Profanity, power and the politics of distraction

By Rupen Janbazian

The Armenian Weekly

Armenia is facing one of the most critical junctures in its post-independence history. The shock of losing Artsakh hasn’t faded. Tens of thousands of displaced families are still seeking stability. The country’s borders feel more vulnerable than ever. Confidence in institutions is slipping, democratic norms are wearing thin, and people are tired—angry, even. If ever there were a time for serious, steady leadership, it’s now.

Instead, its prime minister is swearing at bishops on Facebook.

Yesterday, Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan published a post directed at a senior clergyman, stating, without provocation and shame: “Srbazan, keep banging your uncle’s wife. What’s your problem with me?” 

The comment, posted early in the morning, was not made in a private conversation, not caught on a hot mic, not distorted by the media. It was typed and published publicly by the head of Armenia’s government on his official social media page.

It was, by any measure, disgraceful.

The post was quickly followed by others. He suggested that many members of the Armenian clergy had violated their vows of celibacy and should be stripped of their religious office. His wife, Anna Hakobyan, joined in, accusing unnamed priests of being the “country’s chief pedophiles” and “maniacal perverts.” 

In a separate Facebook post, Hakobyan targeted journalist and editor Boris Murazi—a member of Armenia’s Yazidi minority—accusing him, without evidence, of providing “sexual services” to former president Serzh Sargsyan and certain bishops. She claimed she had heard this “for years” and speculated that “there might be videos in the drawers of the relevant agencies.” The post was laced with thinly veiled homophobia and intended not just to discredit Murazi, but to shame him. These weren’t off-the-cuff remarks or vague frustrations, but calculated, defamatory attacks aimed at silencing a critical voice. And they came from someone who supposedly leads a campaign to “raise the quality of public speech” in Armenia. 

That campaign, titled “Learning is Trendy,” was supposedly about promoting education, literacy and civility in public life. And yet here we are, amid the collapse of public discourse, with its founder and champion engaging in personal attacks that weaponize misogyny, homophobia and conspiracy theories to silence critics.

This would be troubling in any context. But it’s even more absurd considering that both Hakobyan and Pashinyan are journalists. They know better. They’ve worked in newsrooms. They’ve run publications. They know the power of language, and they know exactly what they’re doing—which makes this not just a lapse in judgment, but a choice.

These are not the words of anonymous trolls in the comment section. They are the public declarations of Armenia’s top political figures, delivered through official platforms, aimed at silencing critics and undermining institutions.

And frankly, it’s a failure of leadership.

One can have criticisms of the Armenian Apostolic Church. That’s not the issue. No institution is above scrutiny. But there is a difference between scrutiny and slander, between investigation and insult—a statesman understands that difference. A head of government should know that public office comes with public responsibility, especially in how one speaks.

Profanity may feel cathartic in private, but it has no place in official discourse—certainly not in state-sanctioned social media. When the leader of a country reduces himself to schoolyard vulgarities, he degrades not just himself but the entire office he represents.

Armenia is not the first country to face this problem. U.S. President Donald Trump routinely uses inflammatory and vulgar language to discredit opponents, dominate headlines and distract from deeper policy failures. And the long-term effects have been damaging. The bar for public behavior has clearly been lowered. Political dialogue has been poisoned, and what replaced substance was spectacle.

Pashinyan’s recent conduct follows a similar logic. In lieu of clearly explaining the details of the so-called peace process with Azerbaijan, he attacks the Church. Instead of addressing the status of displaced Artsakh Armenians or demanding the release of Armenian hostages in Baku, he posts gossip about clergy. Instead of reassuring citizens during a time of deep uncertainty, he turns public debate into a profane shouting match.

Some may find this kind of rhetoric refreshing. Others may see it as ‘relatable’ or ‘authentic.’ But authenticity without responsibility is dangerous. Being a ‘man of the people’ does not mean adopting the worst habits of the street. It does not mean abandoning the basic decorum expected of someone tasked with representing the Armenian nation.

And this latest outburst isn’t happening in isolation. It follows a long and escalating conflict between Pashinyan and the Church. Over the past year, Archbishop Bagrat Galstanyan has emerged as one of the most vocal critics of the government, leading large-scale protests after Pashinyan’s territorial concessions to Azerbaijan. Catholicos Karekin II has also spoken out, calling for the prime minister’s resignation.

Instead of engaging with these criticisms directly, Pashinyan and his circle have hinted at retaliation, suggesting the possibility of taxing the Church or even granting the government a role in selecting the next Catholicos.

That should worry anyone who cares about the line between church and state. The Church is not above criticism. But using the machinery of government to go after religious institutions for political opposition is something else entirely. It’s not reform. It’s an abuse of power.

Ultimately, this is not about the Church. It’s not even just about one vulgar post. It’s about the kind of politics Armenia is sliding into.

When the country is facing existential threats, we cannot afford a government that responds to criticism with profanity and provocation. We cannot afford a prime minister whose idea of leadership is picking fights online and humiliating his critics in public. We need calm. We need competence. We need clarity.

We need leaders who understand that words matter.

Pashinyan once promised to build a new political culture in Armenia—one rooted in transparency, accountability and decency. That promise now feels distant. In its place is something far more cynical: a government that punches down, pays more attention to his media posts than his foreign policy and confuses personal vendettas with national priorities.

At a moment when the Armenian state should be strengthening its foundations, it is instead caught in a spiral of petty theatrics. That is not a crisis of image; it is a crisis of leadership.

And Armenia deserves better.