TRANSITIONS ONLINE: Russia: Out With the Yan
by Evgeniya Konovalova
6 December 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 bning their own businesses. �Represesses. �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,� Kuthorities,� 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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Russia: Out With the Yan
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