The collective memory of the Armenian community of the Czech Republic is a little over a decade old, and often the only thing people have in common is the memory of their early years in a refugee camp and the loneliness of what amounts to an existence in self-imposed exile away from their country, Armenia.
First in hundreds and then thousands, Armenians have found their way to Prague and other Czech cities since the breakup of the Soviet Union, the independence of Armenia, and the devastating effects of a collapsing economy at home.
Unlike the other countries of Europe, Armenians now living in the Czech Republic are all new immigrants. Armenians in Hungary, Poland, Bulgaria or even as north as Holland and Sweden, can all trace their ethnic presence to several centuries. But not those in the Czech Republic.
"We were the only Armenian family here until the late 1980's," said Haig Mardirossian, the only "old-timer", who was born and raised in Prague. He is 64 years old. Mardirossian's father was sent to Prague in 1910 from Eastern Anatolia to join his grandfather who had close relations with the country's royalty.
Born into a family of intellectuals who maintained close ties with Armenia, Haig pursued a career as linguist and later a producer of documentary films.
"The community as we see it today began taking shape in the early 1990's with the arrival of mainly young men who came looking for employment. Probably many did not even think of settling down here," he said.
But that has changed. Wave after wave, Armenians began arriving and according to unofficial estimates their numbers have passed the 12,000 mark.
One of the early arrivals is Hrand Sarkissian, who moved to the Czech Republic in 1993 to join his son Edward who had already applied for asylum and was living in a refugee camp.
"Yes, we went through the same path like almost everyone here today. In Armenia I was a lecturer and professor in mathematics and physics at the university. I could not support my family. I am not less nationalistic than any one else, but I had no choice," he explained.
There were no support groups when Sarkissian arrived, and his only option was to go with the flow. His academic training was not much help because he did not know the Czech language.
Over the years, Sarkissian has adapted. He has learned the language and entered the work force. Now, he teaches part-time, works at the Skoda car manufacturing company in a town close to the German border and is actively involved with the new generation of Armenians who have made the Czech Republic their home.
He is also a regular participant in a group which includes representatives from the interior ministry who meet regularly to discuss refugee issues.
"My reason for taking part in the round-table discussions is to find ways of dealing with the problems that involve the thousands of Armenians now living in the Czech Republic. To live within a system, one has to understand the laws and regulations that are in place," he said.
"Applying for refugee status is not easy. There are very clear and strict guidelines," he adds.
According to the law, those arriving in the Czech Republic to escape economic hardships in their countries—as is the case with nearly all the Armenians—do not qualify for refugee status.
Political persecution, racial or religious discrimination along with human rights abuses are valid reasons, yet even there the applicants have to produce solid proof to support their case.
Despite the rigid laws, loopholes still exist, provided the applicants have not entered the country illegally.
"Most of the people I have come in contact with have entered the country as tourists and upon the expiration of their visas they have applied for permission to stay. They just surrender to the authorities and say they have no place to go. They end up in a refugee camp," Sarkissian said.
There, after lengthy interrogation, their cases make their way through the bureaucracy which often takes months if not years and almost invariably go through yet another lengthy process of appeals.
In the meantime, the so-called refugees learn the language, make friends "on the outside" and eventually find a job through an unofficial network of other Armenians who have gone through the same process.
The process is slow, and it is rare that a person remains in his own field of training. Engineers, teachers, musicians, and technicians end up in menial jobs like working on construction sites or in restaurants and factories.
Maybe some of the more fortunate are the painters, who display their works at Prague's numerous open-air markets.
On a recent Sunday, Hovik Muradian, one of the more than 20 already established Armenian painters who live in Prague, was displaying his art work in the city center and chatting with a group of tourists who had stopped by.
Hovik, who is 36 years old and a Yerevan native, is a graduate from the Hagop Kojoian School of Arts and the prestigious Panos Telemezian Art College.
"I did not have a future as an artist and painter in Armenia. It’s not because art is not appreciated in Armenia, but the existing economic conditions made my life impossible.
"I could not survive by selling a few paintings here and there at the Vernissage (open-air art market) in Yerevan," he said.
So in 1992, Hovik packed 10 of his oil paintings and came to Prague.
"I was so naïve. I had all my work on display in a flea-market and an American woman bought all my oil canvases for 100 dollars. I thought that was a lot of money because I was not getting anything like that in Armenia."
Encouraged by the rapid sale, Hovik decided that Prague was the place for him to be. He went back to Armenia, packed whatever else he had and, along with his wife, returned to make a new life for himself and his family.
"I have been here since 1993 and I have no reason to complain. I still display some of my lesser works at the flea-market over the weekend, but my real bread and butter comes from the major exhibitions I join in other parts of Europe," he said.
Since 1993, Hovik has sold his paintings at famous art galleries in Germany, the Netherlands, France, and the Czech Republic.
"I am now negotiating with a group of people who want to start an internet based art gallery where my works can go on sale. It's an interesting concept and I am sure it will bring me more recognition," he said.
Hovik is not alone in Prague's Armenian "art world". Close to 20 other painters, including Gagig Tonian who heads the fledgling Czech-Armenian Cultural Association which also serves as the focal point of Armenian community life, are busy making a name for themselves.
A few have opened their private art galleries where not only works by Armenian artists, but also others from the former Soviet Union are on display.
"There is a good market for art in Prague," Tonian says. "Thousands of tourists pass through Prague every day and they buy. Most of us are doing well."
In the early 1990's most of those who came to Prague were builders and construction workers who were much in demand because of all the reconstruction that was going on in the city after the fall of the old communist regime.
As the community grew, attention began focusing on the same issues which others across the Armenian Diaspora have faced for generations. There was the need for a school, a club, social activities and a newspaper.
But getting organized has not been easy.
"We all come from different backgrounds, and none of us has been here long enough to be really comfortable economically. We get together and plan things for the community, but despite everyone's good intentions, we find ourselves going home and thinking about our jobs, financial security and how to feed our families," said a father of four who declined to be identified by name.
With their meager financial resources, a small core group began the first Armenian Saturday school in Prague four years ago, thanks to the efforts of Armen Koloyan, a journalist working for the Armenian broadcasting section of Radio Free Europe-Radio Liberty (RFE-RL).
Koloyan, a native of Yerevan with a degree in education for handicapped children, brought the group together, ordered the necessary books and teaching materials from Armenia and began the three-hour weekly classes at premises in downtown Prague provided by the state university.
"Most of these families have young children and the dangers of assimilation are great. I would like to believe that many of these families will return to Armenia once economic conditions improve, but in the meantime, we cannot leave these children without an Armenian education," he said.
The student body often fluctuates between 30 and 40 youngsters who not only learn the Armenian language but are also given the social atmosphere where they integrate and play with children from the same background.
"It also helps to bring the families together in a city like Prague, where there are many other distractions. The school is vital for the cohesion of the community," he said.
Another positive phenomenon has been the recent publication of an independent monthly magazine, Orer, which means days in Armenian.
Its chief editor, Hagop Assadrian, a journalist and one of the rising stars of Yerevan's Azg newspaper, moved to Prague a few years ago with his wife Anna, who is also a journalist and works for Prague-based RFE-RL. Assadrian has joined forces with a few like-minded people, including Edward Sarkissian who is the joint-owner of a publishing and advertising company in the Czech capital.
"There is a very real need for a publication in eastern-Armenian because of the increasing number of people from Armenia proper who are now living in the various countries of Europe. Our magazine deals with the issues facing these new immigrants," he said.
But the need for an Armenian media, education and an Armenian setting are not the only issues facing the new immigrants, and especially the children. There is also the more important question of citizenship.
Under existing laws in Armenia, any child born overseas to Armenian parents needs not only to have a passport, but also has to be physically in Armenia to obtain the document.
"The new immigrants are in a dilemma. Only a few hundred Armenians have Czech citizenship and maybe a few thousand have permanent residency or the equivalent of a green card.
"But the vast majority are here on the strength of their temporary visas or work permits. Czech law does not grant immediate citizenship to those born here unless their parents are citizens," a community activist explained.
"This means the children will remain stateless unless the parents take them, at great cost, to Armenia, get them registered and obtain the necessary passports. This is expensive and the majority of the people here just cannot afford it. And even if they did, they cannot leave the Czech Republic while their residency applications are under review," he said.
So they stay, stateless. Along with the Armenian school, the new Armenian Cultural Center in Prague is also playing a constructive role.
Located in Prague, the rented premises include a small hall, and an office.
"What we are trying to do is create a place where all Armenians can turn to for help. We are starting a data base with addresses and other vital information. I know what it means to get established in a foreign country, and as long as this community is here, we need the mechanism to keep it together," Gagik Tonian said.
To attract fellow Armenians to the club, its elected committee has installed a satellite dish to receive television programs from Armenia, and often organizes events to bring the youth together.
"We are homesick," Tonian explains. "We all had our reasons for leaving our homes, and a lot of our circumstances are similar. Most of us left for financial reasons, but I'm not sure how many will return. As the community settles down, the more difficult it gets for the thousands of new immigrants to return to their homeland."
