I was recently in Yerevan, Armenia, sitting among a crowd gathered for European Heritage Days 2025 and the Day of National Minorities in Armenia. The air was alive with color and music. On stage, the Assyrian folk group Atour performed three traditional dances--children and teenagers dressed in shimmering costumes, their movements rhythmic and proud. When the youngest dancers finished, they raised the Assyrian flag high above their heads, smiling as the audience broke into applause. It was a powerful image. Currently--where, in parts of the Assyrian ancestral homeland, people are still harassed, even violently attacked, for displaying that same flag--these children were waving it freely and joyfully, in front of diplomats, and guests from across Europe and Armenia. I caught myself holding my breath. In that moment, Armenia felt like a rare island of safety.

As I watched them, I asked myself: How, 2,633 years after the fall of the Assyrian empire, do Assyrians still carry their culture with such pride? How have they managed to preserve their ancient language, their songs, their rituals--here, far from Mesopotamia, in the small, mountainous Christian country of Armenia? It seems almost poetic that the Assyrians--among the first people to embrace Christianity--found refuge in the world's first Christian country. Armenia, a bridge between Europe and Asia, has become a home far from home for this ancient nation.

It made me think about how closely these two nations are connected. Armenians and Assyrians--among the world's oldest surviving nations--share more than geography; we share memory. Our histories have long intertwined through faith, language and resilience. Assyrians who settled in Armenia in the 19th century, and those who later fled persecution and genocide, found a home here. Today, in villages like Arzni and Verin Dvin, church bells ring in Classical Aramaic--reminders that history, when shared, becomes strength.

When I asked him why, his answer was disarmingly sincere: "Simply because I value my culture and art much more. For me, it is far more meaningful to keep the name of my nation's culture alive and respected." Eduard's words revealed a quiet maturity--an understanding that cultural preservation is not an abstract idea but a personal mission. "When I represent my culture," he said, "I feel indescribable emotions. What brings me joy is not buying a new smartphone or branded items, but preserving and developing my culture. Armenia is my land, my homeland--my everything. I feel completely free and very proud here."

Later, I met Aharon Mirzoev, 21, a medical student who also works to support his family yet remains an active member of the community's cultural life. He smiled when I asked how he manages to balance it all.

"I've been involved in Assyrian dance since childhood--since I was 6 or 7," he said. "I feel a deep responsibility to preserve and pass on my faith, cultural values, and traditions to future generations." For Aharon, this sense of duty is rooted in identity itself. "When I represent Assyrian culture, I feel like a small but significant part of a great mechanism, where every piece has its own purpose. My role may be small, but it is essential--because the goal is the same: the preservation of the Assyrian nation and the spread of our language, faith and culture around the world." When I asked if he considered Armenia his home, his answer came without hesitation: "Armenia is my birthplace, and I proudly consider it my homeland. It is an inseparable part of my soul, and despite all the challenges and hardships, I cannot imagine myself without Armenia."

Listening to these young voices--each rooted in the same soil yet speaking with their own light--I understood something vital: The survival of Assyrian culture in Armenia is not merely a matter of history or heritage. It is an act of love, renewed with every song, every dance and every word spoken in Neo-Aramaic. For these young Assyrians in Armenia, identity is not a memory--it is a living rhythm, beating within them, carried forward one generation at a time. In a world where so many ancient cultures fade quietly into history due to assimilation, the Assyrians of Armenia stand as proof that when a people finds refuge in friendship and faith, even a home far away from homeland can become the heart of endurance.

Dr. Anzhela Mnatsakanyan holds a PhD in political science and serves as an independent political researcher specializing in the Eastern Partnership, Russia and post-Soviet countries.