Diaspora Must Do Better in Keeping Institutions

My grandfather, though rooted in tradition, was a keen proponent of vision. In fact it was this vision early on in his tenure that expanded the Vahan Tekeyan School from an aluminum hovel to a robust, concrete building, all within the course of 10 years. What he was averse to, however, was mismanagement. With thousands of students and hundreds of faculty under his wing, he traveled around the world to fundraise — before, during and after the devastating Lebanese Civil War — inspiring donors to give to the educational institution during a time when the Diaspora wasn’t even half as prosperous as it is now. So for those in decision-making positions to claim that these institutions can’t be supported anymore, financially, is therefore, a complacent response. It should be the priority of leadership to be fiscally responsible. In this case, the Diocesan Council needs to shore up continued support and interest to sustain the Diocesan Center and St. Vartan Cathedral instead of throwing in the towel — and that can only be achieved by regaining trust in donors and ruling, not with an iron fist, but through transparency and consensus. Prudence and foresight — not egos and backroom deals — should lead commercial deals of this magnitude.

These historic institutions don’t just support local communities; they support the Diaspora as a whole. And a strong Diaspora is a prerequisite for a strong Armenia. I vividly recall all of my grandfather’s students who would visit him, years after he retired from a 60-year career in education and public service. He remembered each one by face, by name, by voice. Tekeyan wasn’t just a school or a job to him. It was his life. His family. Each of those students were his children. So much so that 30, 40, even 50 years later, they still referred to him as their “Harkeli Baron Dnoren Yervant Babayan.” My grandfather, who studied in Paris, spoke five languages and could have easily remained in Europe and entered a fruitful life in the private sector, gave his heart to the Vahan Tekeyan School and that is an integral reason for its bone-deep impact. In the case of the Eastern Diocese, there seems to be no business sense, but more dangerously, there seems to be no heart. And with no heart, there can be no pulse.

Lack of funds is not the real problem. Apathy is the evil. St. Vartan Cathedral and the Diocesan Complex were built by thousands of donors, large and small, and there are thousands of donors who still give, large or small, myself included. Yet it’s being torn down by a few in front of our own eyes. I’m sure I’m not the only one who remembers the heyday of the dynamic activities of the cathedral and the Diocese: the headline-making all-inclusive One World Festival, the vibrant Armenian school programs, or the talented theater ensemble.

Based on contemporary history, the culturally rich Diasporan communities in the Middle East have faced political turmoil and conflict in addition to financial burdens. It is, to an extent, understandable that the most influential Diasporan communities — Beirut, Aleppo, Tehran, Baghdad, Cairo — don’t have the sizable presence they once did, though they continue to possess innate vigor to keep their communities alive. But what about the so-called stable communities in, say, Paris, London or New York? Aren’t they also on the verge of gradually dying out? Could the prospect of apathy and assimilation be even more menacing than that of political conflict?

Selling the air rights may spur a fatal domino effect, setting the precedent for New York City’s St. Vartan Cathedral and Eastern Diocese to become an “in memoriam” like many other Diasporan institutions, that too, weren’t “sustainable” anymore, vanishing into the annals of unrecorded history.

As Armenians, it is not that we can do better, it is that we must do better. Isn’t it time to override the corroding dysfunction that plagues many Armenian organizations? We must expect more from those who sought to assume leadership positions. We must read their intentions, their motives and their abilities before entrusting them to make these critical decisions. And we must examine if they are indeed upholding their duties. Above all, we must honor and respect donors — those who have built, stone by stone, the very bedrock of our most revered Diasporan institutions.

I thought fondly of those donors and their sacrifices as I made my way out of the Vahan Tekeyan School, pleased to witness the dedicated staff in action. While stepping back onto the maze-like streets of Bourdj Hammoud, a teacher stopped me. He proudly revealed a book given to him by my grandfather, who had authored the tome. Our family ties went back — his father was a student of my grandfather’s in Aleppo when he had served as principal of the Giligian School. And the teacher, himself a graduate of the Vahan Tekeyan School and a holder of a master’s degree, chose to educate the next generation at his alma mater. As he clutched the book, he told me he still read through the pages for guidance and inspiration, my grandfather’s lessons, too, ringing in his ears.

That, dear reader, is my legacy. What is yours? And more importantly – what are you doing to protect it?