Saturday, May 31, 2008
Action by HIMA
This is ingenious. Read the translation, and turn up your speakers:
[Voice of Ter-Petrosyan]
Dear people, this square is at the center of the world’s attention – a square in which an illuminating event is taking place.
[Voice of Pashinyan]
In this square, there are no traitors!
In this square, there are no doubters!
In this square, are the victorious citizens of the Republic of Armenia!
UNITY!!!!!!! UNITY!!!!! UNITY!!!!!!
[Voice of Ter-Petrosyan]
Are you standing [with us]?
(crowd responds): Yes!
Until the end?
I, too, will stand until the end!
Payqar, Payqar, minchev verch! [Struggle, Struggle, to the end]
[Voice of Pashinyan]
In this square, there are no traitors!
In this Square, there are no doubters!
In this square, are the victorious citizens of the Republic of Armenia!
UNITY!!!!!!!
Help me sort out all these ARF-D changes…
It has been five days since the ARF-D Congress in Armenia ended. Since then, there has been a flurry of articles, not as much about the content of the Congress, which is still a mystery, but about everything else it seems. And even so, I have several questions about what it is, exactly, the ARF-D believes…
1) For or against the deportation of Sefilyan?
Markaryan has made clear statements that he does not support the deportation of Sefilyan, and that he has spoken with Serge Sargsyan about this. However, Zarouhi Postanjyan was quoted as saying, "Of the parties in the National Assembly, only the ARF-D has refused to participate in the collection of signatures [petition] aimed at preventing Sefilyan's deportation." Regardless, I haven't seen a general statement by the ARF-D against his deportation.
2) Who does, or doesn't, the ARF-D blame?
In one report, Markaryan stated that the post-election street protests were part of a plot to stage a revolution, and therefore the use of lethal force on March1-2 was justified. Yet, in another report, he stated, "we have never laid the blame on one side only…" and continues on, "Everyone is to blame for the situation." He also blamed media, and intellectuals. I must be missing something, I see the blame on the people, but not any toward the government. Seems one sided so far.
3) Ruben Hakobian expelled?
It was announced on 5/29 that Ruben Hakobian was expelled from the party – a prominent member who thought the recent presidential elections were undemocratic, and challenged the legitimacy of the results openly. One article cited the ARF-D as both acknowledging that he had tried twice to leave, and then saying he could have left had he so wished. Vahan Hovannisian, a member of the ARF-D, was quoted as saying, "he has been involved in some anti-party activities. This is my presumption." Anti-party activities???
4) Why did the Ministers resign?
Three ARF-D party members recently re-appointed as Ministers in the Coalition Government are now resigning, reportedly to better fulfill their even more recent appointments to the ARF Bureau. There was speculation about a general sentiment that these positions needed to be shared wither other ARF-D members, but we are told that this is not the case and these are personal decisions. We are left, no, we are told by Markaryan to think that all three deem it more important to have higher status in their political party than to be part of the Armenian Government. Maybe so. "I am 99% sure that had they not been elected Bureau members such a thing would not have happened," said Markaryan. So, why were they appointed, or is that why there were appointed to the Bureau?
On a related note, the new ministers will be chosen by the ARF-D Supreme Board, though it is unclear if that Board has the power to make appointments in the government of Armenia; does Serge Sargsyan have veto power, what is the agreement within the Coalition on such matters?
I would have hoped, that for such an old and honored party, there would have been a clearer direction given, especially after a Congress. The mixed messages aren't too surprising, though: one article noted that the "ranks" of the ARF-D were not fully satisfied with the state of the party, that it had "stopped conducting an independent policy" and that "once source of the ARF-D notes that hardly any changes are expected in the near future because, for its part, the government will try its best to maintain the present position of Hrant Markaryan." Furthermore, multiple sources reported that the ARF-D and the Armenian Government are having some differences of opinion, and that there is the possibility that the ARF-D may leave the Coalition government, and become an opposition party once again, as was their true, initial intention.
Can anyone throw some light on any of these?
[The articles I’m referring to are in the Armenian and English versions of a1plus.am (which sometimes have slightly different articles in the two languages), rferl.org/armenialiberty.org]
1) For or against the deportation of Sefilyan?
Markaryan has made clear statements that he does not support the deportation of Sefilyan, and that he has spoken with Serge Sargsyan about this. However, Zarouhi Postanjyan was quoted as saying, "Of the parties in the National Assembly, only the ARF-D has refused to participate in the collection of signatures [petition] aimed at preventing Sefilyan's deportation." Regardless, I haven't seen a general statement by the ARF-D against his deportation.
2) Who does, or doesn't, the ARF-D blame?
In one report, Markaryan stated that the post-election street protests were part of a plot to stage a revolution, and therefore the use of lethal force on March1-2 was justified. Yet, in another report, he stated, "we have never laid the blame on one side only…" and continues on, "Everyone is to blame for the situation." He also blamed media, and intellectuals. I must be missing something, I see the blame on the people, but not any toward the government. Seems one sided so far.
3) Ruben Hakobian expelled?
It was announced on 5/29 that Ruben Hakobian was expelled from the party – a prominent member who thought the recent presidential elections were undemocratic, and challenged the legitimacy of the results openly. One article cited the ARF-D as both acknowledging that he had tried twice to leave, and then saying he could have left had he so wished. Vahan Hovannisian, a member of the ARF-D, was quoted as saying, "he has been involved in some anti-party activities. This is my presumption." Anti-party activities???
4) Why did the Ministers resign?
Three ARF-D party members recently re-appointed as Ministers in the Coalition Government are now resigning, reportedly to better fulfill their even more recent appointments to the ARF Bureau. There was speculation about a general sentiment that these positions needed to be shared wither other ARF-D members, but we are told that this is not the case and these are personal decisions. We are left, no, we are told by Markaryan to think that all three deem it more important to have higher status in their political party than to be part of the Armenian Government. Maybe so. "I am 99% sure that had they not been elected Bureau members such a thing would not have happened," said Markaryan. So, why were they appointed, or is that why there were appointed to the Bureau?
On a related note, the new ministers will be chosen by the ARF-D Supreme Board, though it is unclear if that Board has the power to make appointments in the government of Armenia; does Serge Sargsyan have veto power, what is the agreement within the Coalition on such matters?
I would have hoped, that for such an old and honored party, there would have been a clearer direction given, especially after a Congress. The mixed messages aren't too surprising, though: one article noted that the "ranks" of the ARF-D were not fully satisfied with the state of the party, that it had "stopped conducting an independent policy" and that "once source of the ARF-D notes that hardly any changes are expected in the near future because, for its part, the government will try its best to maintain the present position of Hrant Markaryan." Furthermore, multiple sources reported that the ARF-D and the Armenian Government are having some differences of opinion, and that there is the possibility that the ARF-D may leave the Coalition government, and become an opposition party once again, as was their true, initial intention.
Can anyone throw some light on any of these?
[The articles I’m referring to are in the Armenian and English versions of a1plus.am (which sometimes have slightly different articles in the two languages), rferl.org/armenialiberty.org]
Friday, May 30, 2008
ՆԻԿՈԼ ՓԱՇԻՆՅԱՆ. ԵՐԿՐԻ ՀԱԿԱՌԱԿ ԿՈՂՄԸ (մաս 13-րդ)/The Other Side of the World - Pashinyan
[from payqar.org; English is below]
14. եւ այդ մեկ մարդը դու ես
Երեկոյան ես հրաժեշտ տվեցի այդ տարօրինակ անունով բար-սրճարանի տարօրինակ անունով բարմենին: Ուզում էի Ֆրեդին էլ հրաժեշտ տալ, բայց նա ասաց, որ ուզում է կայարան գալ` ինձ ճանապարհելու: Ֆրեդի հետ պայմանավորվեցինք հանդիպել հաջորդ առավոտյան իմ հյուրանոցում, ապա ճաշել Ժնեւի լճի ափամերձ որեւէ ռեստորանում, որից հետո կմեկնենք կայարան: Իմ գնացքը մեկնելու էր երեկոյան ժամը հինգին: Շարունակռւթյուն
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD (PART 13)
14. And That Person is You
That evening I said goodbye to the odd-named barman at the bar-café. I wanted to say good-bye to Fred as well, but he said he wanted to come to the train station to see me off. Fred and I agreed to meet in my hotel the next morning, have lunch in one of the restaurants near the shore of Lake Geneva, after which we would go to the station. My train was scheduled to leave at 5 o’clock in the evening.
After breakfast I went down to the foyer and was reading the newspaper when Fred came. We each drank a cappuccino and discussed the international news of the day. I had already settled my account with the hotel and had a light carry-on which I left at the hotel to pick up later, before leaving for the train station.
We walked the streets for a while, then by the lakeshore. Fred was telling me stories of him and Cathy, how at their second or third meeting, apparently a casual one, Cathy had clung to him and said “Oh, my love.” Afterwards, Fred had thought Cathy was crazy, but that hadn’t lasted very long. Fred then told me that every evening he goes to the morgue to say good-night to Cathy, and only then he goes to bed himself.
“Suffer, Fred, suffer. It ennobles the person. But never allow the feeling of meaninglessness to shroud you,” I tell him and tell him my own stories.
We had lunch at a restaurant near the lakeshore. We ate fish grown in Lake Geneva, similar to the Ishkhan trout of Armenia, served with a local sauce and French white wine. We returned to the hotel; I picked up my carry-on and we left for the train station.
We embraced each other, said our goodbyes, and agreed that we would meet again at Cathy’s funeral in Scotland. Fred thought the funeral would take place in ten days or so. Cathy’s father would arrive in Lausanne in a couple of days with the necessary documents. Fred was saying he didn’t know how he would be able to look Cathy’s father in the eye, and later on, her mother.
For a moment it seemed to me that I should stay with Fred; but we both came to the conclusion that we needed to be alone.
************************
As it were, I was to go to Scotland to Cathy’s funeral. But I had 7-10 days to kill on the road. I had drawn an itinerary for myself, according to which I would reach Emden harbor in northern Germany and from there, to Edinburgh, Scotland, by ship. At Lausanne I bought a train ticket to Düsseldorf thinking that I would stay there for a couple of days, and then, via a couple of cities, I would get to Emden, staying in touch with Fred the meantime.
Train travel is an especially suitable form of transportation for this kind of trip. In the first place, travelers on the train are not subjected to strict inspection. Second, you can live on the train like you would in a hotel. My compartment had a bathroom and a television set. You could also make a phone call on the train. In short, if you’re not in a hurry, the train is an ideal form of transportation.
And besides, the train is one of the symbols of the Armenia I dream of. It symbolizes freedom of movement. I dream of the day when it will be possible to get on the train in Yerevan and get off at, say, Lausanne, Berlin, Moscow, Beijing…There are already such railways in place, all that’s left to do is to operate them. Should they be operational, air transport in Armenia would not be as expensive and would have much more reasonable prices and alternatives.
Looking out the window of the train and giving in to my reflections turned out to be an extremely pleasant pastime. But I didn’t wish to see Switzerland or Germany from the window of my compartment—and I didn’t. Looking out the window of the train I was searching for the Armenia of the future, I was outlining the Armenia of the future, I was picturing the Armenia of the future: brick-laid roofs, pleasant houses, yards lost in flowers, smiling villages, people radiating with pride, grandmothers and grandfathers scorning death with their forefingers, youth living in freedom, families living for themselves and not for the neighbors, family restaurants, respected authorities, trust in the future, animals bursting out of forests, free to breathe deeply, a profound feeling of the fatherland, a legal system beyond words, freedom—freedom that you feel in your heart.
Busy roads, airports, train stations. Roadside motels, restaurants full of foreigners—Georgians, Iranians, Turks, Azeris, Russians, Europeans, Americans, Latinos, Blacks, and people of mixed nationalities, on business or simply touring with families and young children. Or, older couples, who have decided to see the world in the sunset of their lives.
Printed books in the hundreds of thousands—on fine arts, popular science, documentary works, in translation and by Armenian authors, classical or contemporary. Discussions on literature, history, art, the future. A Christian country, with Christians, with love for their neighbors. Intolerance for lies, hypocrisy, vulgarity, illegitimacy. And the protection of human rights, individualism, dignity…
I see all this through the window of my train, and all the houses, views, the trees, avenues, bridges, and train stations were witness to their existence.
I was looking out the window and I saw their Armenian version. For me, it was all true, palpable, near…But near doesn’t mean it is offered on a tray. Nobody will offer us the country in which we dream to live on a tray. We should build our own free Armenia; we should build the future of our Armenia.
But wait, who is “We”, and who falls in that group? Could it be the powers in the “Impeachment” Alliance, could it be the “HHSH”, could it be the “HJG”, could it be the “Republican” [party], could it be the “New Times” [party], could they be the powers in the “New Popular Congress”?
What nonsense, what repulsive mental processes, what temptation to which the authorities of Armenia today become part of. They—the powers in the coalition and those who directly or indirectly support them—do nothing else. They build the country of their dreams: “We are building the country we dream of,” they say. So where’s the problem? The problem is that their “We” includes the representatives of the upper tiers of a few political parties, oligarchs, court intellectuals. In their “We” are 10 thousand, well, let’s say 20 thousand, or even more, 100 thousand people, while the country has 3 million citizens in Armenia and outside its borders. The country they build corresponds to the wishes of the 100 thousand; that is the country of one 100 thousand people. I realize I’m greatly exaggerating that number—greatly exaggerating, because to dream and to vote for 5,000 Drams are two different things. True, there are people who have accepted bribes and voted for Serjh Sargsyan or Robert Kocharyan. True, they have voted for Serjh Sargsyan or Robert Kocharyan, but have they voted for the Armenia of their dreams?
True, there are policemen who execute the illegal orders of the authorities, but in so doing, are they executing the orders of the Armenia they dream of? Do they want their children to live in a country where there are policemen like themselves?
The same thing can be said of the inspector, the prosecutor, the judge and the tax inspector. The only thought that could console them is that they think they can transfer their titles and their positions to their heirs. But that’s 14th century feudalism and, it is the Armenia dreamt by just 30 thousand people.
So who should be in the “We” group? Every citizen of Armenia. They couldn’t fit in a hall or a room for a Buffet. They can fit only on Freedom Square, in the heart of Armenia. The country we dream of is the country of 3 million people, and every one of that 3 million should have the freedom and the opportunity to proclaim loudly his/her dreams, to combine his/her dreams with those of others, and to take part in the shaping of the larger dream.
The 3 million people will decide, they themselves will decide to whom they will entrust the realization of its dream; the 3 million should be able to change its leader.
And who are the citizens of Armenia? Who are the members of the team of 3 million? You are, I am, he/she is. And why should you feel yourself responsible before the future?
Because later, much later—one day in the distant future—your son or daughter, broken and dejected by the injustice, violence and unruliness will finally ask you:
“Father (Mother), and what did you do in your life so that I could live in a better country, so that my rights and dignity were protected, so that I would have the chance to be me?”
There is only one answer that would spare you the contempt of your children:
“I, my child, did everything in my power, in the name of your future.”
But if you have really done everything in your power, your children will not ask you that kind of question because they will be living in our Armenia, the Armenia of 3 million people.
(to be continued)
14. եւ այդ մեկ մարդը դու ես
Երեկոյան ես հրաժեշտ տվեցի այդ տարօրինակ անունով բար-սրճարանի տարօրինակ անունով բարմենին: Ուզում էի Ֆրեդին էլ հրաժեշտ տալ, բայց նա ասաց, որ ուզում է կայարան գալ` ինձ ճանապարհելու: Ֆրեդի հետ պայմանավորվեցինք հանդիպել հաջորդ առավոտյան իմ հյուրանոցում, ապա ճաշել Ժնեւի լճի ափամերձ որեւէ ռեստորանում, որից հետո կմեկնենք կայարան: Իմ գնացքը մեկնելու էր երեկոյան ժամը հինգին: Շարունակռւթյուն
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD (PART 13)
14. And That Person is You
That evening I said goodbye to the odd-named barman at the bar-café. I wanted to say good-bye to Fred as well, but he said he wanted to come to the train station to see me off. Fred and I agreed to meet in my hotel the next morning, have lunch in one of the restaurants near the shore of Lake Geneva, after which we would go to the station. My train was scheduled to leave at 5 o’clock in the evening.
After breakfast I went down to the foyer and was reading the newspaper when Fred came. We each drank a cappuccino and discussed the international news of the day. I had already settled my account with the hotel and had a light carry-on which I left at the hotel to pick up later, before leaving for the train station.
We walked the streets for a while, then by the lakeshore. Fred was telling me stories of him and Cathy, how at their second or third meeting, apparently a casual one, Cathy had clung to him and said “Oh, my love.” Afterwards, Fred had thought Cathy was crazy, but that hadn’t lasted very long. Fred then told me that every evening he goes to the morgue to say good-night to Cathy, and only then he goes to bed himself.
“Suffer, Fred, suffer. It ennobles the person. But never allow the feeling of meaninglessness to shroud you,” I tell him and tell him my own stories.
We had lunch at a restaurant near the lakeshore. We ate fish grown in Lake Geneva, similar to the Ishkhan trout of Armenia, served with a local sauce and French white wine. We returned to the hotel; I picked up my carry-on and we left for the train station.
We embraced each other, said our goodbyes, and agreed that we would meet again at Cathy’s funeral in Scotland. Fred thought the funeral would take place in ten days or so. Cathy’s father would arrive in Lausanne in a couple of days with the necessary documents. Fred was saying he didn’t know how he would be able to look Cathy’s father in the eye, and later on, her mother.
For a moment it seemed to me that I should stay with Fred; but we both came to the conclusion that we needed to be alone.
************************
As it were, I was to go to Scotland to Cathy’s funeral. But I had 7-10 days to kill on the road. I had drawn an itinerary for myself, according to which I would reach Emden harbor in northern Germany and from there, to Edinburgh, Scotland, by ship. At Lausanne I bought a train ticket to Düsseldorf thinking that I would stay there for a couple of days, and then, via a couple of cities, I would get to Emden, staying in touch with Fred the meantime.
Train travel is an especially suitable form of transportation for this kind of trip. In the first place, travelers on the train are not subjected to strict inspection. Second, you can live on the train like you would in a hotel. My compartment had a bathroom and a television set. You could also make a phone call on the train. In short, if you’re not in a hurry, the train is an ideal form of transportation.
And besides, the train is one of the symbols of the Armenia I dream of. It symbolizes freedom of movement. I dream of the day when it will be possible to get on the train in Yerevan and get off at, say, Lausanne, Berlin, Moscow, Beijing…There are already such railways in place, all that’s left to do is to operate them. Should they be operational, air transport in Armenia would not be as expensive and would have much more reasonable prices and alternatives.
Looking out the window of the train and giving in to my reflections turned out to be an extremely pleasant pastime. But I didn’t wish to see Switzerland or Germany from the window of my compartment—and I didn’t. Looking out the window of the train I was searching for the Armenia of the future, I was outlining the Armenia of the future, I was picturing the Armenia of the future: brick-laid roofs, pleasant houses, yards lost in flowers, smiling villages, people radiating with pride, grandmothers and grandfathers scorning death with their forefingers, youth living in freedom, families living for themselves and not for the neighbors, family restaurants, respected authorities, trust in the future, animals bursting out of forests, free to breathe deeply, a profound feeling of the fatherland, a legal system beyond words, freedom—freedom that you feel in your heart.
Busy roads, airports, train stations. Roadside motels, restaurants full of foreigners—Georgians, Iranians, Turks, Azeris, Russians, Europeans, Americans, Latinos, Blacks, and people of mixed nationalities, on business or simply touring with families and young children. Or, older couples, who have decided to see the world in the sunset of their lives.
Printed books in the hundreds of thousands—on fine arts, popular science, documentary works, in translation and by Armenian authors, classical or contemporary. Discussions on literature, history, art, the future. A Christian country, with Christians, with love for their neighbors. Intolerance for lies, hypocrisy, vulgarity, illegitimacy. And the protection of human rights, individualism, dignity…
I see all this through the window of my train, and all the houses, views, the trees, avenues, bridges, and train stations were witness to their existence.
I was looking out the window and I saw their Armenian version. For me, it was all true, palpable, near…But near doesn’t mean it is offered on a tray. Nobody will offer us the country in which we dream to live on a tray. We should build our own free Armenia; we should build the future of our Armenia.
But wait, who is “We”, and who falls in that group? Could it be the powers in the “Impeachment” Alliance, could it be the “HHSH”, could it be the “HJG”, could it be the “Republican” [party], could it be the “New Times” [party], could they be the powers in the “New Popular Congress”?
What nonsense, what repulsive mental processes, what temptation to which the authorities of Armenia today become part of. They—the powers in the coalition and those who directly or indirectly support them—do nothing else. They build the country of their dreams: “We are building the country we dream of,” they say. So where’s the problem? The problem is that their “We” includes the representatives of the upper tiers of a few political parties, oligarchs, court intellectuals. In their “We” are 10 thousand, well, let’s say 20 thousand, or even more, 100 thousand people, while the country has 3 million citizens in Armenia and outside its borders. The country they build corresponds to the wishes of the 100 thousand; that is the country of one 100 thousand people. I realize I’m greatly exaggerating that number—greatly exaggerating, because to dream and to vote for 5,000 Drams are two different things. True, there are people who have accepted bribes and voted for Serjh Sargsyan or Robert Kocharyan. True, they have voted for Serjh Sargsyan or Robert Kocharyan, but have they voted for the Armenia of their dreams?
True, there are policemen who execute the illegal orders of the authorities, but in so doing, are they executing the orders of the Armenia they dream of? Do they want their children to live in a country where there are policemen like themselves?
The same thing can be said of the inspector, the prosecutor, the judge and the tax inspector. The only thought that could console them is that they think they can transfer their titles and their positions to their heirs. But that’s 14th century feudalism and, it is the Armenia dreamt by just 30 thousand people.
So who should be in the “We” group? Every citizen of Armenia. They couldn’t fit in a hall or a room for a Buffet. They can fit only on Freedom Square, in the heart of Armenia. The country we dream of is the country of 3 million people, and every one of that 3 million should have the freedom and the opportunity to proclaim loudly his/her dreams, to combine his/her dreams with those of others, and to take part in the shaping of the larger dream.
The 3 million people will decide, they themselves will decide to whom they will entrust the realization of its dream; the 3 million should be able to change its leader.
And who are the citizens of Armenia? Who are the members of the team of 3 million? You are, I am, he/she is. And why should you feel yourself responsible before the future?
Because later, much later—one day in the distant future—your son or daughter, broken and dejected by the injustice, violence and unruliness will finally ask you:
“Father (Mother), and what did you do in your life so that I could live in a better country, so that my rights and dignity were protected, so that I would have the chance to be me?”
There is only one answer that would spare you the contempt of your children:
“I, my child, did everything in my power, in the name of your future.”
But if you have really done everything in your power, your children will not ask you that kind of question because they will be living in our Armenia, the Armenia of 3 million people.
(to be continued)
"Freedom for my Father"
Video via a1plus/YouTube, May 30, 2008
The children are chanting:
Freedom for my Father
Freedom for my Father
The children are chanting:
Freedom for my Father
Freedom for my Father
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Բաց նամակ Հայաստանի Հանրապետության Նախագահ Սերժ Սարգսյանին/Open Letter to the President of the RoA
Բաց նամակ Հայաստանի Հանրապետության Նախագահ Սերժ Սարգսյանին (ENGLISH BELOW)
Մայիսի 26, 2008
Ձերդ գերազանցություն,
Ապրիլի իններորդ օրը, որ պատահաբար համընկնում էր մարտի 1-ին նեոնային լույսերով հրավառ Երևանում Ձեր նախորդի ուշադիր հայացքի ներքո տեղի ունեցած արյունահեղության քառասունքին, տեղի ունեցավ Հայաստանի Հանրապետության Նախագահի պաշտոնն ստանձնելու Ձեր երդման վեհածես ու պերճաշուք արարողությունը, մինչ մնացած աշխարհն իր շունչն էր պահել պարզապես։ Բարի պարոն, Ձեզ գրելուս նպատակն է պարզապես տեղեկացնելը, թե ինչու՛ էինք մենք բոլորս շունչներս պահել։
Շունչներս պահել էինք, որովհետև կարծում էինք, որ Դուք առնվազն արժանի էիք անմեղության կանխավարկածին, որ Դուք թե՛ ձևով և թե՛ էությամբ տարբերվում էիք Ձեր նախորդից, որին հաջողվել էր ո՛չ առաջին և ո՛չ երկրոդ առումով որևէ տպավորություն չթողնել։ Ի վերջո, Դուք Արցախի ազատագրման մեջ կենտրոնական դերակատարություն ունեցած մեկն էիք, մեկն էիք, որն անցել էր անհամար քաղաքական անցուդարձերով, մեկն էիք, որ թրծել էր 1990 ականների քաղաքական մթնոլորտը` առանց իր բարի համբավն առաձնապես վնասելու, մեկը, որի անունը, ինչպես կարծում էինք, տասնամյակներ շարունակ մեր շուրթերին մնալու էր իբրև Հայաստանի երկրորդ Հանրապետության հիմնադիրներից մեկինը։ Շունչներս պահել էինք, որովհետև պարզապես հավատում էինք հերոսների, որովհետև փորձության այդ ժամին հույս ունեինք, որ առնվազն կարող էինք փորձել հավատալ Ձեզ։
Այսօր, երկու ամսվա գին արժեցող պարզատեսությունից հետո, Պր. Նախագահ, մենք դարձյալ հավատում ենք հերոսների, սակայն, ցավոք, Ձեր մեջ հերոսը տեղ չունի։ Ձեր մեջ մենք գտանք սոսկ Ձեր նախորդի կցորդի. մի մարդու կցորդի, որի վերջին ժամերի արած գործը ընդմիշտ դաջված կմնա մեր հնագույն ժողովրդի պատմության մեջ` իբրև դրա ամենասև ժամերից մեկը։
Սակայն, Պր. Նախագահ, հերոսներ մենք իսկապես գտանք` այն տղամարդկանց ու կանանց մեջ, որոնք մնացին ըմբոստ ու վճռական` իրեն մեր նվիրական Հայաստանի իրավահաջորդ կառավարություն հորջորջող ապօրինի հիպոկրատութան դեմ։ Մենք հերոսներ գտանք Ժիրայր Սեֆիլյանի, Մուշեղ Սաղաթելյանի և Սասուն Միաքայելյանի մեջ, ովքեր անձնուրաց կերպով իրենց կյանքն էին նվիրաբերել Արցախի ազատագրմանը, իսկ այսօր հայտնվել են բանտերում` քաղաքական հայացքների համար։ Մենք հերոսներ գտանք հայաստանցիներ Մելիսա Բրաունի և Նանուր Սեֆիլյանի մեջ, որոնք սարսափի աչքերին նայեցին շիփ շիտակ և բարձրաձայն ազդարարեցին. «Չե՛նք վախենում»։ Եվ, այո, մենք հերոս գտանք Լևոն Տեր Պետրոսյանի մեջ, որի վերադարձն օգնեց մեր ժողովրդին վերգտնելու իր արժանապատվությունն ու արժեքը` վերջապես դեն նետելով անտարբերության կապանքները, որոնք նախորդ տաս տարվա բարոյապես փչացած և գաղափարապես սնանկ քաղաքական համակարգի երկարակեցության ու անխորտակելիության գրավականն էին։
Դուք մեր ժողովրդի վճռականությանն անծանոթ մեկը չեք, Պր. Նախագահ։ Պատմությունն ի՛նքը մեր ժողովրդի վճռականությանն անծանոթ չէ։ Չե՞ք կարծում, որ նույն այդ վճռականությունը, որով Դուք անհամար անգամներ պարծեցել եք, կրկին անգամ հաղթելու է, Պր. Նախագահ։ Մենք կարծում ենք։
Անկեղծորեն`
ՍԱԱԳ
-------------------
Open Letter to the President of the Republic of Armenia, Serzh Sargsian
May 26, 2008
Your Excellency,
On the 9th day of April, incidentally falling the fortieth day following the blood bath that took place in the neon-lit night of Yerevan of March 1st under the watch of your predecessor, you were inaugurated President of the Republic of Armenia with much pomp and grandeur while the rest of the world held its breath. We write to you, good sir, to simply inform you as to why we all held our breath.
We held our breath because we believed that in the very least you were entitled to the benefit of the doubt; that you differed both in form and substance from your predecessor, who managed to impress in neither. After all, you were the man who had been a pivotal figure in the liberation of Artsakh; a man who had outlasted countless political trifles; a man who had weathered the turbulent political climate of the 1990s without much tarnish to his good name; a man whose name would, we thought, for decades remain on our lips as one of the Founding Fathers of the second Republic of Armenia! Quite simply, we held our breath because we believed in heroes; because in these trying times, we hoped at least we could try believing in you.
Today, with the benefit of two months' worth of hindsight, Mr. President, we still believe in heroes, but sadly, he was not to be found in you. In you we simply found an extension of your predecessor, a man whose final hour deed shall forever remain cemented as one of the darkest hours of our ancient people.
But, Mr. President, heroes indeed we found in the very men and women who remain indignant and determined against the illegitimate hypocrisy which calls itself the rightful government of our dear Republic. Heroes we found in the Zhirair Sefilyans, Moushegh Saghatelians, and Sasun Mikaelians of our people, men who selflessly laid their lives on the line for the liberation of Artsakh, but today find themselves imprisoned for their political views; and heroes we found in the Melissa Browns and Nanur Sefilyans of Armenia, women who stared intimidation in the eyes and loudly proclaimed "we are not afraid!" And yes, a hero we found in Levon Ter-Petrosian, whose return helped our people reclaim their sense of dignity and self worth, finally tossing aside the shackles of indifference which had served as the foundation for the longevity and perpetuation of the morally corrupt and ideologically bankrupt political system of the preceding ten years.
You yourself are no stranger to the resolve of our people, Mr. President. History, in fact, is no stranger to the resolve of our people. Do you believe that very resolve of which you have boasted on countless occasions will prevail once more, Mr. President? We do.
Sincerely,
Save Armenia Action Group (SAAG)
Մայիսի 26, 2008
Ձերդ գերազանցություն,
Ապրիլի իններորդ օրը, որ պատահաբար համընկնում էր մարտի 1-ին նեոնային լույսերով հրավառ Երևանում Ձեր նախորդի ուշադիր հայացքի ներքո տեղի ունեցած արյունահեղության քառասունքին, տեղի ունեցավ Հայաստանի Հանրապետության Նախագահի պաշտոնն ստանձնելու Ձեր երդման վեհածես ու պերճաշուք արարողությունը, մինչ մնացած աշխարհն իր շունչն էր պահել պարզապես։ Բարի պարոն, Ձեզ գրելուս նպատակն է պարզապես տեղեկացնելը, թե ինչու՛ էինք մենք բոլորս շունչներս պահել։
Շունչներս պահել էինք, որովհետև կարծում էինք, որ Դուք առնվազն արժանի էիք անմեղության կանխավարկածին, որ Դուք թե՛ ձևով և թե՛ էությամբ տարբերվում էիք Ձեր նախորդից, որին հաջողվել էր ո՛չ առաջին և ո՛չ երկրոդ առումով որևէ տպավորություն չթողնել։ Ի վերջո, Դուք Արցախի ազատագրման մեջ կենտրոնական դերակատարություն ունեցած մեկն էիք, մեկն էիք, որն անցել էր անհամար քաղաքական անցուդարձերով, մեկն էիք, որ թրծել էր 1990 ականների քաղաքական մթնոլորտը` առանց իր բարի համբավն առաձնապես վնասելու, մեկը, որի անունը, ինչպես կարծում էինք, տասնամյակներ շարունակ մեր շուրթերին մնալու էր իբրև Հայաստանի երկրորդ Հանրապետության հիմնադիրներից մեկինը։ Շունչներս պահել էինք, որովհետև պարզապես հավատում էինք հերոսների, որովհետև փորձության այդ ժամին հույս ունեինք, որ առնվազն կարող էինք փորձել հավատալ Ձեզ։
Այսօր, երկու ամսվա գին արժեցող պարզատեսությունից հետո, Պր. Նախագահ, մենք դարձյալ հավատում ենք հերոսների, սակայն, ցավոք, Ձեր մեջ հերոսը տեղ չունի։ Ձեր մեջ մենք գտանք սոսկ Ձեր նախորդի կցորդի. մի մարդու կցորդի, որի վերջին ժամերի արած գործը ընդմիշտ դաջված կմնա մեր հնագույն ժողովրդի պատմության մեջ` իբրև դրա ամենասև ժամերից մեկը։
Սակայն, Պր. Նախագահ, հերոսներ մենք իսկապես գտանք` այն տղամարդկանց ու կանանց մեջ, որոնք մնացին ըմբոստ ու վճռական` իրեն մեր նվիրական Հայաստանի իրավահաջորդ կառավարություն հորջորջող ապօրինի հիպոկրատութան դեմ։ Մենք հերոսներ գտանք Ժիրայր Սեֆիլյանի, Մուշեղ Սաղաթելյանի և Սասուն Միաքայելյանի մեջ, ովքեր անձնուրաց կերպով իրենց կյանքն էին նվիրաբերել Արցախի ազատագրմանը, իսկ այսօր հայտնվել են բանտերում` քաղաքական հայացքների համար։ Մենք հերոսներ գտանք հայաստանցիներ Մելիսա Բրաունի և Նանուր Սեֆիլյանի մեջ, որոնք սարսափի աչքերին նայեցին շիփ շիտակ և բարձրաձայն ազդարարեցին. «Չե՛նք վախենում»։ Եվ, այո, մենք հերոս գտանք Լևոն Տեր Պետրոսյանի մեջ, որի վերադարձն օգնեց մեր ժողովրդին վերգտնելու իր արժանապատվությունն ու արժեքը` վերջապես դեն նետելով անտարբերության կապանքները, որոնք նախորդ տաս տարվա բարոյապես փչացած և գաղափարապես սնանկ քաղաքական համակարգի երկարակեցության ու անխորտակելիության գրավականն էին։
Դուք մեր ժողովրդի վճռականությանն անծանոթ մեկը չեք, Պր. Նախագահ։ Պատմությունն ի՛նքը մեր ժողովրդի վճռականությանն անծանոթ չէ։ Չե՞ք կարծում, որ նույն այդ վճռականությունը, որով Դուք անհամար անգամներ պարծեցել եք, կրկին անգամ հաղթելու է, Պր. Նախագահ։ Մենք կարծում ենք։
Անկեղծորեն`
ՍԱԱԳ
-------------------
Open Letter to the President of the Republic of Armenia, Serzh Sargsian
May 26, 2008
Your Excellency,
On the 9th day of April, incidentally falling the fortieth day following the blood bath that took place in the neon-lit night of Yerevan of March 1st under the watch of your predecessor, you were inaugurated President of the Republic of Armenia with much pomp and grandeur while the rest of the world held its breath. We write to you, good sir, to simply inform you as to why we all held our breath.
We held our breath because we believed that in the very least you were entitled to the benefit of the doubt; that you differed both in form and substance from your predecessor, who managed to impress in neither. After all, you were the man who had been a pivotal figure in the liberation of Artsakh; a man who had outlasted countless political trifles; a man who had weathered the turbulent political climate of the 1990s without much tarnish to his good name; a man whose name would, we thought, for decades remain on our lips as one of the Founding Fathers of the second Republic of Armenia! Quite simply, we held our breath because we believed in heroes; because in these trying times, we hoped at least we could try believing in you.
Today, with the benefit of two months' worth of hindsight, Mr. President, we still believe in heroes, but sadly, he was not to be found in you. In you we simply found an extension of your predecessor, a man whose final hour deed shall forever remain cemented as one of the darkest hours of our ancient people.
But, Mr. President, heroes indeed we found in the very men and women who remain indignant and determined against the illegitimate hypocrisy which calls itself the rightful government of our dear Republic. Heroes we found in the Zhirair Sefilyans, Moushegh Saghatelians, and Sasun Mikaelians of our people, men who selflessly laid their lives on the line for the liberation of Artsakh, but today find themselves imprisoned for their political views; and heroes we found in the Melissa Browns and Nanur Sefilyans of Armenia, women who stared intimidation in the eyes and loudly proclaimed "we are not afraid!" And yes, a hero we found in Levon Ter-Petrosian, whose return helped our people reclaim their sense of dignity and self worth, finally tossing aside the shackles of indifference which had served as the foundation for the longevity and perpetuation of the morally corrupt and ideologically bankrupt political system of the preceding ten years.
You yourself are no stranger to the resolve of our people, Mr. President. History, in fact, is no stranger to the resolve of our people. Do you believe that very resolve of which you have boasted on countless occasions will prevail once more, Mr. President? We do.
Sincerely,
Save Armenia Action Group (SAAG)
ՆԻԿՈԼ ՓԱՇԻՆՅԱՆ. ԵՐԿՐԻ ՀԱԿԱՌԱԿ ԿՈՂՄԸ (մաս 12-րդ)/THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD (PART TWELVE)
13. ես ուրիշի կոկոն վարդը չեմ ուզում
Նկարագրելով ֆլամենկոն` ես այդպես էլ ոչինչ չասացի կարմիր զգեստով, կարմիր մեխակ-վարսակալով, կարմիր կոշիկներով իսպանուհու դերի մասին: Չէի մոռացել, քավ լիցի. եթե այդ կարմրազգեստ Արտիստուհին եւ նրա երկնագույն, շերտավոր շրջազգեստներով, սեւ կոշիկներով, երկնագույն մեխակ-վարսակալներով հերարձակ երկու ընկերուհիները (Արտիստուհու մազերը խստորեն հավաքված էին) չլինեին, բեմադրությունը, անշուշտ, կտուժեր: շարունակռւթյուն
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD (PART TWELVE)
13. I Don't Want Someone Else's Rosebud
While describing the Flamenco, I did not say anything about the Spanish lady in the red dress and shoes, donning a hairpin of red carnation in her hair. Not that I had forgotten, God forbid. Had it not been for the Artist in the red dress and her two friends—in sky-blue striped dresses, black shoes and hairpins of sky-blue carnations in their undulating hair (the Artiste’s hair had been pulled back tightly)—the stage production would certainly have suffered.
With their dances, their twirling skirts, their shoes pounding on the floor, these dancers gave Flamenco a special power, a magic; but they were not the essence of Flamenco. The same thing could be said about the guitarist and the master percussionist, who would, every once in a while, put aside their instruments, and join in the rhythmic clapping. Yes, they were in harmony with the Flamenco, they were an inseparable part of it; they were its wings— but not its essence.
The essence of Flamenco was the Artist, his suffering, his joy, his despair, the impulse to throw himself off the highest bridge in the world, and his serenity as he fell.
For a moment I tried not to notice the dancers, not to hear the sound of the guitars and the castanettes: I tried to push the rhythmic claps into oblivion, and to hear the Flamenco in its absolutely primordial state. In this form, the scales of the Flamenco no longer seemed alien to me. Yet, where had I heard something like this before? Or rather, where, before now, had I heard something not just similar, but something that reminded me of these same scales?
I remembered; and the memory shook me. For that is how, in the backward villages of Tavush, the elderly women wail over the bodies of their dead children, over the bodies of their loving husbands. It goes without saying that there is no basis for any comparison on aesthetic grounds. Except that, at times there is a connection between the earthy wailings and the scales of Flamenco—there definitely is. But what kind of connection could there possibly be between the villages in Tavush and Spain, what could connect the two? And I remembered Iran, the city of Isfahan, where a mullah, in mournful tones, was calling from the top of a minaret.
My God, there were so many commonalities between the call of the mullah and the scales of the Flamenco Artist. Spain and Islam, there, was the solution to the riddle. After all, didn't the children of Islam, the Arabs, reach Spain through Northern Africa and invade it? Didn't the same Arabs also invade Armenia? There, was the connection between the villages of Tavush and Spain.
And if, in Armenia, what remained from the mullah’s cries is the women's wailings—somewhat unpleasant to hear at times and at times earthy— in Spain a culture was created, not an Arab, but a Spanish culture. In this sense, those in Armenia who "struggle" against “influences of foreign cultures” while foaming at the mouth, become ludicrous. The more we fight against that, the more we lose our culture, our identity.
The reason is very simple: you do not struggle against cultural influences with rhyme-making idiots, plagiarizers who pass for composers, or with the press conferences of court writers and painters, but through the creation of your individual culture based on the knowledge of universal processes. It is free people who can create a culture, not the court jesters and whores who serve at the pleasure of the authorities. It is exactly these people who are now known in Armenia as thinkers, artists, cultural agents…
But how I have strayed from our theme, our genre, from our journey around the world, from Lausanne, the bar-café, the Grappa, the Flamenco, from the essence of Flamenco and its origins! Of course, some will object, saying that it wasn't the Spaniards who were influenced by the Arabs, but the Arabs who were influenced by the Spaniards. In this case, it isn't crucial, even though the Arabic hypothesis carries much more weight. Spanish culture differs significantly from that of the rest of Europe, and Spanish history differs from that of "central Europe" due to its long lasting occupation and domination by Arabs.
Yet our point is not the scientific, but the human angle, the human conclusion. And that conclusion remains the same. People living on this earth, nations and peoples, are sometimes much closer to each other, are more connected to each other, than they themselves realize. There cannot be a national culture if it is not part of a universal culture; there cannot be a national culture, if it does not preserve and defend its identity. But defending it doesn't mean shutting yourself up in a cellar, stealing from the other and calling it its own. Defending it means to create; defending it means to create ex nihilo, defending it means to enter a struggle, and to refine, to develop, to grow stronger in that struggle.
Flamenco, of course, was not created by Spanish princes, but by the Spanish people, by wandering musicians and artists, by free esthetes. And Flamenco does not symbolize Arab domination; rather, it symbolizes the liberation of Spain. Otherwise, this Artist would not have been an Artist, but would call from the tall minarets of Madrid, day and night.
******
The following day, there were three Flamenco performances at the bar-café. They were playing to packed audiences. Fred and I attended all three performances. At times we cried, other times we rejoiced, and sometimes, embittered, we drank.
Fred said that moving Catherine to Scotland would still take a while, and that it may be necessary to have one of Catherine's influential relatives intercede in order to speed up the process. But I didn't want to stay long in Lausanne; it seemed to me that by staying in any one place for a long time, I was impeding my journey to Armenia, that I was getting used to living in a foreign country.
What have I lost in Lausanne? What did I lose in Vienna, Belgrade, Salonika? Nothing, I have lost nothing. I was in those cities only and only on my way to Armenia, on my way to Armenia from the other side of the world. And I don't like those cities, those countries, or the people who live there…
Why don't I like them—those people, those cities, those countries? Honestly, I don't like myself in those cities, in those countries, in the environment of those well-mannered and smiling people. I am afraid that I will like those countries, those cities, those people. I am afraid that I will like them, like tens, hundreds of thousands and millions of our fellow Armenians have liked them. I am afraid that I will like living in these countries; I am afraid that the gene of the refugee, of the pilgrim, of the immigrant, of the diasporan, will awaken in me. I forbid myself from admiring those well-mannered, well-to-do countries…
I love my Fatherland. Not only the Armenia of which I dream, but the Armenia that is, the one that exists at this moment. I love that country, the people who live there, with all their shortcomings and advantages. I love my Fatherland as it is.
A year ago the phone rang in my office, I lifted the earpiece. The call was from the USA, the speaker was a man who had left Armenia in the late 1980's, and had US citizenship - details I confirmed in the course of our conversation.
It turned out that the man had read in an issue of our newspaper about some not-so-positive aspects of the life and career of National Assembly President Tigran Torosyan. He was excited and was calling us from the USA to explain to us the attributes the president of the National Assembly should have. Despite the fact that he was calling from the USA, he read a long dissertation, and then started to mock and ridicule Tigran Torosyan. That man, that citizen of the United States, thought he had called the right number, because after all, who treats Tigran Torosyan with greater disdain than I?
But you wouldn't believe it. Something incredible happened to me. It was as though I had been stung, wounded, humiliated.
"Listen, you, American citizen, next time don't you dare speak about a citizen of the Republic of Armenia in that tone. Who are you to call and offer your views on how the President of the National Assembly of the country you have abandoned should act? Tigran Torosyan is our Tigran Torosyan, we can decide for ourselves how we should behave towards him, and have no use for the likes of you. Next time, don't you dare discuss our Tigran Torosyan with us," I finished the conversation.
I was livid. I slammed the phone down, but my entire body was shaking. I was hurt; my God, was I hurt…!
I am disgusted by that well-mannered, polite world, because it seduces us like a whore and tears us away from our miserable, forsaken country, and it makes us vain.
I will not yield to that temptation, I would rather succumb to the dungeons of my Fatherland, but I will never be owned by the comforts of Lausanne…
"I don't want someone else’s rosebud. For me, my old lover is precious, precious…"
I will devote myself to the creation of the Armenia I dream about—we dream about. In the name of that Armenia, I will fight to the end.
And so,
Long Live Freedom
Long Live the Republic of Armenia
Long live our children, who will live in a free and blissful Armenia.
(to be continued)
[Errata: During the publication of "From the other side of the world," we have unfortunately let certain errors slip. We ask the forgiveness of the reader for that, and think it important to correct some of them:
1. The Italian grape vodka is called Grappa
2. In section 10, the word "Moyka-um" was accidentally printed as "meykayum"
3. In section 12 it was printed, "(Fred sat far from me)." It should read "didn't sit far from me."]
[Translator's note: The translation posted for all of these were translated from what I assumed was the intended meaning – thus, there is no change in meaning that is affected by these errata except for the Italian grape brandy.]
Նկարագրելով ֆլամենկոն` ես այդպես էլ ոչինչ չասացի կարմիր զգեստով, կարմիր մեխակ-վարսակալով, կարմիր կոշիկներով իսպանուհու դերի մասին: Չէի մոռացել, քավ լիցի. եթե այդ կարմրազգեստ Արտիստուհին եւ նրա երկնագույն, շերտավոր շրջազգեստներով, սեւ կոշիկներով, երկնագույն մեխակ-վարսակալներով հերարձակ երկու ընկերուհիները (Արտիստուհու մազերը խստորեն հավաքված էին) չլինեին, բեմադրությունը, անշուշտ, կտուժեր: շարունակռւթյուն
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD (PART TWELVE)
13. I Don't Want Someone Else's Rosebud
While describing the Flamenco, I did not say anything about the Spanish lady in the red dress and shoes, donning a hairpin of red carnation in her hair. Not that I had forgotten, God forbid. Had it not been for the Artist in the red dress and her two friends—in sky-blue striped dresses, black shoes and hairpins of sky-blue carnations in their undulating hair (the Artiste’s hair had been pulled back tightly)—the stage production would certainly have suffered.
With their dances, their twirling skirts, their shoes pounding on the floor, these dancers gave Flamenco a special power, a magic; but they were not the essence of Flamenco. The same thing could be said about the guitarist and the master percussionist, who would, every once in a while, put aside their instruments, and join in the rhythmic clapping. Yes, they were in harmony with the Flamenco, they were an inseparable part of it; they were its wings— but not its essence.
The essence of Flamenco was the Artist, his suffering, his joy, his despair, the impulse to throw himself off the highest bridge in the world, and his serenity as he fell.
For a moment I tried not to notice the dancers, not to hear the sound of the guitars and the castanettes: I tried to push the rhythmic claps into oblivion, and to hear the Flamenco in its absolutely primordial state. In this form, the scales of the Flamenco no longer seemed alien to me. Yet, where had I heard something like this before? Or rather, where, before now, had I heard something not just similar, but something that reminded me of these same scales?
I remembered; and the memory shook me. For that is how, in the backward villages of Tavush, the elderly women wail over the bodies of their dead children, over the bodies of their loving husbands. It goes without saying that there is no basis for any comparison on aesthetic grounds. Except that, at times there is a connection between the earthy wailings and the scales of Flamenco—there definitely is. But what kind of connection could there possibly be between the villages in Tavush and Spain, what could connect the two? And I remembered Iran, the city of Isfahan, where a mullah, in mournful tones, was calling from the top of a minaret.
My God, there were so many commonalities between the call of the mullah and the scales of the Flamenco Artist. Spain and Islam, there, was the solution to the riddle. After all, didn't the children of Islam, the Arabs, reach Spain through Northern Africa and invade it? Didn't the same Arabs also invade Armenia? There, was the connection between the villages of Tavush and Spain.
And if, in Armenia, what remained from the mullah’s cries is the women's wailings—somewhat unpleasant to hear at times and at times earthy— in Spain a culture was created, not an Arab, but a Spanish culture. In this sense, those in Armenia who "struggle" against “influences of foreign cultures” while foaming at the mouth, become ludicrous. The more we fight against that, the more we lose our culture, our identity.
The reason is very simple: you do not struggle against cultural influences with rhyme-making idiots, plagiarizers who pass for composers, or with the press conferences of court writers and painters, but through the creation of your individual culture based on the knowledge of universal processes. It is free people who can create a culture, not the court jesters and whores who serve at the pleasure of the authorities. It is exactly these people who are now known in Armenia as thinkers, artists, cultural agents…
But how I have strayed from our theme, our genre, from our journey around the world, from Lausanne, the bar-café, the Grappa, the Flamenco, from the essence of Flamenco and its origins! Of course, some will object, saying that it wasn't the Spaniards who were influenced by the Arabs, but the Arabs who were influenced by the Spaniards. In this case, it isn't crucial, even though the Arabic hypothesis carries much more weight. Spanish culture differs significantly from that of the rest of Europe, and Spanish history differs from that of "central Europe" due to its long lasting occupation and domination by Arabs.
Yet our point is not the scientific, but the human angle, the human conclusion. And that conclusion remains the same. People living on this earth, nations and peoples, are sometimes much closer to each other, are more connected to each other, than they themselves realize. There cannot be a national culture if it is not part of a universal culture; there cannot be a national culture, if it does not preserve and defend its identity. But defending it doesn't mean shutting yourself up in a cellar, stealing from the other and calling it its own. Defending it means to create; defending it means to create ex nihilo, defending it means to enter a struggle, and to refine, to develop, to grow stronger in that struggle.
Flamenco, of course, was not created by Spanish princes, but by the Spanish people, by wandering musicians and artists, by free esthetes. And Flamenco does not symbolize Arab domination; rather, it symbolizes the liberation of Spain. Otherwise, this Artist would not have been an Artist, but would call from the tall minarets of Madrid, day and night.
******
The following day, there were three Flamenco performances at the bar-café. They were playing to packed audiences. Fred and I attended all three performances. At times we cried, other times we rejoiced, and sometimes, embittered, we drank.
Fred said that moving Catherine to Scotland would still take a while, and that it may be necessary to have one of Catherine's influential relatives intercede in order to speed up the process. But I didn't want to stay long in Lausanne; it seemed to me that by staying in any one place for a long time, I was impeding my journey to Armenia, that I was getting used to living in a foreign country.
What have I lost in Lausanne? What did I lose in Vienna, Belgrade, Salonika? Nothing, I have lost nothing. I was in those cities only and only on my way to Armenia, on my way to Armenia from the other side of the world. And I don't like those cities, those countries, or the people who live there…
Why don't I like them—those people, those cities, those countries? Honestly, I don't like myself in those cities, in those countries, in the environment of those well-mannered and smiling people. I am afraid that I will like those countries, those cities, those people. I am afraid that I will like them, like tens, hundreds of thousands and millions of our fellow Armenians have liked them. I am afraid that I will like living in these countries; I am afraid that the gene of the refugee, of the pilgrim, of the immigrant, of the diasporan, will awaken in me. I forbid myself from admiring those well-mannered, well-to-do countries…
I love my Fatherland. Not only the Armenia of which I dream, but the Armenia that is, the one that exists at this moment. I love that country, the people who live there, with all their shortcomings and advantages. I love my Fatherland as it is.
A year ago the phone rang in my office, I lifted the earpiece. The call was from the USA, the speaker was a man who had left Armenia in the late 1980's, and had US citizenship - details I confirmed in the course of our conversation.
It turned out that the man had read in an issue of our newspaper about some not-so-positive aspects of the life and career of National Assembly President Tigran Torosyan. He was excited and was calling us from the USA to explain to us the attributes the president of the National Assembly should have. Despite the fact that he was calling from the USA, he read a long dissertation, and then started to mock and ridicule Tigran Torosyan. That man, that citizen of the United States, thought he had called the right number, because after all, who treats Tigran Torosyan with greater disdain than I?
But you wouldn't believe it. Something incredible happened to me. It was as though I had been stung, wounded, humiliated.
"Listen, you, American citizen, next time don't you dare speak about a citizen of the Republic of Armenia in that tone. Who are you to call and offer your views on how the President of the National Assembly of the country you have abandoned should act? Tigran Torosyan is our Tigran Torosyan, we can decide for ourselves how we should behave towards him, and have no use for the likes of you. Next time, don't you dare discuss our Tigran Torosyan with us," I finished the conversation.
I was livid. I slammed the phone down, but my entire body was shaking. I was hurt; my God, was I hurt…!
I am disgusted by that well-mannered, polite world, because it seduces us like a whore and tears us away from our miserable, forsaken country, and it makes us vain.
I will not yield to that temptation, I would rather succumb to the dungeons of my Fatherland, but I will never be owned by the comforts of Lausanne…
"I don't want someone else’s rosebud. For me, my old lover is precious, precious…"
I will devote myself to the creation of the Armenia I dream about—we dream about. In the name of that Armenia, I will fight to the end.
And so,
Long Live Freedom
Long Live the Republic of Armenia
Long live our children, who will live in a free and blissful Armenia.
(to be continued)
[Errata: During the publication of "From the other side of the world," we have unfortunately let certain errors slip. We ask the forgiveness of the reader for that, and think it important to correct some of them:
1. The Italian grape vodka is called Grappa
2. In section 10, the word "Moyka-um" was accidentally printed as "meykayum"
3. In section 12 it was printed, "(Fred sat far from me)." It should read "didn't sit far from me."]
[Translator's note: The translation posted for all of these were translated from what I assumed was the intended meaning – thus, there is no change in meaning that is affected by these errata except for the Italian grape brandy.]
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
The elections were flawed? NOOOOOOO.......
U.S. Says Armenian Vote ‘Significantly Flawed’
Armenia Told To Do More To Comply With PACE Resolution
Unfortunately, I can’t hear much of conversation in this video clearly enough to translate. Below are a few tidbits of info:
Along with people screaming “Levon, president” in the beginning, there is a car horn beeping out that tune.
I think that’s a picture of Jirayr Sefilyan LTP is holding up @ 3:33min
“The purpose is… this is not a personal issue - Whatever you’re going to do, you’re going to do for your children”
At 6:01 m, someone says, “the President is here, he sends his regards” [its not clear who the speaker or the intended receiver are, though it seems to be directed to LTP]
The sign at about 6:28m on the wall behind the men sitting says “hungerstrike” [I can’t see the rest of it well]
Addendum 5/31: a comment was made on this post - it is a quote from an article in Zhamanak newspaper which gives more info about the event, and what LTP said
here is the article in armenian
Armenia Told To Do More To Comply With PACE Resolution
Unfortunately, I can’t hear much of conversation in this video clearly enough to translate. Below are a few tidbits of info:
Along with people screaming “Levon, president” in the beginning, there is a car horn beeping out that tune.
I think that’s a picture of Jirayr Sefilyan LTP is holding up @ 3:33min
“The purpose is… this is not a personal issue - Whatever you’re going to do, you’re going to do for your children”
At 6:01 m, someone says, “the President is here, he sends his regards” [its not clear who the speaker or the intended receiver are, though it seems to be directed to LTP]
The sign at about 6:28m on the wall behind the men sitting says “hungerstrike” [I can’t see the rest of it well]
Addendum 5/31: a comment was made on this post - it is a quote from an article in Zhamanak newspaper which gives more info about the event, and what LTP said
here is the article in armenian
ծեծի է ենթարկվել Արսեն Խառատյանը/Youth Leader Attacked
I will preface the articles below by saying that I was somewhat relieved that it is reported that he spoke after the beating. A physician pointed out to me that he was concerned, given the lack of information regarding the beating to his head, and the bruising and asymmetry visible in one of the pictures.
In light of the all of the questions regarding his beating: why, who, and what is his true status, it is obvious he requires IMMEDIATE OBJECTIVE EVALUATION AND TREATMENT.
[These documents were brought to my attention - if you know the original sources, please let me know]
Մամլո հաղորդագրություն [Equivalent english is below]
Անհապաղ տարածման համար
Դաժան ծեծի է ենթարկվել Արսեն Խառատյանը
Այսօր, մայիսի 28-ին, մոտավորապես ժամը 14-ին երեք անhայտ անձանց կողմից դաժան ծեծի է ենթարկվել “Հիմա” երիտասարդական շարժման առաջնորդներից մեկը` Արսեն Խառատյանը:
Մի քանի օր առաջ Արսենին զանգահարել է մի երիտասարդ, որը ներկայացել է որպես “Լայֆ” ամսագրի թղթակից և հարցազրույց խնդրել: Խառատյանը համաձայնել է և, ըստ պայմանավորվածության, ժամը 14.00-ին գնացել Վերնիսաժին հարող տարածքը` հանդիպման: Մի քանի րոպեից նա թիկունքից հարված է ստացել գլխին (հավանաբար, երկաթե իրով), ընկել է գետնին և դաժան ծեծի ենթարկվել երեք երիտասարդների կողմից, որոնք իրենց գործը կատարելուց հետո փախել են: Արսենը գլխի վնասվածքներով տեղափոխվել է Շտապ օգնուքյան հիվանդանոց:
Մենք գնահատում ենք ահաբեկչության այս հերթական ակտը որպես ռեժիմի պատասխան համաժողովրդկան շարժման ակտիվացմանը և շարժման ակտիվիստներին ահաբեկելու ևս մեկ փորձ: Այս անգամ որպես թիրախ է ընտերվել մեր ընկեր Արսեն Խառատյանը, որը հայտնի է որպես հստակ քաղաքացիական դիրքորոշում ունեցող, ճշմատախոս անձ, մարդու իրավունքների և ազատությունների պաշտպանության ջատագով և բարձր հեղինակություն ունի Հայաստանի հասարակության ամենատարբեր շրջանակներում: Արսենը “Հանուն գիտության զարգացման” նախաձեռնող խմբի անդամ է, “Սկսել ա” և “Հիմա” երիտասարդական շարժումների առաջնորդներից և ամենաակտիվ մասնակիցներից:
Կարևոր ենք համարում ընգծել, որ սույն հանցագործությունը Արսեն Խառատյանի նկատմամբ կատարվել է բացեիբաց և հրապարակայնորեն` նպատակ ունենալով վախի մաթնոլորտ տարածել և կասեցնել համաժողովրդական շարժման ալիքը:
“ՀԻՄԱ” շարժում
INFO ALERT
Armenian Democratic Youth Leader Attacked and Severely Injured on Way to Major Youth Rally
May 28, 2008
On May 28, 2008, Arsen Kharatyan, a leading member of the Armenian Democratic Youth Movement, was brutally assaulted and beaten in broad daylight in Yerevan, by a group of unknown assailants who then fled the scene.
The victim was transported to the intensive care unit of St. Gregory the Illuminator Hospital in Yerevan, with severe head injuries, and is under close medical supervision.
At the time of the assault, Arsen Kharatyan, in his mid-20s, was headed to a meeting with a journalist who had contacted him several days earlier, asking for an interview. Later that day, he was planning to attend and address a youth rally organized by his movement in support of democracy and human rights in Armenia, as the country celebrates the Republic Day.
Human rights and fundamental freedoms in Armenia have come under heavy restrictions in the recent months, as the government used fatal force on March 1, 2008, to disperse a peaceful opposition rally protesting the results of a highly contested presidential election held earlier in February.
March 1 events, resulting in at least 10 deaths, and hundreds wounded, were followed by an unprecedented political and judicial crackdown on the opposition, and widespread harassment of opposition activists, hundreds of whom are now held under arrest or detention under fabricated charges, while dozens are being tried, and fined or sentenced.
Cases of harassment and assault against opposition activists are not uncommon in Armenia. Last week, Mikael Danielyan, head of the Armenian Helsinki Association, was shot point blank from a pneumatic rifle by a member of parliament from the ruling Republican party, who then bragged about it in a press conference later that day. The case was documented and reported by Human Rights Watch on May 22, 2008 (Armenia: Leading Human Rights Defender Assaulted, http://hrw.org/english/docs/2008/05/22/armeni18918.htm)
The assault today on Arsen Kharatyan reminds of a very similar attack in 2004 on prominent opposition figure Ashot Manucharian, who was assaulted and beaten on a street in Yerevan, while walking home from a routine day business on April 22, 2004. Mr. Manucharyan sustained severe head injuries, and had a long recovery in the hospital. That case too was documented and reported by world human rights community and major news organizations (Prominent Oppositionist Beaten up as Police Resume Mass Arrests, www.armenialiberty.org/armeniareport/report/en/2004/04/0b4b65db-4b54-448f-a2ec-72e43404a177.asp).
Today’s attack against Arsen Kharatyan, well-known and highly regarded youth leader, has heightened tensions in Armenia’s capital city and across the nation, as a deep-running deficit of trust and legitimacy continues to characterize the attitudes of the general public towards the authorities, and Armenia faces its worst governance and democracy crisis since independence in 1991.
Armenia’s youth movement has been instrumental in mobilizing and leading grassroots activism across the country in the aftermath of the March 2008 crackdown, as many opposition leaders were arrested or detained, or went underground.
In light of the all of the questions regarding his beating: why, who, and what is his true status, it is obvious he requires IMMEDIATE OBJECTIVE EVALUATION AND TREATMENT.
[These documents were brought to my attention - if you know the original sources, please let me know]
Մամլո հաղորդագրություն [Equivalent english is below]
Անհապաղ տարածման համար
Դաժան ծեծի է ենթարկվել Արսեն Խառատյանը
Այսօր, մայիսի 28-ին, մոտավորապես ժամը 14-ին երեք անhայտ անձանց կողմից դաժան ծեծի է ենթարկվել “Հիմա” երիտասարդական շարժման առաջնորդներից մեկը` Արսեն Խառատյանը:
Մի քանի օր առաջ Արսենին զանգահարել է մի երիտասարդ, որը ներկայացել է որպես “Լայֆ” ամսագրի թղթակից և հարցազրույց խնդրել: Խառատյանը համաձայնել է և, ըստ պայմանավորվածության, ժամը 14.00-ին գնացել Վերնիսաժին հարող տարածքը` հանդիպման: Մի քանի րոպեից նա թիկունքից հարված է ստացել գլխին (հավանաբար, երկաթե իրով), ընկել է գետնին և դաժան ծեծի ենթարկվել երեք երիտասարդների կողմից, որոնք իրենց գործը կատարելուց հետո փախել են: Արսենը գլխի վնասվածքներով տեղափոխվել է Շտապ օգնուքյան հիվանդանոց:
Մենք գնահատում ենք ահաբեկչության այս հերթական ակտը որպես ռեժիմի պատասխան համաժողովրդկան շարժման ակտիվացմանը և շարժման ակտիվիստներին ահաբեկելու ևս մեկ փորձ: Այս անգամ որպես թիրախ է ընտերվել մեր ընկեր Արսեն Խառատյանը, որը հայտնի է որպես հստակ քաղաքացիական դիրքորոշում ունեցող, ճշմատախոս անձ, մարդու իրավունքների և ազատությունների պաշտպանության ջատագով և բարձր հեղինակություն ունի Հայաստանի հասարակության ամենատարբեր շրջանակներում: Արսենը “Հանուն գիտության զարգացման” նախաձեռնող խմբի անդամ է, “Սկսել ա” և “Հիմա” երիտասարդական շարժումների առաջնորդներից և ամենաակտիվ մասնակիցներից:
Կարևոր ենք համարում ընգծել, որ սույն հանցագործությունը Արսեն Խառատյանի նկատմամբ կատարվել է բացեիբաց և հրապարակայնորեն` նպատակ ունենալով վախի մաթնոլորտ տարածել և կասեցնել համաժողովրդական շարժման ալիքը:
“ՀԻՄԱ” շարժում
INFO ALERT
Armenian Democratic Youth Leader Attacked and Severely Injured on Way to Major Youth Rally
May 28, 2008
On May 28, 2008, Arsen Kharatyan, a leading member of the Armenian Democratic Youth Movement, was brutally assaulted and beaten in broad daylight in Yerevan, by a group of unknown assailants who then fled the scene.
The victim was transported to the intensive care unit of St. Gregory the Illuminator Hospital in Yerevan, with severe head injuries, and is under close medical supervision.
At the time of the assault, Arsen Kharatyan, in his mid-20s, was headed to a meeting with a journalist who had contacted him several days earlier, asking for an interview. Later that day, he was planning to attend and address a youth rally organized by his movement in support of democracy and human rights in Armenia, as the country celebrates the Republic Day.
Human rights and fundamental freedoms in Armenia have come under heavy restrictions in the recent months, as the government used fatal force on March 1, 2008, to disperse a peaceful opposition rally protesting the results of a highly contested presidential election held earlier in February.
March 1 events, resulting in at least 10 deaths, and hundreds wounded, were followed by an unprecedented political and judicial crackdown on the opposition, and widespread harassment of opposition activists, hundreds of whom are now held under arrest or detention under fabricated charges, while dozens are being tried, and fined or sentenced.
Cases of harassment and assault against opposition activists are not uncommon in Armenia. Last week, Mikael Danielyan, head of the Armenian Helsinki Association, was shot point blank from a pneumatic rifle by a member of parliament from the ruling Republican party, who then bragged about it in a press conference later that day. The case was documented and reported by Human Rights Watch on May 22, 2008 (Armenia: Leading Human Rights Defender Assaulted, http://hrw.org/english/docs/2008/05/22/armeni18918.htm)
The assault today on Arsen Kharatyan reminds of a very similar attack in 2004 on prominent opposition figure Ashot Manucharian, who was assaulted and beaten on a street in Yerevan, while walking home from a routine day business on April 22, 2004. Mr. Manucharyan sustained severe head injuries, and had a long recovery in the hospital. That case too was documented and reported by world human rights community and major news organizations (Prominent Oppositionist Beaten up as Police Resume Mass Arrests, www.armenialiberty.org/armeniareport/report/en/2004/04/0b4b65db-4b54-448f-a2ec-72e43404a177.asp).
Today’s attack against Arsen Kharatyan, well-known and highly regarded youth leader, has heightened tensions in Armenia’s capital city and across the nation, as a deep-running deficit of trust and legitimacy continues to characterize the attitudes of the general public towards the authorities, and Armenia faces its worst governance and democracy crisis since independence in 1991.
Armenia’s youth movement has been instrumental in mobilizing and leading grassroots activism across the country in the aftermath of the March 2008 crackdown, as many opposition leaders were arrested or detained, or went underground.
ԼԵՎՈՆ ՏԵՐ-ՊԵՏՐՈՍՅԱՆԻ ՅՈԹ ՍԽԱԼՆԵՐԸ/THE SEVEN MISTAKES OF LEVON TER-PETROSSIAN
[English is below]
ԼԵՎՈՆ ՏԵՐ-ՊԵՏՐՈՍՅԱՆԻ ՅՈԹ ՍԽԱԼՆԵՐԸ
Վերջին նախագահական ընտրությունների ընթացքում,
և
թե ինչու ամեն բան իր մեղքով էր
Գրիգոր Խարկիև
Մոսկվա
Վերջին շաբաթներին անդադար մտմտում էի այն հարցը, թե ինչու Հայաստան կախարդական երկիրն այլևս այնքան էլ կախարդական չի թվում։
Եզրակացրեցի, որ դա ամբողջովին Լևոն Տեր-Պետրոսյանի մեղքով է։Ստորև բերում եմ իմ պատճառները. վստահ եմ՝ ամեն ընթերցող կարող է իր սեփական պատճառներն ավելացնել։ Նա բավական մեծ մարդ է և դրան կարող է դիմանալ։
1. Լևոն Տեր-Պետրոսյանն իր թեկնածությունը դնելու փորձությանը չպետք է գնար. պետք է ընդուներ կառավարության անցկացրած հանրային կարծիքի հարցումների արդյունքները, ըստ որոնց ընտրողների շարքերում նա որևէ օժանդակություն չուներ։
2. Նա իր թեկնածությունը չպետք է հռչակեր, քանի որ գիտեր, որ գործող նախագահին դա դուր չէր գալու։ Հենց Քոչարյանը հայտնեց իր այն կարծիքը, որ Տեր-Պետրոսյանը չպետք է մասնակցեր ընտրություններին, վերջինս պետք է հաներ իր թեկնածությունը (ինչքան վատ է, որ Հայաստանը չունի այն համակարգը, որ առկա է Իրանում. բոլոր թեկնածուները քննվում են, և միայն իշխանությունների կողմից հաստատվածներն են պաշտոններ ստանում։ Բայց սա ընդամենը ժամանակի հարց է)։
3. Առնվազն թեկնածու դառնալուց հետո Տեր-Պետրոսյանը պետք է հասկանար, որ իր ընտրարշավի աշխատողներն ու իրեն սատարողները պետք է ճնշումների ենթարկվեին ու ծեծվեին, որ իրեն ռադիոյով կամ հեռուստատեսությամբ եթերաժամ չէր տրվելու, և որ իր ընտրարշավը պետք է բախվեր հսկայական ընթացակարգային պրոբլեմների հետ, որ ստեղծել էին գործող նախագահի կողմնակիցներն ու օլիգարխների համար աշխատող մարդասպանները, որոնք բոլորն էլ ծառայություն էին մատուցում ժողովրդավարությանը` Տեր-Պետրոսյանին հասկացնել տալով, թե ինչպես է կառուցված երկիրը։
4. Տեր-Պետրոսյանը զանգվածային ցույցեր չպետք է կազմակերպեր և բոլորովին չպետք է հավատար իր սեփական աչքերին, որոնք տեսնում էին, որ հարյուր հազարավոր քաղաքացիներ են իրեն սատարում։
5. Նա չպետք է այնպիսի ելույթներ ունենար, որոնք ցնցեին քաղաքացիներին։ Նա չպետք է հարցեր արծարծեր, որոնք կարևոր էին երկրի համար, ինչպես օրինակ տնտեսությունն ու սոցիալական անհավասարությունը, 1999-ի խորհրդարանի սպանությունները, ղարաբաղյան հակամարտությունը և Հայաստանի տեղը տարածաշրջանում ու աշխարհում։ Նրա կողմից մահացու սխալ էր, որ ինքը բանասեր էր և վարպետ ճարտասան, քանի որ նրա բառերը հիպնոսացնում էին ժողովրդին, որը նրան սատարելու անտրամաբանական որոշում կայացրեց։ Սա դավաճանություն էր Հայաստանի ժողովրդավարության սկզբունքներին. տրամաբանական մտածողության համաձայն, գործող նախագահը քաղաքացիների փոխարեն գիտեր այն ամենը, ինչ պետք էր գիտենալ, և ասել էր այն ամենը, ինչ պետք էր ասել, որպեսզի սատարեին իր որոշած թեկնածուին։
6. Տեր-Պետրոսյանը պետք է ընդունած լիներ ընտրությունների վերաբերյալ Կենտրոնական Ընտրական Հանձնաժողովի եզրակացությունները, որի անդամները գտնում էին, որ Տեր-Պետրոսյանն իր բաժին հաճույքն արդեն ստացել էր, հիմա ժամանակն էր, որ իրենք էլ իրենցն ստանային։ Նա իրավունք չուներ վիճարկելու արդյունքները, թեև օրենքը դա թույլատրում էր։ Եթե օրենքը թույլատրում է, դա դեռ չի նշանակում, թե կարելի է այդ օրենքը կիրառել իշխանությունների դեմ։ Կարճ ասած` եթե Տեր-Պետրոսյանը գործող նախագահի համբերության սահմանները չգիտեր, ապա գոնե պետք է իմանար, որ Քոչարյանը հրամայելու էր սպանել քաղաքացիներին` իրենց իսկ անվտանգության սիրույն և հանուն իրենց իսկ իրավունքների պաշտպանության։ Սակայն Տեր-Պետրոսյանի կողմից գործող նախագահի վախերը, կասկածները, թերարժեքության բարդույթը, իշխանության հանդեպ սերը և, ամենից ավելի, անսասան տղամարդկությունը հարգելու չկամությունը Քոչարյանի համար այլ ելք չթողեցին` քաղաքացիներին սպանելուց բացի։
7. Տեր-Պետրոսյանը միջազգային դիտորդներին կանոնավոր կերպով չպետք է փաստաթղթեր տրամադրեր մեծ թե փոքր օրինախախտումների ու ընտրակեղծիքների վերաբերյալ, որոնց վրա հիմնված էին ընտրություններն ու դրա արդյունքները։ Ամեն բան շատ լավ էր ընթանում դիտորդների առաջին զեկույցով։ Իր այդ վարքով Տեր-Պետրոսյանը սաստիկ հարված հասցրեց այն հսկա հեղինակությանը, որ Հայաստանն ուներ միջազգային ասպարեզում վերջին տաս տարում` իբրև ժողովրդավարության փարոս։ Նա պետք է օգնած լիներ իրականությունը քողարկելուն։
Ողջ վերոշարադրվածը կարելի է ամփոփել մեկ մեծ մեղքով. Տեր-Պետրոսյանն իր քաղաքացիությունը, երկրի օրենքներն ու Հայաստանի ժողովրդին լուրջ էր ընդունել։
Այդ ամենը նրա մեղքն է, և այդ մասին կասկած չկա։
Մի քիչ որ մտածում ես, Հայաստանի ժողովուրդը նույնպես մեղք ունի։ Սակայն դա հեշտ լուծվելիք խնդիր է։ Քանի որ իշխանությունները չեն ցանկանում կառավարությունը փոխված տեսնել, պետք է Հայաստանի ժողովրդին փոխանակեն մեկ այլ ժողովրդով։ Ի՞նչ կասեիք նրան սփյուռքի հայության հետ փոխանակելու մասին, որն անվերապահորեն ընդունել է ընտրությունների արդյունքները և այն միջոցները, որոնցով դրանք ի կատար են ածվել, և ինձ հետ էլ համաձայն է, որ ի վերջո ամեն բան կատարվեց Տեր-Պետրոսյանի մեղքով։
THE SEVEN MISTAKES OF LEVON TER-PETROSSIAN
During the last presidential election cycle
And
Why it is all his fault
By Grigor Kharkiev
Moscow
In recent weeks I have been pondering the question as to why the enchanted land of Armenia does not look so enchanted nowadays.
I have concluded that it is all Levon Ter-Petrossian’s fault. Here are my reasons; I’m sure the reader can add his or her own. The man is big enough; he can take it.
1. Levon Ter-Petrossian should not have tested the feasibility of his candidacy; he should have accepted the results of public opinion polls conducted by the government indicating that he had no support among the voters.
2. He should not have declared his candidacy since he knew the sitting president would not like it. Once Kocharian expressed his opinion that Ter-Petrossian should not run, he should have withdrawn his candidacy. (It is too bad Armenia does not have a system as Iran does where all candidates are vetted and only those approved by the state could run for office. But give it time.)
3. Once a candidate, Ter-Petrossian should have understood that his campaign workers and supporters would be harassed and beaten, he would be given no air time on radio or television, and his campaign would encounter huge logistical problems created by the supporters of the sitting president and thugs working for the oligarchs, all of whom were doing a favor to democracy by making Ter-Petrossian understand how a country is built.
4. Ter-Petrossian should not have organized mass rallies and certainly should not have believed his own eyes that saw hundreds of thousands of citizens support his candidacy.
5. He should not have delivered speeches that galvanized the citizenry; he should not have raised the questions that are important to the country, such as the economy and social disparities, the October 1999 massacre in parliament, the Karabakh conflict and Armenia’s place in the region and the world. It certainly was a grave error on his part to have been a philologist and master orator, since his words hypnotized the citizenry that made the irrational decision to support him. This was a subversion of the principles of democracy in Armenia; rational thinking suggested that the sitting president knew everything that needed to be known and said everything that needed to be said for the citizenry to support his chosen candidate.
6. Ter-Petrossian should have accepted the conclusions of the Central Election Commission regarding the elections whose members thought Ter-Petrossian had his fun, now it was time they had theirs. He had no right to contest the results, although the law permits it. Just because the law permits it, it does not mean that the law should be used against the authorities. In brief, he did not know the limits to the patience of the sitting president. Ter-Petrossian should have known that Kocharian would order citizens killed for their own security and to defend their rights. By his unwillingness to respect the fears, suspicions, inferiority complex, love of power and, above all, the unwavering manhood of the sitting president, Ter-Petrossian left no choice to Kocharian but to kill citizens.
7. Ter-Petrossian should not have provided to the international observers documentation on a regular basis regarding the irregularities and fraud—major and minor—on which the elections and election results were based. All was going well with the monitors’ first report. By doing so Ter-Petrossian struck a serious blow to the huge prestige Armenia enjoyed in the international community during the past ten years as a beacon of democracy. He should have helped cover up.
All the above can be summarized in one major fault: Ter-Petrossian took his citizenship, the laws of the country, and the people of Armenia seriously.
It is all his fault. No doubt about it.
On second thought, may be the people of Armenia too are at fault. But that is an easy problem to solve. Since the authorities are not willing to see a change of government, they should exchange the people of Armenia with that of another country. How about exchanging them for the Diasporan Armenians who accepted the results of the elections and the way these were obtained without reservations and agree with me that, at the end, it was all Ter-Petrossian’s fault.
ԼԵՎՈՆ ՏԵՐ-ՊԵՏՐՈՍՅԱՆԻ ՅՈԹ ՍԽԱԼՆԵՐԸ
Վերջին նախագահական ընտրությունների ընթացքում,
և
թե ինչու ամեն բան իր մեղքով էր
Գրիգոր Խարկիև
Մոսկվա
Վերջին շաբաթներին անդադար մտմտում էի այն հարցը, թե ինչու Հայաստան կախարդական երկիրն այլևս այնքան էլ կախարդական չի թվում։
Եզրակացրեցի, որ դա ամբողջովին Լևոն Տեր-Պետրոսյանի մեղքով է։Ստորև բերում եմ իմ պատճառները. վստահ եմ՝ ամեն ընթերցող կարող է իր սեփական պատճառներն ավելացնել։ Նա բավական մեծ մարդ է և դրան կարող է դիմանալ։
1. Լևոն Տեր-Պետրոսյանն իր թեկնածությունը դնելու փորձությանը չպետք է գնար. պետք է ընդուներ կառավարության անցկացրած հանրային կարծիքի հարցումների արդյունքները, ըստ որոնց ընտրողների շարքերում նա որևէ օժանդակություն չուներ։
2. Նա իր թեկնածությունը չպետք է հռչակեր, քանի որ գիտեր, որ գործող նախագահին դա դուր չէր գալու։ Հենց Քոչարյանը հայտնեց իր այն կարծիքը, որ Տեր-Պետրոսյանը չպետք է մասնակցեր ընտրություններին, վերջինս պետք է հաներ իր թեկնածությունը (ինչքան վատ է, որ Հայաստանը չունի այն համակարգը, որ առկա է Իրանում. բոլոր թեկնածուները քննվում են, և միայն իշխանությունների կողմից հաստատվածներն են պաշտոններ ստանում։ Բայց սա ընդամենը ժամանակի հարց է)։
3. Առնվազն թեկնածու դառնալուց հետո Տեր-Պետրոսյանը պետք է հասկանար, որ իր ընտրարշավի աշխատողներն ու իրեն սատարողները պետք է ճնշումների ենթարկվեին ու ծեծվեին, որ իրեն ռադիոյով կամ հեռուստատեսությամբ եթերաժամ չէր տրվելու, և որ իր ընտրարշավը պետք է բախվեր հսկայական ընթացակարգային պրոբլեմների հետ, որ ստեղծել էին գործող նախագահի կողմնակիցներն ու օլիգարխների համար աշխատող մարդասպանները, որոնք բոլորն էլ ծառայություն էին մատուցում ժողովրդավարությանը` Տեր-Պետրոսյանին հասկացնել տալով, թե ինչպես է կառուցված երկիրը։
4. Տեր-Պետրոսյանը զանգվածային ցույցեր չպետք է կազմակերպեր և բոլորովին չպետք է հավատար իր սեփական աչքերին, որոնք տեսնում էին, որ հարյուր հազարավոր քաղաքացիներ են իրեն սատարում։
5. Նա չպետք է այնպիսի ելույթներ ունենար, որոնք ցնցեին քաղաքացիներին։ Նա չպետք է հարցեր արծարծեր, որոնք կարևոր էին երկրի համար, ինչպես օրինակ տնտեսությունն ու սոցիալական անհավասարությունը, 1999-ի խորհրդարանի սպանությունները, ղարաբաղյան հակամարտությունը և Հայաստանի տեղը տարածաշրջանում ու աշխարհում։ Նրա կողմից մահացու սխալ էր, որ ինքը բանասեր էր և վարպետ ճարտասան, քանի որ նրա բառերը հիպնոսացնում էին ժողովրդին, որը նրան սատարելու անտրամաբանական որոշում կայացրեց։ Սա դավաճանություն էր Հայաստանի ժողովրդավարության սկզբունքներին. տրամաբանական մտածողության համաձայն, գործող նախագահը քաղաքացիների փոխարեն գիտեր այն ամենը, ինչ պետք էր գիտենալ, և ասել էր այն ամենը, ինչ պետք էր ասել, որպեսզի սատարեին իր որոշած թեկնածուին։
6. Տեր-Պետրոսյանը պետք է ընդունած լիներ ընտրությունների վերաբերյալ Կենտրոնական Ընտրական Հանձնաժողովի եզրակացությունները, որի անդամները գտնում էին, որ Տեր-Պետրոսյանն իր բաժին հաճույքն արդեն ստացել էր, հիմա ժամանակն էր, որ իրենք էլ իրենցն ստանային։ Նա իրավունք չուներ վիճարկելու արդյունքները, թեև օրենքը դա թույլատրում էր։ Եթե օրենքը թույլատրում է, դա դեռ չի նշանակում, թե կարելի է այդ օրենքը կիրառել իշխանությունների դեմ։ Կարճ ասած` եթե Տեր-Պետրոսյանը գործող նախագահի համբերության սահմանները չգիտեր, ապա գոնե պետք է իմանար, որ Քոչարյանը հրամայելու էր սպանել քաղաքացիներին` իրենց իսկ անվտանգության սիրույն և հանուն իրենց իսկ իրավունքների պաշտպանության։ Սակայն Տեր-Պետրոսյանի կողմից գործող նախագահի վախերը, կասկածները, թերարժեքության բարդույթը, իշխանության հանդեպ սերը և, ամենից ավելի, անսասան տղամարդկությունը հարգելու չկամությունը Քոչարյանի համար այլ ելք չթողեցին` քաղաքացիներին սպանելուց բացի։
7. Տեր-Պետրոսյանը միջազգային դիտորդներին կանոնավոր կերպով չպետք է փաստաթղթեր տրամադրեր մեծ թե փոքր օրինախախտումների ու ընտրակեղծիքների վերաբերյալ, որոնց վրա հիմնված էին ընտրություններն ու դրա արդյունքները։ Ամեն բան շատ լավ էր ընթանում դիտորդների առաջին զեկույցով։ Իր այդ վարքով Տեր-Պետրոսյանը սաստիկ հարված հասցրեց այն հսկա հեղինակությանը, որ Հայաստանն ուներ միջազգային ասպարեզում վերջին տաս տարում` իբրև ժողովրդավարության փարոս։ Նա պետք է օգնած լիներ իրականությունը քողարկելուն։
Ողջ վերոշարադրվածը կարելի է ամփոփել մեկ մեծ մեղքով. Տեր-Պետրոսյանն իր քաղաքացիությունը, երկրի օրենքներն ու Հայաստանի ժողովրդին լուրջ էր ընդունել։
Այդ ամենը նրա մեղքն է, և այդ մասին կասկած չկա։
Մի քիչ որ մտածում ես, Հայաստանի ժողովուրդը նույնպես մեղք ունի։ Սակայն դա հեշտ լուծվելիք խնդիր է։ Քանի որ իշխանությունները չեն ցանկանում կառավարությունը փոխված տեսնել, պետք է Հայաստանի ժողովրդին փոխանակեն մեկ այլ ժողովրդով։ Ի՞նչ կասեիք նրան սփյուռքի հայության հետ փոխանակելու մասին, որն անվերապահորեն ընդունել է ընտրությունների արդյունքները և այն միջոցները, որոնցով դրանք ի կատար են ածվել, և ինձ հետ էլ համաձայն է, որ ի վերջո ամեն բան կատարվեց Տեր-Պետրոսյանի մեղքով։
THE SEVEN MISTAKES OF LEVON TER-PETROSSIAN
During the last presidential election cycle
And
Why it is all his fault
By Grigor Kharkiev
Moscow
In recent weeks I have been pondering the question as to why the enchanted land of Armenia does not look so enchanted nowadays.
I have concluded that it is all Levon Ter-Petrossian’s fault. Here are my reasons; I’m sure the reader can add his or her own. The man is big enough; he can take it.
1. Levon Ter-Petrossian should not have tested the feasibility of his candidacy; he should have accepted the results of public opinion polls conducted by the government indicating that he had no support among the voters.
2. He should not have declared his candidacy since he knew the sitting president would not like it. Once Kocharian expressed his opinion that Ter-Petrossian should not run, he should have withdrawn his candidacy. (It is too bad Armenia does not have a system as Iran does where all candidates are vetted and only those approved by the state could run for office. But give it time.)
3. Once a candidate, Ter-Petrossian should have understood that his campaign workers and supporters would be harassed and beaten, he would be given no air time on radio or television, and his campaign would encounter huge logistical problems created by the supporters of the sitting president and thugs working for the oligarchs, all of whom were doing a favor to democracy by making Ter-Petrossian understand how a country is built.
4. Ter-Petrossian should not have organized mass rallies and certainly should not have believed his own eyes that saw hundreds of thousands of citizens support his candidacy.
5. He should not have delivered speeches that galvanized the citizenry; he should not have raised the questions that are important to the country, such as the economy and social disparities, the October 1999 massacre in parliament, the Karabakh conflict and Armenia’s place in the region and the world. It certainly was a grave error on his part to have been a philologist and master orator, since his words hypnotized the citizenry that made the irrational decision to support him. This was a subversion of the principles of democracy in Armenia; rational thinking suggested that the sitting president knew everything that needed to be known and said everything that needed to be said for the citizenry to support his chosen candidate.
6. Ter-Petrossian should have accepted the conclusions of the Central Election Commission regarding the elections whose members thought Ter-Petrossian had his fun, now it was time they had theirs. He had no right to contest the results, although the law permits it. Just because the law permits it, it does not mean that the law should be used against the authorities. In brief, he did not know the limits to the patience of the sitting president. Ter-Petrossian should have known that Kocharian would order citizens killed for their own security and to defend their rights. By his unwillingness to respect the fears, suspicions, inferiority complex, love of power and, above all, the unwavering manhood of the sitting president, Ter-Petrossian left no choice to Kocharian but to kill citizens.
7. Ter-Petrossian should not have provided to the international observers documentation on a regular basis regarding the irregularities and fraud—major and minor—on which the elections and election results were based. All was going well with the monitors’ first report. By doing so Ter-Petrossian struck a serious blow to the huge prestige Armenia enjoyed in the international community during the past ten years as a beacon of democracy. He should have helped cover up.
All the above can be summarized in one major fault: Ter-Petrossian took his citizenship, the laws of the country, and the people of Armenia seriously.
It is all his fault. No doubt about it.
On second thought, may be the people of Armenia too are at fault. But that is an easy problem to solve. Since the authorities are not willing to see a change of government, they should exchange the people of Armenia with that of another country. How about exchanging them for the Diasporan Armenians who accepted the results of the elections and the way these were obtained without reservations and agree with me that, at the end, it was all Ter-Petrossian’s fault.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Someone please tell me the REAL reason Grigori was fired
[summarized from a RFE/RL broadcast May 27, 2008] [my comment below]
According to Serjh Sargsyan’s press secretary, Grigori Sarkissyan, the head of the National Security Service and long-time loyalist of Robert Kocharyan, has been relieved of his responsibilities.
According to observers, on the morning of March 1, Sarkissyan had been the chief executor of the carnage on Liberty Square on March 1, and had forced former President Levon Ter Petrosyan into a car, drove him home, and placed him under house arrest.
In his interview with Radio Liberty on May 27, Sarkissyan explained that he had resigned because of other job prospects, but declined to mention what those were.
To the question of what his relationship with Serjh Sargysan was, he replied:
“Very good, very good.”
“Then why did you resign?”
“It’s not that I resigned; I didn’t. I guess it has to do with the prospect of another position.”
“In Armenia?”
“Yes, of course in Armenia.”
When he was asked if he might be appointed as the head of Robert Kocharyan’s security service, he said:
“I’m always there, in President Robert Kocharyan’s security service… I am a soldier of President Robert Kocharyan and Serjh Sargsyan and will stand by their side forever.”
When asked if his resignation had anything to do with one of the theories now circulating—his use of excessive force on March 1—he replied tersely:
“No. It was the president’s wish that [I resign].”
[End SUMMARY/TRANSLATION]
Why do I care about this, why does it pique my curiosity? Because he contradicts himself, on so many levels. Because there is obviously so much going on behind the scenes here…
[see also
Lragir (English):
RFE/RL article by Ruzanna Khachatrian (same interviewer) in English
RFE/RL Հայերեն
a1plus Հայերեն
a1plus English
According to Serjh Sargsyan’s press secretary, Grigori Sarkissyan, the head of the National Security Service and long-time loyalist of Robert Kocharyan, has been relieved of his responsibilities.
According to observers, on the morning of March 1, Sarkissyan had been the chief executor of the carnage on Liberty Square on March 1, and had forced former President Levon Ter Petrosyan into a car, drove him home, and placed him under house arrest.
In his interview with Radio Liberty on May 27, Sarkissyan explained that he had resigned because of other job prospects, but declined to mention what those were.
To the question of what his relationship with Serjh Sargysan was, he replied:
“Very good, very good.”
“Then why did you resign?”
“It’s not that I resigned; I didn’t. I guess it has to do with the prospect of another position.”
“In Armenia?”
“Yes, of course in Armenia.”
When he was asked if he might be appointed as the head of Robert Kocharyan’s security service, he said:
“I’m always there, in President Robert Kocharyan’s security service… I am a soldier of President Robert Kocharyan and Serjh Sargsyan and will stand by their side forever.”
When asked if his resignation had anything to do with one of the theories now circulating—his use of excessive force on March 1—he replied tersely:
“No. It was the president’s wish that [I resign].”
[End SUMMARY/TRANSLATION]
Why do I care about this, why does it pique my curiosity? Because he contradicts himself, on so many levels. Because there is obviously so much going on behind the scenes here…
[see also
Lragir (English):
RFE/RL article by Ruzanna Khachatrian (same interviewer) in English
RFE/RL Հայերեն
a1plus Հայերեն
a1plus English
Monday, May 26, 2008
Today ...
[via a1plus on Youtube]
It sure says alot, doesn't it, when you've got three if not four generations, all demanding the same, doesn't it?
When was the last time you remember agreeing with your child, and your mother, and your grandmother, over the same issue? And when you do agree with all of those people, its probably one of those rarely spoken issues - one of those that it so deeply understood, it rarely surfaces. Like Identity, History, Love - something based in principle - the Right to Freedom.
Nobody needs to tell me that I am Armenian, because I am. I do not need to fight for it until you try to tell me otherwise, until you try to make me live otherwise.
Nobody needs to tell me that I am Free, because I am. Until you try to make me live otherwise, then you will see me fight, because I cannot live any other way.
Good news and bad news
The good news is that Karapetyan has been released, though he is not allowed to leave the country.
From a1plus: Aram Karapetian Released
ԱՐԱՄ ԿԱՐԱՊԵՏՅԱՆՆ ԱԶԱՏ Է ԱՐՁԱԿՎԵԼ
The bad news is that the government seems dead-set on getting Sefilyan out of Armenia once his prison term is up. To protest this, an action has been planned for tomorrow.
Բողոքի ակցիա` ի պաշտպանություն Ժիրայր Սեֆիլյանի
Addendum: I just saw this- I'd add it to the "bad news":
A YOUTH BEATEN IN NORTHERN AVENUE [from a1plus.am]
ՀՅՈՒՍԻՍԱՅԻՆ ՊՈՂՈՏԱՅՈՒՄ ԾԵԾԵԼ ԵՆ ԵՐԻՏԱՍԱՐԴԻ
[08:49 pm] 26 May, 2008
Today policemen beat 18-year-old Ara Gevorgian because the latter “ventured” to step Liberty Square with the participants of “political strolls” in Northern Avenue.
As a result of sudden weather changes the strollers decided to walk at Liberty Square. As soon as policemen caught sight of the newcomers they chained the area barring their access to the Square. After seizing the front walker Ara Gevorgian they forced him into a “Gazel” and began beating him severely. Witnesses say the boy was then “thrown out” in Northern Avenue.
The exhausted boy was taken home. Ara says he hasn’t committed any misdeed.
Note, Ara Gevorgian is the son of HHSh board member Gevorg Gevorgian.
From a1plus: Aram Karapetian Released
ԱՐԱՄ ԿԱՐԱՊԵՏՅԱՆՆ ԱԶԱՏ Է ԱՐՁԱԿՎԵԼ
The bad news is that the government seems dead-set on getting Sefilyan out of Armenia once his prison term is up. To protest this, an action has been planned for tomorrow.
Բողոքի ակցիա` ի պաշտպանություն Ժիրայր Սեֆիլյանի
Addendum: I just saw this- I'd add it to the "bad news":
A YOUTH BEATEN IN NORTHERN AVENUE [from a1plus.am]
ՀՅՈՒՍԻՍԱՅԻՆ ՊՈՂՈՏԱՅՈՒՄ ԾԵԾԵԼ ԵՆ ԵՐԻՏԱՍԱՐԴԻ
[08:49 pm] 26 May, 2008
Today policemen beat 18-year-old Ara Gevorgian because the latter “ventured” to step Liberty Square with the participants of “political strolls” in Northern Avenue.
As a result of sudden weather changes the strollers decided to walk at Liberty Square. As soon as policemen caught sight of the newcomers they chained the area barring their access to the Square. After seizing the front walker Ara Gevorgian they forced him into a “Gazel” and began beating him severely. Witnesses say the boy was then “thrown out” in Northern Avenue.
The exhausted boy was taken home. Ara says he hasn’t committed any misdeed.
Note, Ara Gevorgian is the son of HHSh board member Gevorg Gevorgian.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
ՆԻԿՈԼ ՓԱՇԻՆՅԱՆ. ԵՐԿՐԻ ՀԱԿԱՌԱԿ ԿՈՂՄԸ (մաս 11-րդ)/THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD (PART ELEVEN) - Pashinyan
[from payqar.org]
12. ֆլամենկո
Տեղատարափ անձրեւը ծեփվում էր գարնանային Լոզանի պատերին: Ես հիշեցի այն օրը, երբ Դու թաքուն լացում էիր մեր խղճուկ խրճիթի պատի տակ` անձրեւից պատսպարված: Ես համարյա չեմ տեսել Քո արցունքները, բայց միշտ զգացել եմ, թե ինչպես են նրանք ահարկու դղրդյունով զարկվում հատակին: Հիմա էլ Դու լացում ես, բայց ոչ ոք չի տեսնի Քո արցունքները, նրանք կզգամ միայն ես, ի հեճուկս մեզ բաժանող հազարավոր մղոնների: շարունակություն
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD (PART ELEVEN)
12. Flamenco
Torrential rains were beating against the walls of Lausanne in the spring. I remembered the day when you were secretly crying outside our modest shed, sheltered from the rain. I’ve hardly seen your tears, but I’ve always felt how they hit the ground with a fearsome roar. You are crying now, too, but nobody sees your tears; I, alone, feel them, despite the thousands of miles that separate us.
There, you’re sitting on that wicker chair on our balcony with its meshed fence. It’s dark, the roofs of Yerevan rumble from the rain. You sob in secret, you fade away into the armchair. I’m not afraid to cry with you, together with the torrential rains of Lausanne now beating against the walls. But no one sees our tears; our tears are not cries for help but the realization of happiness. And the rain, does it have a Fatherland? Aren’t those your tears, mixed with these clouds, falling on me? Come away from the balcony, stand under the rain and let your tears sprinkle me.
***************************
My steps led me to yesterday’s bar. I’m sopping wet and wouldn’t mind a drink. Like yesterday, there won’t be any Armenian cognac, but the barman knows that he needs to serve the Carrabba with olives. I drink a glass; toss an olive in my mouth. Now I need to dry myself. The barman takes my drenched coat, and the waiter brings me a hairdryer. He offers to help, but I thank him and decline his offer. I dry my hair in the restroom and return to the counter.
“There’ll be a concert in two hours. You should stay,” says the barman.
“What kind of concert?” I ask without much curiosity.
“Flamenco; the group is from Barcelona.”
“In that case, you’ll have to give me dinner,” I say, “a seafood assortment.”
“That’s fine, sir, we’ll order it from a nearby restaurant.”
We agreed. There were very few people at the bar, which wasn’t unusual for this time of day.
As the door buzzer announced the arrival of a new visitor, the barman’s expression changed into one of astonishment. I turned toward the entrance. Standing there was a bearded young man, soaked to the skin with water gushing from him. The barman’s astonishment was understandable: why, was today the day for all the drenched people to come in?
The visitor was still standing by the entrance as if he wanted to see if he had come to the right place.
With hesitant steps, the newcomer approached the bar and ordered a Carrabba. It wasn’t long before we realized that standing before us was a sodden man—in the real and figurative sense of the word. You couldn’t help but notice it. His eyes were ice-cold, his eyelids heavy, his legs and arms seemingly hanging, lifeless, from his body. Water continued to gush from him. The waiter approached him and offered to take his raincoat. The young man complied, with indifference, but didn’t take up the offer to dry his hair. Then he sat on one of the round backed bar stools arranged against the bar.
“Is everything all right?” asked the barman with western formalism, doubting his own question.
“Everything is meaningless,” said the newcomer, drinking his second class of Carrabba. There was a certain menace in the way he drank, some desolation. His voice was full of hatred.
“A little while ago I left two corpses at the hospital. I am now without a son, even though I didn’t quite get to be a father; I am now a widower, although I didn’t quite get to marry,” his expression was beginning to transform.
It turned out that he was an American by the name of Fred. He had met his girlfriend, Catherine (Fred called her Kate) in Rome, Italy. She was Scottish and had come to Italy to work for a philanthropic foundation. At first Fred had treated her as just another girl to pass the time with. But very soon a love story had dawned between them and Catherine had dominated Fred’s heart and soul. They had understood that they had been created for each other. Then Catherine had become pregnant, to the great delight of them both. In the 8th month of her pregnancy, however, Fred had had run into some problems with the Italian law enforcement officers, and the two of them had come to the conclusion that they needed to leave Italy. But since in Catherine’s condition traveling to the United States or Scotland was risky, they had chosen southern Switzerland.
The day Fred and I met, or more accurately, one hour before our meeting, Catherine had died at the hospital while giving birth and the child had suffocated from the umbilical cord wound around the neck.
“I killed her. My passion got her pregnant, my passion killed her,” Fred was saying through tears.
“If she hadn’t wanted a child by you, she wouldn’t have had one,” I was trying to calm him down.
“If I hadn’t agreed to it, she wouldn’t have kept the baby.”
“You can’t be sure. Women, especially women in love, are not so easy to predict. Also, how could you have killed the fruit of your love? That would have meant that you didn’t love her. If that was the case, Catherine’s death would have been regrettable, but that’s all. Yet now you speak about the meaning of life.”
“I would have killed the baby and saved Kate. I killed Kate and God killed our first born.”
“Are you blaming God?” I asked, astonished.
“Just a few hours ago I was praying to Him on my knees, I was begging Him to save Kate, begging Him to give me the right to live. Now that everything is over, I don’t want to speak with Him. I don’t even know if He exists or not.
“You know, Fred, it seems to me that sometimes we torment Him, ridicule Him. It seems to me that we crucify Him every day, put a crown of thorns on His head and are then amused by His blood-soaked body…”
Fred looked at me sharply, curiosity in his eyes. I continued:
“We remember Him when we’re in difficulty, we kneel before Him. And if we’re in a really tight spot, we even see Him in bodily form, like I see you now. But when our bargain is turned down, when the deal doesn’t go through, or, even when it does go through and everything is fine, we start to enjoy the world again and He becomes an illusion to us, unreal, a mere figment of our imagination. Then we happily forget about Him, because He gets in our way, and sometimes He doesn’t even allow us to die. In your case, He won’t allow you to die, so you deny His existence because that way you can go on with your life, jump off a bridge or go from bar to bar in a drunken stupor.”
Fred was watching me, his body hunched over. But there was life in his eyes now. My accusations had animated him, whereas sympathy had been killing him.
“You know what, my brother, don’t burn your bridges, give yourself a chance to understand the meaning of death,” I continued.
“What meaning! Are you telling me that there is meaning in the death of the woman I love and the death of my first born? What are you, stupid?” asked Fred threateningly.
The barman visibly tensed up; we had already has a few drinks. But I was alert, and so was Fred. I kept looking down at my glass quietly and didn’t react in any way to Fred’s threatening tone.
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I will tell you my story. But before I do that, I want to tell you that I’m not sure, and I doubt, very much doubt, that every single death has a special significance, a meaning as unique and singular as a fingerprint.
Fred kept looking at me, but there was no threat in his expression any more. He was ready to listen.
“Ever since I was really young, I dreamt about being a geography teacher. You can’t imagine how I dreamt of it, Fred. I lived with that thought, I counted the days when I would graduate and actualize my dream. The decision had been made and no power could force me to change my mind. Not even my mother, who thought that I should be a reporter. I used to tease her. I would take her by the hand, drag her to the television set, and pointing to one of the “stars” of the Soviet airwaves, I would say, “Mother, you want me to turn into an idiot like this one?”
My mother was unflinching. The older I got, the more seriously she approached the topic of my specialty. I, in turn, would discuss the topic only to toy with her. Do you understand that the decision was made, and the decision was irreversible? I would become a geography teacher…
I took a break here, to drink from the next glass of Carrabba.
“Then, Fred, the unexpected happened, a tragedy took place - that which makes everything meaningless happened. My mother died from brain cancer. The last time I saw her was two days before her death. She said only two words to me, words I can’t translate for you. It’s not something you can translate; only people in my country say those words to each other. My mother and I had not broached the topic of my specialization during the last six months before her death, nor, naturally, during our last conversation. Needless to say, her death was an enormous blow to me and I didn’t recover for a very long time, causing serious concern among my family members. And now, Fred, guess what my specialty is.
Fred looked at me with warmth.
“Yes, my brother, I’m a reporter. The strange thing is that I love that stupid specialty and can’t imagine myself as anything else. Moreover, if I hadn’t become a reporter, I wouldn’t have met the one I love. I couldn’t even have dreamt that I would be fortunate enough to love like that. If I hadn’t become a reporter, my life would have turned out totally differently. You know, I’ve thought about the other scenario many, many times, sketched it out, analyzed it and have come to the realization that it would have been the wrong path, a path without promise. And now, are you ready to hear what I am about to tell you?
“I guess I am,” said Fred, alarmed.
“Fred, I’m not about to tell you an ordinary thing. I am about to tell you something horrible. If, 20 years ago, I had thought that I would have said it to an American stranger, I would probably have been hung.”
“All right, what are going to tell me; you’re saying strange things.”
“Sometimes, Fred it seems to me that I’m glad that my mother died.”
Fred was looking at me with a horrified expression, but he was no longer the broken, desperate man. There was not even the trace of hopelessness in his eyes. It seemed that something had begun to stir in him, something had begun to ferment.
“My thought horrifies me, too, but life and death are very intimately tied to each other. My mother gave birth to me not on the day I was born, but on the day she died. She died so I could live, and I live in the name of her memory…
Fred had become visibly emotional; he wanted to understand the meaning of what had happened to him. That may take a long time. It’s possible, in fact, that there is no meaning to be found, maybe, in fact, everything is devoid of meaning. I offered to drink a toast to Catherine, to my mother, to all the departed, and to his child, so his soul would rest in peace.
“What were you going to name your firstborn?” I asked.
“We thought it would be a girl and we would call her Catherine. But it was a boy; we weren’t ready for that alternative…”
“To the dearly departed, to your Cathy and to your son,” I said and stood up. Fred, too, stood up. Following the practice in Armenia when toasting the dead, I covered my glass with my palm to mute the sound of glasses clinking, and touched the hand with which he was holding his glass.
“Fred, allow me to be present at Catherine’s funeral.”
“You’ll have to go to Scotland for that. I don’t even know when the funeral will take place. There is no legal document that binds me to Catherine, so I guess a member of her family will have to come to receive her body. They don’t even know what has happened.”
“It doesn’t matter, Fred, I’ll come to Scotland. I’ll call you later to find out the date of the funeral.”
“Thank you; there will at least be somebody from my side present at the funeral.”
“Why, aren’t you going to tell your family?”
“How can I, when they don’t know the first thing about us?”
Behind us, the sound of guitar strings could be heard.
“Forget about dinner. If need be, I’ll have some sandwiches,” I told the barman.
***********
We had been unaware that the bar-café had filled with people. On the stage behind us, three or four guitar players were getting ready. Behind them was a young man holding some kind of percussion instrument between his legs. At the table just next to the stage sat a Spanish lady in a red dress, wearing a red carnation hairpin in her hair, and red shoes. With her at the table was a long-faced young man with sad eyes and a grotesque Armenian nose. His hair was long but bunched at the nape of his neck and his shoulders slouched; he would be singing Flamenco this evening. He was drinking water, waiting for the guitar players to settle down and tune their instruments. I noticed that there were no microphones or amplifiers on the stage. The singer’s face was like a theatrical mask: that face had been created to express any emotion, any combination of emotions.
He was an artist. They were all artists. I was convinced that they only had enough money in their pockets to survive a single day. They don’t have bank accounts, they don’t have any savings. They live for Flamenco, they sing to earn their daily bread. They don’t strive for more. They don’t want to strive for more, lest that taint their feelings, blunt their suffering. At the end of the concert I wanted to give them some extra money apart from the cost of the ticket, but I was concerned that it would hurt their feelings. I didn’t dare do that…
When the artist began to sing Flamenco, Fred and I looked at each other. That music, unfamiliar to us, was in fact summarizing our conversation. It seemed to stop at each sentence we uttered, tried to analyze, understand our thoughts, give it new meaning, to pluck out the love and suffering hidden beneath those thoughts, the despair and the hope, the dignity and the insult, the spiritual and the sexual, adultery and atonement.
What is Flamenco, you ask? How would you lament if you were rejected by your only love, the one you love with a boundless love, with your whole body, your whole soul, in full consciousness and with a powerful throbbing of the heart? How would you rejoice if that love is reciprocated with passionate and breathless love? How would you mourn the loss, the death of the most precious person in your life? How would you rejoice if that person was resurrected from the dead? How would you feel if your husband, your wife, brother, parent, child or friend betrayed you, or, when you find out that there was no betrayal? What kind of pain would you endure if your heart is stabbed with a knife and how relieved would you be when you realize that it was only a dream? How would you feel if you were in prison, tortured and abused, but then you find yourself in total freedom, surrounded by respect and courtesy? How would you scream in despair, or in victory? All that you would experience in your heart in the course of all these moments—is Flamenco.
******************************
You want to know how much I love you. Can you find a Flamenco record in one of the kiosks in Yerevan? If you find a genuine Flamenco record, buy it, listen to it in your solitude, and you will understand how much I love you.
12. ֆլամենկո
Տեղատարափ անձրեւը ծեփվում էր գարնանային Լոզանի պատերին: Ես հիշեցի այն օրը, երբ Դու թաքուն լացում էիր մեր խղճուկ խրճիթի պատի տակ` անձրեւից պատսպարված: Ես համարյա չեմ տեսել Քո արցունքները, բայց միշտ զգացել եմ, թե ինչպես են նրանք ահարկու դղրդյունով զարկվում հատակին: Հիմա էլ Դու լացում ես, բայց ոչ ոք չի տեսնի Քո արցունքները, նրանք կզգամ միայն ես, ի հեճուկս մեզ բաժանող հազարավոր մղոնների: շարունակություն
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD (PART ELEVEN)
12. Flamenco
Torrential rains were beating against the walls of Lausanne in the spring. I remembered the day when you were secretly crying outside our modest shed, sheltered from the rain. I’ve hardly seen your tears, but I’ve always felt how they hit the ground with a fearsome roar. You are crying now, too, but nobody sees your tears; I, alone, feel them, despite the thousands of miles that separate us.
There, you’re sitting on that wicker chair on our balcony with its meshed fence. It’s dark, the roofs of Yerevan rumble from the rain. You sob in secret, you fade away into the armchair. I’m not afraid to cry with you, together with the torrential rains of Lausanne now beating against the walls. But no one sees our tears; our tears are not cries for help but the realization of happiness. And the rain, does it have a Fatherland? Aren’t those your tears, mixed with these clouds, falling on me? Come away from the balcony, stand under the rain and let your tears sprinkle me.
***************************
My steps led me to yesterday’s bar. I’m sopping wet and wouldn’t mind a drink. Like yesterday, there won’t be any Armenian cognac, but the barman knows that he needs to serve the Carrabba with olives. I drink a glass; toss an olive in my mouth. Now I need to dry myself. The barman takes my drenched coat, and the waiter brings me a hairdryer. He offers to help, but I thank him and decline his offer. I dry my hair in the restroom and return to the counter.
“There’ll be a concert in two hours. You should stay,” says the barman.
“What kind of concert?” I ask without much curiosity.
“Flamenco; the group is from Barcelona.”
“In that case, you’ll have to give me dinner,” I say, “a seafood assortment.”
“That’s fine, sir, we’ll order it from a nearby restaurant.”
We agreed. There were very few people at the bar, which wasn’t unusual for this time of day.
As the door buzzer announced the arrival of a new visitor, the barman’s expression changed into one of astonishment. I turned toward the entrance. Standing there was a bearded young man, soaked to the skin with water gushing from him. The barman’s astonishment was understandable: why, was today the day for all the drenched people to come in?
The visitor was still standing by the entrance as if he wanted to see if he had come to the right place.
With hesitant steps, the newcomer approached the bar and ordered a Carrabba. It wasn’t long before we realized that standing before us was a sodden man—in the real and figurative sense of the word. You couldn’t help but notice it. His eyes were ice-cold, his eyelids heavy, his legs and arms seemingly hanging, lifeless, from his body. Water continued to gush from him. The waiter approached him and offered to take his raincoat. The young man complied, with indifference, but didn’t take up the offer to dry his hair. Then he sat on one of the round backed bar stools arranged against the bar.
“Is everything all right?” asked the barman with western formalism, doubting his own question.
“Everything is meaningless,” said the newcomer, drinking his second class of Carrabba. There was a certain menace in the way he drank, some desolation. His voice was full of hatred.
“A little while ago I left two corpses at the hospital. I am now without a son, even though I didn’t quite get to be a father; I am now a widower, although I didn’t quite get to marry,” his expression was beginning to transform.
It turned out that he was an American by the name of Fred. He had met his girlfriend, Catherine (Fred called her Kate) in Rome, Italy. She was Scottish and had come to Italy to work for a philanthropic foundation. At first Fred had treated her as just another girl to pass the time with. But very soon a love story had dawned between them and Catherine had dominated Fred’s heart and soul. They had understood that they had been created for each other. Then Catherine had become pregnant, to the great delight of them both. In the 8th month of her pregnancy, however, Fred had had run into some problems with the Italian law enforcement officers, and the two of them had come to the conclusion that they needed to leave Italy. But since in Catherine’s condition traveling to the United States or Scotland was risky, they had chosen southern Switzerland.
The day Fred and I met, or more accurately, one hour before our meeting, Catherine had died at the hospital while giving birth and the child had suffocated from the umbilical cord wound around the neck.
“I killed her. My passion got her pregnant, my passion killed her,” Fred was saying through tears.
“If she hadn’t wanted a child by you, she wouldn’t have had one,” I was trying to calm him down.
“If I hadn’t agreed to it, she wouldn’t have kept the baby.”
“You can’t be sure. Women, especially women in love, are not so easy to predict. Also, how could you have killed the fruit of your love? That would have meant that you didn’t love her. If that was the case, Catherine’s death would have been regrettable, but that’s all. Yet now you speak about the meaning of life.”
“I would have killed the baby and saved Kate. I killed Kate and God killed our first born.”
“Are you blaming God?” I asked, astonished.
“Just a few hours ago I was praying to Him on my knees, I was begging Him to save Kate, begging Him to give me the right to live. Now that everything is over, I don’t want to speak with Him. I don’t even know if He exists or not.
“You know, Fred, it seems to me that sometimes we torment Him, ridicule Him. It seems to me that we crucify Him every day, put a crown of thorns on His head and are then amused by His blood-soaked body…”
Fred looked at me sharply, curiosity in his eyes. I continued:
“We remember Him when we’re in difficulty, we kneel before Him. And if we’re in a really tight spot, we even see Him in bodily form, like I see you now. But when our bargain is turned down, when the deal doesn’t go through, or, even when it does go through and everything is fine, we start to enjoy the world again and He becomes an illusion to us, unreal, a mere figment of our imagination. Then we happily forget about Him, because He gets in our way, and sometimes He doesn’t even allow us to die. In your case, He won’t allow you to die, so you deny His existence because that way you can go on with your life, jump off a bridge or go from bar to bar in a drunken stupor.”
Fred was watching me, his body hunched over. But there was life in his eyes now. My accusations had animated him, whereas sympathy had been killing him.
“You know what, my brother, don’t burn your bridges, give yourself a chance to understand the meaning of death,” I continued.
“What meaning! Are you telling me that there is meaning in the death of the woman I love and the death of my first born? What are you, stupid?” asked Fred threateningly.
The barman visibly tensed up; we had already has a few drinks. But I was alert, and so was Fred. I kept looking down at my glass quietly and didn’t react in any way to Fred’s threatening tone.
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I will tell you my story. But before I do that, I want to tell you that I’m not sure, and I doubt, very much doubt, that every single death has a special significance, a meaning as unique and singular as a fingerprint.
Fred kept looking at me, but there was no threat in his expression any more. He was ready to listen.
“Ever since I was really young, I dreamt about being a geography teacher. You can’t imagine how I dreamt of it, Fred. I lived with that thought, I counted the days when I would graduate and actualize my dream. The decision had been made and no power could force me to change my mind. Not even my mother, who thought that I should be a reporter. I used to tease her. I would take her by the hand, drag her to the television set, and pointing to one of the “stars” of the Soviet airwaves, I would say, “Mother, you want me to turn into an idiot like this one?”
My mother was unflinching. The older I got, the more seriously she approached the topic of my specialty. I, in turn, would discuss the topic only to toy with her. Do you understand that the decision was made, and the decision was irreversible? I would become a geography teacher…
I took a break here, to drink from the next glass of Carrabba.
“Then, Fred, the unexpected happened, a tragedy took place - that which makes everything meaningless happened. My mother died from brain cancer. The last time I saw her was two days before her death. She said only two words to me, words I can’t translate for you. It’s not something you can translate; only people in my country say those words to each other. My mother and I had not broached the topic of my specialization during the last six months before her death, nor, naturally, during our last conversation. Needless to say, her death was an enormous blow to me and I didn’t recover for a very long time, causing serious concern among my family members. And now, Fred, guess what my specialty is.
Fred looked at me with warmth.
“Yes, my brother, I’m a reporter. The strange thing is that I love that stupid specialty and can’t imagine myself as anything else. Moreover, if I hadn’t become a reporter, I wouldn’t have met the one I love. I couldn’t even have dreamt that I would be fortunate enough to love like that. If I hadn’t become a reporter, my life would have turned out totally differently. You know, I’ve thought about the other scenario many, many times, sketched it out, analyzed it and have come to the realization that it would have been the wrong path, a path without promise. And now, are you ready to hear what I am about to tell you?
“I guess I am,” said Fred, alarmed.
“Fred, I’m not about to tell you an ordinary thing. I am about to tell you something horrible. If, 20 years ago, I had thought that I would have said it to an American stranger, I would probably have been hung.”
“All right, what are going to tell me; you’re saying strange things.”
“Sometimes, Fred it seems to me that I’m glad that my mother died.”
Fred was looking at me with a horrified expression, but he was no longer the broken, desperate man. There was not even the trace of hopelessness in his eyes. It seemed that something had begun to stir in him, something had begun to ferment.
“My thought horrifies me, too, but life and death are very intimately tied to each other. My mother gave birth to me not on the day I was born, but on the day she died. She died so I could live, and I live in the name of her memory…
Fred had become visibly emotional; he wanted to understand the meaning of what had happened to him. That may take a long time. It’s possible, in fact, that there is no meaning to be found, maybe, in fact, everything is devoid of meaning. I offered to drink a toast to Catherine, to my mother, to all the departed, and to his child, so his soul would rest in peace.
“What were you going to name your firstborn?” I asked.
“We thought it would be a girl and we would call her Catherine. But it was a boy; we weren’t ready for that alternative…”
“To the dearly departed, to your Cathy and to your son,” I said and stood up. Fred, too, stood up. Following the practice in Armenia when toasting the dead, I covered my glass with my palm to mute the sound of glasses clinking, and touched the hand with which he was holding his glass.
“Fred, allow me to be present at Catherine’s funeral.”
“You’ll have to go to Scotland for that. I don’t even know when the funeral will take place. There is no legal document that binds me to Catherine, so I guess a member of her family will have to come to receive her body. They don’t even know what has happened.”
“It doesn’t matter, Fred, I’ll come to Scotland. I’ll call you later to find out the date of the funeral.”
“Thank you; there will at least be somebody from my side present at the funeral.”
“Why, aren’t you going to tell your family?”
“How can I, when they don’t know the first thing about us?”
Behind us, the sound of guitar strings could be heard.
“Forget about dinner. If need be, I’ll have some sandwiches,” I told the barman.
***********
We had been unaware that the bar-café had filled with people. On the stage behind us, three or four guitar players were getting ready. Behind them was a young man holding some kind of percussion instrument between his legs. At the table just next to the stage sat a Spanish lady in a red dress, wearing a red carnation hairpin in her hair, and red shoes. With her at the table was a long-faced young man with sad eyes and a grotesque Armenian nose. His hair was long but bunched at the nape of his neck and his shoulders slouched; he would be singing Flamenco this evening. He was drinking water, waiting for the guitar players to settle down and tune their instruments. I noticed that there were no microphones or amplifiers on the stage. The singer’s face was like a theatrical mask: that face had been created to express any emotion, any combination of emotions.
He was an artist. They were all artists. I was convinced that they only had enough money in their pockets to survive a single day. They don’t have bank accounts, they don’t have any savings. They live for Flamenco, they sing to earn their daily bread. They don’t strive for more. They don’t want to strive for more, lest that taint their feelings, blunt their suffering. At the end of the concert I wanted to give them some extra money apart from the cost of the ticket, but I was concerned that it would hurt their feelings. I didn’t dare do that…
When the artist began to sing Flamenco, Fred and I looked at each other. That music, unfamiliar to us, was in fact summarizing our conversation. It seemed to stop at each sentence we uttered, tried to analyze, understand our thoughts, give it new meaning, to pluck out the love and suffering hidden beneath those thoughts, the despair and the hope, the dignity and the insult, the spiritual and the sexual, adultery and atonement.
What is Flamenco, you ask? How would you lament if you were rejected by your only love, the one you love with a boundless love, with your whole body, your whole soul, in full consciousness and with a powerful throbbing of the heart? How would you rejoice if that love is reciprocated with passionate and breathless love? How would you mourn the loss, the death of the most precious person in your life? How would you rejoice if that person was resurrected from the dead? How would you feel if your husband, your wife, brother, parent, child or friend betrayed you, or, when you find out that there was no betrayal? What kind of pain would you endure if your heart is stabbed with a knife and how relieved would you be when you realize that it was only a dream? How would you feel if you were in prison, tortured and abused, but then you find yourself in total freedom, surrounded by respect and courtesy? How would you scream in despair, or in victory? All that you would experience in your heart in the course of all these moments—is Flamenco.
******************************
You want to know how much I love you. Can you find a Flamenco record in one of the kiosks in Yerevan? If you find a genuine Flamenco record, buy it, listen to it in your solitude, and you will understand how much I love you.
Some interesting articles,,,
"Very concrete threat," by, Lilit Seyranyan, May 23, 2008
An Interview with ombudsman Armen Harutyunyan
from 168.am
"ՀՅԴ-ն մնաց մենակ"
Արմինե ԱՎԵՏՅԱՆ | Մայիս 25, 2008
from 168.am
An Interview with ombudsman Armen Harutyunyan
from 168.am
"ՀՅԴ-ն մնաց մենակ"
Արմինե ԱՎԵՏՅԱՆ | Մայիս 25, 2008
from 168.am
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Youth Demonstration today: Free the Political Prisoners
“… a group of young people organized this, particularly the HHSh Youth Group, and other young people, including youths from HIMA and from the Conservative Party, and other young people have also joined the group. The main purpose of this action is the issue of the political prisoners- Freedom for the Political Prisoners, that is the main slogan…” [translation of what is said by the gentleman in the light blue/white shirt in the first 40 or so seconds]
Where are you going, SS???
Where is SS going with all of this?
As has been pointed out time and time again, the PACE recommendations are barely being followed on even the most superficial level. Forget that they are the recommendations of an international organization, SS’s approach to governing started out and continues to be completely unconstitutional. Over a hundred citizens are in prison, without charges, without trials – political prisoners; and when there are trials, they are ludicrous at best.
A human rights activists what shot by a pro-SS individual, and you can guess which side the police are taking (unzipped has a good summary of what’s going on). And now, there is word that Sefilyan may be expelled from Armenia. I have read that Sefilyan was no longer an ARF-D member as of 1999 (I don’t know why), but it’s pathetic that they’re not standing up for him. Often when people leave the ARF, it is for differences in political thinking. I can’t fathom how wide that schism must be for them not to be able to raise a voice now to defend a man who left his life from the Diaspora to fight in Kharabagh. If the ARF “compromised” certain ideals so that they could be part of the coalition and fight for what they think is right, then why isn’t Sefilyan on the top of that list? Not to worry, I’m sure decades from now they will claim Sefilyan as one of their own, as they have done with so many others whom they have criticized harshly, or to whom they have provided no support, including Hrant Dink and Monte Melkonian.
How long can SS keep going in this manner? Is there an endpoint?
And where, oh where, is Kocharyan...?
[a good source for info/interviews/biography of Sefilyan can be found in English and Armenian at azadakrum.org]
As has been pointed out time and time again, the PACE recommendations are barely being followed on even the most superficial level. Forget that they are the recommendations of an international organization, SS’s approach to governing started out and continues to be completely unconstitutional. Over a hundred citizens are in prison, without charges, without trials – political prisoners; and when there are trials, they are ludicrous at best.
A human rights activists what shot by a pro-SS individual, and you can guess which side the police are taking (unzipped has a good summary of what’s going on). And now, there is word that Sefilyan may be expelled from Armenia. I have read that Sefilyan was no longer an ARF-D member as of 1999 (I don’t know why), but it’s pathetic that they’re not standing up for him. Often when people leave the ARF, it is for differences in political thinking. I can’t fathom how wide that schism must be for them not to be able to raise a voice now to defend a man who left his life from the Diaspora to fight in Kharabagh. If the ARF “compromised” certain ideals so that they could be part of the coalition and fight for what they think is right, then why isn’t Sefilyan on the top of that list? Not to worry, I’m sure decades from now they will claim Sefilyan as one of their own, as they have done with so many others whom they have criticized harshly, or to whom they have provided no support, including Hrant Dink and Monte Melkonian.
How long can SS keep going in this manner? Is there an endpoint?
And where, oh where, is Kocharyan...?
[a good source for info/interviews/biography of Sefilyan can be found in English and Armenian at azadakrum.org]
Friday, May 23, 2008
HIMA has started an account...
It seems HIMA has opened an account to collect donations for the families of the political prisoners.
"Արդշինինվեստբանկի Հրազդանի մասնաճյուղ, Արշավիր Սուրենի Բոզինյան,
247 640 037 245 0010 հաշվեհամարին:"
"Արդշինինվեստբանկի Հրազդանի մասնաճյուղ, Արշավիր Սուրենի Բոզինյան,
247 640 037 245 0010 հաշվեհամարին:"