Leon Ter Oganian speaks five languages, but his native Armenian is not one of them. He is a Polish citizen by choice and an Armenian Pole by his own definition.
He is also a man with a singular mission: keeping the Armenian heritage alive in a country where Armenians have long been assimilated into the local culture.
“Armenian blood is very strong . Even 10 percent is enough to keep someone Armenian,” the 88-year-old writer and retired teacher said during an emotional meeting in his Warsaw apartment. “I am 50 percent Armenian, so I have to be more active than others.”
And active he has been for at least the past 45 years, diligently writing and publishing books and periodicals on “everything and anything that has to do with Armenian life.” His life-long endeavor is a reflection of the Polish society’s respect for Armenians, an ethnic group which first settled these lands eight centuries ago and made integration one of their top priorities.
“I could not have done all the publishing without Polish intellectuals who were genuinely interested in Armenian issues. They researched and helped write many of the essays and periodicals, and, of course, I'm grateful to all the Polish readers who bought the books,” he said.
Ter Oganian was born in the Russian city of St. Petersburg in 1910. His father was an Armenian businessman and his mother was Russian. His parents separated when he was one-year-old, and he was raised by his mother, Polish step-father and aunt.
The First World War forced his separation from his mother and he almost lost her if not for what he describes as “pure luck.”
“I was living with my aunt in Kharkov in Ukraine and we had lost total contact with my mother. We did not even know that she had re-married and settled in Warsaw,” he said.
“But one day, a total stranger walked into my aunt’s dental clinic and after taking one look at her she froze. She told my aunt that she had met a woman in Warsaw who looked exactly like her and that she could swear the resemblance was that of twins. The woman in Warsaw turned out to be my mother and in 1922 I was finally re-united with my mother—after a six week journey alone on a cattle train from Kharkov to Warsaw,” Ter Oganian said.
He was only twelve at the time, and his ordeal was just a taste of what was in store for a young boy who grew up searching for his identity and often paying dearly for his convictions.
“I am used to not belonging anywhere. At first I was a Polish Armenian. Now I am an Armenian Pole. At one time I was an American citizen but now I am a Polish citizen by choice,” he said.
Ter Oganian explains. After his early education, he traveled to New York in 1930, to join his father—a music teacher—who had also re-married and settled there after the First World War. He assumed U.S. citizenship through his father, but could not adjust to life in America.
“I returned to Poland, this time as an American citizen which gave me the opportunity to travel across Europe. But when I joined the Polish army and refused to go back to the United States, my passport was taken away from me.
“I was a Polish citizen again,” he said.
The year was 1940. Ter Oganian was in Vilnius, the capital of Lithuania, teaching English, Russian and German. He had just published his first book, “First English Steps”, a comprehensive manual of English as a second language.
Life was good, but then came the Russian occupation and Ter Oganian was rounded up with other non-ethnic Lithuanians and on June 14, 1941 sent to Siberia—to a labor camp which became his home for the next four years.
“I could have been released in 1942, but the price was too high, and I could not accept,” he said. The price: accepting to become a Soviet citizen because he had an Armenian name and Armenia was part of the Soviet Union.
Sentenced to death because of his hard-line stance, Ter Oganian was spared thanks to a two-star Soviet general who was intrigued by “the interesting case of this Polish Armenian.”
“I was always lucky,” he said.
He was released, and returned to Poland in April 1945 to a long career in academia, teaching Russian at the Warsaw Conservatory and later English as head of the renowned “School of Translators” in Warsaw, until his retirement in 1975.
His students were to become journalists, diplomats, government officials and industrialists. Many never lost contact with their teacher, often helping him with his projects and translations.
“My life has been turbulent at times, but I have never lost sight of my heritage and birthright as an Armenian,” he said.
Encouraged by some friends, Ter Oganian in 1953 established the “Circle of Interest in the Armenian Culture”, an organization consisting of not only Armenians but Poles who had a profound love for all things Armenian.
The title was not accidental.
“We could not have formed a straightforward Armenian Cultural Association because it would have identified the Armenians as a separate ethnic group within the Polish society . This was not allowed or even accepted by the communist government,” Ter Oganian said.
“For all their communist ideas, national pride remained strong. Our Society was composed of ethnic Poles and others with some Armenian background who were interested in Armenian culture.
“There was no room for Armenian nationalism, but despite the pressures, we persevered and kept the Armenian flame burning,” Ter Oganian said.
For more than 40 years, Ter Oganian led what at times was a single-handed crusade to keep the Armenian culture alive in Poland, home to one of the oldest Armenian communities in Europe.
“I wish I knew some more Armenian, but thanks to Polish intellectuals and others who knew the language we continued moving forward...publishing materials which were of interest not only to the Polish intellectual class, but also interesting enough for young Poles with an Armenian background,” he said.
Under Ter Oganian, the group flourished despite the hardships imposed during the communist era. “During our early years, we often met in secret places late at night, but never gave up,” he said.
“The communists did not like the idea of a group of intellectuals gathering and pursuing certain issues which were not even political in nature. But we kept on going,” Ter Oganian said.
Since 1953, Ter Oganian has published 28 books on such Armenian-related issues as the history of the Armenian church in Poland, Armenia and the Polish press, Armenians in Poland, Armenian folk tales, the Karabakh conflict, Armenians in the Soviet Union, Armenian Khatchkars (Stone crosses), a directory of Soviet Armenian writers, and many more.
“I want everyone to know that during our most difficult years, funding from the Armenian General Benevolent Union kept us going. I can never forget that,” he said.
With the collapse of the Soviet Union and the birth of an independent Armenian State, Ter Oganian expanded his efforts. In recent years he has translated from English two of American-Armenian writer William Saroyan’s most popular novels—“My Name is Aram” and “Madness in the Family.”
There are plans to change the name of the organization to give it a more Armenian character. “We can now call it Armenian Cultural Center, or anything else we choose . There are no restrictions in a free and democratic Poland,” he says.
At 88, Ter Oganian is still active. He does not want to discuss his future “projects” but assures his visitors that he has no intention to stop.
“I will continue as long as I can, but I want the young generation of Polish Armenians to follow my footsteps. They have a better chance to keep the flame burning because Poland is free now and we have more access and contact with Armenia and Armenians in the Diaspora,” Ter Oganian said.
