I feel like the government is saying, “It’s better not to have agriculture than not to have mines.”
Aida, 67, Syunik resident
A view of the Artsvanik tailings dam. Syunik, 2024.
Lydian Armenia began operations at the Amulsar gold mine in Jermuk on October 10, following nearly a decade of public opposition to the project. Dismissing years of resistance by environmental activists and local communities, Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan framed the absence of protests at the opening ceremony as a sign of success. Yet public discontent circulated on social media that very day, as people learned that an invitation-only opening ceremony had taken place with no prior public announcement. In his remarks, Pashinyan emphasized the project’s socio-economic promises; how it “would create skilled, well-paid jobs, support nearby communities and generate revenue for roads, schools and other infrastructure.”
A new mine, the same old story.
What happens when environmental security and people’s livelihoods are compromised by promises of economic growth? Perhaps we should look to the communities who have borne the costs of environmental destruction for decades, starting with the village of Artsvanik.
The Artsvanik tailings dam in the Syunik region was built in the late 1970s and is the largest tailings facility in Armenia. Operated by the Zangezur Copper-Molybdenum Combine (ZCMC) in Kajaran, it currently occupies 630 hectares and is set to expand by an additional 233 hectares, bringing its boundaries to the villages of Artsvanik, Achanan, Chapni, Sevakar and Syunik. Where orchards, pastures and vegetable plots once stood, vast deposits of mining waste now dominate, their surface shifting through varying hues of turquoise and grey. The facility is embedded in the landscape of the village, looming over the horizon and extending its presence into people’s homes and lives.
Successive governments have backed the expansion of the mine and the dam with promises of jobs and economic growth, while ZCMC periodically boasts about being the country’s largest taxpayer. The reality on the ground, however, is less promising. Health issues, food insecurity and loss of livelihood are among the pressing consequences of the colossal tailings dam, regularly reported by residents. Moreover, the “economic growth” invoked by high-level politicians and businesspeople overlooks a fundamental contradiction: those whose land and livelihoods are sacrificed for the accumulation of local and foreign capital often remain trapped in poverty. With the loss of farmlands [1] and the lack of job opportunities, many people now depend on the monthly social compensation of 40,000 AMD provided by ZCMC—an amount that, for elderly residents, covers only their monthly medication costs. People’s economic vulnerability has thus become a means of advancing corporate interests, while they are left with crumbs.
Pipes connecting the Zangezur Copper-Molybdenum Combine in Kajaran to the Artsvanik tailings dam, spanning approximately 35-40 kilometers. Syunik, 2024.
Artsvanik secondary school, only about a kilometer from the tailings dam. 2024.
Levon, 12, cuts wood for winter after school. The tailings dam is visible from his yard. 2024.
With large farmlands lost to the dam, Artsvanik has seen a sharp decline in agriculture over the years. Those who still have small plots mostly grow potatoes and onions. Cows can occasionally be seen grazing around the dam, as no pastures are available. 2024.
Water pipes awaiting installation. Against the backdrop of massive mining infrastructure, most residents in the village have lacked essential infrastructure and amenities, including running water and gas, for decades. The gradual installation of water systems began only in 2025.
Artsvanik residents fill plastic bottles with water from the village spring, where they also bring their livestock to drink. 2025.
A woman and her livestock return home after collecting water from the village spring. 2025.
A view of the Artsvanik tailings dam in winter. 2025.
Alisa Hovakimyan, 70, and her younger grandson. Her family relied on agriculture for subsistence for decades, but according to Alisa, crop yields have declined since 2005. “We had hazelnut trees, apples, mulberry trees. [It was so much that] we’d make tons of vodka. [Back then] the village was full of produce. Now, you have to buy everything,” she says with discontent. Her family’s land is expected to be used for the dam’s expansion, “but they only offer a symbolic amount,” she says.
The cemetery of Artsvanik.
Alisa showing a photo of her husband’s grave. She says the dam has steadily approached the cemetery over the years.
Anahit Nersisyan, 65, and her husband once had an orchard and land for livestock, but most of it ended up under the tailings dam. What little remains can’t be cultivated because of water shortages, a problem that has only worsened with the dam’s expansion. The consequences of land loss are especially hard for women. With no farmland left to tend and no meaningful employment opportunities, many find themselves locked in economic and social limbo.
With no gas in the village, residents use wood-burning or electric stoves to heat their homes and cook. 2025.
Nonna, 60, works in a shop that has become a favorite gathering place for women in the village. A lack of job opportunities has left many confined to their homes, with no space to meet and socialize. 2025.
A view of the Artsvanik tailings dam from the Kapan-Artsvanik highway. 2024.
Footnote:
[1] According to some villagers, the one-time compensation they received for their lands was inadequate. Those without formal ownership documents reportedly received little or no compensation at all. The absence of formal ownership certificates stems from Armenia’s post-Soviet transition in the 1990s, when land privatization and the establishment of a formal property-registration system reshaped how land rights were recognized and documented.
