What is unfolding in Armenia today is not merely a political dispute. It is a dangerous and deeply sensitive process: the state has entered into direct confrontation with the Armenian Apostolic Church, leaving society caught in between.
I write this not as a theologian and not as a representative of the Church. I write as a journalist, a citizen, and someone who understands that any blow to the Church in Armenia is inevitably a blow to national identity, regardless of the legal language used to justify it.
What we see on the surface
We see criminal cases against bishops.
We see arrests, public accusations, and harsh rhetoric.
We see the country’s leadership engaging in open confrontation with the Church, denying the existence of a conflict while acting precisely as one of its parties.
The government speaks the language of law.
The Church speaks the language of tradition and moral authority.
But society hears something else — the cracking sound of a boundary being crossed, the boundary that historically separated secular power from the spiritual institution.
Why people perceive this as an attack on faith
Because in Armenia, faith is not a private matter.
The Armenian Apostolic Church is not merely a religious organization; it is an institution that preserved the nation when there was no state, no army, and no diplomacy.
When bishops are arrested, people do not analyze articles of the Criminal Code.
They see a symbol: the state demonstrating that even the sacred is within its reach.
That is why the argument “the law applies equally to all” does not function here as it might in a textbook. Armenia is not an abstract legal construct — it is a wounded society, living with loss, fear, and uncertainty about the future.
Where is the elite? Where are the oligarchs?
This is where the most uncomfortable truth emerges.
Armenia’s so-called elite is silent.
The oligarchs are silent.
Those who built churches, donated publicly, posed next to clergy, and proclaimed their faith — have vanished from public view.
Why?
Because for many of them, faith was a decorative symbol, not a value.
Because confronting power carries risk, while silence protects assets.
Because a class has long existed in Armenia for whom accommodation with any authority is preferable to standing for principle.
And society sees this. And it remembers.
Is this being done to destroy the Church?
As a journalist, I cannot claim the existence of an official plan to “destroy the Church.” That would be irresponsible.
But I must state something else clearly: the manner in which the government is acting today objectively undermines the Church’s authority and erodes public trust.
When:
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confrontation is made public,
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clergy are framed as political adversaries,
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coercive and punitive mechanisms are deployed,
— the result is the same regardless of declared intentions: the Church becomes perceived as a target.
And that is no longer a legal issue. It is a historical one.
The most dangerous silence is not the Church’s — it is society’s
Armenia is far too vulnerable to afford internal fracture.
We face external threats, unhealed wounds, and shattered expectations.
Against this backdrop, a war — even a symbolic one — against the Church is a reckless luxury.
If the state normalizes pressure on the Church,
if the elite chooses silence,
if faith is left without defenders,
— society will conclude that no institution is truly protected.
And once that realization takes hold, authority collapses into fear, not trust.
A conclusion many will dislike
The Church in Armenia is not flawless in human terms. It has weaknesses and failures, as any institution made of people does.
But to dismantle its authority through force is to unravel the very fabric of Armenian society.
Those who applaud this process today may wake up tomorrow to find themselves alone — facing a state with no moral restraints and no sacred boundaries left.
By Lida Nalbandyan, Founder and CEO of Octopus Media Group