paul chaderjian

By Paul Chaderjian a column for the asbarez newspaper Once there were and there were not … #We become the story we tell ourselves On Friday, April 24, 2015, I walked among hundreds of thousands snaking through the reflective pathway to the needle monument and concrete slabs nesting our eternal flame. We held hands, moved in unison, tweeted pictures and carried flowers underneath a sheltering sky of gloom. One hundred pathological years of lies had passed since one of the greatest human catastrophes, when the physical manifestations of our iconic culturemakers and culturekeepers had been gathered and sent to heaven. But their souls were freed. And they became the caretakers of those who survived, empowering them to defeat the deletion… and undelete our ancient culture. We would not be aborted. We escaped to the remote corners of the world. We were dumped on beaches and built shantytowns from scraps to shelter our haggard bodies and souls. Some of us chang...

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By Paul Chaderjian
 Once there were and there were not … Trade winds keep the Tiki lounge overlooking Waikiki breezy and cool. Frozen and blended tropical drinks with rum, strawberries and bananas make everyone giddy. “To free and fair elections,” says one of them. They laugh and drink. “Wait, wait,” says another. “To the Genocide museum in DC.” They take another swig. With the panoramic view from the windowless Hula’s as the backdrop, a group of unlikely friends meet to forge a new Armenia in paradise, a new ohana. Beirut. Rome. Vegas. Aleppo. Los Angeles. Tehran. Houston. Manila. They have come from far away places and range in age from 23 to 73. A few are Armenian; others Armenian by marriage. One can shoot you to death from a mile away. Another is known for the best Middle Eastern cuisine on the islands. The oldest in the group is a retiree after a long career in protecting the environment. The youngest in the group is an engineer from the land of the Phoenician...

Once there was and there was not… On this small island in the middle of the Pacific, you’re bound to eventually run into someone you know. You’re bound to speak pidgin and say ‘howzit’ and ‘bra.’ You may even see the cast and crew of “Hawaii Five-O” in action. Or you may be forced to stare right into the dark eyes of the Armenian Genocide. Play the Five-O theme song and let me explain: Since I got to Oahu, I’ve been hearing so much about how the original CBS series put the islands on the map in 1968. I’ve heard about street closures for filming, the cast appearing at fundraisers, and people in the newsroom talk story about which private school the lead actor’s son was rejected from and which one he’ll attend. I couldn't help but start wondering when I'd run into the movie trucks and cranes and spot the cast in action.   Last Saturday, it just so happened that Alex O’Loughlin (Steve McGarrett), Daniel Dae Kim, Grace Park, Taylor Wily — minus Danno, who...

by Paul Chaderjian Once there were and there were not … Rogue, runaway terror cells can hijack your body and multiply unchecked. They will eventually kill you unless you stop them. We call them cancer, and for several weeks now, not a day has gone by that I haven’t had to write about cancer at work, interview cancer patients, hang out with friends when talk turns to cancer, or see a movie about cancer. My cousin died of cancer at 14, my aunts battled it, and a good friend’s father was diagnosed with breast cancer a bit too late, always reminding me that men are not spared when it comes to this specific type of cancer generally associated with women. During a mad dash weekend trip to Little Armenia to attend a wedding a few weeks ago, I sat with friends at El Cayote on Beverly and heard the story of a young Armenian women. I had met her years ago when she was working to keep others healthy at a hospital. She had recently been married, and soon after her weddi...

BY PAUL CHADERJIAN (Published in Asbarez, August 2011) Once there was and there was not … A massive jetliner approaches Honolulu International. It is the size of a feathered crane from six miles away, wings spread, neck sticking out as it passes above a miniature Coast Guard Cutter that’s gliding across the sun-drenched, orange and blue harbor. Groong, where do you come from? Crane, do you have news from our country? (Groong, oosdi gookas, dzara em tsaynit) In my panoramic widescreen view of the sparkling downtown skyline from my balcony on the 38th floor of One Archer Lane, the jet with hundreds of stories on board is dwarfed by the Waianae Mountains behind, the dramatic clouds above, and the setting sun that pierces through the clouds, silhouetting everything as it reaches to grab my pupils. Hello my heart, hello my life, Hello to you, unfamiliar world, open your door, I have arrived. (Barev kez, undzanot ashkhar, doort patz, yes yega) How long have I bee...