Seda Gbranian-Melkonian 

It was early march, 1985. We, a group of Diaspora students, were returning from Lebanon to our classes in Yerevan. 

Friends from our dormitories met us at the airport. It was late at night. We rented a van and get in along with our luggage. Our suitcases were heavy with Middle Eastern food products and jeans. In the van we talked about what’s new. We arrived at the Parakar intersection. 

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. The Hamalir, the new sports complex burned down,” said Hovig, one of the students who met us at the airport. “Oh no…how? What happened?” “It’s not clear yet what exactly happened. But Karen Demirchyan, the first secretary spoke on TV. He gave a very moving speech. It was really sad.” 

We were silent.   

Before its opening in 1983 a delegation from Moscow had decided to transfer the location of the World Weightlifting Championship to Moscow, claiming they were worried that the construction of the Sports Complex would not be finished on time. Everyone was disappointed and unhappy about the decision. Months later we, a group of students at the dormitory, ran to the black and white television to watch the victory of weightlifter Yuri Vardanyan. Despite the change of location, the weightlifting champion was our sportsman. He was our pride. 

The fire at the Sports Complex affected the whole nation. People cried hearing the news and swore to rebuild it. In the following month’s comrade Harutyounian, our dean, often came to dismiss us early from classes so we could participate in the cleaning efforts of the Sports Complex. Thousands of students and civilians cleaned the blackened seats and the remnants of smoke. The Hamalir belonged to all of us. It brought pride to all of us. When it got a Soviet prize all of us shared the excitement. 

There were debates about the choice of location and even the architectural style for building the Sports Complex. But once it was built, everyone was happy with the new monumental building. They said that in response to people complaining about building it next to the Tzitzernakaberd Genocide Memorial, First Secretary Karen Demirichyan responded that we would show the world our rebirth and will to create despite the immense suffering that our nation experienced. 

When the Hamalir opened, we were amazed by it. My roommate and I went to see a figure skating championship, then to many other concerts. I participated in the choir festival of Soviet republics with the university Komitas Choir, conducted by the unparalleled Harutyoun Topikian. I remember that when the Azerbaijani choir sang my Ainjar nationalism rose in me. “How can they allow Turkish songs on this stage? Booooo, Booooo,” I shouted.  My pathetic voice disappeared in the noise. My friends in the choir looked at me perplexed. After all, we were part of a union of peaceful, brotherly countries. 

Years later, I attended a reception in the beautiful foyer of the Sports Complex hosted by the first president of Armenia on the occasion of   Armenian independence. Later on, the Armenia Diaspora conference took place there. At the end of the1990s I was invited for the wedding of an official’s daughter at the Sports Complex.  I did not attend that wedding and for me Hamalir stayed at the level it had in the past. 

A few weeks ago I told my architect husband, “They’re selling Hamalir for $30 million.” “That guy is getting himself a deal for $30 million,” he said shaking his head. He and a few other architects I knew were blown away by the architecture.  

The rationalizations that high maintenance costs have forced the sale are pitiful and degrading to our people. There certainly are some trustworthy people who can manage it. Or, a reduction of some government expenses might assist in providing the funds necessary to keep it. After all, the Sports Complex is our people’s pride. But a casino-style Sports Complex will not be the pride of people like me. 

During the disparaged Soviet years, the Sports Complex maintained its high level of integrity. Moreover, it was on the list of national priorities and was considered a national treasure. And now? All that is left is to privatize Tzitzernakaberd and the Yerablour Military Pantheon as well and finally put an end to this privatization spree.