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1906-2001: Serving the Nation
1906-2001: Serving the Nation

NEW OPPORTUNITIES IN SCIENCE: THE COMMERCIALIZATION OF RUSSIAN KNOW-HOW


by David Zenian

Ashot Arakelovich Sarkisov no longer wears the uniform of Vice Admiral of the Soviet navy, instead, he leads a group of scientists working with their American counterparts to dismantle aging Soviet-era nuclear submarines—the same war machines he helped build.

Dr. Lev Piruzyan is no longer on the "black list" of the Kremlin, and is busy in research and development of new drugs—free at last of the stigma of being pushed aside because of his alleged non-conformist views.

Dr. Miron Mneyan and his associate Walter Aramyan have turned the new found freedoms of post-communist Russia into commercializing the country's vast scientific and technological wealth.

Dr. Hovhannes Hovhannissian leads a major Moscow orthopedic hospital where changes of the past decade ignite feelings of nostalgia despite the greater freedoms that followed the collapse of the communist regime.

Each in his own way, these Armenian scientists have adapted to the changing world around them where a little over a decade ago a simple contact with a "foreigner" would have labeled them as "spies" and "enemies of the people."

Sarkisov, now 78 years old, has spent his life working in one "top secret" Soviet naval facility after the other, including Sevastopol, as a scientist and one of the USSR's top experts. His Ph.D. dissertation was the dynamics of nuclear powered submarines. "I served under Stalin, Khrushchev, Brezhnev, Gorbachev, Yeltsin and now Putin," Sarkisov said in an interview at Moscow's Advanced Technology Research Foundation (ATRP), which was formed in 1997 in partnership with the United States to deal with the serious nuclear waste management issues facing Russia.

As the chairman of the ATRP's Expert Council, it is Sarkisov's duty to coordinate the Russian side of the endeavor, which involves the Russian Academy of Science, the Ministry of Atomic Energy, the Ministry of Defense, the Russian Federation navy, and several committees of the Russian State Duma.

"I thought I had retired in 1989 and was quite happy to serve on the advisory board of the Russian Academy of Science, but they called me back, and I could not say no because I am deeply concerned with the dangers of nuclear waste. The first thing I had to do was to start learning some English and how to use the computer. I'm fascinated with all that wealth of knowledge and information on the internet," Sarkisov said..

Born to Nagorno Karabakh native Armenian parents in Tashkent, Uzbekistan, Sarkisov graduated from the Soviet Naval Academy in 1941 and served as a junior officer during the Second World War. "I don't know why I chose the navy. Maybe it was the romantic in me, which somehow attracted me toward the high seas. There were 13 Armenian admirals in the Soviet navy, and Armenia is a landlocked country," Sarkisov said with a broad smile on his face.

From 1959 to 1971 Sarkisov headed the atomic energy department of the Soviet navy and from 1971 to 1984 he was in charge of the Naval Academy's main training facility in Sevastopol. From 1984 to 1986 he was stationed in Leningrad where he trained high-ranking officers, including several full admirals. "The circumstances of my career were such that I was unable to meet and socialize with people outside the navy. In effect, I had no contact with Armenians outside my immediate circle," he said.

But despite the fact that he never had a chance to learn Armenian, he kept some of the Nagorno Karabakh dialect, which was the language of the Sarkisov household during his childhood.

As much as getting to see Sarkisov was difficult, leaving his office proved to be just as hard. "We must make a toast to Armenia," he said as he took out a bottle of Armenian brandy and filled the two small glasses. The conversation turned away from his career, to his emotional attachments—his roots, his dreams.

"Let me tell you about my recent trip to Nagorno Karabakh," Sarkisov started saying as he filled the brandy glasses. "I went to Shushi, the birthplace of my father. I remember him telling me how he escaped from there in 1920 as a result of pogroms against the Armenians. It was a very emotional trip for me. All the time I was there I felt like I was home again: images of my father, the streets where he walked as a young man, the sound of people around me, the Armenian dialect. Officers don't cry, but I did.

"I came away from the trip with a much deeper understanding of who I am. My wife is from Yerevan—a typical Armenian. I met her while I was in the military serving in Tashkent. She was a student at the university there. I proposed a week after we met and got married. How could she have said no to a Soviet officer," he said.

"She is a great cook, and our neighbors know that from the sweet smell of the dolma (rice filled vegetables), she makes," he added. "I love dolma."

With more nuclear submarines to be dismantled, Sarkisov has no intention of throwing in the towel. "I have a lot of work to do. I still have the energy and I feel very good. I know my nuclear submarines along with the problems and risks associated with their dismantlement," he said. "I want to see a world safe from the threat of nuclear pollution."

Compared with Sarkisov, the life of Armenian scientist Lev Aramovich Piruzyan is filled with frustrating moments and a constant struggle to maintain his independence.

Born in Yerevan in 1938, Piruzyan moved to Moscow in 1961 after graduating from medical school. His father was a top communist party official, but his mother a devout Christian. In Moscow, Piruzyan completed his post-graduate studies and in 1964 was given a job at the Institute of Physical Chemistry. His doctoral dissertation dealt with the impact of physical factors like laser irradiation and permanent magnetic fields on biological systems.

He later moved on to establish the prestigious "Institute of Bioassay of Chemical Compounds" only to be "relieved" from his post in 1984 after being accused of harboring a "spy"—a charge, which was never proved and not even followed up by the authorities. "They just wanted to get rid of me. Who says communist politics was not involved with the world of science and research," Piruzyan said. For nearly ten years after his removal, Piruzyan was shunned and pushed aside. But all that has changed now.

In just the past year, the Russian Academy of Science has set up the Center for Theoretical Studies on Physicochemical Pharmacology and appointed Piruzyan as its director and entrusted him with a mission to "create a scientific foundation of metabolic passport compilation and the individualization of the effect of chemical compounds on biological systems."

A deeply religious man, Piruzyan credits his mother for his faith and his strong attachment to his Armenian roots. But Russia remains his home, and in appreciation to what Russia has given him as a scientist, Piruzyan has made a large financial contribution to the construction of a Russian Orthodox church close to his Moscow apartment where pictures of such influential figures as the late Soviet Foreign Minister Anastas Mikoyan decorate the walls along with dozens of old Russian religious icons.

"I have always remained close to the church. In fact, I was baptized in 1993," he said. "Armenians have survived over the centuries because of their faith. That aspect of our Armenian life is as important today as it has always been. Faith will preserve our national identity, and education, science and technology will advance us as an independent country. I have never denied an opportunity to young Armenian scientists and will continue doing so whenever I can."

As state investments in science dwindled, hundreds of highly trained scientists have begun looking into other opportunities. Some have moved away into other professions. Dr. Miron Mneyan, 67, is a Russian-trained Armenian physicist who has lived in Moscow for 44 years and has held a number of top positions both in academia and industry.

For someone who has spent a lifetime in Soviet technology, it was only natural for Mneyan to jump into the new world of venture capitalism. "What is a new technology if we cannot market it," Mneyan said in an interview.

With his long-time contacts and understanding of the Russian research institutes, Mneyan and his close associate Walter Aramyan—a veteran of Armenia's printing industry—launched the Russian Technological Review, a magazine devoted to "reactivating Russia's intellectual potential." The glossy English and Russian language quarterly magazine provides the vehicle to Russian scientists to reach potential investors and gives Mneyan and his privately-owned company an opportunity to act as a conduit between between the two.

"The Western world does not know much about the Russian scientific scene and the new inventions that are taking shape every day. What we do here is help the Russian scientists to take their inventions out to the open market," Mneyan said. Of the more than 500 inventions brought to Mneyan, an expert team has singled out some 10 new concepts which have already generated "serious interest" by major industrial companies in the United States, Europe and Japan.

Having initiated the commercialization of intellectual property, Mneyan is well into developing a "portfolio" with the most promising inventions, such as the impulse-inertial electric motor, or motor-wheel, which can be used on electric vehicles such as small city-cars, wheel-chairs, fork-lifts and others.

"Today, as never before, saving energy is a top priority for everyone. We believe our breakthrough invention will greatly contribute toward this objective," Mneyan said. The concept has already been tested and prototypes produced. "We have signed several licensing agreements with Austrian and Japanese companies and we are in negotiation phase with some others. As a patent holder, we see unlimited potentials for this product which will benefit the inventor himself, we as a conduit, and the manufacturer."

A section of his magazine, which runs under the headline "Techno-Bank", is devoted to new inventions in medicine, computers, technology, aviation and military hardware. "Intellectual property is emerging as a vital economic sector in itself, and our job here is to protect and enhance both. We want to assist companies with research-intensive products to find access to Russian technologies that can be put to effective use on world markets.

"What we have in mind is to design ways of capitalizing intellectual property, and transforming ideas into consumer products," Mneyan said. A tall order and a new concept for post-communist Russia which is still not easily understood by many old-school scientists who were raised in an era where the state had total control.

Dr. Hovhannes Hovhannissian, 68, is an orthopedic surgeon—and for that matter, one of the most famous and better known in Russia today—who still looks back at the "old days" with some nostalgia.

"The health sector is far behind the progress we have seen in other aspects of our daily lives. I don't miss the communist system, but to be doctor in this quasi-capitalist society, where everything has been turned into a business, is not the best career one can have," he said in an interview.

Born in Batumi, Georgia, and a graduate of the Yerevan Medical Institute, Dr. Hovhannissian came to Moscow in 1961 to specialize in orthopedic surgery. Over the span of a long career, he received at least three medals of merit, and was named chief surgeon at Moscow's Central Hospital.

He kept busy with research and developed several orthopedic procedures. He led dozens of medical teams to North Korea, Japan, Mexico, India and even Iraq, not to mention all the former republics of the Soviet Union. There was no shortage of fame, and the pay was good too. "In the old days, there was some kind of economic parity. The class distinction was not as obvious. I had a very comfortable life," he said.

Now, Dr. Hovhannissian is still in charge of a large Moscow medical facility, but his pay is around 400 dollars—a pittance compared to what even a small store-owner makes. "Healthcare is still very much subsidized by the government and is free for the general public. I am aware of the fact that some young doctors make extra cash on the side—under the table—but I'm still old fashioned and treat my patients the same way as I have always done," he said.

"Over the years, I have trained dozens of Armenian doctors from Yerevan, but unfortunately, their numbers are dwindling. It's obvious that the young generation of Armenia is more interested in business than science and medicine," he said.

"If this trend continues, we might not see a single Armenian doctor in Moscow. I hope this trend will change. Armenians have always been welcome in Russia, and Armenian academicians have held a special place in the Russian scientific community. Today, when they say someone is Armenian, they immediately think of an Armenian businessman. It's a new image, and I don't particularly like that," Hovhannissian said.

Originally published in the October 2002 ​issue of AGBU Magazine. Archived content may appear distorted on your screen. end character

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