Recent articles published by IWPR

GLOBAL CRISIS SQUEEZES LIFE FROM ARMENIA BORDER TOWN

25 June 2009
The global recession has ended a brief era of prosperity and left most people without jobs.
By Sara Khojoian

In the town of Meghri, people can't remember the last time a government official came to see how they

live and to offer help. "They come only on the eve of elections," one person said.

Though situated in the heart of Armenia's mining region, Meghri, near the Iranian border and nearly

400 kilometres from the capital Yerevan, never had any industry or factories itself.

Karine Galstian, who gave birth to her second child only a month ago, is desperate to leave as soon

as she can, because she sees no future for her children in Meghri.

She, her husband and two children, live off his monthly earnings as an electrician of about 65,000

drams (175 US dollars). "We also have a patch of land but we still only barely scrape a living," said

Galstian.

"I want to leave this place, as I see no future for my boys here. There is no hospital, not even a proper

doctor.

"They could have created jobs here, but the crisis took away the ones that once existed."

Galstian knows what she is talking about. Her brother recently joined the growing ranks of the town's

unemployed.

The riverside town of 4,500, ringed by mountains in the Syunik region, is visibly crumbling under the

weight of the fallout from the world economic downturn.

Most locals worked at the two nearby complexes, a copper and molybdenum factory in the town of

Agarak, a few kms away, and at the local gold processing plant based at Lichkvaz-Tey and Terterasar.

These two firms once employed more than 600 staff in total, and while they did, the life of thousands

of Meghri residents - relatives of those 600 workers - improved.

Sirun Sargsyan recalls how jobs in the plants revitalised their remote community, "Seven years ago,

we had only one newly-wed couple in the town to prepare gifts for, while this year we had 32."

But while life for most residents of Meghri improved for several years, in the last few months it has

turned into a bitter struggle for survival.

The first reports spread about the possible closure of operations in the mines of Lichkvaz-Tey and

Terterasar in spring 2008. Then, in September 2008, the management of Tamaya Resources Ltd,

the Australian company that owns the plant, decided to halt the work.

Anthony Ehlers, a representative of the company, told IWPR that the global economic crisis had

made it difficult for Tamaya to attract the outside investment it still needed. For now, the ultimate

fate of the mines remains unknown.

Work at the mines was suspended on June 1, 2008, and in August 2008 the last of the 350-strong

labour force - the guards and drivers - were sent home on leave.

Sergey Tarverdian, a company driver, was one of the last to go. "We barely eke out a living,"

Tarverdian lamented. "There is nothing in Meghri. Nobody cares about us."

Meanwhile the copper combine at Agarak ceased operations in November 2008 and 250 more

workers were suspended.

Geopromining Gold Ltd, owners of the plant, in February and again on June 19, announced that

the plant would resume production but few people in Meghri have faith in that.

Sergey Hayrapetian, mayor of the town, says the crisis facing his community can only be solved

with more active intervention by the state.

"The town budget for this year is simply unrealistic. We were planning to raise about 34 million

drams in taxes, but I don't think we will manage this because the number of unemployed people

keeps growing," Hayrapetian said.

"We have a few small wine producers here, and two private businessmen are producing dried

fruits, but they don't provide work for more than 30 people."

Meghri residents will have to rely on their own fruit and vegetable harvest to generate some cash

if the gold mines and the copper combine do not restart.

But they face another problem with a lack of cold storage facilities. "We've been planning to set

up a refrigeration system so we can buy fruit from country farmers [at harvest time] and store it

until winter, when we can sell the fruit for a higher price," Hayrapetian said.

But they need money for that - money they don't have.

For now, the local cannery buys the crops that generate the town's only income at rock-bottom

prices. Only 20 people work in the cannery in winter, and 50 in summer.

"The fruits in Meghri are something special," said Melsida Baghdasarian. "But who cares?

Their sale price in Kapan [the regional capital] is very low but to drive 400 kilometres to sell

them in Yerevan would cost us a lot, so we're better off throwing them away than going there.

"That's why we have to give them to the cannery for below the real price."

Karine Karapetian, assistant at a store in Meghri, says the economic downturn has left so

many people in debt that her boss has forbidden them to sell anything on credit.

Various customers already owe the store around 1,000 dollars. "Since January, I don't give

anyone anything on loan," Karapetian said.

"We used to do it when people were sure to receive their monthly salaries and could pay their

debts, but now I can't even manage to collect the debts that had accumulated before January.

"I pity them; many people don't know how to get by. They come and ask for bread and

sometimes I think I should give it to them - but then I realise that they have nothing to pay for

it with."

Ashot Qalashian, the deputy mayor, says one way out of the current impasse would be for

the government to act on pledges contained in a decision made in 2000, giving Meghri

so-called border zone status. In theory, this granted it access to certain privileges, exemptions

and government programmes.

"But until now the [programmes] to create jobs, and conditions for the development of small

and medium sized business and storage of agricultural goods have stayed on paper," he said.

Meanwhile, Artyom Sargsyan, of the department of information for Syunik municipality, said

the crisis in Meghri was not even mentioned at a meeting in March during President Serzh

Sargsyan's visit to Syunik.

Repairs to the local house of culture and plans to build a new irrigation system dominated

the discussion instead.

In Meghri, local people still wait for someone in authority to take their problems more seriously.

According to jobless ex-driver Sergey Tarverdian, "We simply live in the hope that there will

one day be light at the end of the tunnel."

Sara Khojoian is a journalist from Armenianow.com, and a participant in IWPR's Cross

Caucasus Journalism Network.

BID TO REPOPULATE KARABAKH FRAUGHT WITH PROBLEMS

19 Jume 2009
Authorities offer incentives for refugees to return, but little grows on their land

and employment prospects are grim.
By Lusine Musaelian in Stepanakert

Henrikh Asrian, a 48-year-old Armenian veteran of the Nagorny-Karabakh conflict, spent months

as a prisoner of war in Azerbaijan, and has now found himself on a new frontline - the authorities'

campaign to repopulate the region.

Karabakh has been ruled by its own, ethnic Armenian, government since it broke away from

Baku's control in the dying days of the Soviet Union. A ceasefire 15 years ago froze the lines

of control, and left hundreds of thousands of refugees displaced.

At least 800,000 Azeris fled eastwards from Armenia and Karabakh, while half a million

Armenians fled in the opposite direction. The government in Karabakh is now trying to encourage

some of those Armenians to settle in its under-populated villages.

Asrian lost his flat in the war and has now been given a small house of his own in the village of

Arachamugh, a remote settlement 30 kilometres from the regional centre Hadrut, which is itself

little more than a village.

"The war ended for me when electricity and neighbours appeared in the village," he told IWPR.

The 18 identical white houses in Arachamugh resemble bee-hives from a distance, but up close

they are comfortable with three rooms, a lean-to shed and 50 square metres of garden for vegetables.

Construction of the village was funded by the Tufenkian Foundation, a private charitable fund set up

by an émigré Armenian, but it fits in with a key objective of the local government, whose control over

Karabakh is not internationally recognised.

In 1989, Karabakh had almost 190,000 inhabitants, of whom more than 40,000 were Azeris.

These all fled their homes, and the population is now officially estimated at under 140,000 people,

almost entirely ethnic Armenian.

The Karabakh authorities are desperate for more people to strengthen their chances of resisting

the Baku government if it sends troops to reclaim the region. Anyone who wants to settle in the

villages receives the cost of moving, a grant for accommodation, free connection to the electricity

network and a grant for purchasing livestock.

Each family can receive as much as 2,700 US dollars in grants, and - especially in light of the

global financial crisis - the gifts have proven attractive.

Sarasar Sarian, chairman of the Union of Refugees of Nagorny-Karabakh, told IWPR that ten

families have moved to Karabakh in the last year for financial reasons alone, and have asked to

be settled in areas where they can receive grants.

"And the people coming are mainly those who left because of the war," he said.

But even this reduced population struggles to get by. Arachamugh is on a flat, bleak plain where

the land is too hard to work in summer, and too cold to work in winter. It was once used to grow

grapes, but the villagers say the vineyards were destroyed in the war and since then nothing has

grown on the spoiled land.

"At first sight, these houses are attractive, but in actual fact it is very hard to live here. People

lack work in the purest sense. The children have nothing to do except school and television.

Even the wildlife is lacking," said Susanna Aghababian, the village elder.

And for families moving in, gaining a house is just the start of the battle. Martik Hayrapetian,

a 42-year-old veteran of the Karabakh war, lives with his wife and five children in Arachamugh

without any source of regular income. In the winter, he looks after the boiler in the local school,

but loses his job when the warm weather comes.

"As a child I did not dream of being a boilerman. That's what life has left me as. Although some

months I receive 20,000 drams (54 dollars)," he said.

Although he lives only 50 metres from the school where he works, some of his younger children

are unable to attend, lacking clothes and shoes.

"My only hope is for credit to buy animals, which the state promised to give out. Let's see. If we

can obtain some livestock, we'll live well. But, as it is, every day my wife and I just look at each

other, and wonder how we will live through the day," he said.

"I am very grateful for my flat but it is just a flat, and how can we live, what can we eat? There is

no work, and the land is bad."

Lusine Musaelian is the Radio Liberty correspondent in Stepanakert, and a participant in IWPR's

Cross Caucasus Journalism Network, CCJN.

The terminology used was chosen by the editors, not the reporter.

HOMELESS IN YEREVAN

12 June 2009
A decade and a half after the fighting ceased, many refugees are still waiting for proper

housing.
By Gegham Vardanian in Yerevan

In a gloomy ex-hostel, built for students at Yerevan's chemistry technical collage but used by

refugees from Azerbaijan, 120 families are still waiting for some kind of decent accommodation.

Amazingly, considering that whole families are crammed into rooms of just 12 square metres,

and are forced to share a toilet with up to 50 people, often this is better than the facilities they

have had in the past.

Some 360,000 of the half-million Armenians who fled Azerbaijan because of the Karabakh

conflict, which ended exactly 15 years ago, ended up in Armenia, and accommodation for them

is still scarce.

Maria Aslanian, a 96-year-old, has lived with her two sons - 67-year-old Viktor and 62-year-old

Vladimir - in one such room for ten years. With its three beds and cupboard, there is barely room

to stand up.

"There was a time when we had absolutely nowhere to live. For four months we had to sleep outside,

in the snow and the rain. It's good that they gave us this place," said Maria, as she sat playing

backgammon with Viktor.

Just down the hall was her neighbour Laura Melkonian, who has lived in the former student hostel

in the Charbakh district of the Armenian capital for 18 years already. She spent years complaining

about the toilets, but has just learned now to accept them as they are.

"Water drips out of the ceiling, it pours out of the plaster, and we have to go in there with an umbrella.

Who knows, maybe one day the ceiling will fall down completely? But what can we do? It is a public

toilet, which 50 people are using," she said.

She has more space than many of her neighbours, since her husband has left her to move to Russia,

and she lives only with her 13-year-old son.

She has separated out a little kitchen area with a curtain, but it is so small that only her arms can fit

inside it. "I am thinking maybe I should leave the country and become a refugee from Armenia," she

mused.

Gegham is the editor of the www.echannel.am website of Internews and a participant in IWPR's

Cross Caucasus Journalism Network.
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