Note: The following is a rewrite of a satire I submitted eleven years ago portraying the 
ludicrous, adversarial, and divisive nature of our people.  I have revised it to reflect 
present-day conditions.  And this is sad because in the eleven years since I first submitted 
this satire, the adversarial and divisive nature among our people has not dissipated.  And 
even sadder, this adversarial and divisive nature among our people is not new.  It has 
always been prevalent throughout our history.


UNITY WITH DISUNITY

To paraphrase an old saying, "Two can hate as cheaply as one."  And why not?  There’s 
nothing in the world that can stop us from bringing our divided churches and 
organizations under one roof and still remain divided.  Heck!  With a little bit of good old 
Armenian ingenuity we could bring the entire three-ring circus under one tent--pretty 
much the same way Phineas Taylor Barnum did back in 1871 when he said, “There’s a 
sucker born every minute.”  And the beauty of this concept is that we wouldn’t have to 
surrender any of our traditional hates and animosities in order to do it.  In fact, having 
such a shared facility might even incite newer and more creative highs of distrust and 
hostility among our antagonists.  In short, regardless of how divided we are, we could be 
just as divisive under one roof with a lot more style and for a lot less money.


Visualize, if you will, what it might feel like driving through such an integrated 
religiously one but administratively divided complex.  As you drive through a 
magnificent stone archway, you might see a huge statue of Vartan Mamigonian mounted 
on a magnificent rearing stallion, while pointing his upraised sword symbolically toward 
Armenia.


Continuing on past St. Vartan, you might see a 1915 Massacre Memorial with people 
milling around taking pictures.  On pleasant landscaped footpaths along the way, you 
might also see many of our seniors sitting on park benches playing tavloo or, perhaps, 
arguing over unresolved issues while giving vent to their many years of pent-up divided 
frustrations.


At intervals along the way, you would probably see road stands selling soorj, buneer and 
bereg, paklava, or tun.  And at other stands they could be selling Armenian publications, 
religious and political souvenirs, along with cigarettes and candy.


As you start coming into the main section of this make-believe complex, you would 
probably come to a manor house where the clergy from both Etchmiadzin and Cilicia are 
being housed with their families.  One can only imagine the many interesting exchanges 
that living under one roof might provoke between our religiously one but administratively 
divided emissaries of God.  And if you were fortunate, you might even hear some of the 
views they’ve exchanged in one of their divided sermons.


As you continue further, you might come to our divisively integrated Administrative 
Building.  You would park your car in either the Etchmiadzin or Cilicia section of the 
parking lot or in a small neutral section between the two.  As you walk up the marble 
steps, you might see a beautiful terraced landing with marble drinking fountains with 
inscriptions on each one saying, "Drink, this is my blood."  You might then proceed 
through heavily brass framed glass doors into the building.  As this point you might find 
yourself in an abundantly luxurious reception area with an ample amount of upholstered 
couches and glass-topped coffee tables.  While seated, an attractive young hostess would 
likely come out to greet you and give you brochures while offering refreshments.  After 
drinking your coffee and reading your brochures, she would understandably return to 
guide you through this integrated divided complex.  


After going down a corridor with divided executive offices on both sides, she would lead 
you into the administratively divided central area.  You would see people walking back 
and forth, some on telephones but with the mainstay at their divided word processors and 
computers.  And after being introduced to some of the personnel who would in turn 
familiarize you with the process, she would lead you from the central area to the "Holy of 
Holies" -- the integrated but administratively divided Board of Directors Meeting and 
Conference Room.


In describing this room, your hostess might tell you that it is completely soundproofed.  
You would, no doubt, be aware of this since the pile of the heavy carpeting you might be 
standing on would be ankle deep.  Running down the length of this elongated conference 
room, you might see a massive extra-high, solid oak conference table.   Around the table 
there would probably be extra high, heavily upholstered and anchored swivel chairs with 
safety belts.  And on the backs of each chair, on a brass nameplate, there would be the 
name of an appointed divided representative.  And on the table, in front of each 
representative there might be, in a separate oak containment, sharpened pencils, writing 
pads, a bible, a telephone, and a canister of tear gas or mace.  


After leaving the conference room, your hostess would probably lead you to the 
Tashnag-Rhamgavar-Hunchuk room since this is also a shared facility.  You would likely 
note that the podium had an American flag on one side and an empty flag standard on the 
other.  Quite simply, this would allow the political faction using this facility the 
opportunity to place the flag of their choice on the empty standard.  You might also notice 
portraits of historical figures on the wall.  These would probably be the ones that they all 
acknowledge.  As for those which are in question, you would probably note extra spaces 
on the wall with picture hooks allowing each faction to hang pictures of their own 
immortals during their scheduled meetings.


And I should also note that from the very moment you walk into this building, you would 
probably be listening to soothing Armenian hymns in the background, being continually 
piped through the entire facility through a state-of-the-art sound system.  


Back in the car and on your way again, you would probably see tennis courts, baseball, 
football, and soccer fields.  You would, perhaps, drive past a modern gymnasium, a 
library, a community center, and a large auditorium.


Further on, you might see a senior citizen’s villa partitioned off for either Diocese or 
Prelacy occupants, after which you would probably come to the Diocese/Prelacy 
partitioned cemetery.  No doubt, you might want to stop and visit a surviving or reposed 
loved one in this area.


And finally, after passing our ethereal garden of divided souls, you would probably come 
to the very heart and soul of this magnificent complex--our divided Armenian Church.  
On the front lawn, near a Khach Kar, you might see an illuminated bulletin board listing 
the separate time for Diocese and Prelacy church services.  Once inside. no doubt, you 
would see mutually accepted religious artifacts permanently placed.  As to the rest, they 
might be mounted on turntables allowing the practicing clergy of either divided See to 
display their own selected memorials or statuary.


Well, there you have it.  Of course, I could go on and on with more exciting 
imaginations--with each narrative being more breathtaking than the last.
	

On the other hand, this whole concept may sound very offensive to some, and well it 
might be.  But if the reader would take a moment to consider: Forgetting the sound logic 
of bringing our circus under one roof--what else is different from the way we’re doing 
things today?


Joseph Vosbikian