This article is part of Mafaza Digital Zine that explores the concept of survival. You can read also: The Republic of Wounded Bodies by Nabil Muhammad, The Governance of Hope by Hsain al-Shehabi, Apocalypse in the Body by Kinana Issa, To Fall from Nowhere by Nour Mousa, Identity Survival in The Diaspora by Ola Barqawi, The World is Not a Small Village by Raja Salim, Living Wounds: Violations & Victimhood by Sasha Zack, and Furnishing Memory by Ali Zaraket.
Read the Arabic Issue here.
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Shaunt Raffi
Armenian music curator, DJ, musician, and producer based in Toronto. Shaunt founded some of Toronto’s iconic community hubs for artists including Antikka and the Oud & the Fuzz. He has now turned his attention to his newest venture, Tapestry, which functions as a music venue in the heart of Toronto’s Kensington Market. He has always placed a huge focus on highlighting Armenian and SWANA culture.
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On October 7, I, like many Armenians around the world, was still grappling with the aftermath of the ethnic cleansing in Artsakh. It was a sobering realization that, for the first time in 5000 years, no Armenians remained in Artsakh. Over 120,000 Armenians had been displaced due to a nine-month-long illegal blockade.
What deeply affected me was the realization that the same government that had armed Azerbaijani forces during their genocide against my people, namely Israel, was now perpetrating a genocide of its own in Gaza. Since the start of the atrocities in Gaza, I have actively participated in protests, organized fundraisers, and spent nights at the student encampment at the University of Toronto. I have gained a profound understanding of what it feels like to be deemed unworthy of assistance or salvation. It’s the experience of seeing the world prioritize its immediate comforts over extending a helping hand to those in dire need. It is not easy to witness the blatant genocide being reduced to a supposed two-sided conflict where the resistance of the oppressed is equated to the violence of the oppressor.
Throughout my upbringing, I’ve been deeply engaged in pursuing justice. Growing up in Toronto, I was actively involved in the Armenian community from a young age. Attending an Armenian private school and dedicating my time to activities at the community center shaped my early years. Our approach was straightforward: make our presence felt within the Canadian political system to rally support for the Armenian cause. Whether it meant marching on Parliament Hill or volunteering in local election campaigns, our goal was clear—to ensure those in positions of power heard our voices.
Instinctively, seeking aid from powerful entities becomes second nature. This survival instinct, as a community and as individuals, becomes paramount. Yet, a dilemma arises when seeking assistance from those directly involved in, or responsible for, that danger. For nations like Canada or the United States to genuinely confront and reconcile the numerous genocides occurring globally, they would need to come to terms with the genocidal histories that enabled and continue to enable their own existence.
Over the past eight years, my perspective has expanded to encompass a profound respect for the interconnected struggles of indigenous peoples worldwide. While I was born in Toronto and grew up in a close-knit Armenian diaspora community, I was fortunate to encounter individuals and experiences that encouraged me to broaden my horizons. I’ve come to realize that meaningful, lasting resolutions can only be achieved through the unified efforts of indigenous peoples.
However, this realization presents a formidable dilemma. The unification of indigenous peoples and their struggles is a process that cannot be rushed—it requires time and collective effort. Yet, when lives are at stake, immediate action is often imperative. This dilemma underscores the tension between the urgent need to stop the atrocity and the strategic pursuit of lasting change. It revolves around the choice between insularity as a community and embracing collaboration to amplify our collective struggle. There is no definitive path between these options; both must be pursued concurrently.
In this essay, I will share the path I have chosen, along with the successes and uncertainties I have encountered along the way. It is a journey shaped by the imperative of survival, navigating the complexities of advocating for justice while honoring the resilience and persistence of communities facing existential challenges.
The Genocide that Shaped Our World
The Armenian diaspora experienced a major uptake in population after the genocide of 1915. At that time, Armenia was divided: its western portion was under the rule of the Ottoman Empire, which was in rapid decline at the beginning of the 20th century.1 The loss of territory and power by the Ottomans fueled the rise of Turkish hyper-nationalism, culminating in a successful coup by nationalist factions known as the Young Turks.
Armenians were scapegoated for the Ottoman Empire’s failures, and branded as traitors. Their success and prosperity in the region were viewed as coming at the expense of Turkish interests. As the empire’s global standing worsened, so did the persecution of Armenians2. They were systematically deported and forced on death marches in the deserts of Syria. By the end of 1917, 1.5 million Armenians—approximately half of the global Armenian population—had perished.3
Following the genocide, the eastern portion of Armenia came under Soviet rule. That part of the country regained independence in 1990 with the collapse of the Soviet Union. However, two historically Armenian enclaves, Artsakh and Nakhichevan, were assigned to Azerbaijan by Stalin when defining regional borders within the USSR, perpetuating the view of the region as a disputed territory in the eyes of the world. In 1998, Artsakh was liberated by Armenian resistance fighters, establishing an independent state for its people.
This autonomy continued until 2020 when Azerbaijan, amid the COVID-19 pandemic, initiated a devastating 44-day war resulting in the capture of one-third of Artsakh. A ceasefire was reached in November 2020 brokered by Russia. In December 2023, Azerbaijan imposed an illegal blockade on the only road connecting Artsakh to Armenia, severing its connection to the outside world. Store shelves were quickly emptied, starvation became widespread, and access to medical aid was severely restricted.4 The blockade persisted until the dissolution of the government, prompting 120,000 Armenians to flee Artsakh as refugees, effectively marking the end of the nation’s existence.
It is important to note that Azerbaijan is a Turkic nation. The phrase “one nation, two states” is often used to describe the relationship between Turkey and Azerbaijan.5 Turkish military officials were directly involved in the planned attacks against Artsakh. The hostility towards Armenians, cultivated since the early 20th century, persists among the Turkic (or pan-Turanian) nationalist parties in the countries of the region. Today, even the remaining part of the Armenian homeland which is the Republic of Armenia continues to face territorial claims and border attacks on its sovereign territory.
The Armenian Exodus
After the genocide, my family alone has lived in four different countries (Turkey, Lebanon, Cyprus, and Iran), enduring multiple wars and revolutions. Nearly every Armenian in the diaspora shares a similar story. Many Armenians settled primarily in the Middle East after the genocide, only to face instability leading to further relocations, particularly to the United States and Canada.6 Armenians in the diaspora, often having migrated more than once, hail from diverse cultural backgrounds and possess hybrid identities. Despite overwhelming challenges, this diversity is among the greatest strengths of the Armenian diaspora, offering a uniquely informed perspective.
While Armenians worldwide have succeeded in assimilating into countless combinations of countries and cultures, the unresolved quest for justice regarding the genocide and ongoing claims to Armenian territory weigh heavily on every Armenian’s mind. Armenians often lean towards caution, preferring to remain insular within their communities, hesitant to fully open up. To preserve what remains of Armenian culture, many Armenians have become extremely protective and closed off — an understandably instinctive response, a mechanism for survival. It’s natural to try to safeguard something valuable when one perceives a threat. An enduring consequence of genocide is a pervasive sense of fear, with individuals constantly vigilant against the existential threat. For Armenians living in the West, a primary goal is to secure safety and stability for themselves and their families. Upon arrival, it becomes quickly evident that those who have already established a sense of security are predominantly from White conservative political and social backgrounds, and often lack the flexibility to accept diversity in terms of race or sexual orientation. Moreover, gaining the trust and support of those in established positions of power in the West is crucial for displaced and vulnerable people.
Growing up among the Armenian diaspora in Toronto offered me much to cherish. I learned the language, gained an invaluable sense of community, learned how to mobilize in times of need, and fostered connections with Armenians around the world. However, through various experiences, I have also come to question and seek alternative approaches to achieving justice and fostering meaningful change.
When something valuable is hidden away, locked in a vault, and guarded at all costs, even to preserve it, one could argue that it’s being endangered. When stripped of its purpose, and its ability to breathe, change, and evolve, it begins to wither away. Culture is no exception. To genuinely preserve culture, we must allow it to thrive. I firmly believe that the ultimate preservation of culture lies in the continuity of its relevance.
Back to the Roots
In 2015, after studying and working in the political field in Toronto, I decided to venture to Armenia to volunteer. What was supposed to be a four-month stint turned into nearly two years of living and working in Armenia. This experience profoundly impacted my approach to pursuing justice.
After volunteering, I landed a job with the Homeland Development Initiative Foundation (HDIF) — an organization dedicated to empowering artisans in Armenia’s rural communities, providing them with sustainable income opportunities, and preserving centuries-old traditions of Armenian craftsmanship. I had the opportunity to venture outside of the cities and forge meaningful relationships with people in parts of Armenia many never see.
My generation of Armenians in the diaspora is the first since the genocide to have the opportunity to freely visit and work in Armenia at a young age. It was impossible for someone living in the West to visit Armenia when it was under Soviet rule. This is crucial to understand because much of what I experienced in developing a tangible relationship with the land played a pivotal role in shaping my mentality today. It helped me mitigate my resentment towards many aspects of the diasporic community that I couldn’t relate to. The burden of trying to protect a culture without having access to the country from which it originated is profound. It often leads to romanticizing aspects that are difficult to fully understand.
My time in Armenia was a crucible of self-discovery, a period of profound introspection and revelation. In the embrace of its rugged landscapes and warm-hearted people, I found solace, purpose, and a renewed sense of identity. It was a journey of unlearning, shedding layers of expectation and conformity that had long confined me, and embracing the boundless possibilities of self-expression and individuality.
For the first time in my life, I was free from the pressure of constantly feeling like I had to actively protect my identity and culture from assimilation. My language and traditions were preserved in simple, everyday activities like grocery shopping or spending time with friends, all within an Armenian context. This experience made me realize that my Armenian identity is inseparable from me. Whether I’m grocery shopping in Armenia or abroad, I do so as an Armenian. My existence and identity cannot be separated. Experiencing this firsthand allowed me to integrate it into my life, regardless of where I find myself.
To Find ‘The Community’
Returning to Toronto in 2017, I was determined to carry forth the lessons learned and the experiences gained, to bridge the chasm between the old world and the new, and to create a space where the beauty of Armenian culture could flourish and thrive without fear. My brother and I teamed up and embarked on a venture that transcended mere entrepreneurship – a journey to reclaim our narrative, celebrate our heritage, and foster a sense of belonging in a world fraught with uncertainty and division.
Entrepreneurship is an incredibly vulnerable journey, especially when you choose to root your business in your culture. The vulnerability my brother and I faced placed us in a position where any attempt at inauthenticity became glaringly obvious. We quickly realized that our success depended on our ability to be as honest as possible.
Our first business was a coffee shop on Toronto’s Queen Street West. Since then we have moved locations twice and are currently based in Kensington Market with our newest venture Tapestry, a music venue and event space. We’ve unapologetically used our spaces to share Armenian food, music, traditions, dance, and hospitality.
In the process of authentically sharing our culture, we quickly discerned who resonated with it and who did not.
Despite being born in Toronto, my brother and I found it challenging to connect with most Canadians. Instead, we began to cultivate a supportive community primarily composed of people from the region of South West Asia and North Africa (SWANA). The vulnerability of entrepreneurship and the inclusive environment of Kensington Market allowed us to gradually overcome some of the insular tendencies within the Armenian community. Finding comfort in sharing our culture with those who genuinely appreciated it, we connected without the need for lengthy explanations.
Kensington Market is a cherished and iconic neighborhood in Toronto, renowned for its vibrant cultural tapestry and history as a refuge for immigrants. It has long been a hub for marginalized communities, welcoming people from South Asia, the Middle East, Africa, the Caucasus, Latin America, and the Indigenous peoples of Turtle Island. For me, Kensington Market became a place where I could authentically express myself and feel fully accepted. It was there that we started to weave Armenian culture into the rich fabric of the neighborhood.
The feeling of being understood without having to explain yourself is truly indescribable, especially when you’ve grown up without it. In the suburbs where I grew up, I had two modes of existence: conforming to the restrictive norms of the Armenian community, or concealing my ethnicity outside its confines. Through living in Armenia and establishing my own business in downtown Toronto, I discovered a new way of being that allowed me to authentically express myself without compromise. The allyship of those who recognize and share in your struggles, and who join you on the journey to overcome them, represents the most powerful form of resistance I’ve encountered.
Pursuing this path, however, is not without its difficulties. The displacement of Armenians in Artsakh, the ongoing genocide in Gaza, and systemic genocidal oppression in Sudan and Congo challenge the commitment to long-term, multi-generational goals such as global indigenous solidarity. In these moments, doubts about the value of my work arise. I feel guilty for not playing the game and cultivating connections with powerful figures while also questioning whether I’ve compromised my radicalism cushioned by the comforts of the West.
Letting go of the expectation that I will witness the results of my efforts within my lifetime is what enables me to hope. My approach to justice is deeply influenced by the understanding that addressing generational trauma necessitates a commitment spanning multiple generations. It is unrealistic to assume I alone can resolve such deep-rooted issues in one lifetime. Ideally, we can concurrently pursue both immediate actions to save lives today and enduring strategies that will safeguard the lives of future generations, including those yet unborn. This dual approach is essential for creating sustainable change and fostering a more just society over time.
I remain dedicated to providing authentic representation and reclaiming any attempts at appropriation. Right or wrong, I am committed to this journey, uncertain of where it will lead or if my country will survive when the time comes. Yet, every time I stand outside Tapestry and overhear a group of young people passing by, recognizing it as “that Armenian joint,” I find solace and affirmation.
- Üngör, Uğur Ümit. The Holocaust and Other Genocides, 2012. https://www.corningcentre.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/11/ungor-armenian-genocide.pdf. ↩︎
- Ohanian, Daniel, Raffi Sarkissian, Aram Adjemian, and Isabel Karelian-Churchill. “Canada & the Armenian Genocide.” Sara Corning Centre for Genocide Education, 2015.
↩︎ - Theriault, Henry C. “Resolution with Justice: Reperations for the Armenian Genocide.” Armenian Genocide Reparations Study Group, 2015 ↩︎
- Geybullayeva, Arzu. “Armenia and Azerbaijan: A Blockade That Never Ended and a Peace Deal Hanging by a Thread.” Global Voices, July 19, 2023. https://globalvoices.org/2023/07/19/armenia-and-azerbaijan-a-blockade-that-never-ended-and-a-peace-deal-hanging-by-a-thread/.
↩︎ - Gafarli, Turan. One nation, two states: Turkey’s stance on the recent …, 2020. https://researchcentre.trtworld.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/11/Turkey-Azerbaijan-Armenia.pdf.
↩︎ - Bolsajian, M. (2018). The Armenian Diaspora: Migration and its Influence on Identity and Politics. Global Societies Journal, 6. Retrieved from https://escholarship.org/uc/item/51x1r30s
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