When I first lived in Saudi Arabia, we lived in a one-bedroom home in the ARAMCO (Arabian American Oil Company) compound.
Our compound was like a piece of suburban America dropped in the middle of the Arabian desert with a fence around it.
We had one movie theater where I saw Oliver Twist and Grease.
We had our own swimming pool.
We had our own beach.
We had a commissary and a separate store for pork. You had to show your ID to enter the pork store.
My parents’ identification cards included their religion and national origin. Religion, gender, and national origin were lawful grounds for differential treatment in pay and land ownership, among other things.
My father was paid less than his peers because he was not American.
I could not be a Girlscout because I was not American.
I was an Armenian, born in #Beirut, being raised in an #American community, and attending an #American school in Saudi Arabia.
I had some trouble with my identity. I still do sometimes.
But, when a tragedy hits my ancestral homeland, I have no doubt that I’m an Armenian.
If you love an Armenian, or
If you know an Armenian, or
You believe in humanrights,
Please speak up for us.