Red

Red. It is the color of Love. It is hot, vibrant, and intense. It is exciting and even aggressive. Red is passion, bold, provocative, seductive, sexy. It is also the color of extremes; the core symbol of power and spirituality, of protection and commitment. Our ancestors saw red as the color of fire and blood – energy and primal life forces – and most of red’s symbolism today arises from its powerful associations in the past. In Asia, red is the color of good luck. It is used to denote a rise in stock prices as opposed to Western stock markets where red is used to denote a negative drop in price. Red is also a magical and religious color. It symbolized super-human heroism to the Greeks and is the color of the Christian Pentecost. It symbolizes joy and the fire of the Holy Spirit. In Catholicism, Cardinals wear red symbolizing their willingness to die for their faith, while in Hindu communities, brides wear ceremonious red, and seal their married status with the pinch of red powder sindoor on their forehead. Red. It warns of danger and signals attention, with high visibility reflected in fire trucks and the logos of the Red Cross and Crescent. Red. It is powerful. It is the color of beating hearts that Love. And what can be more powerful than Love? It is the one universal language that speaks across cultural divides.

From our early school days we learned that there are 12 colors on the color wheel. There is a color theory which demonstrates all the different ways these colors (all 12) achieve harmony with one another. They balance each other with their differences in nuances, shades, hues, intensity or pallor. It doesn’t matter whether the colors are side by side or on opposite ends of the color wheel. They are different yet they “marry” each other well. As far as colors are concerned, opposites refine each other, balance each other, soothe each other and play off each other’s intensities. Because maximum contrasts create maximum stability. Why then can we not apply the same theory to our dealings with human relationships? Why don’t we consciously seek people who are different from us, who are opposite us to create that balance and harmony? Instead, we confine ourselves to familiar neighborhoods where people are similar to us, where we shop at the same grocery stores and send our kids to the same schools, attend the same church, listen to the same music, and remain in our comfort zones. We are not interested to be around people who are different from us much less people who are opposite from us. Yet we are taught to Love all humanity.

With all the lessons of love and tolerance and forgiveness we are taught, we must go below the topsoil of loving only those who are like us. The red color of love is a symbol of profound emotion signifying true love which can overcome all obstacles and challenges. What if we make a 100 or 1000 or tens of thousands part identity wheel which shows any and all possible ways in which we can identify ourselves through race, ethnicity, gender, profession, hobbies, religion, interests, political inclination, ideologies, sexuality, and so on? What if we put them all on a human identity wheel (like a color wheel) and then find our opposite…the ones who we don’t understand, the people with whom we have nothing in common, the ones who will be on the other side of the human wheel? What if we spend time with them, be with them, understand them, love them? Because there is truth in the theory that opposites attract and complement each other, therefore they can bring balance into our lives. As different as they are from you or me, they actually refine and stabilize the persons we are. Whether we seek one person in our lives or whether we seek a culture or a people or a nation on the opposite spectrum of the human wheel, it is in how we handle our differences that create the harmonious power of relationships. Just as colors reflect and bounce and harmonize intensities with their reflective light, so too must we reflect our light of love. We must go beneath the topsoil, go so deep that we discover, at last, that self-love and love for one another are one and the same.
Red. It is the color of love. Use it. Abundantly.

(Red is one of three primary colors. Blue and yellow are its primary companions. Blue is the color of sky and seas signifying depth and stability, confidence and balance. Yellow is the color of the sun. The sun shines on everyone. It does not discriminate.)

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Your Roots, Your Backbone

Last week I had the honor of addressing the 2018 Winter Graduates of University of La Verne College of Arts and Sciences. Here is the speech.

Traditionally commencement speeches contain life advice, words of wisdom, ideas on how to be successful, to be happy, to be true, to be good, to be kind, to dream, to follow your passion, to work hard. That should be easy for me to say, because I’m a parent. It’s what we parents do, dispense advise and at no cost. But my daughter, who is a graduate of UCI and my son who is a graduate of ULV and who are both here among you today, immediately stopped me. “Don’t dish out advice Mom. No one wants to hear a commencement speaker telling us what we’ve already heard from our parents for the past 20 some years of our lives. We want out.”
You know what? They’re right. Because 40 years ago, I stood behind a podium and gave the valedictorian address at this same La Verne College and I don’t recall who the commencement speaker was or what was said. I too, wanted out.

So what can I tell you, brilliant beacons of tomorrow? Four words. Yours roots, your backbone. All life lessons that nurture you into recognizing who You are, and what you stand for are a result of the values instilled in you by your roots…your families, families you are born into, families you create and the families you make through your own choosing.

We each come from different backgrounds. I am an Armenian immigrant from Lebanon. But you and I are not very different. Whether your roots are from the Far East, Near East or Middle East, Asia, Europe, Africa, South America, across oceans or the border, or whether you’re born and bred in the US, you are not very different, because you, like me, made a choice to be part of this liberal arts community, to receive an education that prepares you to exercise your true freedom, a freedom that allows you to think and live unchained from dogma. And for some of you and your parents making that choice to live free came with a sacrificial price.

Mine did.

It was 1976 and Civil war was raging in Lebanon. Young men were being forced to join one side or another while others were being kidnapped and brutally murdered. My parents, seeing no end in sight, made the difficult decision to send my younger brother and me out of the country to find our way abroad, to receive a college education…to be free to practice our rights, our human rights, our values. The only exit out of the country was by car. We hired a driver who was to take us to the North and across the border into Syria at the first opportunity of a cease fire. It was dawn, dark and cold when the opportunity arose. There were no long goodbyes, there was no time. We kissed, we hugged and my father whispered “Look forward, Go forward. Don’t look back. Mom and I are looking forward in your direction.” We didn’t look back. We looked forward knowing our parents would be standing in the middle of the street looking in our direction until they couldn’t see us any more, until we turned a corner or became an indiscernible speck in the horizon. Because that’s what parents do. They fixate their eyes on you and follow the horizon of your visions.

Parents. They sacrifice. They build character, they define you and shape you with unspoken universal values which become your roots, your backbone. Hold on to those values, because they will sustain you when this world feels like it’s shifting under your feet. Even with people who you think are not like you, your values will matter, because somewhere, somehow, someone will have been touched by your humanity. We are made up of a kaleidoscope of racial groups with over 155 ethnicities and it doesn’t matter whether you practice Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Judaism, Hinduism or are Agnostic, we all share a common humanity. And In our shared humanity we can touch lives, and strangers can touch ours in return and give us a sense of hope.

That day when we left our home, a few hours into our journey, we were caught in the midst of a barrage of gunfire that erupted between two sects. A frenzied gunman with an AK-47, an automatic rifle, appeared and motioned for us to move to the side of a building. It was do or die. We did. Huddled in the car until what seemed like an eternity for the gunfire to cease, we waited until that same gunman ordered us out of the car to question us. We were at his mercy. He pointed his AK-47 at us, asked for our name. We gave it. Now if any of you know anything about Armenian names, you’ll know that they are immediately recognizable because of the IAN at the end. Katchiguian, Keshishian, Kardashian, all Armenian. He waved the gun at us, “Are you Armenian?” he asked. “Yes,” we nodded. “You know Dr. Minassian?” he asked. As though all Armenians were expected to know one another. Was this one of those trick questions? Damned if you do, damned if you don’t? Do we say yes or do we say no, because Dr. Minassian was our uncle, a pediatrician. We told him. He immediately lowered the rifle and said, “Your uncle, he’s a good Dr. He saved my boy’s life. But he’s a better man. He took no pay. So now, my turn to repay him. I save you. Go.”
We went. And we didn’t look back.

War is unimaginably horrific. Yet, for a few short moments, in a world of conflict, among strangers our shared humanity valued goodness and showed reciprocity across cultural divides. Human values, they matter.

Six months later from that date, I found my niche in the safety of a liberal arts college called La Verne while my brother made it to Canada. It would be quite a few years before I saw my parents again. But we communicated in what is now called snail mail. We wrote letters. Among the letters I kept is one from my mother. She wrote, remember who you are and what you stand for. You are rooted in faith, You are rooted in values. Stay connected. Listen to the voice of your heart’s knowledge; always speak the truth. (Tell me the truth, Are you smoking? Don’t) Always remember your roots, They are your backbone.

With a backbone built on the values of my roots, the first thing I did was, to fall in love. (I don’t think that’s what my mother had in mind when she said follow the voice of your heart’s knowledge.) Listen. If you haven’t yet fallen head over heels in love, at least once, do so. And when you find that someone you can commit to love with a passion, you’re set. Because once you get a taste of that passion, you’ll know how to apply it to everything else in your life. Your work, your vocation, your family, your children, your parents, friends, ideologies. And if it does happen that you get your heart broken, that too, is.ok. That’s the risk you take, in love and in life, and you come right back, well, maybe not right back, but you do come back. Stronger, wiser, more passionate to moving forward.

There will always be a new lesson life has to teach you, if you’re willing to listen. Be conscious. Be aware. Somehow, today in America, we are being led falsely to assume that those who differ from our norms are wrong. That those who come from countries less fortunate are not welcome. Yet it is people from diverse roots who have come here as dreamers who mirror the spirit of tolerance, kinship, and nationalism. People like you and me who celebrate the values, traditions and history of our ancestry while embodying the values of the American way of life. As diverse as we are in race, ethnicity, culture, gender and sexual orientation, we must trust that our differences will not alienate us.

And when all else is pulling you under, remember who you are and what you stand for. Do not lose sight of your heart’s knowledge, because in a world that seems to reward dishonesty, cutting corners, lying, cheating, stealing, bullying, harassing, and all manner of nasty tactics, Graduates of this fine institution that gave you the understanding of how to think, use the values of your roots. Challenge this mindset, question the status quo, demand good answers, be true citizens of humanity. Because Citizenship is not found in a piece of paper. It is found in the integrity of character.

Think about who you are becoming at every corner or road you take. Some of you will choose to seek further studies while others of you may have already mapped your careers. However you choose and whatever professions you choose to invest in, stay connected to the essence of humanity, it will be the source of your personal worth. Your human connections, parents, families, spouses, children, educators, heroes of your lives, friends, are the most important investments you will make. 20, 30, 40 years from now when you beam with pride as you watch your sons and daughters, or grandchildren graduate, you will remember this day and the people who were here for you, the people who you love and the human connections on whose shoulders you were raised. And when all is said and done, you will find that the true measure of your award was not in the trophies you earned or the merits on paper you collected, but in the legacy of your roots you integrated into the American national identity.

Graduates of 2018 with your roots as your backbone, believe in the power of your humanity. Look forward, go forward. Don’t look back.

Congratulations, graduates.

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I Want to Write

Here it comes again — a new year, a clean slate, a fresh start with new opportunities. No matter how we celebrate the coming of the New Year, with a boom and a bang or a whisper and a shout, with gunshots or fireworks bursting in air, with church bells pealing or drums beating, with sirens or party horns, we do so with the anticipation of a New Year bringing closure to the past and fresh new opportunities to look forward to. The blank pages of the 2018 calendar are waiting to be filled with goals, aspirations and why not, even some dreams.

As a teenager, I recall stepping out onto the balcony of our 6th floor home around 5 minutes before the actual New Year so that I could soak in the last few minutes of the year all to myself and by myself. It was probably my way of self-examining or reviewing the past, or perhaps looking for a miraculous prediction of what the future holds. As though the crisp cold air, the night sky, the drizzle or rain, the ring around the moon, or the clarity of it was going to be any indication of the future outcome of the year ahead. I was young and a dreamer. I dreamed. I wanted to write like the great authors of the past. The romantic writers like Thomas Hardy and the Bronte sisters enticed me beyond my intuitive senses; oh, to write about social and philosophical themes like Charles Dickens; to be more daring like D.H. Lawrence; to write poetry like Robert Frost and Sylva Gaboudigian (in whose honor I was named). The written word had such power over me. Words born of moments. Moments born of solitude, of cherishing love, of adventure and risk, of heroism. I thought I could write intricate novels and I dreamed of publishing books, signing copies, changing the world through my words. At best, I kept a diary. But it was not for all the world to admire and to analyze my words. My diary was my own. Writing became the art of my mind, my breath, my heartbeat. I was a teenager in love with love, and with life. And every year, between dusting off the old year and polishing the new, amid the dreams of putting pen to paper, I’d send out my wishes, hopes, and prayers into the universe asking for whatever it is that a teenager could ask for while growing up in a family that blanketed me with tough love. Then, at the stroke of midnight the sound of the ships horns in the harbor would signal the start of the New Year, and I would rush back indoors to be present in the here and now to embrace family and friends celebrating newness.

The years have rolled by. We’re nearing the end of the second decade of the 21st century. Some of us thought we would never make it this far. Many of us have experienced major changes in our current life situations. We have emigrated and immigrated; we have lost members of our families while welcoming others in the same embrace. We have formed new social circles and perhaps adapted our customs to changing circumstances, yet one thing remains constant in my ritual. I still step outside or find a window to view the night sky, but it is no longer to dream of imagining like Beatrix Potter or the wizardry of J.K. Rowling. I look to the sky to count my blessings. The years have been good to me. People have been good to me. I have been surrounded by family and human connections who remind me that my thoughts in writing bear weight and have merit. I have been given the profound honor to be the 2018 winter commencement speaker for the College of Arts and Sciences at the University of La Verne. I am also humbled yet proud to present the first edition of my book “Moments in Thought,” a personal journey published by the ULV Press 2017. The presentation will be held Thursday, February 1, 2018 at 7pm at the Western Diocese of the Armenian Church of North America. It is open to all, and I would be honored to personally greet my readers.

The beginning of the year….and I love to put pen to paper about living every new moment. This year, the blank pages of my 2018 calendar are filling up fast.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!

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Toward Tomorrow

I prepare to leave yesterday behind
And look toward tomorrow;
I know that it may be a repeat of today and the yesterdays,
But I insist
On seeing the value even in the humble, unremarkable repeat of situations.
Because, if I can celebrate yesterday as a victory,
Then I know I have gained more strength today for the triumph of tomorrow.

I believe Life is a mirror that gives back to us the reflection of our own grace.
If I can value the small miracles of my daily life
Without bitterness, with a heart that trusts, with a heart that hopes,
With a heart that loves, then,
May my reflection be the equanimity
That allows me to receive life however it unfolds….
With a heart that is tender with the young, compassionate with the old,
Sympathetic to those struggling, tolerant of the strong and weak,
And empathetic for the joy of others…

That is my goal, my beacon through the fog of life,
For tomorrow…tomorrow I may be all of these things.
Tomorrow will be the reflection of my own heart’s grace.

Continue reading

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Christmas Hope

Christmas is the one time of the year I truly embrace with unashamed childlike excitement. The years may have flown by and brought me children, grandchildren, joy, sadness, successes and failures, big moments, laughter and tears, losses and gains. Yet, nothing has changed my love and excitement for Christmas. I delight in every aspect of the season. The music, the decorations, the food, family, shopping, gift giving, relationships, traditions, love…all in celebration of the good. Christmas for our family wasn’t about how much trouble Christmas was and how little or much we spent. It was about going to the trouble to show others the joy in sharing, caring, and of loving while spreading hope for the New Year. Mom cooked until she was fatigued. We siblings shopped until we dropped preparing gifts for the New Year. I wrapped until my fingers were taped together, and we decorated until the glitter became a permanent feature in our hair. The days were steeped in tradition, soaked in laughter and topped with joy.

This year, my childlike exuberance seems to be struggling with thoughts of an embattled world where virtues and vices, positive and negative are surfacing in conflict. The world seems to have a problem of identifying what is of lasting value – the tested teaching of Christ and all religions – that spells the role of love which can conquer the life threatening challenges facing humankind. The grown woman in me wants to see what the child in me believes…that there can be life without wars and crimes of hatred; that HOPE, that wonderful, beautiful, colorful and shiny HOPE which proclaims “peace on earth,” can become a reality.

At times like these I am reminded of my favorite story told by my grandmother who loved the writings of Nathaniel Hawthorne. In a collection of short stories (A Wonder Book for Girls and Boys in 1852) adapted from Greek Mythology with a lesson to be learned, Hawthorne wrote my favorite of all: Pandora’s Box. In this adaptation, two children (Epimetheus and Pandora) are sent to this world and given a box to keep. The box, contents unknown, is sealed with a golden knot with instructions to never open. One day, in a moment of utter curiosity, Pandora breaks the golden seal and raises the lid. Out fly all the ugly troubles in the world today – envy, greed, sickness, hate, disease, sorrow, afflictions and pain. Pandora slams the lid shut, but it is too late. Except for one tiny, beautiful, colorful rainbow winged formation that hovers around gently and tells them she is made of tears and smiles and packed into the box, to make amends to the human race for that swarm of ugly troubles, which was destined to be let loose among them. She tells the children she will be here as long as there is life in the world. She says that there may come times, now and then, when they will think that she has vanished. But again, and again, when perhaps they least dream of it, they shall see the glimmer of her wings reflected in their hearts. She tells the dear children that something very good and beautiful is to be given to them in the hereafter! Even if it should never happen while they live on this earth they should trust in her promise, because her name is HOPE, and Hope makes all the difference in the world.

I realize that this world will never allow for perfect circumstances. Troubles are still flying about the world, and have increased in multitude, rather than lessened. They are ugly and most venomous. And as I grow and become more sensitive in my wisdom of years, I expect to feel their sting even more. But then that lovely and lightsome little figure of HOPE shines in my heart! What in the world would I do without her? Hope spiritualizes the earth; Hope makes it always new; and, even in the earth’s best and brightest days, Hope shows it to be only the shadow of an infinite bliss hereafter. Hope. It is one of the greatest treasures we can ever find for ourselves. And it is one of the greatest gifts we can ever give to others.

The world was somber before the first Christmas. Life was living without the hope of forgiveness, without the understanding of a loving God and without realizing that miracles can and do happen. Christmas brought us hope, salvation and genuine pure love wrapped in swaddling clothes lying on a bed of straw.

The wonderment of my childhood Christmases and the longing to keep it with me for as long as memory allows is an invitation written in my heart by the delicate hands of HOPE. This Christmas, may that lightsome shining figure of Hope be written in your hearts too.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

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Thank You

One of the things our parents drummed into our ears as children from the time we learned to talk was to say thank you (and please). We grew up saying Thank You for as many things as I can remember. We said thank you as we were handed our groceries, or change in the store; thank you to someone who held the door for us, and thank you to the person who passed us the salt or bread at dinner. Thank you to the one who drove us home safely be it in a car or bus, to the one who paid for our meal, to the one who cooked, to the one who served, to the one who cleaned. Thank you for the food, for rain for sun, for the people in our lives, for parents, teachers, and for crisp clean sheets as we tucked ourselves into bed at night. We said thank you. It became a spontaneous response to situations or moments at hand for the smallest of things to the big things that in everyday life could be taken for granted.

Many years ago, I happened to be in Jordan as a guest in the home of an acquaintance. The home was in a settlement camp on the outskirts of Amman. There, the houses were made of mud brick. The interior walls and floors were covered with rattan. Some had decorative kilim rugs. Furniture was scant. Seating for family meals was usually on low stools or pillows on the floor surrounding a large tray of food from which all would eat. Mattresses laid side by side sufficed for sleeping accommodations for the many members who shared a household. Electricity was available through a maze of cable wires that drew their energy source from a few main electrical posts. Water, a necessary commodity, was fetched from communal faucets outside the homes where children and adults would gather to carry a supply in buckets. Above these faucets scattered around the “camp” were signs that read “USHKUR,” which meant “Give Thanks.” A child carrying two buckets of water explained to me with a huge smile on his face that because the novelty of having something wears off and eventually is taken for granted, the sign was to remind them to be thankful for what they had. Gratitude. Regardless of their material poverty, their gratitude stemmed from the riches of their hearts. It stemmed from seeing every opportunity offered as a gift and not as an entitlement.

In the Arab world or Armenian culture, gratitude is a language unto itself. “May your hands never feel pain.” “May the next meal you cook be in celebration of your child’s happiness.” “You see me through kind eyes.” “May God extend your life.” “May your prayers be heard.” “May your hands that gave me this gift be blessed.” “May your table always be bountiful.” “May your pockets be blessed,” and so it flows, with an infinite string of prayerful appreciation for deeds done, meals eaten, gifts received, compliments paid and so on.

No matter how we say it, and in whatever language, Thank You goes beyond good manners. It serves as one of the more important ways in which we interact with others, both with those closest to us and those with whom we have contact for the briefest of times. US psychologist Sara Algoe of the University of N. Carolina, published a study in June 2012 based on the Find-Remind-and-Bind Theory of Gratitude. The research specifically looked at how expressions of gratitude among strangers shape social relations. According to this theory, gratitude ‘finds’ new friendships, ‘reminds’ people of existing relationships and ‘binds’ them further in the relationship. For example, the verbal expression of appreciation of kindness in a simple Thank You becomes the survival language in a foreign country that connects us to the social and cultural norms of an unknown people.

As we approach Thanksgiving, I “thank you” my readers. Each time I sit down to write my blog, I try to express ideas and feelings that make a difference in my life, and I hope in yours too. Like the child fetching water in Jordan, may you see all that you have received in and around your lives as gifts given you…nothing bought, nothing earned, nothing traded in, nothing owed, nothing entitled. Pure and simple gratitude for the value of what life and those around you offer. With an immense wealth of gratitude nestled in my heart, HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

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MEN, Step Forward

October and the color purple, with hashtags #CATURNSPURPLE, #DVAM2017 spread across the Golden State and social media, remind the nation that this is Domestic Violence (DV) Awareness Month, designed to increase awareness and understanding of a topic not often brought into the open. You would think that domestic violence is a thing of the past, but instead of diminishing, it keeps growing in our societies. Campaigns such as ENOUGH, NO MORE, There’s No Excuse for Violence or Abuse, SPEAK OUT, REAL MEN DON’T HIT, ME TOO, still haven’t Put The Nail In It.

According to the United Nations Development Fund for Women, domestic violence threatens the lives of more young women than cancer, malaria or war. It affects one in three women worldwide who has been beaten, coerced into sex, or otherwise abused in her lifetime with the abuser usually someone known to her. Studies show that everyday more than three women are fatally killed by their husbands or boyfriends while survivors are left mentally scarred for life.

MEN, you should be outraged that in 2017 you can allow for this escalation in abuse, violence and death to occur at the hands of your gender. We live in a society where violence and disrespect against women—both in action and in speech—is prevalent. Every woman (consider for one moment your sister, your mother or your daughter) is at risk for becoming a victim of domestic violence. DV has no regard for socio-economic status, race, ethnicity, religion, employment status, physical aptness, age, education, marital status, or sexual orientation. Sexist, patriarchal, and/or sexually hostile attitudes are growing because men and women acquiesce to these attitudes and dismiss derogatory comments and behavior to “locker room talk” or machismo culture.

Cultural and social norms are highly influential in shaping individual behavior in the use of violence. They perpetuate the problem. The traditional beliefs that men have a right to control or discipline women through physical means makes women vulnerable to violence by intimate partners and places girls at risk of sexual abuse. The “tradition” of not interfering in matters between family members that occur in private, leads to reluctance for government, the criminal justice system, and other systems to respond to domestic violence, even after it becomes a crime. In many cultures, admission of abuse is to acknowledge the ugly side of one’s humanity, therefore the problem is denied and swept under the rug. One of the biggest challenges today is getting domestic violence laws implemented, such as making sure that women are able to go to the police to report violence, to have the support of their churches, or have access to shelters for protection. Clergy and secular counselors are trained to see only the goal of “saving” the marriage at all costs, rather than the goal of stopping the abuse; police officers do not provide support to women and treat domestic violence as a domestic “dispute” rather than a crime and discourage the victim from pressing charges; prosecutors are reluctant to prosecute cases, and judges rarely impose the maximum sentence upon convicted abusers; the abuser is quickly discharged only to return and repeat the assault/crime.

Legislation is a key tool in changing behavior and perceptions of cultural and social norms. Laws and policies that make violent behavior an offence send a message to society that it is not acceptable. While nearly all countries have laws that criminalize most forms of homicide, only some countries have laws in place to protect women from intimate partner violence. However, even when laws exist, this does not mean they are always compliant with international standards and recommendations or implemented. There is much abuse in the system. Hollywood, New York, Washington are prime examples!  Much progress is still needed and especially in countries such as Algeria, Armenia, Cameroon, Congo, Egypt, Haiti, Iran, Kenya, Lebanon, Pakistan, Russia, Syria, Uzbekistan, Yemen to name a few that DO NOT HAVE laws in place to identify and criminalize offenders, the solution is to change the mindset of “traditions” of patriarchal culture.

MEN, unless you are willing to see DV and abuse for what it is–a crime and violation of human rights—you put your own mother, sisters and daughters at risk. Do not normalize sexualized violence. Notice it. Be outraged. Share your outrage with others. Do not hide behind closed doors, remain silent, or turn your backs and say “it’s not my problem,” and allow for the abuse and violence to escalate. Become more educated. Like all good prevention, fathers and mothers, teach your sons—not only your daughters—by example that violence, abuse and harassment are unacceptable under any given condition. Education should go beyond what girls can do to prevent being victims, to the attitudes that boys have about women and about masculinity, and the actions that men can take to promote mutual respect and egalitarianism. Teach your boys at home and at school. Athletic coaches, start delivering programs designed to engage young men in questioning and challenging harmful gender norms with the goal of reducing sexual violence and dating/relationship abuse.

MEN, your influence in the global push to stop gender-based violence cannot be underestimated. Step forward. Transform the problem into becoming the solution.   Join forces with women to end violence against women. Break the wall of silence and taboo still surrounding violence against women and the sheer magnitude of this most widespread of human rights issues and become the solution to the problem.

MEN and Women must prioritize ending violence against women in laws, policies, and funding at every level until every woman is safe at home, at school, and at work. There is no amount of justice that can restore the lost lives of countless victims of domestic violence locally and in other countries including Armenia, but we can honor their memory by collaborating to end domestic violence in our communities so that no other family or culture will ever bear this kind of pain.

MEN, it’s time to step forward and earn your purple ribbons. Stand up, speak out, and act. 

 

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