Trans-generational Trauma

Do you know what it's like to scream in pain, in suffering and have no one come to your aid? Do you know what it's like to scream for one hundred years and be continuously silenced and denied? The Armenian people, for 100 years, have experienced the systematic falsification and denial of a tragic part of their history. Political puppetry has continuously and masterfully denied, forbidden, and wronged the remembrance of the Armenian genocide and left the wound unhealed. This open wound cannot heal until it is recognized and treated, as denial has only led to more suffering translated through generations.

To be born out of genocide is a mental and psychological experience that has left deep scars in generations of Armenians- but has also created a strong force of advocates for justice and truth. If we don’t persistently bring our history and the unrecognized injustices of our past into the public consciousness, who will? We are a people who refuse to disappear. The Ottoman Turks sought to silence us and exterminate all the genes of our race. They tried to bury us, but they didn't know we were seeds. 100 years have passed and the demand for justice is greater than ever.  As said by George Orwell, “In a time of universal deceit- telling the truth is a revolutionary action”.

The Armenian genocide, and the fact that there were no consequences for its perpetrators, laid the foundation for later atrocities. In premeditating the Holocaust, Hitler was quoted to have said, “Who, after all, speaks today of the annihilation of the Armenians?” The acknowledgement of injustice can influence victims, perpetrators, bystanders, and their descendants. Crimes against humanity must be documented and condemned so that we may have a culture of international accountability. Ignoring the crimes of the past creates a stage for such crimes in the future.

For one hundred years, the Armenian people have bared the burden of genocide. Now that a century has passed, I ask myself, as an Armenian-American, why it is that I care about something that happened one hundred years ago to people that I never even knew. Well, it is in our blood. The smudge in our history is unavoidable. We were born as an aftermath of genocide. We have a responsibility to make it known to the world what happened to these people.  I wonder if the same atrocities happened to us, now, would we want our descendants, one hundred years later, to carry out our cries and screams for justice? Of course we would. Justice must prevail.  As an Armenian-American, I feel that I have the opportunities, resources, and the voice to make a difference. I feel that educating my peers and the people around me is the least that I can do. Our people have been silenced and pushed aside by the international community for far too long. Now, more than ever, it is important that we do not forget the torture that our people were put through and the attempt at the extermination of our ethnic genes. We must hold accountable the perpetrators of the genocide.

For your cultural identity to be a lifetime of resistance, a battle for truth, a battle to try to comfort the souls of your murdered ancestors, your great grandparents, is a phenomenon of trans-generational trauma.  Being Armenian wasn't the cool thing for the preceding immigrant generation. But now, young Armenians are proud of their culture, heritage, and homeland. It's "cool" to listen/dance to Armenian music, a privilege to be able to write and speak in Armenian, to travel to Armenia. In many families, children are now urging their parents to go visit- who, after seeing Armenia in it's hard times, don't want to go back because they refuse to believe that it's "different" now. Armenian (and non-Armenian for that matter) students are increasingly doing their projects, class presentations, papers, theses on Armenian issues. There is a refusal to forget and a strive to educate our peers and even our professors, even ourselves! Whether one's interest lay in environmental science, molecular biology, media, public health, or anthropology, we always come back to the root of our identity, our Armenian heritage. We are proud but we are also troubled with this trans-generational trauma, this anxiety of being forgotten.

I recently heard a Turkish saying that translates roughly to “you cannot cover the sun with mud, for the sun will always shine through". I've always identified with the underdog, always rooting for them in movies and cheering them on when identified in real life... I have come to realize why that is. It is because our Armenian people have always been the underdog. They say we will be extinct in 100 years. I laugh because they don't know us. They don't know our strength, our passion, and our relentlessness. As best expressed by writer William Saroyan, “Go ahead, destroy Armenia. See if you can do it. Send them into the desert without bread or water. Burn their homes and churches. Then see if they will not laugh, sing and pray again. For when two of them meet anywhere in the world, see if they will not create a New Armenia." 

I invite Armenians and non-Armenians alike, to go visit Armenia. See the beautiful historic churches, taste the sweet apricot fruit, gaze at the breath-taking Ararat mountain. See that we are so much more than a people victim of genocide. Our history did not begin nor end with the genocide. We are so rich with culture, language, and history.  Կանք պիտի լինենք եւ դեր շատանանք։  

I'm not a Crazy Feminist, I'm A Human Rights Advocate (This is not a Rant. It is a Plea)

In recent months, the topic of rape has begun to acquire more public attention and debate than ever. At times I feel as though our culture is becoming more intolerant of rape and misogyny due to our intolerance of inequality and injustice. But unfortunately, that is an incorrect assumption. It may be because of our increasing access to instantaneous information, but recently I have become more and more aware of incidence of rape. Our culture of demeaning women and treating them as objects or toys made for the personal gratification and enjoyment of men is causing a rape culture. 

In my own, rather conservative culture, the women are always expected to clear the table while the men literally sit around it and wait for the dessert to be laid out in front of them. Growing up, when I would refuse to help clean and rather choose to sit with the men in defiance of these sexist and demeaning cultural norms, I was made to feel guilty and disrespectful.

No, we're not making a "big deal" out of this. We are fighting for gender and sex equality. I'm not fighting for female rights because I'm a female; I'm fighting because I believe in the equality of all people. It is not okay to brush me off because I’m a woman. It is absolutely archaic to believe that a woman is beneath a man. Women have the capability to create a human being inside of them and bring them into the world. A woman gave birth to you, and literally pushed you out of their insides. That is the most powerful and important task on this earth and it is women who have been given the 'job'. It is our bodies that are capable of such strength and endurance. Women have been given the single most important duty of all and yet they are belittled, abused, and stripped of authority or significance. They are made interchangeable. We have all been labeled as "bitches".

Recently I heard about an incident of rape within my own community. I was disgusted and appalled to hear that people so similar to me were capable of such an atrocious act. I was rather sheltered growing up, so I never realized that people I actually knew and associated with were capable of committing rape or even of being raped. It was always a distant threat, something that happened to people with “bad” parents or “bad” friends. I could not have been more mislead. One in four college women report surviving rape or attempted rape. ONE IN FOUR. That means I, or one out of three of my female friends will fall prey to this statistic. This cannot be the norm. This is not okay. WE NEED TO CHANGE OUR CULTURAL AND SOCIAL NORMS IN ORDER TO STOP HARMFUL ACTS TOWARDS WOMEN. We must do something about the fact that male entitlement kills people. How many more wake-up calls do we need? How many more innocent women must fall victim?

Rape culture is directly correlated with misogynistic societal norms. Boys who don’t receive romantic or sexual attention from women blame women, while women who don’t receive such attention from boys blame themselves. We live in a society where a man feels entitled to murder women because they refuse to sleep with him. I realize that not all men are like this, of course. But that does not take away from the fact that we live in a society and a culture of male dominance.  We often use mental illness as a justification of mass murder when women are actually more likely to develop mental illness, but how often do we hear about women going on shooting sprees because men won’t love them or have sex with them?

I don’t “owe” anyone my body. My body is my own. It does not belong to anyone but me. It doesn't belong to a man and it certainly does not belong to the government. Yet, in 2013 alone, there were 700 bills proposed to regulate a woman's body. The number of bills to regulate a man’s body however, was the rightful number: zero. The political entity making these decisions that affect MY body are composed of over 80% males. 

During my first semester in college, I witnessed a girl crying while hiding in bushes in the night trying to escape from two men as they searched for her in rage. Their aggressive expressions were enough to make even me feel uncomfortable and threatened just by passing by them as I gripped my pepper spray. Do you realize the absurdity of the fact that when girls go to college they buy pepper spray and rape whistles while boys buy condoms? This is the culture we are breeding. I, myself, am disgusted of the sheer reality of this. Is this a society we want to live in and be a part of and raise our children in?

When a man is in charge and tells people what to do, it’s normal. But when a woman is in charge, they are called “bossy” or a “bitch”. Speaking up about these causes and these issues makes me an “angry feminist” or a “crazy liberal”. Why is it that a when a boy tweets in favor of women's rights issues, it gives the statement more validity and power? I am not "hating on men". I am trying to show that our society is flawed and WE HAVE THE POWER TO CHANGE IT.  We are continuously breading a culture of demeaning our fellow human beings based on gender, sexual orientation, race, and so forth. It is never okay to make someone feel as though they are inferior to you for any reason. We are all equal and deserve to be treated as such. The only thing that makes one person superior to another is their ability to show compassion towards their fellow human beings.

My Favorite Hobo (& the Power of Granola Bars)

Christmas is supposed to be the season of giving. Well we give and give until our credit cards are left breathless and panting, and we have no more money to spend on those cute boots that just won't seem to go on sale or that new game console we hope our relative will buy us as our Christmas gift.
Well think again my friends. The whole "giving season" isn't about giving to your relatives who are spending an equal bucket load (and then some) on your gifts. We have reached a point in consumerism where we literally have everything we need and everything we want and are now just accumulating, well, things. Things and things and things. Enough is enough and we certainly have enough. I mean, there's nothing wrong with wanting things but when does it end? When do we stop this craziness and this need for sales so we can buy more things that we don't need and lets face it, don't actually really want?
Well, let me focus your attention to Durant Avenue, Berkeley, California.
My favorite homeless man (yes I have a favorite) sits outside of Top Dog about a quarter of a mile from where I live. He is there every single day and with a smile on his face, greeting each passerby. He has a cup in his hand awaiting donations. But you know what, whether or not you empty out your change in his little styrofoam cup, he will bid you a kind farewell with a "Have a nice day" or "May God bless you". You carry on with your day. You don't give him a second thought. He sits. He waits. Repeats. Day in and day out.
You don't spare a dollar that you'll probably spend on a... hell you can't even buy anything with a dollar anymore. But that's not the point. He gave you everything he had to offer... a kind word. It's fine that you didn't give him any money. That's not the point either (It's coming I promise).
Well, this said homeless man, who greets me with a special smile ever since I give him some graham crackers out of the bag I was eating, has a special place on my favorite-hobo-ranking-list. (No there is not a physical list, it's a mental thing).
Anyways. As I cleaned up my room for winter break, I realized I had boxes of granola bars sitting in a bin under my bed in my dorm. I'm never going to eat those bars. They taste like soap because I failed to realize that putting them in an enclosed bin with my laundry detergent was a bad idea.
So, (here it is people, the great enlightenment) I figured why not give my neglected granola bars to this man sitting out in the cold (who I am sure will not care or realize they taste like laundry detergent) while I'm suffocating in the warmth of my room with the heater on full blast. If you think this is a tale told to boast you're greatly mistaken. To me, these granola bars mean nothing. They're trash. Yes, it's unfortunate that what is worthless to me is a pot of gold for somebody else. But that's the way of the world dear reader.
On with my tale, as I walked over to hand a bag of granola bars to this man (who's name I am yet to learn) I felt a bit nervous, not knowing how he would react. Perhaps he would be insulted and I would be taking a jab at his pride. But then again, maybe not. If you don't try, you won't know. So I walked over to him, he greeted me with that million dollar smile, and I asked him if he'd like some granola bars. Smiling, and a tad shocked, he said yes I would thank you. And as I reached my hand into the bag and grabbed a handful of bars (because what would the other hobos think if I didn't save them some) his eyes widened and he said "all of this?" Mind you, it was four of five bars... But he looked at me like 5 year old boy on Christmas morning who just got that toy he really wanted but hadn't told his parents about. I felt great, he was happy, it all worked out splendidly. But as I walked back feeling as if I'm all of a sudden a good person and that I did a good deed, I realized that honestly, that really does not make me a good person, just like walking by him everyday an not even sparing a dime doesn't make me a bad one. Shouldn't we always be doing good deeds? Shouldn't we stop being so selfish all the time and think of somebody other than ourselves? Well, yes. The answer is yes.
So next time you go into Target and spend $200 more than you meant to, throw an extra box of granola bars and give them to a homeless person on the street. After all, they can't buy drugs with a couple of granola bars right? (You know, since apparently all hobos do drugs and buy drugs with the change you give them which is actually your excuse of never giving... ya)
This feels a bit pretentious (it was not meant to be). And I was told to shorten it. I didn't.
So if you made it to the end, well you made it.
Happy Holidays. Merry Christmas.
I have one page left to write of my 10 page paper for tomorrow morning. Send a prayer my way if you will.
SH

What I've Learned in College (Like say NO to Shark Fin Soup)

Well here I am about two weeks away from completing my first semester at the University of California, Berkeley. Sounds so grandiose when you say it like that, but I guess it actually is. You'll be glad to know (I presume) that I am absolutely loving it here. I'm surrounded by unbelievably knowledgeable peers and truly inspiring teachers. Everyone here has something to say and has different knowledge about different things and they are always ready to share this knowledge. And the greatest part is that all conversations here have substance and you walk away learning something new or gaining a new perspective. Like just now as I was walking back to my dorm from class, I overheard a discussion on how fusion music is only fusion music because of corporate producers who created the idea of "genre" and how in Beethoven's time there was no such thing... This place  just has so much intellect and knowledge to offer.
Let me start off by telling you a bit about my classes. My history of capitalism class has been so mind-broadening and informative. My teacher (or rather "professor"), a young quirky woman, is rather inspiring and has taught me a great deal. For example, did you know the introduction of the banana  into our daily diet (fairly recently actually) was a means to a capitalistic end. I also now know how the 2008 financial crisis came about and the significance of the tupperware industry, as well as the difference in value of greasy beaver fur and nongreasy.
In my comparative literature class we have discussed everything from sexuality and homosexuality, to memory and social order. My skinny little male french professor (who's sexuality I continue to question) has opened up my mind to different dimensions of thinking. I can now say I have completed five volumes of Proust, with its endless sentences and rather confusing, out of order, disturbed trains of thought. I have also come to discover that Virginia Woolf is not quite my cup of tea.
In my Peace and Conflict studies class I have learned that not going to war is not a solution to war because sometimes that causes more tensions and more problems. With mock simulations (where I was Germany), I have learned about different ways peace can be attained, if it is actually attainable and about international intervention in sovereign states. I have also learned never to eat shark fin soup (they kill the whole shark for just the fin!!) and that the Internet actually has a physical presence (hidden in a windowless building somewhere in Florida and Los Angeles). I've learned all about piracy in Somalia and African theories of peace and justice, and Islam, Buddhism, warlordism, and most importantly, the laws of war (yes those exist... kind of).
But of all I have learned, what my greatest lesson has been is that the more I learn, the more I realize I don't know and want to know. I am left with more and more questions.
I have noticed as I write this that the pronoun "I" has been quite repetitive. Well college is a time of the "I" and figuring yourself out and who you are, what you stand for, and who you want to become. Nevertheless, I (there it is again) have learned a great deal about others, with different cultures and religions, from all parts of the world. I have learned the correct pronunciations of the word "Pakistan" and "karaoke" (a highly mispronounced word). I have learned that people can (or rather, will), indeed, smoke weed in class while class is going. I have come to realize that befriending homeless people can be rather, well, harmless and sharing your snacks with them is okay (really, it's not going to kill you). But I have also learned that they can intoxicatedly follow you to your building or get arrested for exposing themselves in your courtyard (ha...).
I'm in the final stretch of 1/8th of my college career. Quite exciting (sort of?).
Well as I have chosen to write a 10-12 page paper in lieu of a final exam for my history class, I must now research Starbucks and expose its capitalistic ways. After that I will write an 8 page paper on the Armenian genocide and the denial of its factually proven existence.
I'm quite excited. Seriously.
PS There is a freeze warning for the Bay Area tonight to tomorrow so in case I turn into a popsicle, it's been a pleasure...
Have a splendid, intellectually stimulating day!
Signing off
SH

Go Bears!

As I gulp down my lemon water from my Cal water bottle to reach my 64-ounces-a-day goal, the phone in my cubicle rings. I don't answer.
I have just filled out a survey sent by my future school, or rather current school (huh), about CalSO, the student orientation I was at last week. I went to this said orientation a bit nervous. No that's not the right word. I don't really get nervous. I went... not knowing what to expect rather. I thought it would be awkward,  going to spend a night somewhere where you don't know a single person. But it wasn't so bad. For the most part, no one knew each other so everyone just kept introducing themselves.
"Hi I'm John Doe" "Hi I'm Sareen, nice to meet you" followed by the "Where are you from?" and so on. I didn't really remember anyone's names but it was just nice knowing that people were so open to making new friends.
May I just throw it out there that you can tell whether or no someone is from LA from their clothes, even from just their shoes. I mean, who knew that there is a whole world of people who have not been introduced to the basic world of fashion. You can spot out the LA girls in the Brandy Melville attire, or their TOMS or converse, high wasted shorts or crop tops. Sorry to be blunt but have we not yet buried those awful bell bottom jeans, rigid baseball caps (for the ladies), and ratty purses with not-so-clever writing on them?! Excuse my bias but LA teens definitely have got the effortless California look down. I mean, who knew that different cities within the same state could have such a different sense of style, right?
Well anyways, during the orientation we had a debate in a group of about 20, where we talked about issues concerning race, gender, sexual orientation, and homophobia. This was the first time in my life that I have felt like in the right place. The whole day of "Go Bears!" and "You all got in to Berkeley" did not exactly get me pumped to be there. But during that discussion, I felt at home. I realized that I'm finally where I need to be. A place with people that share different experiences yet similar viewpoints. A classroom setting where somebody other than you speaks up and shares their opinions. A place where people want to hear what you have to say and take that into consideration for their own intellect.
I don't know if I explained it quite right but I am just so glad to be somewhere with peers that share my priorities and my desire to learn and grow as a human being.

My excitement is finally surpassing my nervousness. (Ha not that I get nervous right?)

I guess all that's left to say now is, well, Go Bears!
Signing off
SH

Cloudy Day in a Cubicle in LA

LA to the Bay

Hey there my fellow blog junkies,

It's Monday afternoon in slightly cloudy LA, a rather rare look for our usually sunny sky. I write to you from a cubicle in an office building where I am an intern AKA the office bitch. It's alright though, a summer job never killed anyone (none that I'm aware of anyway).
Well, as I sit here waiting for someone to summon me over to make a copy or holler at me to fax endless papers of what seems to be mumbo jumbo, I can help but think about my move coming up in two months. Or 62 days rather.
I will be moving from Los Angeles, the city of angels, where I've had everything from my first sip of milk to my first shot of vodka, to Oakland, the city of hobos, a grungy, unfamiliar city where I know, well no one.
Oh and I'm only seventeen.
Why you may ask? The University of California, Berkeley is why.
The school where revolutions are sparked, leaders are born, and liberals are bread. Seems like the perfect place for an aspiring political journalist right?
Lets hope so.
Well this blog will give you all the raw, unfiltered thoughts and experiences of an LA girl finding her way in the Bay.

Over and Out. I have copies to make.

SH