InternationalA conversation with myself
Published: Saturday August 18, 2007 in Living in Armenia
Most of us become engaged only when we are outraged. All of us have a threshold which contains the series of outrages that life, in its arbitrary and obligatory way, throws in our path. And that is the twist that stops me cold in my tracks and forces me to question the choices I have made. In the past it served as the impetus that used to compel me to become engaged. But now I fear that this feeling of outrage that has taken hold of me is beginning to blind me, to distort my perceptions, and strike a blow from which I may not recover.
If only we could become engaged without having to be shaken to the core. I have crossed over to the dark side of the moon and am hanging on for dear life. Perhaps I need to exit the borders of this small plot of land that I adopted, or that adopted me, so that I can fill my lungs with oxygen and see that the planet around me isn't sinking into oblivion.
A series of seemingly unconnected events around me have culminated in a heap of unmanageable emotions. What will happen if I do become engaged? Will it change the environment around me? Will it affect change that will in fact alter a value system that has been shattered, if it existed at all?
A brutal attack on an old man while he slept; the death of a little girl by a speeding car; injustice in the halls of justice; ballot rigging and intimidation; police brutality; the mutilation of the few remaining precious green zones; the destruction of our historical buildings; secrecy and conspiracy; a seemingly beautiful place that is slowly but decidedly rotting at the core.
Outrage is a feeling that I have become intimate with lately.
But then there's the other side of the moon. The light, bright side, where the reflection of the sun instills beauty and hope. Lately I have lost my way there. I, who saw the world through rose-colored glasses; I, whose cup was always, always more than half full. Cynicism and despair are the order of the day. But these emotions cannot sustain me, they only contribute to my disillusionment - and I don't want to go there.
When I moved to Armenia a friend, a veteran repat, gave me a very good piece of advice. She told me not to have expectations. To accept things as they are. To take everything with a grain of salt. To go with the flow. I have gone with the flow, while many have come and then gone. While many who were born here have gone. While those who never came also left without ever coming. I hung on. I persevered and saw the goodness, the light, the positive energy of a generation that sought to rewrite the future, that spilled their blood, that thought they were creating a new and better beginning. They had something to say in the early days of this republic. They had a message and they sought to reclaim their rightful place in this sea of humanity that had written them out of their history books.
I want all of us to return to that place in our hearts and minds which inspired and ignited a torch whose flame we let die. Our generation has the historical responsibility to build a homeland for all Armenians, from Australia to America. But we have somehow reneged on the promises we made, each to ourselves. We have allowed certain elements to kidnap and hold our future ransom.
Those elements are the ones who allow their young boys to drive expensive cars, irresponsibly putting themselves and everyone else in harm's way. They are the ones who, through their actions, teach their children that the only way to survive in this society is through bribes and coercion. They are the ones who have gotten rich on the backs of the people. They are the ones who walk along the streets of Yerevan with armed bodyguards where children play. They are the ones who cut down trees to build ultramodern cafés. They are the ones who dragged my son and his friend to a police station unlawfully one year during Vartavar and then wanted money from us to release them.
But they are not the owners of this land. They are simply a visible yet powerful minority. On the other hand, I have seen such unbelievable goodness and have been on the receiving end of people's kindness and support. We have an enlightened generation of young men and women who understand that they deserve to live honorably.
There is an army of ordinary people who only want to be able to make a decent living and place bread on their table. There are thousands and thousands of beautiful Armenian children who will be the gatekeepers of this land and who need positive role models in their lives. We have to provide for them, as mothers and fathers, as human beings. There are the widows and orphans who paid the ultimate price, whose husbands' and fathers' blood sustains Artsakh and Armenia.
I know that goodness exists on the other side of the dark moon. I know that life after revolution can be chaotic and unpredictable. I know that the process of state building is not an easy task. I know that everything isn't so bad.
I have seen with my eyes the favellas of Sao Paolo, Brazil, and the townships of Soweto, South Africa. I know that we are not living under a brutal tyrant. I know that people are no longer being exiled to Siberia. I know all of these things. I also know that where I come from isn't necessarily utopia and I'm not drawing comparisons. But this is my country, my homeland, which I adopted, which I love, where I belong, where my children belong, which gave me a second chance at life. This is the place of my dreams and the dreams of my parents and grandparents. This is the place we were supposed to help rebuild. This is the place we were supposed to come to, all of us, regardless of its flaws.
Perhaps this was a conversation I needed to have with myself. Because I now realize that while idealism brought me here, reality will not drive me away.
