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Public speech http://artsakhtert.com Sat, 07 Dec 2019 07:12:59 +0000 Joomla! - Open Source Content Management en-gb A LITTLE OF LOVE AND NOT LOVE http://artsakhtert.com/eng/index.php/public-speech/item/7729-a-little-of-love-and-not-love http://artsakhtert.com/eng/index.php/public-speech/item/7729-a-little-of-love-and-not-love A LITTLE OF LOVE AND NOT LOVE
Norek GASPARYAN

 Someone seems to be have stolen the feeling that holds us together; the feeling that we often call love, is stolen, hidden in a remote place, and no one manages to find it, though, there is no proper searcher either. Moreover, we have already learned to live without that dairy source, and we have adapted forgetting about its existence. That's nothing, one can stand, the scary is hatred, contempt, indifference, lack of individuality, the so-called endless contradiction of the old and the new, it would be fair to say, the conflict that replace love immediately, without wasting time.
Why? Asking, too, is a sort of shame. Sentimental and simple, as well. One would even lough. It's a matter of law and approach. To blame is senseless and illogical. Everyone blames everyone, forgiveness is ruled out, there is no friend, there is no basis for support. The word has been deprived of its warmth and color. Anyone can rule a country without overthrowing it, without feeling the weight of that country.
For some reason, I still remembered my grandfather who headed a collective farm for twenty-five years. On one occasion, perhaps he was already a retiree, he came home from a collective meeting, and cursed for the first time in his life, and put a few words under the feet of my surprised grandmother.
-What the hell are they doing ...?
This meant that the economy was not properly managed, that they did not get to the district center on foot, that they did not sleep at the office chairs at night, that they did not distribute what they had, that they did not give what they kept for a rainy day to families who had four-five schoolchildren...
-Anahit, we can’t keep a country this way ...
The old days are heavy and salty. Night arrests, the Great Patriotic, drought ... widespread poverty ... unmarried women, homeless men ... salvation was the neighbor's shoulder, warm talk, the full hands, my grandmother's cooked lunch for the whole yard, comforting look ... so the whole village, the city, the country ... otherwise there would be no living, and the head of the collective farm could do nothing ... the head of the collective farm would be left alone, the village, the house ... My maternal grandmother couldn't raise the orphans of my grandfather Ruben either. ..
What happened to us? Which devil entered our house, how did we lose our alertness of a soldier? To my mind, blaming others is not manly. Neither by accusation will anything change, nor by the persecution of that damned devil. And I've never been a fan of the past, I started to be afraid of the present with this incomprehensible cloak, this commotion, this denial ... It turns out that neither the hero is a hero, nor the peasant is a peasant, the writer is not like a writer at all, the teacher is of nothing, the minister does not know the country; the deputy is a child… Even the years we lived were meaningless and barren. That is to say, nothing. That is to say, lies, images of a fairy tale creator and apples from heaven. Who is right, who is wrong, who is cheating, where is the intellect…the ability to sense the smell of the land and the ability to stand firm on that land…?
I think, maybe we aren’t discussing our leaders often, our foreign policy, our people's finances, trying to know everything, expressing our "authoritative" opinion everywhere, even forcing ourselves to believe that we are the only truth. And everyone is involved in this job, whether adults or children, male or female, specialist and non-specialist. There is no indifferent person. We make a point of discussion the dresses of the wives of the authorities with pleasure, how they sit and stand up, how they talk and how they are silent. There is no enclosed space. And to justify it, people must know everything. And none of the participants in hilarious discussions think that this is what impedes the people to see what they have to see, to hear what they are only obliged to hear, that what they have seen and heard today is just a small piece of monumental performance, just an innocent episode, a hastily formed picture.
What do we want in general, why do we care so much about people's privacy, someone else's kitchen, bedroom, wedding, birthday party, even attending church...? It's sad. My grandfather would definitely say: “What the hell are they doing ...?”
Nothing. To be honest, nothing. And, strangely enough, no one realizes that he is in spiritual idleness, that he is just out of the game and that the flag has long been raised ...
I don't know, maybe I'm not saying good things, but our view of ourselves is often far from reality. I mean, not everybody can be a leader, be a politician, take a brush, write a book, plant a tree ...
No one can understand us better than we do. We know our good, our bad, our deeds and what we didn’t do, and even our future actions. We know what lies beneath any stone, any gorge and any valley, whoever whatever has got, whoever whatever has done, and whatever wants to do… Who the devotee and not devotee is. And, most frighteningly, it is not just anyone else who kills us, right in front of our house, on the busiest street of the millennium, and even some of my fellow tribesmen dare not recognize the choice of a whole country, my choice ...
One more thing to say: Only a few days abroad, that is, after returning to homeland, any Armenian finds it his duty, to present to his friends in his district and relatives, even strangers for months and years, what he has seen in that country, the life of that country, democracy and the laws, the beautiful buildings and the inhabitants, not forgetting to conclude his word in this way:
“Everybody there does his job. The neighbors do not know each other. People do not have time to discuss others”.
And for that matter, I mean, to discuss others, we have plenty of time, just endless, at least a thousand years of resources. If we don’t discuss others, right down the street or at work, we will be exhausted, not complete, and no one will care about us. Discussing is nothing, there is everything in that talk: insult, contempt, enmity, hatred ... according to our custom, everyone is bad, no one is in his place." There is nothing worse than us. And the country is not a country. One wants to curse the liar, one wants to say that there is nothing better than our country under this glittering sun, that both good and bad are ours, and if we do something wrong, we are all guilty, from adult to child. The suffering is not just for one person, not even for a hundred people, not even a thousand, each of the ten million has its share, and each of those ten million is the owner of what we have and don’t have.
It may sound a bit abstract, but I will continue my search for the living phenomenon that has been stolen from us, I will not close my eyes, I will not be afraid of loneliness, I will ignore any wolf and beast, I will not hide from heavy rains and whirlwinds, and I will find, of course, if those who do not understand anything have not yet devoured...
 

 

 

 

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arturcom1@gmail.com (Super User) Public speech Wed, 30 Oct 2019 15:30:49 +0000
With myself http://artsakhtert.com/eng/index.php/public-speech/item/7380-with-myself http://artsakhtert.com/eng/index.php/public-speech/item/7380-with-myself With myself
Norek Gasparyan

 It is strange that lately, for some reason, I began to compare an Armenian of 2019 with the one of 1988 very often. To be more simple and clear, I’m not comparing two different persons, but the same person: one is twenty-twenty-five years old and the other is fifty-fifty-five or sixty, can you imagine? It turns to quite a beautiful, though a bit unclear picture, a modern canvas, quite appropriate in any “izm”.

So putting them together and comparing, I'm surprised, admired, disappointed, happy... both are good, they are mine, but I beg your pardon, that one of 88’s is more closely related to me, some kind of, how to say, more closely and determined, both wise and naïve, persistent… devoted to hid ideas, you can’t change him; distracting him is simply impossible, illogical… His eyes are shining, his voice is ringing, his walk is like a commander’s, who has won thousands of battles, always awake… out of personal life, away from the crowd… the purest…Have you ever seen such a person? Don’t say “yes”, I’ll not believe, anyway. I’ll even laugh at your unawareness.
This one, I want to say the one that is fifty-five years old, is different. No, I have nothing to say against, they are the same, but let me tell he is no more that twenty-five years old guy. It’s surprising, but there is little in common between them, a little work reminds of them and the thinking is another. I repeat, the man has changed, years have done their job, and the man, I can understand, could have not always resisted the glory, victory, praise, and sometimes lost the sense of reality, often not differing the false and the honest, the right and the wrong from each other.
I ask, whether that could have not happened… I suspect ... I'm not sure… although I wish it was… I wish he could resist…I wish he could overcome… even if changed, then a little, unnoticeable…
What can I say? That’s not good, I want to say these changes, this distance, this difference, the very idea that a person does not fit in his house, does not fit in the yard, neither does he fit in the city nor in the country…doesn’t fit… There is narrowness…always something is not enough…something is missing, something is disturbing…
In contrast, there was nothing in 88’s, but everything was enough, there was not a house but there were full of guests, we rejoiced together and together we got sad, the material had nothing to do at our places, the gathered and united thousand people were not a crowd. And the struggle was for the country, for the past, for human dignity and rights, for our firm, divine place on the planet. Nothing else interested us; the rest was just a game, unacceptable, funny, as well.
Really, I dare say, in the last several 100 years we thought an Armenian had never been so beautiful, so attached to the country, with sense of self-esteem, self-knowing and self-worth, having vanity, idea and, let me say, having everything. It’s difficult not declaring love to him, not kissing his forehead and not adoring him. I would not say; that would not be right, not honest, speaking more honestly, the Lord would neither understand nor accompany us in our future wars.
I would like to say, as it is appropriate, I am not a fan of the past, the epic of the past has lost its ability of inspiring me a long time ago, though I never miss the opportunity to travel to the past, I don’t even avoid the most difficult meetings, and always bring something with me, definitely new, undiscovered, unread. But let me say, I do not let him interfere with my new ideas and affairs, be with me, follow me at every step…because I do no doubt my present, my past and my future… I mean the present is my ally, my comrade in arms, the most relative, the most reliable, and the closest, as well… I was the same at 1988, maybe just at 1988. The worship of weapon and power was also from 1988, and rejecting the idols, as well. My idol was my ego, and then it was ‘We’, to be more accurate, thousands of ‘Me’ in ‘We’. Otherwise, we would lose, again leaving in the past tears, mourning, land and a naive and incomprehensible desire to spit on justice.
Now…
31 years later.
No matter, what anyone says, that Armenian still has his courage, we don’t complain. But the madness misses. I have nothing to hide, we also suffer from memory loss, I mean we began forgetting ourselves, our past, our right and wrong, our defeat and victory, our deeds and failures, but more often our wrong, our defeat and our failure…
Aren’t you afraid of devaluing the life lived?
I am scared of it, more than of war…
You know I say so, because the war can also be won, though all the wars always end with making new idols, with the so called new value systems, long-live dedications…
Let me say one more thing; maybe the most important.
The Armenian of 1988 was not a half-Armenian. That Armenian involved in him from Sea to Sea Armenia, the lost and the gained… I mean that Armenian of 1988 had something from every part of the earth. If he were an only native of Stepanakert, Yerevan, Gyumri or Sasun, he would lose again… He was just an Armenian, an Armenian raising those who had lost their freedom in the depth of brotherhood, friendship and soviet ideology to the level of commander and God.
Where are you, Hrant Matevosyan?
I am crazy for this Armenian. Is there anyone who is not crazy for him, or doesn’t want to know him?
This one seems to be a little, too little changed. The country in him is a single whole, sometimes from town to town, sometimes from sea to sea and sometimes just what he has… Well, at least that one of 1988 can assure this one that the country is not complete just by the capital city, nor by the village that keeps the border on its shoulders, and that the country one day begins from the border, one day from the childhood district, sometimes from the farthest village… that the country is not complete when it is in part, cities are not a country, neither village to village is a power…And this is not a past. The past is incomprehensible, intangible; as if someone else’s… somehow carefully protected …whoever goes after him doesn’t manage to come back. Some remain on half way, often disappointed and empty...
Whatever you say, I can refuse neither the first nor the second. Both are mine, the most relative, the best, and the most important is that neither that of 88’s can now live without his today’s brother, nor that of nowadays is able to carry his burden without the other…
Besides, both have the same country, the same heaven, sun, tree, field and lost seas ... dignity ... freedom ... And, will never, I mean neither today, nor tomorrow, nor the other day, give the other the right to make a mistake ...

 

 

 

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arturcom1@gmail.com (Super User) Public speech Thu, 07 Mar 2019 11:26:40 +0000