About Charentsavan:
Urban Impressions After Modernity
Aram VARTIKYAN
Sociologist, PhD, Professor (Assistant) of Yerevan State University.
Chapter 1.
The City Square
Armenian Wikipedia briefly states: Charentsavan, a city in the Kotayk province of the Republic of Armenia, 12 km southwest of the provincial center.
This is the former Soviet Lusavan—a workers' settlement, a city of light, a city that will give light to the Soviet state and thus corresponds to the solid and firm logic of Soviet industrial modernization. This is not the city's only mission. Soon, in the northern suburb of the city, in accordance with this logic, heavy industry Soviet factories emerge, and the city is already modern, already multi-storied, already renewed, but, nevertheless, remains a workers' settlement.
Soon this becomes Charentsavan—the city of Charents. The victim of the Stalinist death machine, the "enemy of the people" has been rehabilitated, and now he replaces the Soviet light. Such a right already exists. In the Soviet country, it sometimes happened this way.
The city seems to be a unique derivative of the fundamental product of industrialization and the corresponding modernization—the Soviet railway. The city stretches along this railway from southwest to northeast. The almost rectangular layout is symmetrical to the conditional axis from southeast to northwest.
When the car is driving to an uncertain address, it surprisingly leads to the city center—the square named after Karen Serobi Demirchyan, the First Secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Armenian Soviet Socialist Republic. Yes, this is about the autumn journey of 2024. The square opens onto a recently renovated republican highway named after another glorious Bolshevik—Stepan Shahumyan. The empty and half-ruined skeleton of the former station also adjoins the same square.
This is a typical example of Brezhnev-era Soviet, Soviet Armenian modernism.
This is the former Soviet Lusavan—a workers' settlement, a city of light, a city that will give light to the Soviet state and thus corresponds to the solid and firm logic of Soviet industrial modernization. This is not the city's only mission. Soon, in the northern suburb of the city, in accordance with this logic, heavy industry Soviet factories emerge, and the city is already modern, already multi-storied, already renewed, but, nevertheless, remains a workers' settlement.
Soon this becomes Charentsavan—the city of Charents. The victim of the Stalinist death machine, the "enemy of the people" has been rehabilitated, and now he replaces the Soviet light. Such a right already exists. In the Soviet country, it sometimes happened this way.
The city seems to be a unique derivative of the fundamental product of industrialization and the corresponding modernization—the Soviet railway. The city stretches along this railway from southwest to northeast. The almost rectangular layout is symmetrical to the conditional axis from southeast to northwest.
When the car is driving to an uncertain address, it surprisingly leads to the city center—the square named after Karen Serobi Demirchyan, the First Secretary of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Armenian Soviet Socialist Republic. Yes, this is about the autumn journey of 2024. The square opens onto a recently renovated republican highway named after another glorious Bolshevik—Stepan Shahumyan. The empty and half-ruined skeleton of the former station also adjoins the same square.
This is a typical example of Brezhnev-era Soviet, Soviet Armenian modernism.
Formally, the Soviet citizen is given a whole variety of modern public amenities. And on the second floor of the station, above the functional spaces, a little beyond the functional hustle and bustle, the same Soviet citizen, the Soviet Armenian, should be able to satisfy one of his most important needs. They say there was a large and spacious dining hall here. Today, I reach the invisible foods, drinks, rest, and communication by passing through wooden gates. Similar ones exist in old and ancient buildings, medieval monasteries. The gates are round, round exclusively in rectangular boxes. The first encounter with the gates is unexpected. They are completely covered with truly otherworldly, solid carvings from the past. Similar ones exist in old and ancient buildings, medieval monasteries. So the surprise of the first encounter doesn't exist. It is therefore expected. That's how it should have been. That's how it was.
The local says this is not an ordinary dining hall. This was not an ordinary dining hall. This was the city's central, main hall—the hall for people's celebrations. Traditional feasts were held here, crowded weddings. At the very least, coffee and faithful cigarettes must have additionally confirmed the masculinity of the male visitors. This Soviet, public modernity of Charentsavan continuously reinforced what seemed to be the traditional, the collective, the community from the past within its walls.
For the Soviet citizen, natural light is not to be wasted; this is Lusavan. This light passes unhindered through glass walls several meters high. Today's narthex of unhindered winds and blinding permanent light is empty. The emptiness does not tell the story of the emptying. The bright and dusty emptiness does not tell the smells, does not tell the tastes, does not tell the noise, the queues, and perhaps the tension. The ruins of modernity are silent and peaceful. The glass has escaped from its once solid rows, and the open windows whisper with their jaws, "Nothing exists, nothing, see—it's empty." From outside, OUTSIDE, beyond the toothless wall, there is only a call—"I vote for the EU."
For the Soviet citizen, natural light is not to be wasted; this is Lusavan. This light passes unhindered through glass walls several meters high. Today's narthex of unhindered winds and blinding permanent light is empty. The emptiness does not tell the story of the emptying. The bright and dusty emptiness does not tell the smells, does not tell the tastes, does not tell the noise, the queues, and perhaps the tension. The ruins of modernity are silent and peaceful. The glass has escaped from its once solid rows, and the open windows whisper with their jaws, "Nothing exists, nothing, see—it's empty." From outside, OUTSIDE, beyond the toothless wall, there is only a call—"I vote for the EU."
The first floor of the building is traditional—Armenian. Sometimes this is called neo-Armenian. The ancient arches of monasteries and churches are, of course, made of new concrete, but they are covered with our Armenian tuff from monasteries and churches. The station is Armenian; the foundation is Armenian.
The building is conserved. It is closed on all sides. We enter through the back door—through the destroyed window niche of some administrative room, whose stench is the best lock.
The building is conserved. It is closed on all sides. We enter through the back door—through the destroyed window niche of some administrative room, whose stench is the best lock.
We are archaeologists. The remnants of Soviet administration, everyday life, forms of industrial and social attraction are before us—wooden parquet, green, solid Soviet public posters (which, if possible, were avoided being glued to the walls at home), flowery plaster decoration has not withstood in places—it's under my feet. The yard is deserted. The emptiness tells about itself.
To the right of the station's toothless skeleton, the Soviet ideological symmetry is already firmly broken. Opposite the administration stands an eclectic, post-Soviet, local semi-capitalism fortress—the "SAFARI" ceremonial hall. Next to it, by the secondary entrance, stands a whole MAYBACH.
The symmetry is further distorted; two white, necessarily white state NIVAs are nestled opposite the administration. It's unlikely that the visitor to the multi-story palace with dark glass windows, made of travertine or perlite, has come for hunting. This is the attractive marketing of some influential New Safaryan.
In the center of the rectangular square (at least it was probably intended to be so initially) is an inaccessible fountain with a circular basin. Because of this, the square also seems to be round.
It's autumn, the fountain is dry. In summer, water pours through torn, shredded metal attire. Locals tell that in summer, and especially in the evening, the square comes alive. Locals tell that many locals stroll in the constantly illuminated, this time also colorful square.
The symmetry is further distorted; two white, necessarily white state NIVAs are nestled opposite the administration. It's unlikely that the visitor to the multi-story palace with dark glass windows, made of travertine or perlite, has come for hunting. This is the attractive marketing of some influential New Safaryan.
In the center of the rectangular square (at least it was probably intended to be so initially) is an inaccessible fountain with a circular basin. Because of this, the square also seems to be round.
It's autumn, the fountain is dry. In summer, water pours through torn, shredded metal attire. Locals tell that in summer, and especially in the evening, the square comes alive. Locals tell that many locals stroll in the constantly illuminated, this time also colorful square.
It's autumn, the fountain is dry. In summer, water pours through torn, shredded metal attire. Locals tell that in summer, and especially in the evening, the square comes alive. Locals tell that many locals stroll in the constantly illuminated, this time also colorful square.
Two rays should take the passenger of the invisible train from the empty station to the depths of the city. To the left, another Bolshevik—Aghasi Khanjyan—breaks out from Karen Demirchyan. This is probably the central street of the city and, probably, the central public place. It connects the station to the equally empty and deserted CHARENTSAVAN cinema. No, here the glass of the spacious windows is in its place. According to the same locals, it has been transferred to the Armenian Apostolic Church so that Jehovah's Witnesses—the Jehovahs—suddenly don't have a place to gather.
The second ray is directed to the northeast. The great and beloved Armenian writer also starts from Communist Karen Demirchyan and does not lead to the public center of the city, where the cinema is with its intact windows. It carefully passes through the palaces of culture and SAFARI and, finally, joining the street of another Bolshevik—Gay, exits to the suburb of once-glorious factories.
End of the first part. To be continued...
Two rays should take the passenger of the invisible train from the empty station to the depths of the city. To the left, another Bolshevik—Aghasi Khanjyan—breaks out from Karen Demirchyan. This is probably the central street of the city and, probably, the central public place. It connects the station to the equally empty and deserted CHARENTSAVAN cinema. No, here the glass of the spacious windows is in its place. According to the same locals, it has been transferred to the Armenian Apostolic Church so that Jehovah's Witnesses—the Jehovahs—suddenly don't have a place to gather.
The second ray is directed to the northeast. The great and beloved Armenian writer also starts from Communist Karen Demirchyan and does not lead to the public center of the city, where the cinema is with its intact windows. It carefully passes through the palaces of culture and SAFARI and, finally, joining the street of another Bolshevik—Gay, exits to the suburb of once-glorious factories.
End of the first part. To be continued...