In the earthquake zone, the tragedy continues for the homeless

The “Artsakh” of Gyumri must be liberated from poverty

by Armen Hakobyan

Published: Saturday December 06, 2008 in Earthquake 20 Years On

Martin Nazarian, 8, left, with his mother and brother, in late November 2008, at their home in Gyumri, Armenia, a "temporary" shack allocated to their family after the earthquake 20 years earlier. Armen Hakobyan for the Armenian Reporter

Teacher Hasmik Varanossian with her husband, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren, in Gyumri, Armenia, in late November, 2008, at their house which was damaged but not destroyed during the earthquake 20 years earlier. Armen Hakobyan for the Armenian Reporter

Related Articles

Twenty years after the earthquake, tomorrow’s Gyumri has a luminous face

In Gyumri, 20 years after the earthquake, people find, “a very important thing has broken”

About 6,000 families in Lori and Shirak provinces still need housing

Shirakamut: 20 years on, more than 200 families still have no home

A story of a grandmother and her grandchild

The earthquake that shook our world

Gyumri, Armenia - The harsh reality is that 20 years after the deadly earthquake of 1988, there are still thousands of people living in "temporary" shacks in the devastated cities in Armenia who have not been given alternate accommodation. That "temporary" condition has lasted 20 years now. As long as even one person is still without a house, you cannot claim that the repercussions of the disaster have been eliminated; especially when the disaster ruined not only buildings. The disaster is in the calamity itself, reflected by certain people and their destinies.

"If a person lives in a small shack, how can life be ‘good' for that person?"

Fruits and vegetables are sold on the pavement of Teryan Street in Gyumri, by the fence of the famous historical-cultural Dzitoghtsents house. The statue of General Antranig stands in the middle of the square amidst this commercial hustle and bustle. The statue is in good condition compared to the memorial to the victims of the 1988 earthquake, erected on Victory Avenue. This second memorial is "lost" in the disorderly eastern bazaar of stalls.

I turn my face in the same direction that General Antranig is looking. Somebody is selling firewood: soon winter, which is especially harsh here, will arrive. A little further on, along the edge of the road toward the city's bus station, stretches a line of buildings, the walls and roofs of which have been patched together with a variety of materials. People live in them; if the word "live" is appropriate. It is more accurate to say people find shelter in them. The name of the accumulation of shelters sounds like an irony of destiny: Artsakh district.

I move toward the first small shack. There are children's clothes hanging in front of it; there is smoke coming out of the chimney; and 121/019 is written on the wall.

Eight-year-old Martin Nazarian goes to school from here. He is a second-grade student at School Number 9 in Gyumri. His family members say that he is a good pupil. He hugs and shows off the dogs he takes care of - black Ronny and white Zidan. He was born here. He lives with his 75-year-old grandmother Tamar Poghossian, father Gagik, mother Armineh and two brothers, 2-year-old Volodik and 17-year-old Sergey.

While his mother prepares batter from flour on the metal stove that is heated by branches and pieces of paper, I start chatting with the oldest in the house, grandmother Tamar. "We began living here after the earthquake. What can I do? I am an old woman. We have been living here for this long, but so far no one has visited us in order to find out how we are doing," she complains and adds that in the beginning it was easier since they received flour as aid. The entire family survives on the grandmother's pension and selling flour in a shop. Sometimes Armineh manages to find a temporary job that pays 1000 to 2000 drams a day by cleaning "the houses of the local wealthy."

Here everyday life is a struggle for survival; a struggle for money for daily bread and even for cardboard boxes, since this is the only affordable "firewood" for winter. "If a person lives in a small shack how can life be ‘good' for that person? We do not have resources or jobs," notes Armineh with a sigh and falls silent. Without speaking it is obvious that for this family the disaster continues even after 20 years. Armineh assures us that their family has not been included in any list allocating apartments to those who suffered from the earthquake. Unlike most of the other children his age who do not like attending school, Martin says, "I like school. Going to school is fun." The wishes of the child are summarized in this "grown up" sentence, "We would like to live well, have a house, earn money for food, and afford to have a house."

"People live with the mentality of stealing bread from one another"

Teacher Hasmik Varanossian, who has many years of work experience, also lives in this district with her husband. Almost 70 percent of the house was damaged by the earthquake. "You could see the outside through the cracks," she says, but they have reinforced it with their own resources. "At that time, after the earthquake they came and said that we should move out of the house, live in a shack, and they would give us a house. However, to tell you the truth, we thought that so many people have lost their houses and have nowhere to live, they should be the first to receive houses and so we somehow managed to live here. My husband Razmik and I are teachers. My husband is unhealthy and we could not construct a new house. We live here," Hasmik says simply.

Despite all this, she says that she is an optimist. "My three children are the bright lights in my life. We have raised them at the cost of our own lives. My daughter Karineh is married and lives in Moscow. My sons graduated from university. My older son Armen graduated from Yerevan State University and then from the American University of Armenia. He works in an organization dealing with certificates for apartment purchase and he is very worried that people are receiving apartments but their shacks are not being removed and have been turned into garbage dumps. My other son Arthur works at the Gulbenkian hospital. He is an anesthesiologist," recounts Hasmik with humble pride typical to mothers.

Has much changed in Gyumri over these years? "The city, of course, has changed. They were not the ruins of Ani for them to stay like that. Yes, there has been construction. However, the mentality of people has also changed. Their hearts have not opened yet and there is no profound happiness yet. I am not saying that they are sad, but the happiness that used to exist in Gyumri, ‘the city of applause and laughter,' no longer exists. They are trying to forget, but great grief always requires a long time to heal. Grief remains in a person's soul. Some restoration works have, of course, been carried out, even though the works are not complete. I do not like talking negatively, but I am forced to because I cannot see the realization of the overblown announcements made from platforms. How can a citizen of Gyumri be happy when there are ruins at every step? I do not understand. Yes, they have been destroyed, but isn't it possible to clean those ruins? I do not understand why the city is covered in waste. What city? It has turned into a village, a village," says Hasmik and notes with grief that the years of disaster have also damaged people's souls by turning many of them into beggars. "People live with the mentality of stealing bread from one another. It resulted in great destruction and the lowering of a nations soul," she says.