Contemporary Armenian Experiences

Text #1: Armenian, Syrian, American

Oral Testimony with Karnie Dishoyan, recorded by the organization Rerooted in 2019.

Karnie Dishoyan grew up in an Armenian community in the city of Aleppo, Syria. Her family applied to immigrate to the United States in 2001, and the paperwork came through in 2016, in the midst of a brutal civil war in Syria. She moved to the United States that year. The following is from the transcript of an interview she recorded with Rerooted, an organization founded to document life in the Syrian Armenian community: 

Were a lot of your assignments and a lot of the work that you did in school in Syria about Armenian topics?

Yes, because I went to a private Armenian school . . . and so I took Armenian class every single day. It was in my schedule and we talked Armenian. There were even Armenian history competitions that I participated in and I always got first place. I loved studying Armenian history and literature. It was very interesting.

How did you balance that with learning Syrian history, literature, and culture? Did you also have classes for that?

Yes, because I lived in Syria, it's mandatory to have also a Syrian curriculum. So I learned everything else—math, science, physics, chemistry, everything—in Arabic. I also had Arabic literature and Arabic history classes and government classes.

How did you feel differently when you were learning Armenian history in your meeting classes versus when you were learning Syrian history and Arabic classes?

Well, it was very interesting because I was born in Syria. And so it's very interesting to me to learn the history about Syria, the country that I live in and also about my great-grandparents that lived in Armenia. And so I felt honored to learn the both of them and because I'm a little bit of Syrian, a little bit Armenian, and a whole lot of both.

So if I were to ask you felt more Syrian or more Armenian or more Syrian Armenian, how would you define yourself?

I would define myself as Syrian Armenian because I was born in Syria but I can never forget where I actually came from and so I'm proud to be Syrian Armenian.

And why do you think it's so important to you to remember where you came from?

Because it defines you and it's who you are. It's part of who you are and your identity, and so you should be proud of that.

And for you why is it important to preserve and remember being Armenian? It seems like you're doing this history, you're telling the stories of your great-grandparents, so for you why is that important?

Because the Armenians are one of the oldest cultures and people in the world and just learning the history of it tells me a lot about how resilient the Armenians are. And so being an Armenian and preserving that for me is very important because for the coming generations it's really important to learn how to be resilient and stand up for yourself and the Armenians really taught me how to do that.

Do you think that in any way learning that resilience from your ancestors helped you in starting a new life for yourself after you left Syria?

Yes, absolutely. From the stories that my grandmother told me about the genocide it gave me the motivation to be able to overcome the difficulties when I moved to America in 2016. So yeah, I learned to be patient, really patient, when I moved there. Because the language was new I didn't know anyone. There was only my aunt. I didn't know the school system. I didn't have any friends and so it was a completely new life like I was born all over again.

And what was your favorite part about living in Syria?

The social life. I had a great social life—I was always surrounded by my family and my friends and I was really connected to my school and the scouts that I was a part of, the agoump. And they always taught us to do community work and not to expect anything from anyone and just to give back as much as I can.

And how is that different from living in America?

Well living in America, first of all it was a completely different language. The way that they think is also very different. For example, when people go to college most of them dorm and live in the college and move out of their house. But that's not the way it works in Syria. Everyone lives with their family until they get married. It's a different way of lifestyle.  I started liking it because it taught me to be independent. It's just different perspectives, I guess. Right now I'm in the middle between my perspective as a Syrian Armenian and as an American. And I like the both of them a lot, because as an American I learned to be more independent and to trust myself more, and for Syrian I learned to give back to my community and really connect with the people that I love.

And what differences do you see between the Armenian community in America and in Syria?

Well for the Armenian American community that I'm a part of in America most of them speak English. I remember the first day that I joined the Armenian American dance group. I was trying to introduce myself to everyone and talk to everyone and I was talking in Armenian. And then I saw everyone talking to each other in English and I was like, “Oh my God, maybe I should have talked in English.”  But I always wonder if they do know Armenian and why do they talk in English? That's like my biggest question, I guess. But in terms of social life and the traditions that they do and everything, it's pretty much the same.

Do you feel at home in America?

It took me some time, but I started to feel like it. It took me some time because I was away from all of my friends and all of my cousins and it's only like my small family, and I grew up in a really big family so it took me some time.

Text #2: Understanding “Armenian-ness”

From “What It Means to Be Armenian” by Chantelle Nasri

In Armenian Weekly, April 27, 2022

Chantelle Nasri is an Armenian American who lives in New York. She reflects on her relationship with her Armenian identity:

Some of my earliest childhood memories are about not wanting to be Armenian—embarrassed that none of my classmates could point to Armenia on a map, concealing my school lunches that consisted of lahmajun or seenee kufteh, and instead, opting for a bland school lunch because I wanted to “fit in.” I often remember the other students in my class assuming I was Italian or Greek, and I wouldn’t correct them because the thought of having to explain that Albania was not the same country as Armenia, for the 500th time, made me sick to my stomach.

My childhood aspirations of wanting to “fit in” soon morphed my reality into a double life—one that was American and one that was Armenian. I almost never shared the Armenian part of my life with “outsiders,” as I always felt that they would never understand. They would never understand that the Armenian mountain peaks of Ararat, which define my heritage, reside on the soil of my enemies. They would never understand that my homeland is fragmented. They would never understand the plight of Armenians. They would never understand that 1.5 million is not just a number, but a constant reminder that we are still fighting for justice.

When I reflect on the journey my father and mother embarked on to come to the United States to build a better life, my grandparents who don’t speak English but managed to raise children and grandchildren in a foreign country, my great-grandparents who survived genocide waking each day uncertain of their fate, I am reminded that I had it all wrong. I was never embarrassed of my Armenian-ness. I was disappointed that others did not understand what being Armenian truly meant. This realization was a turning point in my adolescent life. This was the moment I vowed to share my Armenian history any chance I could, to any and every one who would listen.