Antranig Kasbarian
As the title suggests, I wish to explore certain aspects of
Armenia-Diaspora relations, focusing on charitable assistance over the
past 25 years. Specifically, I would like to track how diasporan giving
has evolved—or, rather, cut a serpentine path forward, moving from what I
would call emergency/immediate aid to more rehabilitative/developmental assistance
today. I will be painting a picture with a broad brush, seeking to
identify broader processes and trends, so I ask readers to accept this
as a work in progress.
As Ronald Suny has noted, 25 years present a good occasion for a
retrospective look at Armenia since independence. At the same time, the
number 25 is a bit arbitrary, and hardly exact as a marker.[1]
Here we have a case in point: If we truly wish to track charitable
assistance—at least in its most recent phase—then we really must go back
to the late Soviet era (i.e., roughly 30 years). At that time,
Armenia-Diaspora relations were a much different affair: Operating
within a tightly regulated, closed environment—e.g., through official
agencies such as the “Spurk Committee”—homeland-diaspora
relations existed in a limited sense. But the relationship denied most
diasporans any meaningful involvement beyond tourism, cultural exchange,
or symbolic support. That limited relationship opened up quite
abruptly, of course, because of the turmoil that enveloped Armenia in
1988: First, there was the Karabagh movement and the changes it brought.
Later, there was the devastating earthquake that struck northwest
Armenia. Those two events, in a sense, tore asunder the fabric of
Armenia-diaspora relations as they had been, creating a rough-and-tumble
environment that became more open, more diverse, and eventually more
fruitful.
The Late Soviet Years
Let me begin with some reflections on those late Soviet years. As we
know now, the Karabagh movement unleashed a host of forces that
eventually shook the entire Soviet Union. It began in 1987-88, as the
Armenian majority within Nagorno-Karabagh asserted the region’s right to
self-determination by petitioning Soviet authorities, seeking to secede
from Azerbaijan and unite with neighboring Armenia. Within a few months
of these efforts, Armenians in Yerevan had responded with massive
solidarity efforts, featuring public rallies that grew to nearly a
million in size by Feb. 1988. It was really a tremendous moment in
time—whether in Armenia or abroad—as we could see the limits of Soviet
reforms literally being tested before our eyes. Armenians essentially
took Mikhail Gorbachev at his word, peacefully challenging him to stand
by his pronouncements regarding glasnost (openness) and perestroika
(restructuring), and specifically the claim that Moscow would seek to
rectify historic wrongs and “fill in the blank pages of history.”[2]
At the time, diasporan Armenians observed these developments from a
distance. True, there was a smattering of diasporans inside Armenia,
either as journalists, exchange scholars, or other visitors. But for the
most part, the organized diaspora was “watching closely from afar,” as
it were. It was a diverse diaspora, yes, but also unified by the
strength of its national consciousness and a sense of unfinished
business: Due to the conditions of its formation—genocide, exile
consciousness, and often alienation from Soviet Armenia—there was
naturally a thirst to engage with Armenia more substantially; that is,
through the affairs of state and society. So, as 1988 unfolded,
diasporan Armenians looked in earnest for a day when they could return
and make a difference.
As it turned out, that day came rather quickly: Shortly after the
million-strong rallies in Yerevan, Azerbaijani mobs responded with
brutal pogroms in the city of Sumgait, killing dozens of Armenians and
driving out many others. Soon Karabagh was in a state of siege, with the
looming threat of all-out war. During the course of 1988, a state of
emergency prevailed throughout Azerbaijan, Armenia, and of course
Karabagh itself.
Within this environment, diasporan Armenians quickly got to work:
They began rallying outside Soviet embassies and consulates worldwide,
they began meeting with international human rights groups about the
developing situation, and they began raising money to help Karabagh’s
Armenians defend themselves. So there was a flurry of activity, to be
sure. But this heightened attention was consummated only later, when
things really began to change: The Dec. 1988 earthquake was of
enormous proportions—not only physically, but in terms of the human
toll. With thousands killed, thousands more injured or beneath the
rubble, and with massive infrastructural damage, Armenia’s authorities
were really not prepared to respond. Indeed, Soviet central authorities
were not prepared, either. It was really beyond their means to address
the emergency effectively.
As they faced this crisis, Soviet authorities took a bold step: They
actually opened up the gates a bit, allowing various outside groups to
enter Armenia to tender emergency assistance. This included not only
large international firms like Americares and Doctors Without Borders,
but a host of diasporan entities as well. This, I believe, was a
“watershed moment,” as it represented the first real exposure to Armenia
of large numbers of diasporan Armenians. (When I say large numbers, by
today’s standards it may not seem so large—ranging from many hundreds to
several thousand—but at the time it represented a major intervention.)
What was remarkable was not just the quantity, but the quality and diversity
of intervention: Nurse-practitioners, psychiatrists, architects,
builders, emergency response teams and many others—often Armenian—would
come to address the needs of those hit by the earthquake.
In this time of need, the diaspora’s mindset was rather simple: “Give
early. Give often. And don’t ask a lot of questions.” In fact, the
organized diaspora was “hard-wired” to give unconditionally because it
felt right to do so, in a sense. Don’t get me wrong: The needs were
immediate and pressing. But the diaspora also gave because it felt good to give. Now, I do not say this to demean the assistance tendered in any way. But the act of giving
was as important as the end result itself. Let us not forget that the
organized diaspora had largely been denied any meaningful interaction
for so many years.
This mentality, along with the situation itself, led to predictable results: Diasporan support was overwhelmingly about immediate assistance: There were no milestones, no metrics, no long-term goals on what we were trying to achieve. It was all about helping now.
Indeed, with Armenia still firmly ensconced within the Soviet sphere,
why think long-term anyway? Almost no one could imagine that within
three years the Soviet Union would collapse. Rather, our diasporan
leadership largely thought, “We’ll go in, we’ll help, we’ll engage,
while Armenia and the Soviet Union will continue down their path.”
Nobody, other than a precious few, could really imagine that by 1991
Armenia would be independent, with all of the associated pitfalls and
possibilities.
The Early Years of Independence
For better or for worse, short-term mentalities would carry over to
the early independence era. If they were a ‘one-off’ at first, emergency
reflexes soon became an ingrained habit, an ongoing pattern. Why? To
begin, let’s recall that Armenia’s early years of independence are often
labeled “The Years of Cold and Darkness.” Massive economic
dislocations, the war in Karabagh, and blockades by Azerbaijan and
Turkey together created an Armenia that struggled to survive; one in
which every day was an act of improvisation. In such a milieu, the
organized diaspora again came together, this time to organize “Operation
Winter Rescue” and similar initiatives, gathering tons of warm
clothing, blankets, foodstuffs, medicines…anything that might be
required to endure the long hard winters that extended into the
mid-1990s and beyond. Due to these developments, the diaspora became
further trained—“hard-wired,” if you will—into thinking about assistance
as an emergency affair, in which you don’t ask a lot of questions, but
just “get to it.”
I am encouraged to say that—in a halting, lurching fashion—this
relationship has begun to change. There are numerous reasons, but one
important factor was the advent of government-led developmental
assistance in the mid-1990s. This began most prominently with the
“Hayastan” All-Armenia Fund…better known as Himnadram. Without denying its various flaws and ills, I must say that Himnadram
established a model for large-scale, strategic development projects
that the entire diaspora could embrace. (Recall that one of its first
large projects was to build the Lachin Corridor highway that connects
Karabagh to Armenia, creating the vital contiguity essential for both.)
The development of Himnadram was one of those focal points
that began to train our attention on long-term development. But there
were inadvertent side-effects as well. The move away from knee-jerk,
emergency assistance wasn’t all in the name of progress and
enlightenment. No, as Armenia moved into the 1990s, other things were
happening as well: For one, the legitimacy that authorities enjoyed at
the beginning of independence had begun to erode. If most Armenians were
happily casting a ‘yes’ vote for independence in ‘91, by ‘96
disaffected voters were storming the barricades, most notably when
incumbent President Levon Ter-Petrosian won re-election in a result
widely viewed as fraudulent. As Armenia slid backward in terms of
economy, social justice, corruption, and the rule of law, the legitimacy
of authorities had naturally eroded.
This trend would carry over into the realm of humanitarian
assistance: Increasingly, donors were no longer willing to ignore issues
of corruption, asking “Where is my money going? How is my money being
spent?” Others were no longer willing to ignore issues of social
dependency, asking, “If we continue to hand things out to the populace,
will this create a culture of hand-outs? Will Armenia’s citizens expect
the diaspora to aid in perpetuity, or can we start
helping-people-to-help-themselves?” Indeed, some of us asked if the
diaspora was being sold short, e.g. treated as a milking cow rather than
as a partner in the rebuilding of Armenian state and society. Questions
such as these began to be asked more frequently, more insistently,
beginning in the mid-‘90s and thereafter.
At the same time, international humanitarian organizations such as
CARE, USAID, EU Humanitarian Aid, and the International Red Cross also
shifted from aid distribution to developmental work. The transition was
difficult, but many such groups found it necessary to shift away from
immediate needs and toward the paradigm of “sustainable development.”
These trends also would affect the path taken by diasporan Armenian
groups.
Developments Leading to the Present
During this transition, there emerged a three-pronged response among
diasporan Armenians: First, much of the traditional diaspora—the
classical organizations and their networks—mostly continued doing what
they were doing. Second, there were donors—particularly large donors,
who had gotten burned or fleeced by corrupt officials—who became
disenchanted and pulled back. And third, there were others who moved in a
different direction; who became more determined, more intent on forging
ahead, and who established their own mechanisms for tendering
assistance. Some philanthropists simply got tired of writing checks to
others: For example, my own boss—James Tufenkian—got tired of writing
checks and established his own foundation in Armenia: In doing so, he
gradually hired and trained his own staff, implemented projects directly
on the ground, and introduced international best-practices into his
organization. I could easily point to other examples as well.
Over time, we have seen a move increasingly in the latter direction.
Again, it is not a complete move; rather, I would call it a lurching,
incomplete move. But what you see is an engagement with Armenia that is
broadening and deepening today. It is no longer about sponsoring
immediate needs: It is not about soup kitchens and orphanages anymore.
It is also about aiding civil society groups, promoting education and
creativity, and investing in those seeking to improve themselves and
their living conditions across Armenia.
Most broadly, I would argue this: To really make a difference, assistance must change situations at the institutional level; otherwise, it is not sustainable. However,
this is easier said than done: For many (especially from afar) this is a
more difficult and complicated way of getting involved in Armenia. For
one, it requires critical engagement—knowing laws, mechanisms,
and the way the system functions—in order to advocate for change. Few
are willing or able to do that. Even those foundations run by diasporans
often shy away from this, because it could entail “rocking the boat”
with authorities, because it requires not simply “stand-alone” efforts
but integration into civil society, or simply because they do not have
the capability or know-how.
Conclusion
In closing, let me add that something else is going on
simultaneously, which interweaves crucially with the topic at hand.
While all of the above has been happening, social change in Armenia has
been ongoing: After the flurry of democracy in the late ‘80s and early
‘90s, Armenia retrenched in many ways. Much of the citizenry, for
understandable reasons, reverted to a state of passivity, inertia,
cynicism; often looking up at the authorities as the source of all ill,
or as the source of all possible remedy…which ultimately became a
convenient excuse to do nothing! The idea of grassroots activism—more
broadly, social movements as practiced in much of the rest of the world—really had not hit the ground by the 1990s, nor even by the early 2000s.
In fact, only in the last decade has there been a creeping move
toward a different kind of ethos: The formation of a real civil society,
where people—often from below—start organizing around
issues of environment, public health, public space, consumer rights,
gender inequality, and other issues. Gradually we see the emergence of
different groups seeking reforms or concessions from those in power.
Such groups don’t necessarily seek all-or-nothing solutions (which was
often the public’s tendency in the past). Instead, we are seeing calls
for targeted, incremental change: Whether it’s the drive to protect
Teghut, the activism in defense of Mashtots Park, or the 100 Dram
Movement, people—especially young people—have begun to organize for change from below.
This trend presents a great opportunity for the diaspora—an
opportunity to finally cross that thick red line, moving from the realm
of humanitarian assistance toward something else. Whether defined as
solidarity, exchange, or critical engagement, this “something else” is
more lateral, more pro-active, and unafraid to become a part of the
lifeblood of the country. By adopting this spirit and approach, the
diaspora can refashion itself to say: “We are not here to help Armenia; we are here to be Armenia.”
Indeed, such voices were heard at this week’s Homeland-Diaspora
conference—not always at its center, but certainly at its
margins—demanding more than the usual rhetoric and sloganeering.
As people rise to address the historical tasks of the day—social
justice, rule of law, corruption, depopulation—they point toward a
homeland-diaspora relationship that might become more real, more
durable, more demanding… something that goes beyond charity and embraces
our social and national well-being.
Notes
[1] From Suny’s presentation “Where Did All the Transitions Go? Façade Democracy and Authoritarianism in the Post-Soviet World,” delivered at the same conference in Yerevan, May 23, 2017.
[2] Mr. Gorbachev made these comments in Feb. 1987, at a meeting with editors and other leading media figures, saying there should be “no forgotten names and no blank pages in history and literature.” (Pravda, Feb. 14, 1987.)
"The Armenian Weekly," September 21, 2017
No comments:
Post a Comment