by David Zenian
When Procter & Gamble, one of the world's largest names in home products such as Tide and Folger's coffee, decided to mark the fifth anniversary of its booming business in the Baltics, company executives turned to Raffi Kharajanian and two other artists to collaborate in the production of a promotional compact disk.
Kharajanian is not only a renowned concert pianist and music professor, but also an "Honorary Citizen" of Latvia, a title bestowed by the Latvian government on a handful of people in recognition of their service to the nation after independence from the Soviet Union a decade ago.
He is one of only two Armenians who have been granted the special status. The other is Dr. Natalia Bagramian, the niece of Marshal Ivan (Hovhannes) Bagramian, who was the commander of the Soviet army in the Baltics from 1945 to 1954.
Kharajanian, who was born in Armenia and has lived in Latvia since 1970, is also the president of the National Minorities Council of Latvia, the governing body of 21 ethnic groups, including Russians, Jews, Germans, Ukrainians and even Azeris, which acts as the liaison with the government and helps with policies affecting the minorities.
"The Council was established about the same time as the independence movement in Latvia and I have been its President from the start. On many occasions I wanted to retire from the position but they kept voting me in. Even the Azeris and the Russians insisted that I remain in charge," Kharajanian said.
His popularity among the minorities and the Latvian authorities is a reflection of the stature of the Armenian community and the respect it has within the society at large.
In the art world, the names of painters such as Varuz and Babken Stepanian are well-known.
Varuz has been living in Riga since 1982 and according to local art critics his works are "overwhelmingly a product of Latvian academic principles, complemented with his national association with his indigenous culture."
Stepanian came to Riga in 1983, and his works have been shown at art galleries in Germany, Russia and Switzerland.
In the small western Latvian town of Saldus, the Latvian Lutheran Evangelical Church has named its school after St. Gregory the Illuminator, the patron saint of Armenia, where social workers and Sunday school teachers are trained.
The school Principal, Rev. Janis Bitans, is deeply interested in Armenian history and one of the courses taught at the school is about the life and works of St. Gregory.
"We decided on this name because of what St. Gregory has done and the importance of his work in the Christian world," he said. "We decided on the name on our own. We just felt it was an appropriate name which reflects the spirit of what we are doing here."
The Armenian community does not number more than 2,500 people, but "prestige has nothing to do with size," Kharajanian explained.
The community's life in Latvia is relatively new compared to some of the other former Soviet Republics. Nearly all Armenians came after the 1940's, some as soldiers or officers to serve in Latvia, while others as students or technicians to work in various factories and government establishments.
Until independence, no effort was made to organize.
"There was no need for that. We came and went as we pleased. We were all Soviet citizens, and the Diaspora concept as we know it now did not exist. We spent most of our vacations in Armenia. In more than one way, we were always in contact with our Armenian roots," Kharajanian explained.
The picture has changed dramatically since Latvian independence. Soviet citizenship is something of the past, and Armenians living in Latvia for all those long years were given a choice.
They could either return to Armenia, if they wanted, or stay in Latvia and adopt a new status—that of resident aliens with special passports which gave them the right to live, work and function but not vote.
"Children born after Latvian independence automatically become Latvian citizens, but not their parents. They have to submit a special petition and pass a special Latvian language test if they want to get the local citizenship," Kharajanian explained.
Of the estimated 2,500 Armenians living in Latvia today, not more than 400 are Latvian citizens. The vast majority do not speak Latvian and given their age and background, could never hope to get the coveted Latvian passports.
"In some ways, this is a very difficult situation for all Armenians living here. It's true that they enjoy all the privileges of Latvian citizens, but somehow they feel trapped here. They cannot travel to Europe because no one will give them visas on their resident alien passports. Even Armenia demands a visa from the Armenians living here," Kharajanian explained.
Adapting to the new realities has not been easy for the small Armenian community of Latvia. There is the all important issue of integration into a society which has become increasingly nationalistic. Russian, which was more than just a functional language under the Soviet regime, is rapidly being pushed to the sidelines.
The old business environment has also changed. Jobs are no longer guaranteed to all citizens. A free market economy means everyone is on his own.
For most of the Armenians, who were once employed in government enterprises, making the change has been a slow process. Some have opened small restaurants, others are in business and by and large, there is no real poverty.
Dr. Natalia Bagramian, a surgeon by training and a graduate of the Riga Medical Academy, is a major share holder in the Via Una Policlinic, an ultra modern facility which employs more than 50 medical doctors, dentists and surgeons covering a wide range of specializations.
Born and raised in a "Russianized" family in Riga—her uncle was Marshal Bagramian and her father Iliya, a Major General in the Soviet army—she only began going back to her roots after Latvian independence.
"This might sound strange, but the first time I felt something different in my veins was when I heard Armenian music at an Armenian restaurant here in Riga," she said.
"I had not really thought about my Armenian heritage before. That much for being a true Soviet," she said.
Her success is not unique to the community.
Sergei Avedissian first came to Riga in 1975 to sell carnations which his family grew on their small plot of land in Armenia.
"I guess I decided to stay because I married a Latvian," he explained.
Avedissian today is a successful businessman, owner of a shopping mall, a sunflower-oil and Armenian cognac distributor and a major community philanthropist.
"I have always dreamt of having my own business, and the collapse of the Soviet system has made it possible for me. I have always worked hard and that's exactly what I tell my fellow Armenians," he said.
But how easy is it to be in private business in Latvia?
An element of corruption still exists, but according to people involved in the market place, the amount of corruption is not high enough to hinder private enterprise, individual initiative and the ability to grow.
"I hate saying this, but this is not Armenia. Here, a businessman can do what he wants and the government is not there to make his life difficult. The laws and regulations of the country are just and very adaptable. People can make money and survive without constantly bribing government officials or street thugs," he said.
In central Riga, Artashes Babayan runs a hardware store.
Like many in his generation, Babayan came to Latvia as a soldier in the Soviet army but after finishing his tour of duty in 1969 decided to stay on. He held several government jobs, including that of manager of a warehouse.
After independence, Babayan began his own private business from a small store which has since grown into a profitable import-export business that includes the sale of anything from heating supplies, to plastics and home appliances.
"It is not easy to be in business, and I have to admit the first few years after independence were chaotic. Today, things are different. Tax laws are very clear and so are import and export regulations. There is no racketeering. If the market is good, we make money, if it's bad, we suffer like everyone else.
"Latvia is gradually becoming very European where law and order are significant," he said.
With the gradual improvement of the economic conditions among the Armenians in Latvia, a small group of Armenians got together a few years ago and began the construction of the first Armenian church in Latvia—and the Baltics.
Also named St. Gregory the Illuminator, the construction work is more than 75 percent completed and as Church Council chairman Spartak Ter-Avedissian said the church will be ready for the 1,700 anniversary of Christendom in Armenia this year.
"We cannot expect to survive here as a community without our own church," he said. The existing blueprint also calls for the construction of a small community center and a school.
While the project moves along, the community has set up a small Sunday school in space made available through the city council.
This year, 35 students between the ages of five and 17 were enrolled and attending classes, learning the Armenian language, history and music. There are shortages in textbooks and the difficulties of adapting the program to suit groups that are native Armenian speakers with those who only speak Russian.
"We can use more guidance and help from Armenia, especially when it comes to educational tools. We are just beginning to face the problems which the rest of the Diaspora has been dealing with for generations," the school's principal Ms. Elsa Mirzoyan explained.
The problems are many, but given the progress made in the first ten years since Latvian independence, the Armenian community is on the right track, building an infrastructure with no help from outside.
