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Rupen Janbazian
Rupen Janbazian is the editor of Torontohye Monthly. He is the former editor of The Armenian Weekly and the former director of public relations of the Tufenkian Foundation. Born and raised in Toronto, he is currently based in Yerevan.
Thank you, thank you very much Rupen, your words brought tears to my eyes. You are one of millions of examples of how generous Armenians are,ready to give more when you receive a little.
I felt the same affinity in Richardson, TX when I provided speech-language therapy to children who escaped the persecution of the Turks in the 1990’s.
This reminds me “Drowning man will clutch a straw!”
Great article Rupen. You told it as it is.
Many citizens of Turkey will tell you that they do not know their own history and it is important that people like yourself venture forth and establish ties. One only knows where it may lead to in the future. There are many “hidden” Armenians in Turkey and many are proud of their heritage and only recently are some willing to openly acknowledge the fact. Turkey is in the midst of tumultuous change
and it is not evident at present which way it will end.
Rupen Janbazian,
Ամենայն Հարգանք քո նման երիտասարդներին որ ձեր կրակեայ բոցկլտող ազգային հոգեղենով վեր եք բարձրացրել ազգային պահանջատիրական դրօշը եւ ՎԱՌ եք պահում ազգային երազանքը, հասնելու Պատմական Հայաստանին:
– Կանադա Տորոնտօ.
Great article! I was similarly impressed with many of the people I met in Diyarbakir and their hospitality and honesty. I genuinely believe there is hope here.
Lest we forget that during the Paris Peace Conference in 1919, the Armenian delegation headed by Boghos Nubar Pasha and the Kurdish leader Sharif Pasha joined forces and reached an agreement for the foundation of two independent states—that of Armenia and Kurdistan, in the eastern part of Turkey.
Thanks Rupen, God bless you, your Dear family and your holy mission all the times. Amen.
Armenians must be able to speak with top guns rather than soft tongues.
Once you have it, then you will find many friends. The problem is that everybody knows about this axiom, yet no one does someything about it.
Dear rupen ,
You have done good to remind that dikranagerd, “Diyarbakir” is our ancient capital and homeland , we should talk to the Kurds , for turkey will be the next babylon , the Kurds should be our allies. Good job my friend.
Our countryman Ruben
Brave to prepare your talk
Brave to reach there
Brave to see your land
and breathe once again with your roses …
share breezes of your ancient trees…
and remember your ancestors who were martyred there
Brave and brave…by all means…I can say…
The brave Ruben…
I wrote verses about my parents and their land
…I never saw yet…but you applied what I wrote
which was not any easy task …
I repeat once again you are real brave
To visit your ancestries land
Sylva-MD-Poetry
December 30, 2013
From my poetry collection…
I Shall Return Where I Belonged
“Dikranagerd-Tigranakert”
Your Name Harshly Degraded,
Shan’t Vanish, As Our Souls Breathing Soundlessly There!
Return . . . Dear Armenians return from everywhere Return . . .
to your real land From Artsakh to Anatolia (Armenian Highland) and further west
To view dead valleys . . . rivers.
To the second Tigranakert where King Tigranes II (Dikran the Great*)
Implanted his first stone to build a civilized city,
He turned it green, like Eden’s place.
See the invaders change everything including the name
By smashing every piece of rock carved with it,
Changing it from Dikranagerd to Diyarbakir;
Changed King’s Dikran name to Diyar from word dar
That means ‘homes’ in stolen languages and . . . why
The Bakir . . . means a new land . . . newborn!
Return . . . To see your churches, cathedrals destroyed
Their grounds no longer filled of marbles . . . stones
Scene . . . full of wild plants . . .
dried weeds and smelly sands,
Bones of killed animals, and insects scattered, dry, breathless.
No khoran, altars left to pray and call old God.
Even the Almighty, scornfully lost his faith . . .
Left those lands for scavengers to breathe in,
Robbers of stones and of churches to
Build on seized lands, many ugly shanty homes
Deprived of basic art . . .
Nevertheless . . . still, you can see some stones
Carved on crosses typical of Armenian art, Khatchkar
In it the Armenian alphabet which can still be read.
Some rocks are decorated by our ancient animals and planets.
Your cemeteries are alive only awaiting excavation;
Let souls of DNA arise and wrestle with slayers and Scream to reach the sky . . .
Narrate what the slayers did In that artful, educated, dedicated people’s fertile lands.
Recently I saw on TV . . . Photos that left me smashed soundless . . .
That ruins crossed my hidden volcanic flames . . .
To shout where are the real humans in this life.
“Dikranagerd-Tigranakert”
On my grandparents’ serenade dative terrains . . .
There were schools, colleges, goldsmiths, music, art . . .
On every corner, the bells jingled calling saints.
My grandmother Zahuhi used to say,
“Our house was near the cathedral **
Every Sunday the city was quiet
Believers attended there to pray!”
June 27, 2010
From the book “My Son My Sun chants Ann, Obama’s Mother” June 2011
Meg dzaghigov karoon chikar