When war comes, a sense of identity is the first casualty

Arthur Vardanyan’s story reflects on a life shaped by migration, exploring how war not only devastates lives, but fractures identity.

By: Arthur Vardanyan, Special to the Star

Vardanyan's father and his beloved dog, Nini, sit in their house in Tehran, Iran on Feb. 27, 2026, the day before the US struck the country. (Star Staff Photo Illustration)

I always had a feeling war would come. Not in a dramatic, cinematic way, but as a slow, inevitable shift that could be sensed long before anyone admitted it out loud.

My father spent his entire life in Tehran, making something out of nothing. He built a beauty service barbershop that welcomed both men and women. The shop was a major part of his life, pride and identity.

On Feb. 27, when the U.S.-Israeli airstrike killed Ali Khamenei, one of the most powerful figures behind decades of repression, it felt like the impossible had happened. Half of me felt something dangerously close to relief, even satisfaction while the other half knew better. 

War never only hits its intended target, but has collateral damage, hurting the innocent with it. With 1,200 Iranian civilians killed and over 10,000 injured just within the first two weeks, numerous lives were permanently affected. This weighs the heaviest on my heart.

I come from a background shaped by movement. Many Armenians left Iran after the Islamic Revolution, carrying their culture with them, rebuilding their lives elsewhere. My own story follows a similar journey.

I was born in the U.K., but I grew up in Iran. Eighteen years of my life were rooted in its streets, its language and its culture.

At seventeen years old, my life experienced another shift as I moved to Armenia for my education, and stayed there for nearly twenty years.

Now, my father lives in Armenia too, more specifically in Yerevan, safe, along with my dog. 

Safe is an overlooked word and feeling. It’s simple, but it carries so much weight after spending your entire life calculating risk and preparing for the worst before it arrives.

Safety comes with its own quiet grief. Even when you escape war, you don’t escape what it takes from you. My father didn’t just leave a country, but left behind his life’s work and the familiarity of knowing where he belongs.

War isn’t just an argument over land that destroys buildings. It interrupts identities.

I don’t know what the future holds whether it’s for Iran, for my family or for people who exist between countries and histories. But, I have learned that we have to carry our home within us, within our identity and culture, because sometimes that’s the only place it can safely exist.