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Noyan Tapan Highlights" N37
September, 2005
September 12, 2005
PAPLAVOK'S REVOLUTIONARY SITTING
By Garin K. Hovannisian
Yerevan--I'd like to think that it used to be just cigarettes, coffee, and
jazz. But our own time is a bit more complicated than this. The tables
unfurled at Paplavok are now stacked with pyramidal fruit platters, French
pastries, and glamorous cocktails. Instead of Vahagn Hayrapetian's classic
quartet, we are more likely to hear Aramo's doo-bop improvisations. And the
characters that nightly enliven Yerevan's famous café have kindled there a
colorful and brave revolutionary culture.
At the table to your left, for instance, you might find a couple of
university students prodding the case of Yektan Turkyilmaz, the Turkish
historian who was locked up for two months in a National Security cell
without trial. Or maybe it's a group of tourists who've come to see with
their own eyes that mythic bathroom where the president's bodyguards beat
and killed an impious citizen. "Privet, Rob," he'd said. It could be a
circle of brute-businessmen with appetites as big as their villas or it
could be a group of unsuspicious girls lavished in the latest Louis Vuitton.
But they talk about the same things: October 27, Armen Sargsyan, rigged
elections, and Northern Avenue.
Unlike the musings of the past, however, today's sizzling political
discussions are not mere laments and longings anymore. In the people's
sarcasm and metaphor, you hear clearly (for they are no longer in whispers)
the sure notes of revolution.
Democracy. Freedom. Human rights. The Apricot Revolution. These are the
roots of Paplavok's intellectual lexicon--the trendiest echoes from the
lakeside. With the excited company, the far-fetched music, the lush cuisine,
and the romantic possibilities of night, the fiery exchanges convince us
that a movement is being born.
But it's already four in the morning, and even the most passionate
provocateurs must go home now. As Paplavok's revolutionaries disperse and
fall asleep, the new day's first minibuses begin their rounds. As the sun
casts its first rays onto reality, the people who need the revolution most
prepare for the day ahead. After all, they cannot afford nocturnal
fantasies. They have families to feed and jobs to fight for.
And that's precisely Paplavok's revolutionary paradox. On the one end, the
fly-by-night café is perfect for revolutionary beginnings. It's where the
endless discussion of corruption and redemption has become an art, fashion,
and profession. It's where the corruption itself has turned up. In
character, Paplavok is the ultimate spark of political change. On the other
end, it's so far removed from and so incapable of solving Armenia's
problems. For Paplavok's post-midnight personalities don't really need and
so will not join the revolution at all. They'll design it. They'll sell it.
They'll claim it their own. But when in that final push their commitment is
tested, they will back down. The break between the dreamers and the doers is
simply too wide.
Yet revolutions are not built and achieved in one night. In regard to
America's epic defiance in 1776, John Adams observed that "the Revolution
was in the minds and hearts of the people." In this important sense, Armenia
's own revolution is well on its way. Which doctor or school teacher is not
ready for a complete recognition of his own freedom and citizenry? Who now
is unprepared to accept a tolerant, liberal democracy? Even Arsen, an old
Soviet-friendly cabbie who drives drunken tourists to their hotels on summer
nights, agrees that if a sincere liberal democracy were set up, it would
beat the communist regime he felt so comfortable in. This seems obvious to
him.
The tougher question is: When will the collective wish become a popular
ultimatum? When will the revolution in the mind and heart of people mean a
revolution in their government? One more time. One more instance of mass
corruption; one more serious scandal; one more catastrophe. Something big.
Or, failing that, iconic. Then, then the people will snap! This is what the
Paplavok intellectuals always have claimed. Just one more time, and mark my
words. But this time, it looks more serious. This time, the present
leadership is informed of the pressure. Hence, we have ongoing deliberations
of constitutional reform to which we are all urged to contribute so that we
might feel counted and proud. Hence, we have the release of Turkyilmaz.
Hence, in one day, the 30-dram increase in mini-bus prices is quashed.
But where the government can hold seminars, issue clean verdicts, and manage
its own unworkable fee hikes, it cannot lose elections. If the government
makes the right moves in public--as it seems to be doing--it will survive
for another couple of years. But by the next elections, Armenia's spiritual
revolution will be far too developed. The authorities will decide on the
means. But the end will not be theirs to negotiate. A revolution will have
taken place, one way or the other.
Much to the distress of its nightly romantics, Paplavok will have had little
to do with it.
Garin K. Hovannisian is a student at the University of California, Los
Angeles and the founder and editor-in-chief of The Bruin Standard.
September, 2005
September 12, 2005
PAPLAVOK'S REVOLUTIONARY SITTING
By Garin K. Hovannisian
Yerevan--I'd like to think that it used to be just cigarettes, coffee, and
jazz. But our own time is a bit more complicated than this. The tables
unfurled at Paplavok are now stacked with pyramidal fruit platters, French
pastries, and glamorous cocktails. Instead of Vahagn Hayrapetian's classic
quartet, we are more likely to hear Aramo's doo-bop improvisations. And the
characters that nightly enliven Yerevan's famous café have kindled there a
colorful and brave revolutionary culture.
At the table to your left, for instance, you might find a couple of
university students prodding the case of Yektan Turkyilmaz, the Turkish
historian who was locked up for two months in a National Security cell
without trial. Or maybe it's a group of tourists who've come to see with
their own eyes that mythic bathroom where the president's bodyguards beat
and killed an impious citizen. "Privet, Rob," he'd said. It could be a
circle of brute-businessmen with appetites as big as their villas or it
could be a group of unsuspicious girls lavished in the latest Louis Vuitton.
But they talk about the same things: October 27, Armen Sargsyan, rigged
elections, and Northern Avenue.
Unlike the musings of the past, however, today's sizzling political
discussions are not mere laments and longings anymore. In the people's
sarcasm and metaphor, you hear clearly (for they are no longer in whispers)
the sure notes of revolution.
Democracy. Freedom. Human rights. The Apricot Revolution. These are the
roots of Paplavok's intellectual lexicon--the trendiest echoes from the
lakeside. With the excited company, the far-fetched music, the lush cuisine,
and the romantic possibilities of night, the fiery exchanges convince us
that a movement is being born.
But it's already four in the morning, and even the most passionate
provocateurs must go home now. As Paplavok's revolutionaries disperse and
fall asleep, the new day's first minibuses begin their rounds. As the sun
casts its first rays onto reality, the people who need the revolution most
prepare for the day ahead. After all, they cannot afford nocturnal
fantasies. They have families to feed and jobs to fight for.
And that's precisely Paplavok's revolutionary paradox. On the one end, the
fly-by-night café is perfect for revolutionary beginnings. It's where the
endless discussion of corruption and redemption has become an art, fashion,
and profession. It's where the corruption itself has turned up. In
character, Paplavok is the ultimate spark of political change. On the other
end, it's so far removed from and so incapable of solving Armenia's
problems. For Paplavok's post-midnight personalities don't really need and
so will not join the revolution at all. They'll design it. They'll sell it.
They'll claim it their own. But when in that final push their commitment is
tested, they will back down. The break between the dreamers and the doers is
simply too wide.
Yet revolutions are not built and achieved in one night. In regard to
America's epic defiance in 1776, John Adams observed that "the Revolution
was in the minds and hearts of the people." In this important sense, Armenia
's own revolution is well on its way. Which doctor or school teacher is not
ready for a complete recognition of his own freedom and citizenry? Who now
is unprepared to accept a tolerant, liberal democracy? Even Arsen, an old
Soviet-friendly cabbie who drives drunken tourists to their hotels on summer
nights, agrees that if a sincere liberal democracy were set up, it would
beat the communist regime he felt so comfortable in. This seems obvious to
him.
The tougher question is: When will the collective wish become a popular
ultimatum? When will the revolution in the mind and heart of people mean a
revolution in their government? One more time. One more instance of mass
corruption; one more serious scandal; one more catastrophe. Something big.
Or, failing that, iconic. Then, then the people will snap! This is what the
Paplavok intellectuals always have claimed. Just one more time, and mark my
words. But this time, it looks more serious. This time, the present
leadership is informed of the pressure. Hence, we have ongoing deliberations
of constitutional reform to which we are all urged to contribute so that we
might feel counted and proud. Hence, we have the release of Turkyilmaz.
Hence, in one day, the 30-dram increase in mini-bus prices is quashed.
But where the government can hold seminars, issue clean verdicts, and manage
its own unworkable fee hikes, it cannot lose elections. If the government
makes the right moves in public--as it seems to be doing--it will survive
for another couple of years. But by the next elections, Armenia's spiritual
revolution will be far too developed. The authorities will decide on the
means. But the end will not be theirs to negotiate. A revolution will have
taken place, one way or the other.
Much to the distress of its nightly romantics, Paplavok will have had little
to do with it.
Garin K. Hovannisian is a student at the University of California, Los
Angeles and the founder and editor-in-chief of The Bruin Standard.