Goodbye Washington

Today is my last day in Washington, DC. The office is pretty relaxed today without a whole lot for me to do. I thought I'd take a small break and write two lists. One of things I will miss and one of things I am looking forward to back at home in California.


Things I will miss:
1. Young professionals everywhere I turn
2. The characters on the Public Transport
3. The small-town feel in a huge city
4. Attending hearings
5. The Gateway house, with all its residents and fun times
6. U Street
7. Calling the ANCA office "home" by mistake
8. Chop't
9. City sounds
10. Being surrounded by news and current events
11. Latakia jokes
12. Alex singing "Der Voghormia" in the shower
13. Being a secretary


Things I am looking forward to:
1. Not wearing work clothes every day.
2. Humidity < 90%
3. Every person I have missed
4. Seeing the stars at night
5. My car
6. A fridge with more than 1 sq. foot of space for me
7. Less rats
8. The beach
9. School
10. Better tasting food..namely sushi
11. Babies
12. Lounging
13. Pools deeper than 3 feet


That's a very small tidbit, they were really the first things to come to mind so I threw them out there :)

"Aghet" - the Great Calamity

It appears that the developed world has lately been fascinated with championing for human rights- for serving as the voice of justice in an unjust world. Young people everywhere are sporting t-shirts that read “Save Darfur”, internationally known celebrities are adopting from third world nations on a regular basis, and well to do businesspeople are opening charities for impoverished children. These efforts are commendable, but indirectly raise the question of what it takes for individual (or any given entity) to create a sustainable message for human rights. Crimes against humanity have been an issue constantly presented to politicians and governmental authority of modernity. And yet the primary combatants of human rights abuses are often non government forces relentlessly striving to speak out for justice. Creating a message with a global appeal and the ability to catalyze political change against inhumanity, however, is no easy task.

Knowing the obstacles that would inevitably hinder his efforts, a German filmmaker by the name of Eric Friedler took on such a task. Equipped with the funding of German Public Television (NDR) and an ensemble of 23 notable German actors bringing historical texts to life, Friedler created a documentary to depict the Armenian Genocide perpetrated by the Ottoman Empire during the First World War.[1] Many historians believe that the Armenian Genocide was the first genocide of the twentieth century, during which approximately 1.5 million Armenians perished as a result of death marches, deportation to nowhere, and starvation.[2] Yet, this interpretation of the Genocide is not globally accepted. Firstly, the Turkish government exercises an uncompromising policy of Genocide Denial and the U.S. government does not officially recognize these atrocities of WWI as genocide. Not to mention that ninety-five years after the fact, the story of the Armenian Genocide faces easily slipping away into forgotten antiquity. The factors contributing to Friedler’s opposition in this case are easy to understand.

Turkey’s role in the Western world makes international recognition of the Armenian Genocide a nearly taboo topic of discussion. A secular democracy in the Muslim world, Turkey serves as a desirable ally to many Western nations, including the United States and Germany. Many U.S. officials look to Turkey as a model for the Middle East- as an example for its neighbors to follow. The question of the Genocide and recognition can be answered simply. Turkey’s message to its allies is clear: recognition of the Genocide yields consequences. As mentioned earlier, the current Turkish government dictates policy that does not hold the Ottoman Empire, its predecessor, guilty of Genocide. In fact, Section 301 of the Turkish penal code makes it a federally punishable crime to “insult Turkishness”[3], which includes mention of the Armenian Genocide. In effect, any government or individual that finds otherwise ultimately undermines Turkish policy.

Regardless of the obvious difficulty ahead of him, Eric Friedler went forth with his film, which was first screened in Berlin on April 8^th, 2010. Friedler’s documentary is a unique effort at presenting history that many legislators and governments have been aware of for years. From its conception in Germany, “Aghet” has made its way to the United States, and into the heartland of American politics on Capitol Hill. The documentary, which is heavy, heart wrenching, yet beautifully executed, displays the Armenian Genocide through a new light. It is important to note that the point of the movie is not to appeal to any one group- Friedler himself claims that he had “no target audience” in mind when making the film. He is not playing to the emotional capacities of the Armenians, nor is he seeking to speak out Turks. He is merely attempting to portray, through raw and invigorating footage, history he believes to be “a fact that has already been proven”. In this way, the film’s appeal is universal. The viewer does not have to be associated with the history to be moved by Friedler’s message.

Perhaps because of this, “Aghet” is drawing both admiration and controversy. During the Capitol Hill Screening on July 23, 2010, host Representative Adam Schiff of California commented on the opposition from the Turkish side when he said, “Today I received a copy of a letter from the Turkish ambassador, decrying the fact that this film is being screened here the in Congress and claiming that Aghet attempts to simplify and worse to falsify the nature and force of this sad chapter in history.”[4] Ultimately, when it comes to foreign affairs, the Armenian Genocide remains a constant tug of war. With neither side willing to yield, reconciliation between Armenia and Turkey is unlikely to come in the near future. Today, the Turkey-Armenia border remains indefinitely closed, eliminating trade between the two nations. Not to mention that in 2007, Hrant Dink, a Turkish-Armenian journalist who wrote about the Armenian Genocide, was gunned down outside his office in Istanbul, causing a worldwide reaction from the Armenian Diaspora.[5]

The House Foreign Affairs committee passed House Resolution 252 (aka The Armenian Genocide Resolution) in March of this year- recognizing the massacres of WW1 as genocide. House Resolution 252 calls for U.S. recognition of the Armenian Genocide- there is no mention of action on behalf of the Turkish government.[6] The resolution has yet to be voted upon by the full House of Representatives. At the July screening, Eric Friedler noted "I do not know if my film ‘Aghet’ will have any impact on the way the American Congress will deal with the issue of Armenian Genocide in future. It is more than amazing and absolutely unusual that a German documentary might be considered to have any meaning to a political decision-making process. I feel very honored to be invited to Washington and that ‘Aghet’ is seen by members of the Congress.”[7] It is yet too early to understand how what the political impact of Mr. Friedler’s film will be.

Nearly a century after the Genocide occurred, some beg the question as to why vehicles of information like “Aghet” as well as recognition are so important to Armenians, the Armenian Diaspora, and those who actively partake in their cause. Others fear the political repercussions of such a move and allude to the fragile U.S. alliance with Turkey. After all, no material benefit will come to a government for officially recognizing the massacres as genocide. If the issue were looked at in black and white terms in the United States, recognition may even be arbitrary to Washington. For those connected to the issue, however, the Armenian Genocide is not only a question of policy. It is a question of symbolism, closure, and progress. It is a ma­tter of illustrating to the world that the modern concept of human rights can be a powerful contender in a ruthlessly politically constructed global community. After all, gestures of symbolic recognition- such as Germany banning of the word “Nazi” from the country’s vocabulary and the Japanese Prime Minister’s recent apology to Korea for colonial rule and mistreatment -ultimately hold weight when it comes to reconciliation.

Although the world’s outlook on the Armenian Genocide issue has yet to reach a uniform conclusion, Eric Friedler’s “Aghet” ultimately shines light on an aging issue begging a modern question. With genocide continuing to plague the world, education and recognition bring out remote hope that the new perpetrators of genocide will rethink their course.­­­­­­­

---

[1] Spiegel Online: http://www.spiegel.de/international/world/0,1518,687449,00.html

[2]Taner Akçam A Shameful Act: The Armenian Genocide and the Question of Turkish Responsibility

[3] Today’s Zaman Online: http://www.todayszaman.com/tz-web/detaylar.do?load=detay&link=131118

[4] ANCA press release: http://www.anca.org/press_releases/press_releases.php?prid=1912

[5] New York Times Online: http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=940CEEDA1539F931A35753C1A9619C8B63&ref=hrant_dink

[6] Open Congress: http://www.opencongress.org/bill/111-hr252/show#

[7] ANCA press release: http://www.anca.org/press_releases/press_releases.php?prid=1912

A Small Bite out of the Big Apple

Although I haven't updated in probably over a week now, my post today isn't necessarily related to anything political or professional. I am, however, working on something about a genocide film that thoroughly and somewhat unexpectedly moved me, so that will be up in the future. (Just didn't want it to be haphazarly done)

In any case, I'm writing today to briefly recap an incredibly event filled weekend. My friends and I decided to explore the East Coast. Typical as it may seem, we took a weekend getaway to New York. We were lucky enough to be housed by my friend's parents in New Jersey, who in addition to helping us avoid the hassle of staying in the city, treated us with more hospitality than we could ask for. Without going on too much of a tangent, New Jersey has got to be the most media misrepresented state. Granted we were on the New York state line and far from the shore, but I certainly did not encounter any fistpumping. The greenery and overall atmosphere was more reminiscent of the Garden State film, if anything.

Anyway, we spent two nights in New Jersey and two full days in New York. Needless to say, we didn't see everything. New York seems like a world all by itself. If ever I forgot just how small I was, one upward glance at the skyscrapers put me right back in my place. I've never seen a place like it. There is no uniform description, feel, or ambiance in New York. Here is an example of why: An entirely glass high-rise is juxtaposed next to a Catholic church on the corner of Wall Street (surprisingly narrow) and Broadway. The variety was endless and the sights in New York were just mesmerizing. Walking up and down its streets is an ongoing adventure, with something entirely new everywhere you look.

Besides the fact that we were disguised as potential locals in my friend's cream colored Jetta, we were true tourists when it came to sight-seeing. Upon arrival Friday night, we rushed to Times Square, which was my only disappointment of the weekend. At the time, my mouth was probably open the entire 15 minutes as I stared at the flashing lights. In retrospect though, I don't think I gained very much. Times Square, in many ways, reminded me of the tackiness that Vegas plays host to. I'm certainly glad I visited it, but am I dying to go back? Not really.

The Statue of Liberty was an experience I enjoyed. Even though she is surprisingly small, Lady Liberty is a sigh to behold. On the island, I felt a certain serenity. For some reason, the statue seemed human to me, and I liked being around her.

I don't want this post to be too long, but I think the highlight of the weekend was when we, on a whim, went to dinner on the upper East Side. Since we were already there and famished, the girls and I decided we might as well spoil ourselves a little. After consulting Yelp, we decided on an Italian restaurant near Lexington Avenue. When we arrived, we discovered the place closed on Sundays. Briefly disappointed, we looked around, and finally picked a cozy Indian spot a few doors down. I found the name, Chola, a bit funny though. But the decor was lovely and the food was pretty darn delicious. Not to mention, I felt, ironically enough, uncomfortable at how good the service was.

In the end though, I'm not sure I could live in a place like New York. Maybe the reason I fell much in love with DC is because it's a big city with a small town feel. But to be frank, I think I'm being far too quick to judge. After all, what grounds do I have to voice an opinion after only 48 hours?

The Color Purple

I feel that we, as humans, have for the most part accepted that life simply is not fair. But every now and then, something so unjustified and so incomprehensible happens that even the most disconnected and cynical human beings have to stop and beg the question as to why. An already emotionally driven person, I am helplessly searching my mind today to understand why Kevin Gahndi's life depends on a machine- droning, clicking, humming, and providing him a heartbeat. This time tomorrow, that machine will have stopped working. When faced with a decision no mother or sister should ever have to make, his family chose to stop providing the life support.

For now, I have no need to pour out my thoughts through this virtual catharsis. You see, Kevin was always frustrated with his friends because he thought we were too emotional. He was the poster child of understanding hardships, and moving on. But I can't take a page out of Kevin's book today. Moving on is hard to do when the person lost is as beautiful as him. All I want to do, is show a small display of a person more loved than he could ever understand. I just want to post a few pictures that made me think of Kevin- for one reason or another- in the color that made him known as Purple Pants himself

If this is a Senate Committee, where are all the Senators?

When I made my way to Capitol Hill yesterday afternoon, I was expecting an exhilarating remainder of my workday. I was going to the Confirmation Hearing of 4 nominated and potential Ambassadors to be. Their prospective host nations would be Turkey, Iraq, Yemen, and Lebanon. No one could argue that these are boring or safe places for a Foreign Service worker. Instead, three of the four nations are oftentimes threatened by extremism and dreaded Iranian regional influence. Furthermore, Turkey, has, in recent times, certainly shown signs of leaning East and putting the West behind it. This is not a good sign for a U.S. ally to show. Additionally, Iraq is a vulnerable nation and its future is surely uncertain, to put it mildly. To sum it up without going into details about the fragility and potential of relations with these nations, I could not think of a more crucial time to have qualified and overly prepared Ambassadors acting as the messengers of the American interest in Ankara, Beirut, Baghdad, and Sanaa. With that being said, I was dismally disappointed to see that of 19 members of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, no more that 4 were present at any given point. Throughout the 3.5 hour hearing, less than 8 were present altogether. How could this happen? This was supposed to be the opportunity for the Senators to ask crucial questions, determine the quality of these servicemen, understand their goals... the list goes on and on. But not one Senator truly turned up the heat. Perhaps Senator Menendez of New Jersey succeeded in making the Ambassador to Turkey nominee rather uncomfortable when he asked the nominee if he had been to a Turkish Genocide Celebration on his visits to Turkey. He did this to follow up a series of Genocide related questions to underline a very clear point: Turkey mocks the Genocide. Besides Menendez's pressing questions, the Senators spoonfed the nominees questions they tackled with no difficulty, most of which they had already addressed in their initial statements. Perhaps the Senators have so much faith in Barack Obama's nominations that they saw no need to question. Although, I doubt this theory holds true for the Republican Members. Where was the true American tradition of checks and balances? Perhaps I am being too cynical, perhaps these four nominees will do a marvelous job, and perhaps the Senators are simply far too busy to partake. In any case, I still can't help but wonder about possible apathy on their behalf.



Regarding the nominee to Turkey, he appeared to be a knowledgeable man, with an admirable reputation as a U.S Foreign Service agent. He addressed the Genocide when asked, referring to it as the massacre of 1.5 million, without blatanly calling it a genocide. I saw several prominent Turkish lobbyists, seated in front of me, scribble away fervently as he addressed the issue.

He gave an interesting response regarding Turkish mistreatment of the internationally honored Ecumenical Patriarch (recipient of the Congressional Gold Medal from the U.S. Congress). The nominee answered this question with the following:

"I will give it every effort and use the devices of diplomacy. Perhaps there are a couple of newer wrinkles to bear. When I would speak with the Turks on human rights issues, particularly religious freedom issues, one of the points that I found most salient, and that really hit home with the Turks is to appeal to their pride. And historic tolerance, they see it as part of a national branding of the Turkish character, if you will. And when Catholic Spain was burning Jews, and Muslims and heretics, only half a millennium ago, which in Middle Eastern time is less time than for us, Turkey welcome the Jews of Spain to come there and profited greatly from that. The Ottoman Empire also profited heavily from having Greek Christians, Armenian Christians in their highest offices of government as ministers until the end of the Ottoman Empire. Turks take pride in that, but don't always live up to it in the modern time. So I would certainly remind the Turks of that great tradition that they had. Beyond that, it's public diplomacy."

I wonder if he remembers that the reason those Armenian ministers no longer served was because they were all taken from their homes and beheaded one fateful night?

Thunderstorm

Tonight, despite 88 degree weather, there is thunder and lightning outside my window. Maybe it's the weather, maybe it's greeting the one month anniversary of my time in DC with some apprehension, or maybe it's a streak of homesickness, but I'm finding it a difficult night to fall asleep. I haven't ever been afraid of thunderstorms, but this one feels like it's enveloping me- surrounding me completely. When I lay my head down I feel the thunder and its vibrations. It's very overwhelming. I feel small and unprotected. What's worse is that it came out of nowhere, just as I was finishing up a conversation and planning on bidding the world goodnight. I suppose I can see it as the weather reacting to the thunderstorm that's been in my head the past few days. I've been thinking about a lot of things but just to avoid a blog novel, I'll write about what is most relevant to what my blog has been thus far.


The more I work here, attending networking events with over-qualified people looking for jobs that never seem to come and learning to involuntarily categorize people by degree and major, my anxiety problem eats away at me from the inside more than ever. I have been always anxious for the next step, so I chose to graduate early- to get ahead. And now, I am already thinking post-graduation. But what's next? I don't know at all. I don't have the slightest clue. I feel like I have the weight of the world on my shoulders, but I put it all there myself. I don't really how else to do it, I've always been this way. Why am I in such a rush? I hate this. But ask me to slow down and I'll refuse the idea instantly. Sometimes I wish I could be ten again- but then I remember that I hated being ten. I was never cool enough and my hair was way too frizzy. But I hated fifteen, too. I was too young to be taken seriously and too old to be irresponsible. Twenty? Well, I'm not even there yet. I just can't help and ask myself this: Will I truly revel in the best years of my life?


I send my apologies to any older, more knowledgeable readers. The outbursts of a 19 year old must be silly to you, but I still lack the wisdom life has given you. I think it is nights like this, in my most vulnerable state of mind, that my fears overwhelm me. Even in a world full of people we love, we can feel so alone at times. And an uninvited thunderstorm can only make it worse.



And please, continue to send your prayers, thoughts, and love Kevin's way since he has yet to regain consciousness.

Hold.

Hold on. Before I do anything else, or go on about some things I haven't talked about for over a week, I want to take a second to share some news I haven't wrapped my mind around. I haven't done so because so many things are up in the air that I'm tired of grabbing at them in wasted attempts at grounding. The last time I saw my friend Kevin was the day I moved out of my apartment in San Diego. Kevin, my neighbor and former fellow Muir College Orientation leader, spotted my roommate and I struggling with a cabinet that was obviously too big for two girls our size to be carrying. He saw us from about 100 feet away, and in Kevinly nature, stopped to laugh for a few seconds at how ridiculous we looked before rushing over to help us out. The three of us packed the cabinet into my Golf and walked back home. Kevin let us know if we needed anything else to come knock. Later that day, we said our goodbyes for the summer until September. Kevin scolded me jokingly for not being around even though I was only a few doors down. Now I'm kicking myself more than ever for being a sometimes absent friend. It was always my loss anyway. I received news earlier this week that Kev underwent emergency open heart surgery early this week and has yet to regain consciousness. From what I've been able to put together through text updates of those in the area, I'm not able to tell if this means he is comatose, although to be honest, I'm too afraid to ask and hear it be put that way. I've taken any good sign I can, be it swallowing movement, needing to be sedated for moving about unconsciously, or no visible brain damage in the latest test. I've avoided thinking about the bad, because I don't want it to exist. Each time I check his Facebook page, I scan for a sign of Kevin himself instead of countless friends sending virtual prayers, displays of love, and requests for the return of the Kevin they all know and love. I think I'm going to keep it this way. If keeping hope doesn't directly change anything, I know sure as hell losing hope only makes things worse. Wake up Kevin, I want to hear your voice again.

Political Football?

Yesterday, my fellow interns and I had the privilege to meet Ambassador John Evans and receive some insight on his adventures as a State Department dignitary. You see, Ambassador Evans, was removed from his post as Ambassador to Armenia after becoming quite vocal on The U.S responsibility to accept the Armenian Genocide for what it was: a genocide. The issue was, however, that Ambassador Evans clearly undermined the State's Departments hush hush policy of silence regarding recognition. According to his colleagues and superiors, his stance was unacceptable. Thus, he was made a sort of hero- I would go so far as to say even a martyr- in the Armenian American community. What is striking to me about the Ambassador, however, is that prior to becoming Ambassador in 2004, he had never been to Armenia. He had never had a connection to the people or the land. Nor does he have an Armenian grandmother, wife, or former college roommate. My point here is that Ambassador Evans, as he confessed, learned the undeniable truth of the Genocide merely through reading he did on his own time. To me, I suppose that, not the price he paid for his beliefs, is the most heroic part of his contribution to the Armenian cause.

In any case, the Ambassador spoke of something that really resonated with me. So much so, that I doodled politicians kicking soccer balls in my notebook during our meeting with him. As the Ambassador so wittily put it, the game of International Affairs is much like international football without the referees and 190 teams playing all at once. An appropriate metaphor- given the game of games coming up this Sunday (Viva Espana!) When the Ambassador said this, a tornado of thoughts immediately started rushing through my head and it wasn't only because I'm an avid soccer fan. Most importantly, I started to wonder which way was better. When it comes to International Affairs, should we hail our whistle blowing judges or should we send them off with the very red cards they themselves so often present to the players. If this sounds bizarre and trivial, I want to leave you with this thought.

In the game of international affairs, should regulation violators like Louis Suarez of Uruguay be sent off for blatantly ignoring the rules of the game by using fists to pull out incoming goals? After all, justice was appropriately served in the form of a penalty kick against Suarez and his countrymen. Or, do referees sometimes do more harm than good? Remember the U.S. game against Slovenia. Anyone with half an eye and half a brain could tell that the referees whistle robbed the Americans of the winning goal. Of course, I would not go so far as to suggest the removal of "referees" altogether from International Affairs. But, is the globalizing world, much like FIFA, in severe need of an instant replay tool?

Asbarez Piece

Hello, I just came out of a meeting with Ambassador John Evans, with plenty of new thoughts and a good amount of enlightening information. With that said, I have a lot of things to be sharing tonight. But, given that it's already 8:16 and a bowl of ice cream at home (it's 98 degrees outside right now) sounds pretty fantastic, I'll have to save it for tomorrow.

For now, I wanted to share the link for the piece published in Asbarez News about my work here in DC. Take a look. Like I said, I plagiarized from the blog quite a bit, especially in the part about the Ambassador. Hope you enjoy it.


http://asbarez.com/82937/of-ambassadors-and-baseball-games-reflections-at-the-two-week-mark-of-the-leo-sarkisian-internship/

End of week 2. Deja?

I can't believe it, but yeah, it's already nearing the end of my second week here at work. I hate to say this, but keeping up with the blog is harder than I thought it would be. I promised myself I'd be on top of it at all times, keeping a virtual journal of my day to day activities. But that hasn't entirely been the case. But today I'll update to make up for the lack of posting this week. To be honest, it's been an off week for me. Our whole house is under the weather, which is unusual for early July. I've had a cold I can't quite fight off, and somehow nine hours of sleep hasn't been cutting it for me. I know, it's embarrassing. But it's true! Hopefully, a weekend filled with soccer and nothing to do besides celebrate US independence will rejuvenate me.

Besides feeling sick, this week has been pretty eventful. You'll see bits about the Congressional Baseball game in an upcoming post. I wrote a piece- for which I plagiarized from this here blog- for an Armenian newspaper called Asbarez, to talk about my time here thus far. So stay tuned for more about that.


I guess the one thing I want to write about today is Politicians. Prior to coming to DC, important political figures were always a bit like mythical creatures to me. They made legislative decisions, they campaigned, they reached out to the masses, etc...but they never seemed entirely real. They always appeared to be perfect cutouts of what social convention wants them to be. (To name a few examples, think about the following: perfect suits, pearls, striped ties, and chiseled A-line bobs). In the past few days, I realized that they don't just appear that way, but they are, in fact, perfect cutouts of what social convention wants them to be. This week, I brushed shoulders with the one and only Ron Paul, shook hands with Steny Hoyer, and chatted with a few other key representatives. Not to mention, I saw Speaker Pelosi, in all her greatness, touch up her lipstick a few feet away from me. After all this, I can truly say that they are fantastically charming individuals. Their beaming smiles, their quintessential high fives, their occasional thumbs up, their winks and nods...I could go on and on about how they make the person standing immediately in front of them feel incredible to be there. I mean, it only makes sense, they were elected into public office for a reason. I suppose I had underestimated just how good they were at making people feel important. But with so many politicians being so good at their jobs, it really makes me wonder. How many of them actually give a damn?

Busline

My post today is going to be slightly different from the last two. I want to move away from my internship to tell a story about my encounters of DC as a city and not just as a workplace. Truth be told, I've lived in California's suburbs for the majority of my life. I suppose I lived in an urban setting during the very early years of my youth in Armenia, but I don't remember too much of city life itself. But I do remember my favorite homeless man with his bearded face and kind eyes. As a 4 year old, I made it a daily priority to give money to the handicapped veteran of a recent war. To my disappointment, the first time I went back to Armenia after coming to the States, he was not longer there. Sometimes I still wonder where he went or even if he's still alive... but his tangent is really quite unnecessary. The original point I was trying to make was that my suburban background in the world famous Silicon Valley has left me in a somewhat euphoric mindset about the real world.

Coming to DC, however, has quickly jolted me awake and reminded me that some of the things I've witnessed each day aren't just things I hear about or see rarely on visits to San Francisco. Alongside the pencil skirts and suits, the corporate hussle, and the political chitchat, there are drug dealers not older than fourteen, there are homeless people trapped in the blistering summer heat immediately outside luxuriously air condiditioned buildings, and there are impoverished families on the same buses as well to do tourists. On my way to watch a World Cup match at a local bar this past Saturday, I shared a bus with one of those families. This family consisted of a grandmother with young grandchildren. The eldest, Malcolm, was eight. The youngest, whose name I did not learn through my observations, was clinging to her grandmother's chest with a diaper poking out of her shorts. The children were all dressed in tattered and obviously handed down clothing. The grandmother was tired, weary, and irritable. The bus was crowded and the children were misbehaving. For the entire ride, I listened to the grandmother scold the children in her thick Caribbean accent as they scurried around the moving bus. I caught one of them, Maya, as she toppled over when the bust came to a sudden stop. Maybe it's because there are young children in my life who are very close to my heart, or maybe it's because I have a soft spot for children in general, but I didn't want to leave the bus when it came time for me to get off. With one last glance at the grandmother's struggle the keep the children safe and in one place, I left.

Honestly, it didn't take me long in the mixture of 100 degree weather and humidity to forget about the five little ones and focus on my own problem of making it to the bar without passing out. After trekking about 8 blocks in the sun, I pushed them to the back of my mind. So I enjoyed the soccer game, watched Argentina beat out Mexico to advance to the quarterfinal, took a stroll to the White House, and went returned to the bus stop to catch a ride home. Perhaps it is by some strange instance of fate or by sheer coincidence, but as I stepped on to the bus, I recognized Malcom's little bike, which he took so much pride in. Then I saw the grandmother, pinching Maurice on the backside to encourage him to stop harassing his younger sister.

The family from the earlier bus ride and I had met again. The bus was less crowded this time, and the grandmother was too exhausted to follow the children if they moved about. They were disciplined only if they were within arm's length. For the next fifteen minutes, I watched them, played peek-a-boo with one of the girls, and battled myself in my mind. I felt sorry for them, but I had no right to. Perhaps they were a perfectly happy family. I was wrong to let my prejudices facilitate pity. But I couldn't help myself. I wanted to know what kind of adults those children would grow up to be. I wondered how quickly their innocence would be shed only to be replaced with chronic feelings of resentment, stress, and prejudice - much like the feelings so deeply ingrained within myself. Since the grandmother had recognized me from earlier and greeted me happily, I bade them farewell as they stepped off the bus and watched them walk away. Malcolm on his bike, Maurice (I noticed all the names I learned started with the letter M) chasing him, and the other three in line with their grandmother. Looking back on it now, I wish I had pulled out my camera and captured them. But I felt it would be slightly creepy to do so at the time. In any case, this story has no resolution, or underlying point really. In a way, I'm just glad I got acquainted with these five munchkins. They made me happy and sad all at the same time.

A good day

I'm wrapping up the day, and I wanted to touch up on it, since it's been a pretty interesting sort of day. Earlier, my group and I went to a meeting with the Armenian Ambassador. It was a pretty amazing opportunity to meet with a high ranking official. As it turns out, he's a really cool guy. He's smart, but not arrogant and he's sociable, but not unintelligent. He wanted us to have a conversation instead of him lecturing, so we were able to ask him a few questions. He answered all of our questions in such a balanced way, I was ridiculously impressed at his ability to never tell us exactly what he was thinking. I suppose I really got to see diplomacy at work for the fist time ever.

Throughout the two hours we spent with him, he could tell I was really bothered by some of the less encouraging topics we talked about; I guess I'm not as good at hiding what I'm thinking on my face. He kept reminding me not to get too upset or discouraged by the gravity of things. I think he's right because I realized something very important throughout the meeting. Of course, I could be upset that Armenia is landlocked and blockaded on both the East and the West. I could be sad that Armenia's borders were drawn in a way that made it resource-less while surrounded by resource rich countries. And finally, I could be furious that Armenia is not prospering as quickly as my impatient self wants it to be. But in the end...that gets me nowhere but depression. I think that in the end of it all, it's only thanks to Armenia's potential progress and difficulty that I have the possibility to fight for something unique. Without these hardships for Armenia, I don't think I would have quite the same connection or the same urgency that I have today. I don't think that everyone gets the chance to experience what I feel every day. For that, I can only be thankful.


PS. Check out the ambassador's expression. There's something about Armenian men. They don't like smiling in photos... but I guess he kinda tried.

Numero Uno

This is my first shot at one of these and I'm not really sure how it's supposed do be done, but in any case, I'll give it my best shot. I started a blog for a number of reasons. First, I've always wanted to. They seemed like my type of thing, but I'd never got around to it. Second, it'll be a good place for me to spill the thoughts I'd otherwise bore people with. Third, I feel like this is the right time. I say this because I'm trying something new, in an entirely new place. Because of this, I have a lot of thoughts, a lot of worries, and a lot to say. In a nutshell, I'm getting a taste of a life in politics in Washington DC while working for a grassroots political org. For now, I'm still entirely confused about how I feel about the job, but I'm hoping that this blog will be a good place for me to record my experiences and my progress as I make my way through this amazing city. The nation's capital is a remarkable place, I've only seen the tip of the iceberg, but I'm sold. The culture, the lifestyle, the pace..it's all amazing. I can't wait to see more. But for now, my 10 minute self-assigned break is over. It's time to return to intern business. Until next time.