My even less controversial proposal: Just add the current coat of arms

Several years ago, then-Weekly columnist Raffi Elliott proposed what he half-jokingly described as an ‘uncontroversial’ revision to one of our national symbols. It wasn’t the anthem or the coat of arms (both of which have caused no shortage of political grumbling and performative outrage in recent years) but rather, the flag—specifically, its aspect ratio. He argued that the current tricolor, with its awkwardly elongated proportions, looks out of place next to the flags of other nations and behaves poorly in the wind. He even pointed out how it tends to flap in people’s faces at protests; flags floating defiantly over crowds may send a stirring message, he wrote, but most of the time, they’re just messing up our hair (a problem I’m happily immune to, having long since made peace with baldness). Raffi made a compelling case. Sadly, like most reasonable suggestions in Armenia, his was promptly ignored. Inspired by his spirit of harmless logic, I’d like to offer my own equally ‘uncontroversial’ proposal, one that doesn’t ask anyone to rewrite history, redesign anything or form a committee. This proposal is so straightforward, so embarrassingly obvious, that I almost feel bad pointing it out. Let’s finally put the coat of arms of the Republic of Armenia on the actual building where the government of Armenia sits. That’s it. That’s the idea. I mean the government building in Republic Square (officially known as Government House Number One—because of course it is). You know the one: pink tufa, massive archway, beautiful Soviet-era clock and a front-row seat to the dancing fountains. Look up above the entrance, and there it is: a grand, meticulously carved coat of arms, commanding the facade, but not the one we’ve used since 1991 (based on the one from 1918). No, what adorns the central facade of Armenia’s most important public building is still the coat of arms of the Armenian Soviet Socialist Republic, complete with the hammer and sickle, sunrays and wheat sheaves of a long-gone empire. To be fair, there is a small version of the current coat of arms on a metal sign affixed next to one of the side entrances at about eye level—the size of a decent dinner plate. But if a tourist or visiting dignitary wanted to know what the national coat of arms of Armenia looked like, they’d probably assume it was the one looming above the square in proud communist grandeur. There are a few ways one could respond to this. One is to remove the Soviet emblem altogether. Sure, that option could be on the table, but I’m not here to erase anything. I’m happy to leave it where it is. Armenia was a Soviet republic for 70 years. That’s part of our history—and part of the architecture, literally and figuratively. We shouldn’t pretend otherwise. In fact, symbols of that era are still scattered throughout Yerevan: in railings, facades, government buildings and even plastered across the front of the building that houses Public Radio of Armenia, as if the news still needs a hammer and sickle stamp of approval. Yet, while Soviet-era relics remain etched in stone, the legacy of the First Republic hasn’t fared quite as well. Just a short walk from Republic Square stands Armenia’s original government building—the one from which Aram Manoukian declared independence in 1918—now burdened with a hideous white addition and housing a pizza joint on its ground floor. Nothing says ‘national sovereignty’ quite like pepperoni, mozzarella and neglect. What should have been a preserved monument to Armenian statehood has instead been compromised—visually, architecturally and symbolically. All the more reason to get the basics right when it comes to what we choose to elevate and enshrine. The Soviet era is over. The least we can do after all these years is acknowledge that fact by placing the actual coat of arms of the Republic of Armenia—the one that appears on our passports, official documents, postage stamps and soccer jerseys (though that wasn’t without its controversies)—directly above the old one. This is not a call for sweeping symbolic reforms. We’ve had enough of those. This government seems to have developed a strange fixation with reinventing symbols and rehashing history—debating the lyrics of the national anthem, questioning the lion’s expression or the floatability of Noah’s Ark on the coat of arms, and using vague language that casts doubt on established facts about the Armenian Genocide. Meanwhile, the actual country is in crisis. Artsakh has been lost. Armenian prisoners of war and former officials remain in Azerbaijani custody and are being paraded through sham trials in Baku. More than 100,000 Armenians have been forcibly displaced, stripped of their homes, their homeland, their dignity, and thanks to the government’s increasingly blatant PR campaign, their sense of belonging. It’s safe to say that the promises of the revolution that brought this government to power remain, for many, painfully unfulfilled. Freedoms are eroding. Populism is gaining ground. The big questions—those about real democracy, justice, sovereignty—feel increasingly unanswered. While all of this unfolds, we’re asked to consider whether our national anthem’s final verse is too gloomy, or whether the ancient dynasties depicted on the coat of arms have enough relevance in the digital age. So, here’s my counterproposal: Don’t waste time rewriting the anthem (especially now that you’ve already managed to shuffle around the stanzas—a pointless edit many of us will stubbornly refuse to sing the way you’d like us to). Don’t redesign the coat of arms. Don’t commission another committee to consult a focus group about what a lion should or shouldn’t look like. Just do one simple, sensible, long-overdue thing: Put the coat of arms of the Republic of Armenia above the SSR one on the government building. No dramatic unveiling ceremony. No PR stunts or social media campaigns to boost the popularity of your administration. Just a couple of chisels and competent stonecutters. It won’t solve our more important issues. It won’t reverse forced displacement and attempted genocide, restore trust in democratic institutions or magically end the government’s steady slide into populist theater. But it might, at the very least, offer a moment of clarity—a small, tangible reminder that we’re still willing to claim ownership over our present, even as we struggle with the weight of our past. A coat of arms doesn’t fix a nation, but it can still say something about who we are.

My even less controversial proposal: Just add the current coat of arms

This story is FREE for you...

Rupen Janbazian

This story is FREE for you...

Rupen Janbazian

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