Anyone who has flown to Armenia knows that the landing process often includes a familiar scene: before the plane has even stopped, people are getting out of their seats, grabbing their stuff, and making their way to the front. Flight attendants will plead with everyone to remain seated until the seatbelt sign goes off. Such requests will be in vain.
Ryszard Kapuściński, a renowned Polish journalist and author, vividly captures this memorable scene on a flight to Armenia just before the collapse of the Soviet Union in his 1993 book “Imperium.” He describes how, as soon as the plane’s wheels touch the ground, three hundred passengers burst from their seats, elbowing and pushing each other with joy as they rush toward the exit. The chaos mounts as they tumble down the airplane steps and sprint across the asphalt to jump into a fervent, densely packed crowd waiting for them at the terminal, merging into one vibrant, intense throng of hugs and cheers. The entire spellbinding moment culminates in Kapuściński’s moving reflection:
“Armenians! They must be together.”
When I first read “Imperium” in the mid-2000s, I resonated with Kapuściński’s portrayal of Armenians’ search for one another and their increasing desire to unite and be together as their diaspora grew. However, reflecting on it today, I see a missing nuance in Kapuściński’s account, especially concerning the growing divisiveness that shadows the Armenian experience and the ensuing complexities in how Armenians connect and interact, domestically and globally, today.
Growing up as a diasporan Armenian, adjacent at best, the most exposure I had to my ethnic identity, besides spending time with my family and a brief stint in Armenian kindergarten, was through a few summers at Camp Nubar in upstate New York as a young teenager. I remember being thrilled when I first discovered it, meeting so many Armenians from around the world, learning so much about my elusive culture from them while raiding each other’s cabins and talking about who had a crush on whom.
Then one day, I overheard a fellow camper talking about another place called Camp Haiastan in rural Massachusetts. I got so excited—there’s another one? I asked her if she had ever been there, my tone full of wonder as though I were mentioning Disneyland. She nearly squealed in response, “No, of course not! They’re AYF; we’re Ramgavar!” I was stunned, having no idea what she was talking about. “But aren’t they Armenian?” I asked. She nodded and answered with a laugh, “Yeah, but they’re crazy.”
I later learned that “AYF” stands for the Armenian Youth Federation, the youth wing of the Armenian Revolutionary Federation (ARF), also known as Dashnaktsutyun. Founded in 1890 in Tiflis, the ARF was established to advocate for Armenian rights and independence, particularly under Ottoman rule. Its politics are left-leaning with a focus on strong national sovereignty using revolutionary means. The ARF still plays an active role both within Armenia and in the diaspora.
By contrast, the Ramgavar Party was established in Constantinople in 1921. While also focusing on global Armenian concerns, it advocates for liberal democracy and has a more conservative stance than the ARF. It takes a diaspora-centric political approach, aiming to integrate Armenians into their local contexts worldwide while maintaining cultural ties to Armenia.
Despite these parties aiming to champion Armenian causes, the division between them is deep and wide—different affiliations, different camps, different communities. Out of curiosity, I eventually spent one summer at Camp Haiastan myself and found that the label of “crazy” was a gross mischaracterization. I’ll admit the camp was a little more hardcore in its teachings of Armenian culture and political activism, but to be honest I kind of liked that. The depth of the divide still puzzled me though: why such sharp distinctions when, at their core, both groups strive for the empowerment and unity of the same nation and homeland?
Even our church is divided. The Armenian Apostolic Church, a cornerstone of our identity, is split between the Mother See of Holy Etchmiadzin in Armenia and the Catholicosate of the Great House of Cilicia in Lebanon. Each supports different political allegiances and diasporan engagements. Etchmiadzin has traditionally aligned more closely with Armenia’s government policies (though that’s clearly no longer the case especially since the decision to cede villages in Tavush province). Cilicia, by contrast, often echoes the sentiments of the diaspora, particularly those influenced by the ARF. This ecclesiastical divide often mirrors and sometimes even magnifies the ideological splits across our global community.
Then I moved to Armenia, where the political landscape has been dynamic and often tumultuous, especially following the Velvet Revolution in 2018 that marked a shift towards democratic reforms. However, there remains significant polarization between different factions. Issues like the handling of the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict, economic policies, and freedom of speech continue to provoke rifts within society and the political spectrum. While there is a vibrant political discourse and active civil society, these deep-seated divisions can quickly lead to political instability and major unrest, indicating that Armenia’s democratic progress is still in a delicate state of evolution.
But while political diversity and differences of opinion are natural and even necessary for a healthy democracy, the lack of essential unity in action among Armenians, despite our shared fundamental goals, boggles my mind. For a country as fragile, threatened, and cherished as Armenia, where the existential stakes of sovereignty and survival are so high, how can we afford such discord when the ultimate objective is to protect it at all costs? How can any Armenian attack another Armenian trying to achieve the same thing? We must find the will and the way to channel our varying political affiliations or diverse social or religious views into a cohesive strategy that prioritizes Armenia’s well-being above all. For an insightful guide on achieving this, I recommend reading Raffi Kassarjian’s “Building Fortress Armenia”.
If Armenians really must be together, then why do we so often seem so collectively untogether? “Untogether” is a real word, by the way. It describes disorganization, dishevelment or chaos, not just in appearance but also in plans, ideas, or emotional and mental composure. This state of Armenian untogetherness manifests in many ways and at many levels, including in overzealously heated debates over national policies, or unreasonable antagonism within diasporan initiatives and activities, or even irrational rivalries in our religious institutions.
It even surfaces in our disjointed efforts to seek justice for crimes against our people, a goal that should unify us all. When will we learn to set aside our egos and collaborate, instead of working in parallel, or worse, competing against each other? Such a lack of coherence hinders our ability to act decisively on pressing issues and seriously weakens our collective influence on the global stage.
I get it. We’ve been through a lot. We have endured significant, repeated trauma, especially in recent times. But if we cannot unleash ourselves from directing that pain and anger against one another, then we are doomed. With hostile neighbors and a small population in a tiny, landlocked country, we simply cannot afford the luxury of further internal strife or enmity among us. The odds are already stacked so high against us in achieving true peace, freedom, and justice for Armenia and Armenians. United, we stand a chance. Divided, we surely fail.
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Listen to Sheila’s personal reading of “Divided We Fail”.
Sheila Paylan is an international human rights lawyer and former legal advisor to the United Nations. Now based in Yerevan, she regularly consults for a variety of international organizations, NGOs, think tanks, and governments.
