A YouTube clip began circulating on Facebook about the Gyumri Hotel Palace built by the mayor of the city, Vardan Ghukasyan, a known thug, scandal-plagued swindler, and all-time low-life.

The story of our lives and the stories of our parents and grandparents are the sum of all that we are and continue to be. While many of those stories are laced with pain both personal and collective and enough adversity and heartache to fill volumes, there is also a heritage, a veritable treasure chest of priceless riches.

I have had to bear witness to poverty in my homeland more times than I care to remember. I have felt the bitter cold of winter on my back each time I have gone to the village of Vedi for Christmas to visit distant relatives who live there. The same occurred again this year when I made my annual trek to see this family of six who live in conditions that should bring shame on all of us.

Exactly three years ago, I had written an article about the dark side of life in Armenia entitled, “A Conversation with Myself.” A brutal and fatal attack on an old man for a few thousand dollars and the death of a little girl by a speeding motorist had triggered the torrent of emotions that ran through the piece.

Many years ago, I was asked to speak by our local Armenian Relief Society (ARS) chapter on the occasion of Mother’s Day. I was a young mother myself at the time, raising two young children, and working excruciatingly long hours. Had it not been for my mother, I’m not sure how I would have survived that period in my life. Naturally, my speech was dedicated to her and to all Armenian mothers.

Armenia’s demographic landscape is changing; modern-day warriors are emerging. These warriors are not engaged in battle or warfare but exemplify a different kind of courage and daring, one that demands unfaltering commitment and love to our collective concept of homeland.