I had been invited to a seminar entitled “Conflict clarification” in Yerevan to take place on December 5 to 7. To be honest, I was a bit uncomfortable since it would be the first time in twenty-one years that I wouldn’t be in Gyumri on December 7, the day the earthquake struck.

They showed a five minute film during the seminar. The professional woman photographer is receiving an award for a picture she shot in the conflict zone. Before receiving the award, she recounts what she had to go through to capture that singular photo. Picture this – there’s a group of men holding a rifle barrel to the head of a young girl. All the while, our photographer is just a few steps away, intensely shooting photo after photo. The finale of the film came as a shock. The girl is killed. The photographer gets an award for that particular “successful” photo. The film only lasted five minutes but the impression it left was tremendous. For a long time my mind wandered and I didn’t feel like participating in the discussion afterwards. I remembered the earthquake, the ruined houses and the crazed, grief stricken people running aimlessly from here to there. There were those who found the dead body of a relative, and those still searching for what they lost, the tearless stone faces of men and women, and…dust, dust, clouds of dust everywhere. Seconds before they had pulled me from what remained of the school building. The first thought that came to mind was whether I still had a home or not. Later on I found out that the earthquake had taken my father and sister from me. This was my reality on December 7, 1988. It was the reality of thousands of others in Gyumri that afternoon as well.

Sub-standard housing; then and now

At the time, everyone was blaming Gorbachev, arguing that they were exacting revenge against Armenians over Karabakh and for the wave of rebellion that had swept the country. The people were cursing him and they were convinced it was no natural disaster but an explosion of some kind. But this was only the beginning of the conspiracies floating around. It was soon after that people started to direct their anger against the dishonest and deceiving building constructors who had used sub-standard cement, etc. The list of who to blame went on and on. Then, for more times that I can recount, the image of my uncle came to mind. He was crouched over a pile of rubble that once was our house just an hour before. He had a fistful of dirt in his hand and tears flowed from his eyes. I could hear him say, ‘Damn you and your conscience whoever built this house. There isn’t a gram of cement to be found. It’s all sand.’” House builders stole construction materials because, in those days, everyone stole from the government. No one ever stopped to think for a moment that due to their theft a thousand innocent people might one day die. To justify their actions, the builders would talk about how Armenians loved to remodel and enlarge their apartments in the most ridiculous of fashions. They wanted to minimize their share of responsibility, if possible. On my way back to Gyumri on the evening of December 7, I understood that the weight I was carrying around in my heart didn’t stem from my memories but from the talk that had started in the town a few months back and which grew like wildfire. But instead of providing specific answers, all one got was a bunch of numbers. People were becoming scared, for isn’t it true that history has a tendency to repeat itself, if you forget its lessons?

Glendale Hills Construction – crooked walls and tiny rooms

Twenty-one years later and the people of Gyumri were talking about the same thing; the quality of construction taking place in the “Moush-2” neighborhood. People were growing anxious and to be honest, they weren’t all that excited at the thought of leaving their “tnaks” (temporary huts). Where did this mistrust of the builder come from and why? The sensation of fear, forgotten for so long, was once again rearing its head. What made people wary of leaving their squalid little huts behind? These are questions better left to the people themselves to answer. Sousanna G. has been living in a “tnak” for twenty-one years now. The authorities have promised to allocate her an apartment built by “Glendale Hills” to replace the one room she lost. “But, do you believe them? I am fearful. Not just because it’s so far away from town, but also because of the rumors,” says Mrs.Sousanna. I asked her if the new buildings were really that bad, worse than the “tnak” she was now living in. “What do I know. We know one of the builders and he tells us that buildings built at the outset are good but the ones constructed afterwards are pretty bad. They made a bunch of remodeling changes and joined one room apartments with two room units. They also say that the cement won’t bind given the cold temps and the paint won’t stick. Who can say? We’ve been living in stress for too long. I’m wary of everything. They talk about those buildings so much, there has to be some kernel of truth, no?”

Residents hesitant to move into new apartments out of fear

“My sister’s boy worked on that construction site for two weeks. Afterwards, he came here and told us not to take an apartment from Glendale Hills if they offered one. He said he was amazed that they could buildings with crooked walls and that all they were just interested in finishing as soon as possible. When the Lincy Fund was constructing buildings, you didn’t hear such talk. Those people did quality work,” argued my acquaintance who requested anonymity. “I’d rather see them construct 350 apartments and not 1,056. Who forced them to build so many in such a short time?” I flip through the pages of the December 9 edition of the newspaper “Shrtchapat”. In a small article, I come across the following quote of Albert Vahanyan, a resident of a neighborhood of “tnaks” by the bus station – “Twenty-one years after the earthquake, the problem of homelessness remains.” He holds out hope of receiving an apartment next year but instead too thrilled about the construction taking place and says so. He specifically states what he witnessed, and I quote,” The apartments are like cubicles; the rooms the same size as my ‘tnak’. Then too, the walls are paper-thin. The rooms can’t hold any heat. We’ve waited all these years with the hope of one day living like human beings once more. Just look at what the government wants to give us.” I head off to the “tnak” neighborhood by the station to meet with Albert Vahanyan. It’s December 18, a Thursday. A skinny kid opens the door of the “tnak” and invites me in when I tell him that I want to see Albert.

Professional builder – Workmanship lacking at Glendale Hills site

63 year-old Albert Vahanyan has worked for forty-one years in various construction firms both in Armenia and Russia. Currently, he’s not working but had the occasion to twice visit the Glendale Hills construction site and tour some of the apartments at the “Moush-2” neighborhood. His second visit was on December 14. “In this weather they were plastering the walls and painting; not waiting for the plaster to cry. I entered one of the rooms where they had supposedly painted the walls yellow but the walls were a melange of 100 colors. It’s because they didn’t wait for the plaster to cure properly. You can go and see for yourself young lady. Even my 13 year-old grandson know better than to paint over wet plaster. I’m amazed none of the builders saw what was happening. That plaster won’t last till the spring.” “Later I saw them laying down laminate floors and realized that the rooms weren’t properly squared-off.  The laminate was flush to the wall on one side of the room and there were 10-15 centimeter gaps on the other side. This means that the walls are crooked, askew,” stated the experienced builder. “For instance, I wouldn’t have laid laminate at 250 Drams but that’s what they were paying people. There’s no quality in that. If you ask me, or any other professional, the true cost of such work, you’d understand that the job would go for 850-1,000 Drams per square meter. I saw guys working there who didn’t know the correct way to hold a trowel. I mean, they didn’t know the ABC’s but were raising walls and refinishing apartment interiors.

Rooms just big enough for a table and four chairs

Albert Vahanyan is officially listed in the ranks of the homeless. They have allocated his family of four a two room apartment; what he had before the earthquake. “I went and measured their two rooms and it only measures 28 square meters. Just the living room I had before measured 28 sm. I believe that our constitutional rights are being violated here. Each individual is entitled to a minimum of 9 square meters of living space. Thus I should be getting a unit that at least measure 36 sm. But no; they have decided to give people who have been waiting 21 years an apartment that looks more like a dormitory room. Put four beds in their apartment and there’s no space left at all.” A construction worker at the Glendale Hills site described the tiny apartments in a manner that all could grasp – when four people sit at the table to eat, there’s no room for a fifth person to pass by. This worker asked that his name not be published, out of fear of being sacked. When I thanked Albert Vahanyan for having the courage to speak to me he cracked a grin and said, “What can they do; place me before a firing squad or ship me off to Siberia? We’ve been living like exiles in these huts for 21 years already.” His family does not appear on the list of those who will get an apartment this year. “I ain’t in no hurry. Better we wait another 2-3 years rather than moving to those tiny cubicles,” he said as we parted company. “The buildings don’t have balconies or cellar space. They dug out cellars but then filled the spaces in. Hey, people need somewhere to store provisions in the winter; potatoes and pickled vegetables. These apartments have neither outside balconies nor cellars. Do they expect us to store our provisions in those tiny living rooms? What we are facing is a situation where they want to unload these dormitory rooms on us – you go there to sleep at night but leave after waking. Like it or not, anyone from Leninakan who gets an apartment will be forced to remodel. It was done back in the Soviet-era and look where that got us.”

To be continued