Yerevan is the most important haven on the Armenian people’s centuries-long journey, the starting point for the journey ahead, the hope and light of Armenians everywhere. If only you knew what the city was like in the 1920s: Armenians came here from Aleppo, Constantinople, Tiflis and Moscow, to this wretched little town of clay, steeped in hashish.
But they—Arus Voskanyan, that magnificent woman, Hrachya Nersisyan, Vahram Papazyan, Martiros Saryan, Alexander Tamanyan and Toros Toramanyan, the finest of their people—were going to build their capital. It sprang from Tamanyan’s heart and Toramanyan’s love: for decades, amid the ruins of an ancient Armenian church, Toramanyan had brushed the dust from carved bunches of grapes and crumbled lime in his hand, so that Yerevan might rise. And we gained a great city, a capital.
Let us find the strength to look past the hardships of the time: the deserted outskirts, the factories whose chimneys no longer smoke. Just as a son can refuse to acknowledge a parent’s flaw, let us refuse to acknowledge that flaw and cherish our beautiful, strong city once again, until we see it breathing freely, lively and joyful once more, its people filled with love for one another. Let us cherish it, and we shall have that city, for it was there from the beginning. God forbid that we should open our foul mouths against our city or speak spitefully of our capital. We have no other: the world is full of beautiful cities, but they are not ours. Whatever you say, this one is ours.
If we are worthy people, we must have a city worthy of us. If we are a people of culture, if we are an adaptable, resilient, determined people, we must have our own city. Paris is beautiful, very beautiful. There are wealthy cities that have accumulated success upon success, beginning with their paving stones and walls, with a history of imperial achievements. We do not possess that wealth: our city has only one layer so far, it is a city of one success, and time must add further layers of wealth in the days of our sons and our sons’ sons. God grant that, a hundred years from now, visitors to Yerevan will find wealth laid down layer upon layer, and the work of centuries and generations.