armenian Weekly was the first to review The Knock at the Door in its
March 10 issue. Publisher's Weekly and other publications followed. See the
calendar listings for information on her upcoming event at the ACF in
Arlington, Mass.
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2. It's History . But It Does Matter
An Interview with Ambassador John Evans
By Khatchig Mouradian

WASHINGTON (A.W.)- Former U.S. Ambassador to Armenia John Evans defied U.S.
State Department policy by using the word genocide in reference to the
destruction of the Armenians in the Ottoman Empire. He was soon after
dismissed from his post. In this interview, conducted in Washington on April
23, Evans talks about why he went against the policy, what changes that
policy has since undergone, and why and how it needs to change.

Khatchig Mouradian-Why would a distinguished ambassador like yourself speak
out on an issue that guarantees criticism and intervention from the State
Department?

John Evans-It came down to an ethical question, and I came to the conclusion
that I had no choice. I have to say that it is not something that any
diplomat does lightly. It goes against every grain of our being. It goes
against every teaching that we've ever had as diplomats, so it was not an
easy decision. But I did a lot of thinking and a lot of reading beforehand,
and you have to wait for my book to get the full story.

K.M.-Of all U.S. foreign policy issues, why did you choose to speak out on
the Armenian genocide?

J.E.-You have to remember that I was the U.S. Ambassador to Armenia. Had I
been the U.S. ambassador somewhere else, there would have been no sense in
this. My having been assigned to Armenia meant that I did a lot of reading
and studying. And it wasn't the first time, because I had studied Ottoman
history before, during the sabbatical year. So this was not totally foreign
historical territory for me. But it was a combination of factors, and I do
ask your patience. Wait until I finish my book and I hope to answer these
questions for everybody.

K.M.-Talk about your book.

J.E.-Since I left the State Department last fall, I have been working on a
book which traces my own intellectual journey from knowing very little about
Armenia and Armenians to knowing a little bit more-still not all that much
but quite a bit in the end-and I'm hoping that I will appeal to everyday
American readers who don't know very much and are even puzzled afraid of the
issue. I hope I can bring them with me on this intellectual journey and then
try to explain why it is important to deal with it and suggest some things
that should be done. That's the purpose of my book. It's with an editor now
and I hope it would be done with a publisher soon.

K.M.-When you consciously decided to make that statement, to say genocide,
what did you expect to happen? Is it what's actually unfolding now?

J.E.-No one ever knows exactly what is going to happen as a consequence of
one's actions. I did have a pretty good idea that it was going to cause some
controversy. And if you see the tape that was recently discovered of what I
said in Fresno, I didn't simply blurb out the word genocide to make an
effect. It was embedded in a deep context of lots and lots of other factors
that I was trying to discuss as honestly and sensitively as I could with my
audiences. And my audiences were not only Armenian-American, but also
university audiences. There were Turks and Azeris in some. I felt that the
impossibility under current situations of dealing with the issues frankly
was an impediment to everybody's understanding and to everybody's getting to
a better place on this issue.

K.M.-How did people you interacted with in Armenia deal with the genocide
issue?

J.E.-The issue of the Armenian genocide was never raised with me in Armenia
and I never raised it there. I talked about it during my trip through the
U.S. in February 2005. I did not raise it at my post of assignment. I know
there are polling data which reveal that the recognition of the genocide is
not on top of the list for most citizens of the Republic of Armenia. And I
certainly found that people I have talked to in Armenia are very sensible
about this issue, they are also deeply passionate about it, but there are so
many other things to deal with-questions of economy, politics, daily living.
Certainly U.S. programs there are focused primarily on these issues and that's
what we mainly dealt with.

K.M.-Why is it important for the U.S. to recognize an atrocity that took
place 92 years ago in another part of the world?

J.E.-The U.S. has all through its history prided itself on standing up for
historical truth, human rights, justice, and on trying to make the world a
better place. Although the foreign policy of every state is a combination of
factors, it's never based simply on ethics or simply on the truth as we may
perceive it; it's always a mixture of things. And honest men and women can
differ about the ingredients. On one side, there are those who would
practice realpolitik; on the other end of the spectrum you may have the
Wilsonian bent of mind. Somewhere between those two poles is a happy medium
and I personally think that on this issue, we have gone too far in one
direction and the balance needs to be redressed.

Obviously lots of other people are speaking out on this. We have 40 of the
50 U.S., which have in some way or the other recognized the historical
reality of the Armenian genocide. By latest count, there are now 191
co-sponsors of the bill currently in the House. So it's not by any means
just me. There are many other people who have spoken out about this issue
and written about it-the New York Times very recently in its editorial, the
L.A. Times, and many other of the media voices in this country.

K.M.-Many diplomats serving around the world may have problems with the
different aspects of U.S. foreign policy, but do not publicly speak against
it. What was the difference in your case?

J.E.-In 35 years of my diplomatic career, I never once found myself in
serious disagreement with U.S. foreign policy in an area on which I was
working or had responsibility. That's the difference. This is the first time
in my diplomatic career that I ran up into a policy and a situation. This
was not a case where one could simply call a staff meeting or interagency
group meeting and solve the problem or tweak the policy. It is much more
profound than that. I don't think all ambassadors are sitting on historical
problems.

K.M.-Yes, I wanted to know why you considered it important in the case of
the Armenian genocide.

J.E.-I do think it's important because history is important. History
matters. Unfortunately in the U.S., too often when you say it's history, we
mean it doesn't matter. But history does matter and if the questions left
over from history are not addressed, they tend to come back and back again
and again, and this is one of those questions. I also think this is very
much linked to security for all the countries in that region. It's an issue
that has not been fully addressed, and needs to be fully addressed. And all
the countries I am talking about Anatolia and the Caucasus, they need to
deal with the demons of the past, put them to rest, and create a better,
healthier and safer future for their people.

K.M.-What about the argument that Turkey is an important ally?

J.E.-I think we are good friends with the Turks and I think we should be
good friends with the Turks. And I think what we've been doing is not what a
good friend necessarily does. I bare today's Turks no ill will. I have
Turkish friends, my stokebroker is a Turk, and the people of present-day
Turkey are not culpable for the crimes that took place in 1915. But our
friendship cannot be based on the denial on historical truth.

K.M.-How do you see Turkey coming to grips with the past?

J.E.-I am not a great expert on the internal dynamics of Turkey. I do follow
them as every well-informed citizen should. It's a very important country.
We do see signs of change in Turkey, we see signs that ice is cracking a
little bit, and I think we need to encourage those voices who are speaking
for a better, more democratic Turkey in the future, which will be for us a
better ally.

K.M.-How do you think the State Department's policy regarding the Armenian
genocide will change?

J.E.-I think change is happening. A lot of changes have already happened,
and the recent testimony of U.S. Assistant Secretary of State Dan Fried on
March 15 marked an important milestone, when he used a new term "ethnic
cleansing." I also think there are other things that can be done. In my
book, I plan to suggest a number of these things-not just prescribe what
must happen, but throw out some ideas that could be done and in my view
should be done, and we will see then where we will go. Because I don't think
simply using the word genocide-which is a very powerful word, and it does
describe in my view what happened in 1915-will deal with the issue fully.
There's a great deal more that needs to be done in the future and we all
need to think about what some of those things could be.
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3. Muslim Armenians: A Bit Ethnocentric, but Interesting
By Nayiri Mgrditchian
Hamshen has historically been an Armenian region, but it now survives within
Turkey's borders. During the 8th century, under pressure from the Arab
Caliph, 12,000 Armenians, under the leadership of Prince Sh. Amadouni and
his son Hamam, left the homeland and migrated to present-day Drabizon and
Khoba (which belonged to Byzantium). There, Prince Hamam founded a new city
and named it Hamamashen (built by Hamam), which later became known as
Hamshen, and its inhabitants Hamshen Armenians. Later the fiefdom of Hamshen
gained independence from Byzantium but was periodically subjugated by Dayk.
After the latter's fall, Hamshen sustained a semi-independent state, thanks
to its freedom-loving population and strategic position. The Seljuk Turks
attacked Armenia during the second half of the 11th century and they were
followed by the Mongols in the 13th century; in the 15th century Armenia was
occupied by the Turkmen Koyounlu tribes. Hamshen retained its semi
independence during all those centuries without bowing even to the
neighboring Drabizon's Greek kingdom. But in the 10th and 11th centuries,
being part of the Byzantine Empire and for political reasons, a number of
Hamshen Armenians converted to Orthodox Christianity.

In 1498, the Ottoman Turks succeeded in conquering Hamshen and ended its
700-year autonomous existence. During Turkish reign, when the whole of
Western Armenia was living under catastrophic circumstances, the population
of Hamshen was also subjected to political and religious persecution.
Christians were forced to pay extremely high taxes; this policy caused
serious racial and religious changes. Despite heroic resistance up to 1923,
part of the Hamshen Armenians converted to Islam.

However widespread, Islamization did not succeed in defacing the character
of the Armenians of Hamshen. Despite converting to Islam, they remained
deeply aware of and faithful to their national origins.

The number of Hamshen Armenians is currently estimated to be around 400,000.
The Muslim half lives in Turkey and considers itself Turkish Hemshils or
just Hemshils, who have applied to Turkey's Ministry of Religion to be
re-registered according to their original nationality (Armenians). Other
ethnicities making similar demands include some Greek, Kurds and Alewis.
Until 1943, as implied by one Turkish regulation, if previously Islamized
ethnic minorities made attempts to return to their national origins, they
would face long prison terms. That law is not in force anymore, and Turkish
authorities have found themselves in a dilemma as a result of the current
atmosphere of freedoms-statistics revealed that 37-42 percent of the
population in Turkey does not consider itself Turkish. This creates a
difficult situation for Turkey. It is worth mentioning that Islamized
Armenians living in the southern parts of Western Armenia, from Bitlis to
Diarbekir, have safeguarded our cultural monuments, because they have not
forgotten their roots and have regarded the Church as "God's house." On the
other hand, in Turkish populated regions, such as the Erzroum plain,
Armenian monuments can no longer be found. This is evidence that Islamized
Armenians preserved their identity in very subtle ways by preserving
vestiges from the past and historical names of locations.

Today, according to unofficial reports, 1,350,000 ethnic Armenians live in
Western Armenia and nearby regions; 700,000 of these Armenians still
remember their national origins; 200,000 to 300,000 Armenians, particularly
in Hamshen, are a much more active ethno-religious community and are ready
to speak out about their national origins. They still celebrate many
Armenian traditional holidays like Vartavar. According to studies, thanks to
newly published documents translated to Turkish, many Armenians living in
historic Hamshen who were hesitating on their identity and their religious
affiliation understood that religion does not define ethnicity. By becoming
more aware of historic details, the urge to return to their national roots
is growing stronger in them. One of the interesting facts is that Muslim
Armenians preserve a purer version of the Armenian language than the
Christian Hamshen Armenians; having lost the religion, they remained
strongly attached to the language to underline their identity. Christian
Hamshen Armenians use many more Turkish and Russian words in their
communication compared to the Muslim Hamshen Armenians.

During the 1870s, a significant portion of Christian Hamshen Armenians
migrated to the shores of the Black Sea, mainly the districts of Batoum,
Abkhazia and even Crimea, where they could re-awaken the Christian lifestyle
and other aspects of their national identity. Today, more than 100,000
Hamshen Armenians reside in the Sochi district. They moved there out of
necessity and succeeded in preserving and developing their culture and
becoming regular citizens of a new state. They speak their native language
and have erected crossstones commemorating the Armenian genocide in a few
villages. The Sochi Armenians devote much attention to cultural life and
athletic education. Every year, they organize a cultural festival, and in
2005 alone, five young Armenian athletes from the region won international
championships in five different sports. The area's Armenian community has
constructed the St. Sarkis Church. In Sochi, education plays an important
role in the preservation of national identity. The local Armenian community
has seven schools teaching both Russian and Armenian. The main difficulty
the schools face is the availability of textbooks on Armenian language and
literature. These books are purchased through contributions from parents.
The Hamshen Armenian community of Russia is numerous, too, and has succeeded
in preserving its national and religious identity, though they have just
started organizing themselves.

Tens of thousands of Hamshen Armenians reside in Armenia. According to a
census conducted a decade ago, the number of Hamshen Armenians living in
Armenia was 14,000. In 1992, the "Hamshen Armenian Association" was created,
and publishes a free newspaper, circulated also to Armenians in Abkhazia and
the district of Krasnodar. The paper prints 1,000 copies per issue and
contains articles on the history of Hamshen in Armenian and Russian.

We are slowly reaching the conclusion that the Muslim Armenian is also
Armenian, and has embraced Islam under pressure. Hamshen Armenians are also
starting to overcome their internal psychological barriers, and some cases
of marriage between Christian and Muslim Hamshen Armenians have been
documented.

Naturally, certain factions within our nation still rebel against the
concept, considering the factor of religion. But no doubt that with time,
they will reach the same conclusion that a hand must be extended to the
Armenian who was compelled by fate to convert to Islam.

After all, they are our compatriots.

Note: The Hamshen Armenians are referred to in English as Hemshils and their
dialect is subject to extensive research by many linguists.
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4. Where Do We Go from Here?
Renouncing Violence and Decrying Acquiescence
By Kevork K. Kalayjian, Jr.

In his book Stride Towards Freedom (1958), Martin Luther King, Jr.
identifies three characteristic ways by which oppressed people deal with
their oppression. One way of dealing with oppression, King said, was
acquiescence, whereby the oppressed resign themselves to their doom. They
tacitly adjust themselves to oppression, and thereby become conditioned to
it. Dr. King identified the human tendency to stick to the known rather than
to take a chance and venture to the unknown. He brought the example of Moses
trying to lead the children of Israel from the slavery of Egypt to the
freedom of the Promised Land. Dr. King maintains that acquiescence is the
easy way but it is not the moral way, it is the way of the coward. "The
negro cannot win the respect of his oppressor by acquiescing; he merely
increases the oppressor's arrogance and contempt," he said.

The second way that oppressed people sometimes deal with oppression and
social injustice is to resort to physical violence. But as Dr. King points
out, "in spite of temporary victories, violence never brings permanent
peace. It solves no social problems; it merely creates new and more
complicated ones." Violence as a way of achieving social justice is both
impractical and immoral according to King, and acquiescence is equal to
accepting a permanent status of inferiority. Thus King arrives at a third
way of achieving social justice through nonviolent resistance or "civil
disobedience," which reconciles the two extremes of acquiescence and
violence by avoiding the immorality of the former and the extremism of the
latter.

How does all this relate to the Armenian situation?

People who acquiesce might be able to accomplish individual success, fame
and fortune but are relatively incompetent in achieving social objectives.
The descendents of the victims of the Armenian genocide are living proof of
the above statement. In every country they have become famous businessmen,
artists, doctors and lawyers, achieving all sorts of breakthrough in art,
science, engineering, international business and finances; but when it comes
to achieving human rights for the Armenians as a whole, everybody is either
scared, ashamed or indifferent to be identified with that group, or clumsily
incapable of achieving social objectives.

The diaspora political parties had over 90 years to put some sort of self
government in practice, but they chose to isolate themselves from each
other, and on several occasions they actually struggled against each other.
Now the same political parties are all in Armenia trying to teach the people
of Armenia how to establish a viable democracy. These are the same political
parties who do not know how to manage their own Armenian institutions, so
that you see schools like Melkonian close down for no apparent reason. You
hear about fiscal mismanagement at this monastery or that institution in
India or Venice, Jerusalem or Istanbul. There is no democratically elected
body representing all Armenians to safeguard worldwide Armenian properties
and interests, let alone to pursue Armenian civil and human rights
worldwide.

According to news clips and eyewitnesses, in the 60's and 70's the April 24
demonstrators used to demand "Our Lands." I do not know why that legitimate
demand to the final solution of the injustice changed into the intermediate
request for the recognition of the genocide. Could it be that the return of
the homeland was too serious of an objective for the Armenian diaspora to
pursue?

One possible explanation is the enslavement of the Armenians under 600 years
of Turkish oppression. In spite of the few traders and professionals in
Constantinople, the vast majority of the Armenians had become accustomed to
being "giavour slaves" rather than face the ordeal of emancipation.

It appears that Armenians have carried this acquiescence with them to these
shores, and even here in "the land of the free and home of the brave" most
Armenians accept passively an unjust system. And as Dr. King points out,
cooperating with an unjust system makes the oppressed as evil as the
oppressor, and non-cooperation with evil is as much a moral obligation as is
cooperation with good.

The denial of their collective experience, their history, is the oppression
of the Americans of Armenian ancestry. Through nonviolent resistance,
Armenian-Americans can enlist all men of good will in their struggle for
social justice and equal treatment. This is not a struggle between people at
all, but tension between justice and injustice. Nonviolent resistance is not
aimed against oppressors but against oppression. Under this banner,
consciences-not racial or ethnic groups-are enlisted to make sure that
justice prevails.
The United States has come a long way in the struggle for human rights,
through the abolition of slavery, the granting of equal rights to all of its
citizens, our apology to the Americans of Japanese ancestry; our recent
acknowledgment of the contribution of the Tuskegee Airmen. It is high time
to properly recognize the painful events that brought so many Armenians to
these shores.

Just because Germany is a NATO alley, we do not lie to Jewish-Americans and
deny the historical events that brought so many of them to these shores.

Just because Turkey is a NATO alley, we should not lie to Armenian-Americans
and we should not deny the historical events that led so many of them to
seek refuge here.
As Rep. F. Pallone (D-N.J.) said during the "Time Square" gathering on April
22 for "Genocide Recognition" (not for "Our Lands"), the job of concerned
citizens doesn't end on Aril 24. All of our Congressmen, all of our
Senators, need to hear from you every day of the year-through e-mail, faxes,
letters and phone calls-that you are worried and concerned about this
injustice, this unequal treatment of the persons of Armenian heritage.

Did you know that if the Armenians are killed and deported from their
country it is not genocide? It is only a tragic event!
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5. The 24th and After
By Garen Yegparian

Ninety-two years after it all started I was in Hollywood for the march. I'm
happy to say participation had grown this year, to somewhere in the
7,500-8,000 range. The slogans were mostly rehash. The banners and placards
were improved-there were more of them and the topics addressed varied,
including Azerbaijan. Too bad I didn't notice any demanding lands, though I
might have missed those. Daniel Decker sang here too, and along with a piano
performance and recitation, constituted the cultural program-it was
mercifully minimal. Others would do well to learn from this-political
rallies should be that, unless the performance is very directly relevant. An
interesting minor glitch was the program starting before all the marchers
had arrived at the stage.

This activity has suffered, from its inception, from insularity. I had
written three years ago that it was a means for the most recently arrived
segment of our community to affirm its presence and voice. But now, in its
seventh iteration and with a broader mix of participants, it should have
evolved to something more. Unfortunately, it seems clear that some among the
march's organizers have a hidden agenda. Why would one speaker get up and
claim that 100,000 people were in attendance? Why would the two spoilers
from Glendale be given a platform? Why would a community dividing publisher
be granted time? The irony is that these and a few other speakers, who do
the most to disrupt our community's cooperation, all stood and advocated
"unity."

The most substantive speaker was probably Greg Krikorian (Glendale Unified
School District board member), who was the only one to mention our lands.
Eric Garcetti (L.A. City Council president) was there too, which is
progress. The most interesting touch was Hrant Tomasian, a handicapped
Artsakh veteran who spoke very briefly and effectively of his pride in the
community's participation in the event.

>From Hollywood, it was off to Montebello and the Martyrs Monument. As
different from other years, there was no boring program of electeds mouthing
platitudes. Taking a page from Yerevan's Dzidzernagapert monument, flowers
were available to lay. A hokehankist was held with busses ferrying some of
the attendees from other communities. I think this is a good first step
towards having something meaningful and solemn happening at the monument
with internal, community, Armenian value. Well in excess of 2000 people came
and went since that many flowers had been delivered.
Clearly, this approach has found some resonance since not many more than
that number used to come to the older format. However, what we should do, is
work in the electeds at the AYF's demonstration at the Turkish Consulate.
Imagine putting the Turks and building owners in a position of denying entry
to a governor, senator, congressman, mayor, etc., or a delegation composed
of several of these folks. Now picture (a very few of them) briefly
addressing the demonstrators, outdoors, audible to the broader public.

After a brief hiatus and picking up two other participants, it was off to
the most relevant activity of our April 24 doings, the AYF's demonstration.
I was very pleased to see the turnout. I counted roughly 4,000 but had to
leave early, so I wouldn't be surprised if it approached 5,000 since people
were still arriving as I departed. Eastbound Wilshire Blvd. was closed off
by the police. All this is excellent on a major thoroughfare at rush hour.
The unity sought above was evinced in the people demonstrating, they
represented many factions in our community. I can only hope that some
internal compass is guiding ever more people to this action. Let's shoot for
10,000 next year and start making news.
>From the demonstration, I rushed to the Burbank City Council meeting where
we received our annual proclamation. Two of our high school students
accepted it and spoke briefly but eloquently. The outgoing Mayor, Todd
Campbell, of his own accord, requested that staff draft a letter for his
signature to George Bush advocating proper recognition of the genocide. The
other City Council members joined him.

But, unquestionably the most interesting and arguably most important
development was the series of three programs Jewish World Watch
(JWW)-currently heavily involved in Darfur related efforts-has organized to
advocate genocide recognition at the Valley Beth Shalom Synagogue. The first
was a showing of J. Michael Hagopian's "Voices from the Lake." Though I
missed the show, I did go to the dinner (over 400 people) followed by Friday
Shabat services (even more attending) on April 27. Los Angeles Mayor Antonio
Villaraigosa spoke at the dinner followed by Armenia's consul general to
L.A. Armen Liloyan, who did not shy away from addressing Israel's stance
regarding Genocide recognition. Daniel Decker sang here too, but not his own
piece, just "Giligia" (one of his standards) and another traditional piece.
Our clergy were there too, though unfortunately only from the Diocese, and
Primate Hovnan Derderian spoke during the service. Both founders of JWW,
Rabbi Harold M. Schulweis and Janice Kamenir-Resnick along with the
executive director, Tzivia Schwartz-Getzug, spoke as well. The Rabbi's
observations were very poignant.

This is a serious effort to join the efforts of two communities with like
interests in the United States. It also serves to place in stark contrast
the principled position of the Jewish community and the soulless cynicism of
Israel's (and its U.S. lobby's) support of Turkey's denial. I am pleased. It's
good to have this outfit on our side as genocide prevention's human
dimension becomes ever more important. Still, I have no doubt some in our
community will waste their time seeking a grand conspiracy in JWW efforts.
In addition, on May 15, JWW will honor Hagopian and Richard Hovanissian. If
you can make it, attend, let's build this alliance.

Clearly, this was a good April 24th season. We can and must do better, but
it seems we're entering a new era. Our lands are being demanded once again.
Alliances are developing with other groups and we should engage in many
more.

The events I attended account for some 20,000 people's participation (let's
disregard multiple attendances by a small but significant number group of
people). Let's say that as many again attended other events in the greater
L.A. area for a total 40,000. While not an insignificant number, ten percent
of the area's Armenian population is hardly something to brag about. Also,
the question arises: Is it better for all these people to attend one event
or to have these multiple activities?

Another positive development is currency. As our activism increases, more
things happen in the here-and-now, making our struggle more timely and
relevant to people's lives. Whether it's the Turkish defense minister a year
ago, JWW last week, or Mark Arax and the Los Angeles Times today, efforts to
integrate these realities into our programming is evident and to be
encouraged. We may be at the beginning of a virtuous spiral.

Another seemingly odd, but I suppose understandable phenomenon is apparent.
We latch on to one person or presentation, and they appear at multiple
events. Witness R-Mean, Daniel Decker, and young bands of varying musical
styles. Last year it was the Turkish publisher, Ragip Zarakoglu. But we have
to be careful too. The song Decker (who, I was informed, did his thing in
New York last year) has written and performed, "Adana", given its lyrics,
seems like the product of the Christian movements in the U.S. While I have
no qualms about cooperating with virtually any community, this particular
grouping is always worrisome because of its proselytizing proclivities. We
should be certain we're not being used and the benefits of providing a
platform to someone are not outweighed by attendant negatives.

Regarding the bands, R-Mean's piece about the Genocide is clearly
appropriate to our commemorative programs. This is true of any band and any
song they present about the Genocide. However, when their lyrics are not
discernable (at least to me), what's the point? Worse, if the songs have
nothing to do with the Genocide or some related, serious, societal issues,
why should they be performing at April 24th events? Is it appropriate to use
bands as a lure to get turnout, especially by the young? This is the dilemma
I was told organizers of the USC event (see last week's piece) faced. And
they are clearly not alone. I fully endorse providing forums for our young
talent, but there's a time and a place for everything. In this case, I think
the gravity of this time of year calls for more discretion and am cautiously
opposed to the presence of these bands at our gatherings.
A few observations of negative phenomena are also necessary. Most of our
events have started unduly late-we're not talking about just ten minutes. On
the other end of the spectrum, many people leave early. Either "their" part
of the program (a child, a band, or beloved speaker) is over, or, the
program's run too long. Both are probably true. Especially since most
programs lacked real gusto, I must say the speaking/performing parts of them
were too long. Continuing in this vein, keynote speakers should probably be
placed earlier in the program so their message is not lost to people who are
already restless and bored or who have left entirely.

Let's keep up the good work, improve the faulty, and discard the
unacceptable in our pursuit of Recognition, Reparations, and Return of our
lands. Most of all, let's keep it up year-round.
-------------------------------------- -------------------------------------

6. The Search: From Tigran Mets to Sayat Nova
Article and Photos by Knarik O. Meneshian

"See that building over there? That would be a very good place for you to
live!" said Marina decisively as she came to a halt at the intersection.
Rolling down her car window, she pointed to the fairly new, four-story
apartment building on Sayat Nova Street in Gyumri. Her attorney friend,
sitting next to her, nodded in agreement. "It is in a great location in the
center of town, and I know there is an apartment available right now on the
third floor. The man who owns it is a fine man, and a great landlord too!
But, I warn you, don't wait too long! The place will go fast, especially
here in Gyumri where you cannot find such a nice apartment. Besides, that
section of the building," pointing to the farthest end, "has a bahag (guard)
on duty day and night, so you can be sure it will be safe." My husband Murad
and I nodded. I wondered what the building looked like on the inside, and if
we did decide to take her recommendation, what it would be like living
there.

As we drove along the wide street, I thought excitedly, I can't believe we
are here, finally fulfilling our dream of living and working as volunteer
teachers in Armenia! I watched passersby walking up and down the streets.
Some were rushing, some were strolling. Oblivious to pedestrians and traffic
lights, cars were racing by, their horns beeping. Crowded buses were
lumbering along, stopping from time to time to let off passengers, and then
continuing on with new ones, all the while leaving behind plumes of thick
black smoke that slowly disappeared in the crisp mountain air. I pulled out
my notebook from my purse and began writing, "It is October 2002, and we've
been in the city once called Leninakan, and before that Alexandropol, for
two weeks now. The warm afternoon sun and the early autumn breeze are a
delight.I wonder what the four seasons will be like here, what the people
will be like, what it will be like living here for a whole year in this
ancient city brimming with so much history?"

Murad and I looked at the long, four-story, pink building, built with funds
from two sisters in France, and then at each other. Could this be the place
we'll call "home," I wondered? Earlier in the day, Marina and her attorney
friend, both local folks and affiliated with a large Diasporan charitable
organization, had shown us two apartments. The mere thought of the places
filled me with disbelief and sadness.

"Alright, let us take a look at the apartment as soon as you can arrange it,
Marina," we said as we got out of the car in front of the home of our host
family. It was soon after our arrival in Gyumri, and through the volunteer
group we were affiliated with, that we were introduced to Marina, an
amiable, smartly dressed young woman, and her attorney friend, dressed
always in dark business attire. He was a quiet man, a few years older than
she, who wore dark sunglasses everywhere. As newcomers unfamiliar with the
city and its people, we were relieved and happy to know that we were being
assisted in our search for an apartment.

Before knocking on the door of the home of the host family we had been
living with since our arrival, we decided to take a walk and explore some of
the nearby side streets. It was still early enough in the afternoon to do
so. Many of the homes in this old section of town were one-story high with a
few a story higher. As we made our way down the broken and narrow sidewalk,
we stopped at the street corner and looked up and down the pot-holed and
crumbling cobblestone street. Scattered about were small, flattened piles of
debris, some mixed with pieces of broken glass that shimmered in the sun.
Overgrown weeds, fluttering in the breeze, jutted from cracks and crevices
on the street and sidewalks, and from the sides of sturdy, black-stone
houses built one right next to the other. It was apparent that many of the
old stone homes and buildings (constructed in the second-half of the 19th
century) in this part of the city, the south side, had not been damaged much
by the devastating 1988 earthquake, which toppled numerous concrete
apartment buildings built in the 1960s and 1970s. Despite the dilapidated
appearance, the streets in this section of the city had an old-world charm
to them, even though some of the sidewalks had large gas distribution pipes,
mounted on thick poles, suspended in mid-air. The pipes stretched out in
uneven lines, veering at times towards the streets, at times towards the
middle of the sidewalks, as far as the eye could see. Unaccustomed to such a
strange sight, the rusted, corroded pipes hovering above us like gigantic
pythons made me feel a little uneasy at first as we walked alongside them,
at times under them. I could not help but think how charming the streets
could look, despite the dilapidation, without the pipes above ripping into
the sky, obstructing the view before us. As we walked, Murad and I talked
about the two apartments we had seen earlier in the day. Tomorrow, if Marina
could arrange it, we would take a look at the one she urged us to see
several times already since shortly after our arrival in Gyumri. The sun was
setting and the street dogs were on the prowl, along the way forming their
packs. We began to walk towards home, always mindful of the dogs. As Murad
whistled Bardezoom eereeknademeen ungernerov maan googaeenk. (In the garden,
towards evening, we strolled with our friends.), my thoughts turned to the
two apartments we had seen.

We had followed Marina and the attorney up a few steps into an old building
on Tigran Mets, a wide, tree-lined street with a variety of apartment
buildings, some with shops on the first floor. The train station was at the
end of the street. Some of the buildings were one and two stories high, with
the tallest ones a story higher. The Soviet-era Railroad Engineering
Academy, now known as the State Technical College of Gyumri, was among the
tallest ones. Before Marina turned the knob to open the sagging and rotting
wood door, she said, "The old couple that lived in this apartment died, so
the son is now renting it out. He is asking one hundred dollars a month for
the furnished apartment."

Just as Marina finished her sentence, we were startled by the sound of
something breaking underfoot. It was part of the floor! A sagging plank had
given way under our collective weight. We cautiously stepped to one side and
made our way into the apartment. The apartment, the whole building in fact,
looked and smelled like it should have been condemned years ago. Yet, people
still lived in it.

Who were they, I wondered, as I looked up at the framed, black and white
picture that hung high on the sooty and cracked wall in the narrow, spartan
bedroom? I stepped closer to the wall to get a better look. Photographed
from the waist up and standing shoulder to shoulder was a young couple
appearing no older than 20. They looked somber, almost stoic, and they were
plainly dressed. He wore a shirt buttoned all the way up, and she wore a
long-sleeved, round-collared dress. The modesty and plainness of their
clothes did not diminish the young man's handsomeness and the young woman's
beauty. Instead, they enhanced them. The black-framed picture, the only form
of adornment in the entire two-room apartment, faced two narrow,
metal-framed beds standing side by side. It must have been theirs, I
thought, as I stepped closer to the beds. They were neatly made and covered
with gray, coarse wool blankets. No curtains hung from the rotting bedroom
window, and no carpet covered the splintered and worn wood floor. The tall,
brown wardrobe squeezed between the beds completed the furnishings in this
dim, dank room that smelled, like the rest of the place, of mold and decay.

"Have you seen enough? Shall we leave now to look at the next apartment?"
asked Marina hastily as she glanced at Murad and then at me.

"I would like to look at the place one more time, but by myself, if you don't
mind," I replied.

Murad, knowing my penchant and curiosity for old places and things, nodded
and then whispered, "I can't take the smell or the gloominess of this place
anymore, and it looks like they can't either." As he followed Marina, who
was holding a handkerchief to her nose and mouth, and the attorney out of
the bedroom, he said, "We'll wait for you in front of the building."

I nodded as I walked to the window and looked out, east, in the direction of
the train station. So, I thought, this was where crowds of railroad workers
and members of the military, who incited by the Armenian Communists against
the government in 1920, had gathered and marched down the street towards the
railroad station. As a result, the May Revolution was born.

A decade later, on November 4, 1930, a group of political activists, my
father among them, making their way to Leninakan from Yerevan the day before
to distribute booklets to the population were arrested by the cheka and
imprisoned in a newly built, windowless, subterranean prison specifically
constructed for political prisoners. The prison was not far from the train
station. It was in the bitter cold, wind and snow that 100 men-writers,
teachers, students, builders, textile workers, engineers, mechanics,
economists, a Red Army officer-dressed only in summer clothes, were marched
down this very street to the train station. A train then transported them in
crammed iron cages to various prisons throughout the Soviet Union,
particularly Siberia. Along the way, they endured hunger, thirst, illness,
parasites, the frigid cold and the blows of bayonets and stocks of rifles.

I trembled as I thought of what these people had suffered, and turned away
from the window. Looking up at the photo and then at the bedroom one last
time, I slowly walked out of the room. With each step I took the floor
creaked and groaned and sagged. Some of the planks were on the verge of
breaking as I made my way down the short, narrow hallway that led towards
the bathroom and kitchen. I looked up at the high ceiling. Pieces of sooty
plaster and paint hung down like shriveled, curling leaves from an old,
dying tree. I looked at the blackened and peeling wallpaper in the hallway
and touched it. It must have brought some cheeriness to this dreary place, I
thought, once, a long time ago when the young couple's new life together had
just begun. I brushed against a narrow metal bed near the small, cast-iron
stove at the end of the hallway near the front door. The bed, no doubt the
son's, was neatly made and covered with a blanket just like the ones in the
bedroom.

To my right was the bathroom. It had no door, no tub, only a rusty, cracked
sink and a toilet that once may have had a seat. Judging from the space
between the sink and the wall, at one time there may also have been a small
bathtub, like the one Murad and I had seen in one of the doomeeks (metal
containers) in another section of the city where a family of six lived in
two tiny rooms. (The bathtub, just large enough for an adult to stand in to
wash up, was used to hold water that was collected during the two hours
every day or so when the water supply was turned on.) The broken tiles on
the floor revealed patches and lumps of packed and hardened dirt. From the
buckled ceiling, a broken light bulb hung low from a frayed and twisted
black wire bulging in places with black electrical tape. Like the bathroom,
the small kitchen next to it had no door. It was the brightest place in the
apartment, with almost a hint of cheeriness. Perhaps it was the window that
gave it such a feeling. It was larger than the one in the bedroom. The sun's
warmth and brightness touched every corner of this room, but like the
bedroom window this one too was bare of curtains and had Soviet-era
window-glass, which distorted one's view of the world outside.

Opposite the kitchen window was an old, four-legged, white porcelain sink
with a metal bucket under it used to collect and store water. A couple of
rusted pans and a chipped basin lined the rest of the floor under the sink.
There was no refrigerator or stove. A narrow wooden table covered with a
worn-out oilcloth, a common sight in many homes in Armenia, stood against
the wall in the far corner of the room. Next to it, on the floor, stood a
bleeda (hot plate). As I looked at the utilitarian oilcloth-covered table, I
thought of the many things this type of table was used for: preparing meals,
kneading and shaping dough, eating and drinking, socializing and
celebrating, playing cards and board games, ironing and folding clothes,
studying, reading, writing. Now, the table was covered from one end to the
other with tall and short, big and small jars ready for canning. I walked
over to the table, and as I touched some of the jars, I thought, These must
have been for the fruit preserves.these for the vegetables.and these for the
geelasee heeyoot (cherry juice). I paused for a moment and took a long, deep
breath, imagining the wonderful aromas that once must have wafted through
this kitchen, this home during canning season!

A T-shaped wooden pole rested against the wall near the window. I looked at
it and thought, Interesting, the pole becomes a mop simply by wrapping a rag
around it-a step up from scrubbing floors on hands and knees. Just then, the
delightful and nostalgic sounds of children at play in the nearby courtyard
filled the apartment and, for a moment, it felt good to be in it. I opened
the sagging, creaking front door and thought as I shut it behind me, So,
this is where a Soviet Armenian family once lived and worked and dreamed...

I took a deep breath. What a relief it was to breathe outside air again, in
the open, in the sunshine! Murad, Marina and the attorney were watching a
couple of elderly men sitting on rickety chairs, hunched over a rickety
table playing nardee (backgammon) under the shade of a tree, the words
"shesh oo besh" blending with the sounds of the rustling trees. I could see
now why people here spent so much time outdoors.

"Gnank?" (Shall we go?) asked Marina.

"Gnank," (Let us go) I replied.

After a short drive south on Sayat Nova Street, we arrived at the next
apartment building. It was near Saka's grocery store at Khaghaghootyan Oghak
(Peace Circle) near the shuga (market). We climbed up a flight of crumbling
and littered stairs where children were playing a game of "let's run up and
down the stairs." On the balcony, more children were playing. They were
running back and forth from one end to the other, and then up and down the
stairs. Marina knocked on a door that was half-open. "Dah!" (Yes!) said a
man in Russian from inside, and we entered. The living room was dim, stuffy
and windowless. It smelled of musty and unclean bedding, clothes and
furniture. The combined odors of pungent toilet stench and rancid cooking
oil drifted passed us and out the front door that had been left ajar. I
could imagine what it smelled like in the wintertime when the front door had
to remain shut. The man of the house, a portly and jovial fellow wearing a
white, sleeveless t-shirt and black trousers, greeted us cordially. The lady
of the house, a demure woman dressed in a faded housecoat, peeked from the
kitchen to see who had come. "Egek! Egek!" (Come! Come!), said the man in a
deep, welcoming voice. "This is the living room," he announced raising his
arms and spreading them out. The walls and ceiling were dark with soot.
Against one wall stood a blaring Soviet-era television set with poor
reception on a cloth-covered table. Next to it was a chair and another table
piled with papers and books. There were two beds, one on each side of the
narrow room, and a tall, brown wardrobe in a corner with bundles of clothes
crammed on top of it.
"Egek! Egek!" he said again, this time ushering us into the kitchen. Marina
and the attorney stayed behind as we followed the man. Plates and
silverware, cups and glasses, pots and pans were piled in the sink and on
the small table covered with a worn-out piece of oilcloth. No water yet,
but once it flowed the lady of the house would have to quickly collect and
heat the water in a pot to wash the dishes. She would conclude her daily
chores with the collecting of water in containers and the tub to ensure that
the household would have water until it flowed again the next day or the day
after. The kitchen had a small refrigerator and stove. Besides the toilet
and sink, the bathroom had a tub. The lady stood motionless, staring at us.
We smiled and said, "Barev dzez!" (Greetings to you!), and she repeated the
same words, but in a meek and melancholy voice, as she continued staring.
The man of the house ushered us back into the living room, and then showed
us a tiny bedroom next to it. It was apparent that the room was once a
porch.

"How much is the rent?" asked Murad. The man stared at Marina and she at
him. Their gaze was broken by Marina's subtle nod of the head. For a few
seconds there was silence, and then he announced, "One hundred and fifty
dollars, and the furnishings remain! "Gnoom enk Roosya!" (We are going to
Russia!). There was excitement in his voice, and a smile that lit up his
face as he repeated the words, "Gnoom enk Roosya!" His wife, standing in the
kitchen doorway, looked down. We thanked them for allowing us to see the
apartment and left. As we descended the stairs, Marina again brought up the
apartment on Sayat Nova Street-how nice it was, how convenient, that there
was always water and electricity, emphasizing again that the rent was
reasonable compared to the apartments we had seen. "Havadatsek, shat lavn
eh!" (Believe it, it is very good!). And we believed. Her attorney friend,
as usual, walked silently alongside of her. From time to time, Marina would
glance at him and he at her after she had spoken, and I'd wonder what it was
they were thinking as they looked at each other.

"Lav (Fine), Marina, let us take a look at the apartment," we said, as she
dropped us off in front of the home of our host family.

"Shad lav, ooremn vaghuh, debee eereegoonuh!" (Very good, tomorrow then,
towards evening!), said Marina as she and the attorney drove off.

White lace curtains fluttered through the open window above us, and the
aroma of cabbage soup permeated the air. The dadeek (grandmother) was
cooking. I smiled and thought, The minute we ring the doorbell, one of the
three teenage children will rush to poke his or her head out of the window
to see who it is, and then run down the stairs to open the big metal door.
And then, it would be through the dim passageway with its low ceiling and
crumbling, uneven concrete floor, past a storage room with canned
foodstuffs, clothes, and household supplies, an outhouse and a sink, that we
would make our way up the stairs, past clothes drying in the wind, to the
family's living quarters-two bedrooms (one used by the parents and the other
by us), a living room (used as a bedroom at night by the rest of the
family), a kitchen and a bathroom. The overpowering stench from the bathroom
wafted into the rest of the house every time the door was opened, and so the
door was kept shut at all times. The worms floating in the water in the
bathtub, used for drinking, bathing, washing, cooking and cleaning, was
difficult to get accustomed to. Like other households, the water supply
flowed for a couple of hours a day, sometimes a little longer, but at times
not for days. As we waited for the door to open, chickens pecking in the
dirt scurried by.

During the "dark days" after the earthquake, the family lived in the lower
part of the house, in the storage room, to conserve heat. Day and night,
they, like countless others, would huddle together wrapped in blankets in a
sheltered area wondering what tomorrow would bring, whether tomorrow would
even come. It was during those long, cold and hungry days and nights that
songs were sung-songs to ease the heart, songs to help time move along. The
youngest of the three children, and the only boy, opened the door. "Barev,
barev!" we said as Murad patted the boy on his back, and he responded with a
grin. We walked through the passageway and up the stairs following the boy,
asking him about his day. This evening, over our usual dinner of cabbage
soup, cheese, bread and tea, we would tell the family of our search for an
apartment, even though they had invited us to continue remaining with them
as renters during our year in Gyumri. It was time to experience Gyumri on
our own, in our own place. Tomorrow, we would learn whether Marina's
suggested apartment would be the one for us.
---------------------------------------------- -------------------------

7. Maine Woman Climbs Kilimanjaro for Charity
By Tom Vartabedian

CARTAGE, Maine-What would drive a mother of two young children to climb the
highest peak in Africa under conditions that are best suited for icemen and
lizards?
With Paula Kazarosian, it was the thought of introducing her life to a
supreme challenge and raising several thousand dollars for
economically-depressed families through HealthCare Ministries.

After spending the better part of a week hiking Mount Kilimanjaro,
Kazarosian returned all the better for her experience.

In case you're unaware, Kilimanjaro is like being on top of the world at
19,327 feet, bound by massive glaciers and ice fields that blaze in the
equatorial sun.


Not everyone who tries makes it to the summit. Of those who attempt the
climb, fewer than half can boast of its ascent. It takes skill, confidence,
peak physical conditions and a sense of adventure. Cost is listed at $1,120
with a 7-day duration allowed.

You may know little about Paula other than the fact that she's the sister of
a prominent Haverhill (Mass.) attorney named Marsha Kazarosian.

Her dad Paul was also a noted lawyer in the city with a half-century's worth
of experience while her mother Margaret taught music for many years in the
Haverhill school system.

A brother Mark teaches economics in the business department at Stonehill
College in Boston.

Paula set her own standard this time. The training was somewhat
proportionate to the climb. She's done Washington, Canon and Jefferson.
While in Colorado, there were the flat tops in Steamboat which went about
12,000 feet. But nothing the scope of Kilimanjaro. That, she admits, came
"out of the blue."

Several 100-mile bike trips were also sandwiched between running, aerobics
and weight-training. Rest assured, this was no walk in the woods.

"Kilimanjaro is a physical anomaly," she describes. "In this hot, lush,
tropical environment, you can see this huge mountain pushing up from the
relatively flat surroundings shrouded in clouds and crested with dazzling
white."

Kazarosian chose the Murangu Trail, said to be easier in the technical sense
but more difficult due to the speed of the ascent. While all the other paths
allow from 7-9 days to summit, this one measures three days up and
one-and-a-half down.

Minimal sleep was compounded by constant cold, a lack of oxygen, discomfort
and not being able to wash or shower.

"The descent was surprisingly difficult," she said. "I found myself wishing
we were climbing when my thighs were burning and my knees felt like giving
out. We slept like the dead."

The sights were breathtaking. Small craters and waterfalls darted the
mountains. An incredible rain forest showcased beautiful plant life,
towering trees with monkeys, many small lizards and millions of butterflies.

Kazarosian lives in Cartage with her husband and two children, ages 11 and
16. She holds a degree in English history from UMass-Amherst and operates
her own executive search firm, which caters to emerging biotech companies.

Because of her busy work and family life, Kazarosian confined her training
to nights.
"I'd go out around 9 p.m. and hike the small mountains behind our home for a
couple hours," she pointed out. "This allowed me to prepare for the summit
better than most others. The biggest challenge was ignoring the discomfort
and pain at times."

During the climb, she carried a small leather pouch around her neck that
held little notes of inspiration from her family. The plan was to reach the
top, then read the notes, before disposing them on the highest peak in
Africa.

"I couldn't wait to read each of my little love notes and they made me cry,"
she said. "I felt so lucky to have them with me, I almost regretted having
to throw them away. But it was my promise."

Of the 11 from her group that started out, only four reached the top.

"There was a definite spiritual side," she added. "I felt that God walked
with me the whole final leg up the mountain. Each breath I took was a prayer
in my mind for His strength-and I received it."

Kazarosian came away with a sense of pride and admitted fostering a deeper
relationship with Christ. So what will it be next? The Appalachian Trail?
Everest?

Nothing more than another missions trip, perhaps to India. Kazarosian is big
into ministry work and helping the less fortunate of the world, particularly
children. She feels the $7,000 raised on this climb would help at least
1,000 people.

Kazarosian visits the city frequently to see her family and a dad who's in a
nursing home with Alzheimer's.

"Sitting and holding Dad's hand is a joy," says Kazarosian. "He certainly
doesn't always recognize me. In fact, I don't know if he ever recognizes me
but he knows I love him and he's happy that I am there."

Kazarosian also hails from proud Armenian roots. Her parents were always
active in the Merrimack Valley community and served as benefactors to many
causes, whether it was the church or some cultural venue.

Living in rural Maine leaves a distinct ethnic void with this woman.

"While there is no real connection to an Armenian community up here, I am
still very much an Armenian," she admits. "It is my belief that we all walk
a fine line in life. On one side are the traditions and culture that we
inherited with our birth. On the other is the world that exists for us
today."

Kazarosian describes her heritage as one of pride, creativity, intelligence,
art, language and "the most delicious food."

"We are people who have survived and prospered many hardships," she said.
"Of that, I am always proud. But I am also proud to be an American citizen
for better or worse. That is my legacy here and now. To me, it is not a
problem to marry these two and be happy with both."

***

Notes from Kazarosian's Diary

Six of us were making the climb to the peak. We all climbed into a long
chilly hut and tried to sleep in spite of the snoring and anxiety. The worst
was having to relieve yourself in the dark and kill yourself tripping over
things doing it.
We dress in our most protective clothes and headlamps and huddle miserably
but with anticipation in the cold midnight air that is well below zero.
As we start climbing, I realize with a shock that I can't seem to take more
than two steps without getting completely out of breath.
I learned that the best way to keep going was to take one step, plant my
pole and breathe twice. Imagine at this pace, I was considered to be moving
fast. Two of the six dropped out after an hour.
The final leg was all hard, crusty snow and ice. As I climbed, I was fearful
of sliding over the edge. Upon reaching the summit, we smiled and slapped
each other high fives. A few pictures later, we headed back down.
-------------------------------------------- --------------------------------

8. Gymnast Houry Gebeshian Raises the Bar

WATERTOWN, Mass. (A.W.)-Gymnast Houry Gebeshian is a 1999 Level 6 state
champion, a 2000 Level 7 state champion, a 2003 Level 9 state champion, a
2005 National Qualifier, and placed 16th AA and 3rd place for her team. She
is a month shy of graduating from Newton North High School and will attend
the University of Iowa in the fall on a full athletic gymnastics
scholarship.

She was unable to fully compete in the Massachusetts State Championship in
2007 due to an injury.

This summer, she'll be interning with her physical therapist Ken Johnson of
Somerville.
Gebeshian spoke with the Armenian Weekly and briefly described her training
regimen on an average day. "I go to the gym five days a week for about four
hours: one hour conditioning, an hour cardio, an hour beams, bars. I'll
alternate days between the beams and the bars."

When asked if she adhered to any special diet she quipped, "Not at all."

Gebeshian also works as a part time coach for younger gymnasts, and is in
Level 4 coaching. "It's a good way to make extra money," she said.

And how does gymnastics in the U.S. compare with other countries? "It's not
as intense in the U.S.," according to Gebeshian. "Training is much less
forced."
----------------------------------- ------------------------------------

9. Watertown High School Holds Assembly to Commemorate Genocide

On April 27, the Armenian Club at Watertown High School, in conjunction with
the Armenian language and social studies classes, held a two-hour assembly
in observance of the 92nd anniversary of the Armenian genocide.

Town Council president Clyde Younger was the honorary guest. He gave a
short synopsis of the history of the genocide and mentioned how year after
year he has attended the observance of the genocide at the State House,
where the survivors are honored. He emphasized that the number of survivors
has dwindled, and that soon there will not be any left. That is why, he
said, it is so important to hold these commemorations, to never forget.

Younger presented a framed proclamation to Datevik Keshisyan, president of
the WHS Armenian Club, which highlights the dates and events of the
genocide.

After Younger's presentation, the PBS documentary "The Armenian Genocide"
was shown to the students. The documentary explains the conditions leading
up to the genocide, the role of the Young Turk government, the phases in
which the genocide was carried out, why Turkey continues to deny the
genocide, and why the world's attention has turned away from the "dirty
matter of the genocide."

Following the viewing of the documentary, Keshishyan introduced guest
speaker Shari Melkonian, chairperson of the ANC of Eastern Massachusetts.
She answered questions about the genocide and also informed students what
they can do to make sure the world never forgets. She explained different
ways in which students can help get the Armenian Genocide Resolution passed
in the U.S. Congress. She also explained the different activities taking
place worldwide regarding international recognition and Turkey's continued
denial of its heinous acts.

Students left the assembly with a greater knowledge of the genocide, and a
greater awareness of their role in its recognition both in Turkey and the
world.
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10. Dicran Berberian's Art Shown in Charlestown

CHARLESTOWN, Mass. (A.W.)-On April 29, the art of the late artist Dicran
Berberian (1940-1987) was exhibited to the public in an open house by his
brother Raffi Berberian.

Raffi wrote of his brother, "In his professional life, my brother Dicran
Berberian led a much varied career. Ultimately, in his prime adult years,
inspired by his diverse experiences, he newly felt motivated to express
himself artistically. Although he was never ordained, he remained committed
to his faith until his death from cancer at age 46, and the family chapel in
my home is dedicated to his memory."

As a teenager, acting upon his passion to become a dress designer, Berberian
entered the California School of Fine Arts (now the San Francisco Institute)
where he studied with distinguished "California School" artists.

After studying at the Slade School of the University of London, he abandoned
plans to be a designer, opting instead to study for the ministry. After
graduating from Columbia University and four years of theological school,
Berberian was employed as a college English instructor, community organizer,
political activist, executive in Armenian-American charitable and political
organizations, and as national program manager for the Refugee Resettlement
Programs under the administration of former president Jimmy Carter.

He then returned to his art and converted a former Episcopal church into his
residence and studio. In six years, he produced a body of compelling
abstract expressionist work including figures, faces and landscapes. In
1984, he was given a one-man show at the Just Above Midtown Gallery in New
York.

Dicran Berberian Art, Inc. was created as a non-profit organization to
celebrate the artist's legacy. For more information, e-mail
[email protected].
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11. Violinist Stefan Jackiw Shines at Harvard

CAMBRIDGE, Mass. (A.W.)-On April 27, the Harvard Bach Society Orchestra,
under the musical direction of Aram Demirjian, presented its Spring Concert,
featuring acclaimed violinist Stefan Jackiw (Harvard'07).

The program included Claude Debussy's "Petite Suite"(movements I, II, III
and IV), Henryk Wieniawski's "Legende," Camille Saint-Saens "Introduction
and Rondo Capriccioso" and Beethoven's "Symphony No. 7 in A Major, Op. 92"
(movements I, II, III and IV).

Jackiw is a quickly rising musical star who has toured and performed
extensively already at the age of 21. He has performed with the Minnesota
Orchestra, the Naples Philharmonic, the Indianapolis, Oregon, Pittsburgh and
Rochester symphonies, the Orchestra of St. Luke's at Caramoor, the Boston
Philharmonic Orchestra and the Boston Pops, with whom he made his debut in
1997, playing the Wieniawski Violin Concerto No. 2 under Keith Lockhart.

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