Visiting border schools

A 30 minute, 200AMD ($0.42USD) gazelle ride from the Gyumri bus station can take you out to the villages along the Armenia and Turkish border. In the Shirak region, one retired teacher recalled her childhood memories growing up in this area.  She described how there were once 28 villages of which 7 were Armenian while the rest were Azerbaijani. Amasia is one of the Azerbaijani villages of the Shirak region.  Prior to entering Meghrashat, one passes Okhchoglu, another Azerbaijani village which was later renamed and is known today as Voghji.  The teacher recalled how closely they worked together under the Soviet Union but as the USSR was beginning to fall apart, she says relations began to deteriorate quickly.

There is only one school in the village I visited today - one cannot find any shops or other major places to visit.  One mother and former school cafeteria chef does not have decent employment in her village - her salary was based on each child she served which totaled 20 AMD which is equivalent to $0.042USD.

Upon sitting in the gazelle at the Gyumri bus station, I sensed that most of the riders were teachers based upon the way they were dressed and materials.  Later, their conversations about lesson plans and specific students confirmed my instincts.  It is common that many teachers traveled as far as 30 minutes to go to work daily to their neighboring villages.  Majority of the teachers were female.

Today, I met with and attended classes of a teacher who is a refugee from Azerbaijan.  In the teachers lounge, she made an announcement to describe why I was visiting and who I am.  "She is a Diasporan Armenian from America - guys, she is Armenian!"  I overheard one teacher's reaction to another, "I could tell she is Armenian".  The teacher felt inclined to also disclose that the primary reason why I was there was to interview and work with her because of her refugee identity.  Deep down I felt bad when she felt inclined to share or almost justify why I chose to interview and work with her due to her refugee status.  In my mind I had never thought about how the local populations receive(d) and perceive(d) Armenian refugees from Azerbaijan?  I did not manage to get to hear a lot of her stories yet but slowly, we began to develop a rapport.  

Both the refugee teacher and retired teacher were interested in learning about my identity and my family history.  While I spoke Armenian, I think they still needed to determine whether or not I am allowed to have "access" to such deep and personal memories.  My story usually went something like this: My parents were born in Haleb, Syria, where their ancestors were relocated as a result of the Armenian Genocide of 1915.  Typical of their time, they moved to Beirut later in their lives where they would eventually escape the wars...from what we know, my grandmother from my father's side walked with her mother and brother through Der Zor desert - Vartouhi (my grandmother) would be saved while her mother and brother later drowned themselves.

Today we've only begun to establish trust and rapport.  During one interview, we've only scratched the surface of memories of coexistence in Shirak.  And yet, each time I set off to visit a site, interview, school, or meeting, I always begin the day by asking myself, who am I to be allowed to enter these spaces, these peoples lives, classrooms, homes and memories?  Conducting fieldwork is both a great honor and humbling reminder of how fortunate we are to be able to enter [our] communities and conduct research.  Through this process, I am trying to reconcile with my researcher and community identity.  This will be a topic for another blog I'll have to return to soon.