OUT WITH THE YAN
by Evgeniya Konovalova

Transitions Online, Czech Republic
Dec 6 2006

Thousands of Armenians in Russia have changed their names to avoid the
‘foreigner’ label

Until recently, Yelena Abramova, 19, was Yelena Pogasyan. It took
just one visit to the local passport office to trade her Caucasian
name for a Russian one.

"My parents are immigrants, but I was born in Krasnodar and consider
myself a native of the Kuban area," Yelena says. "But more often
than not I was treated as a foreigner. It was especially difficult
at school. Nearly everybody, from teachers to classmates, picked on
me because of my Armenian roots. It’s difficult to tell who I am by
my appearance, but as soon as people heard my name ending in ‘yan,’
they became hostile. Things changed after I took the new name. I
study at a university and no longer have any problems."

Yelena’s story is becoming typical as more Armenians, born both in
Kuban and abroad, seek to change their names. Like Yelena, most say
they are tired of being singled out as foreign. Some even say their
Armenian names put a crimp in their career plans. But not everyone
is convinced that the problems are worth sacrificing their identity.

Kuban is a region of Russia surrounding the Kuban River. It includes
Krasnodar, the country’s southernmost district, bordering Georgia’s
Abkhazia region to the south. About 13 percent, or 689,000, of Kuban’s
5.1 million residents declared themselves ethnic minorities in the
2002 census. Of those, 274,566 are Armenians, by far the largest
single minority group.

Vadim Rakachev, who teaches contemporary history and sociology at Kuban
State University, specializes in the demographics of the region. He
links the increase in the Armenian population to migration. "They
come for better living conditions, a good climate and the province’s
booming economy," he says.

But the immigrants don’t always have an easy time of it. Until March
of this year, for instance, Krasnodar was home to a branch of an
extreme nationalist group called Spiritual Ancestral Russian Empire,
which was barred by the district court. The U.S. State Department
has singled out the district for its discrimination against the
thousands of Meskhetian Turks who live there, and in March 2005,
hundreds of university students in Krasnodar protested skinhead
assaults on foreign students.

Still, Rakachev says, "Tensions among ethnic groups have eased
considerably in the last two years."

Gayane Dzhalavyan, a second-year student at Kuban State University,
is typical of the young generation of Armenian settlers. Her parents
fled Yerevan when she was 5. "There was no water, gas, or central
heating in winter," she recalls. "The situation may have changed there,
but I don’t want to go back. I like it here. I have many friends and
consider Russia, Kuban, my native land."

Ella Martisyan lives in a lopsided shack in a Krasnodar suburb. Her
family left all their belongings in Armenia when they moved here
15 years ago. "We are not well off, but I don’t plan to return to
my country. Here I have a home, propiska, [local residency permit]
and my husband has a job. I’m considering giving my son Sergey a new
last name. Just in case, anything might happen."

The name change boom began in 2002, when the government exchanged old
passports for new ones. Many Armenians used the opportunity to change
their first, middle and last names. Officials at the passport office
do not have firm figures, but they say thousands have changed their
names. For instance, Levon Levonovich Peilevanyan, a native of Sochi in
the south, took the name Lev Borisovich Kazakov; Artur Khachaturyants,
born in Krasnodar, is now Artur Zuiko. There are many other examples.

"Kuban residents take ‘a special’ attitude to non-Russians. It is
much more difficult to obtain a propiska or citizenship or to find
a job with a name that does not sound Russian," says Senya Akopov,
formerly Akopoyan.

Yury Osipyants, the owner of a profitable auto repair shop, was born in
Kuban but has long sought to leave Russia. "I wanted to go to Greece,
but it didn’t work out. My last name is a problem. Officials don’t
trust people whose last name ends in ‘yan’ or ‘yants.’ In March 2006,
when I was denied a Schengen tourist visa, an embassy official told me
straight that many Armenians get a monthly visa and stay in countries
they visit forever. But I’m not giving up hope. Maybe I should change
my name and try again, like others do."

More famous is the example of Boris Ivanovich Kazakov, a doctor who
often lauded qualities of the Russian character during his campaign
for the Russian State Duma. When he won the seat, voters found out,
to their surprise, that his middle name ― Anushevanovich,
not Ivanovich ― was in fact Armenian.

I AM WHAT I AM

But not all ethnic Armenians are prepared to give up their names.

"If a man blames all of his troubles on his name, it is his personal
problem, rooted deep inside," says Genri Emiksezyan, who came to
Russia at the age of 5.

Aleksei Mililyan agrees. "I don’t understand how the last name can
affect one’s career. Who cares about names? A name may be seen as a
sign of poor language skills, but an interview would dispel suspicions
immediately."

Most immigrants and native-born ethnic Armenians work in commerce,
small businesses, and transportation. "My father owns a small
business. My friends’ parents also have small businesses," Gayane
Dzhalavyan says.

Tax authorities say that Armenian-owned companies account for up to
35 percent of the Krasnodar province’s tax revenues.

While such entrepreneurship might look like a sign of success, at least
one expert argues otherwise. Konstantin Koryakin, a researcher on the
adaptation and integration of ethnic Armenians, says discrimination
channels many into running their own businesses.

"Representatives of this national minority often have limited access
to certain professions. Many large local private companies turn down
their applications for vacancies. Few Armenians hold positions with
local authorities," Koryakin explains.

Nevertheless, some Armenians do get jobs with local agencies. Misrop
Mamikanyan, a court officer, says he has never faced discrimination
at work. Nikolai Yaralyan is the city’s chief tax officer; Konstantin
Dzhalalov is in charge of RosNIPIneft, a subsidiary of the Rosneft
oil company.

Krasnodar governor Aleksandr Tkachev, who has been criticized by
some human rights groups for being hostile to minority rights, has
recently denied alleged discrimination against Armenians, saying,
"Representatives of this ethnic group have a hand in all profitable
businesses."

Still other Armenians say they face discrimination, but they keep their
names. Gayane Dzhalavyan’s brother, Grant, says, "I graduate from the
Law Faculty this year. I would like to work for a government agency,
but I was told it will be difficult for me to get a job because my last
name gives away my ethnic background. I don’t look like an Armenian,
so I wouldn’t have problems if I had a Russian name. On the other hand,
it doesn’t seem to be a serious enough reason to change my name."

SHALLOW ROOTS?

The name-change trend has drawn a mixed reaction from Armenian
associations.

Lenser Oganesyan, an administrator with the Krasnodar chapter of the
Union of Armenians in Russia (UAR), links it to official policies
and attitudes. "It is ridiculous that Danilyan cannot achieve career
success until he changes his name to Danilov," he notes.

However, Tigran Tavadyan, editor-in-chief of the province’s largest
Armenian newspaper Yerkramas, says the trend reflects a bigger
problem. "It’s not a matter of names only. The Armenians do not care
about their culture, language, and history. I have observed this
phenomenon everywhere, except for cities like Sochi and Armavir,
where Armenians have maintained close family ties for centuries."

But Razmik Gevorgyan, the UAR leader in the Krasnodar province, says
the ties to Armenia and its culture are not broken. "We’ve seen a
considerable flow of migrants [back] to Armenia this year. About 30
percent of the Armenians who ask for an appointment with our consul
request certificates to return to their home country," he says. These
are mostly Armenians who failed to find a job after moving to the
Krasnodar province a year or two earlier, Gevorgyan says.

So why do Armenians change their names? Do they want to conceal
their ethnic roots or do they want to forget about them? It’s an open
question. But the problem, obviously, is not only about changing an
ID card.

"Armenians will keep on coming to Russia because this is a better
place to live," says Kuban State University’s Rakachev. "It is easier
for them to enter Russia than most other countries, and everyone is
trying different ways to settle down. A change of name is one way.

But that kind of assimilation can cause people to forget who they
are and where they came from."

Evgeniya Konovalova is a freelance journalist based in Krasnodar.

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