By Andranik Michaelian

While on my way to buy some milk and madzoon from Aparan, I greeted a neighbor with the local "vonc es?"  (how are you) to which he replied, holding a few pills in his hand, "You see these? I wish these pills were poison, then I could be done with all this. This is no country..."

He said this with all seriousness. A day earlier, when asked how I was doing, I answered that I was in the same condition as the country, to which my friend said, "I'm in worse shape than the country." Although said with a smile, he was just as serious as the neighbor with the pills. Another neighbor, when I asked how he was doing,  replied saying, "I'm waiting..." When I asked what he was waiting for, he said, "for things to get worse, which they will..."

I moved to Yerevan 15 years ago. Our home was in Ajapnyak, near the corner of Bashinjaghyan and Margaryan.

At the time, it seemed the streets were deserted, with only a few small shops operating and an occasional Lada or Niva passing by.

My first few years passed in this neighborhood, peaceful years so to speak, working at a Fresno-based agricultural firm, traveling, and enjoying life in Armenia. Although the country was still recovering from the earthquake and war, and the economy in far from good shape, people, at that time, at least had some hope for the future. Small businesses started, and people weren't afraid to buy and spend. 

Then, sometime after 2010, things changed - negative feelings growing, small business owners telling of their problems being overtaxed, etc., and farmers often unable to grow their crops, due to the overwhelming cost of production. Due to these and other problems, Armenia's population began dropping considerably.

It was then, starting in 2010, that my wife and I spent part of three years in the USA. Although the time spent there was for the most part pleasant, working and often spending time with Diaspora Armenians, something was missing - the call of the Homeland bringing us back to Armenia for visits each year.

 What was it we missed in the Diaspora? The good intentions and Armenian spirit weren't enough to withstand the forces of assimilation, especially in the realm of folk song and dance, and culture in general.

 Most so-called folk dance groups were re-producing Soviet Armenian choreographed dances, while the smaller groups were often embarrassed to dance folk dances in the traditional way, changing things according to the director's taste.

And folk singing, except for the well-known Komitas songs, didn't exist, except for rare exceptions. Also, except for the occasional classical music group or folk ensemble, our Armenian organizations have gotten used to inviting pop stars from Armenia, singers who are sect members as well as other what I'll call shortcomings, the organizations thinking they're saving Armenian culture.

 On one hand, though, this is what they see on Armenian television, which seems bent on doing what it can to destroy true folk culture and culture in general.

There, during our three-year stay in America, I realized even more the effects of living away from the Homeland, whether for a short time or for generations. And it is pointless to tell or try to convince someone who is satisfied with this situation that perhaps things could be better.

This summer, we returned to Armenia.

If one is prone to being depressed, there is plenty going on to help in that direction.

People are out of work. Even die-hard Hayastantsis are leaving the country, either out of work or disgusted with what they say are the problems of inequality and corruption.

Religious sects are getting stronger, doing their part to ruin Armenian society.  Internal and external forces seem to be working against the country. For instance, if one gets his impressions only by what's on television, Armenia isn't far off being Sodom and Gomorrah, pop star videos and concerts and cheap, violent serials being the rule. 

Yet, even though one might have to look for them, there are reasons to think there is hope, especially with the younger generation. I'll mention several recent events I've been to that lend in this direction.

One was a new presentation by the Malyan Theatre. The acting was superb, as usual, and the play had Armenian flavor to it; a flavor that can only be produced in the Homeland.

 Another was one of two folk music festivals, where older, established ensembles, as well as several ensembles with younger members, performed traditional folk song and dance in a way I missed during our stay in the Diaspora.

Also, a  recent performance by the rock group Bambir was exhilarating to say the least, the group not only playing high quality rock music, but their excellent rock version of "Khio, khio" being far better, in my opinion, than the attempts made by many folk groups, both in Armenia and abroad.

A few short days ago we went to a hogihangist for a doctor friend's father, in the Armenian Apostolic church in Malatia.

Priests chanted their ancient services and spoke to those present. The sadness aside, it was a real Armenian atmosphere, the old stone structure and sad Armenian faces.

Then, a call came in, a friend rushing outside to take the call. Tears again started. Well known translator Samvel Mkrtchyan, a close friend of many there, had died. We all knew he had been sick, but his passing was still a shock. He was a great friend and unsurpassed translator, his efforts including the works of Shakespeare and James Joyce' Ulysses, a monumental task in itself.

Samvel will be missed, tremendously. His close friend, and Armenia's best novelist, Levon Khechoyan, had died a year ago to the day. Maybe this was meant to be.

(Andranik Michaelian was born in Dinuba, California, a small town near Fresno. He has been a farmer, teacher, journalist, and sub-deacon in the Armenian Apostolic Church in California's Central Valley. He has traveled extensively in Western Armenia, including his ancestral roots in Moush, Bitlis, and Sebastia. He now resides in Yerevan.)