To Promise Does Not Mean to Fulfill: Institutional Corruption and the Crisis of Transparency in Armenia’s System of State Power
January–March 2026 were marked by a series of episodes that prompted renewed reflection on the anti-corruption environment in the Republic of Armenia. Materials published by Zhoghovurd newspaper provide substantial evidence, allowing one to observe with empirical clarity how property and income declarations — intended to ensure transparency — often function merely as facades, concealing long-standing practices of formal compliance with the law.
It is no secret that the Civil Contract Party and Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan have repeatedly pledged to combat corruption, establish a transparent and accountable system of governance, and eliminate entrenched practices of opaque enrichment. However, the disclosed facts invite a degree of restrained sarcasm: while laws on property declaration do exist and appear sound on paper, in practice, they often amount to symbolic procedures that imitate oversight and control.
The materials published by Zhoghovurd illustrate the systemic nature of these phenomena and demonstrate how, despite pre-election promises, such mechanisms of enrichment remain widespread. Formal requirements — such as income and property declarations — fail to perform their intended supervisory function.
Notably, these practices appear across all levels of public authority: from regional governors to ministers, from members of parliament to heads of inspection bodies. Declarations seem less intended for genuine oversight and more as instruments to demonstrate supposed transparency. Society is presented with formal reports, while actual financial flows and assets remain beyond the effective reach of law enforcement.
Thus, the materials from this period not only document individual cases of legal concern but also provide grounds for identifying a systemic problem. Declarations, supervision, and enforcement mechanisms often serve to simulate transparency rather than ensure it.
For instance, Hovhannes Martirosyan, Head of the Environmental Protection and Mining Inspection Body, whose income remains largely opaque, together with his spouse, possesses significant savings in foreign currency. A subsequent declaration revealed six real estate properties that had not been previously reported. This suggests that formal property oversight occasionally gives way to unexpected “discoveries.” One might even note the paradoxical precision of the system: the law demands transparency, while practice produces only its illusion.
Similarly, Aram Grigoryan, Deputy Governor of Armavir Region, declared 11 million drams in donations without specifying their source. Formally, the requirement to declare income is fulfilled, yet substantive financial transparency remains absent. It creates the impression that the law merely requires the recording of funds, without demanding any explanation of their origin.
Another illustrative example is Tigran Petrosyan, Head of the Food Safety Inspection Service, who declared 155,000 USD in cash and eight real estate properties, despite an official income that appears incompatible with such assets. This case reflects a broader pattern: the figures are impressive, reports are formally complete, yet meaningful scrutiny is lacking.
Arsen Gharibyan , Deputy Governor of Lori Region, presents a similar case, declaring 85,000 USD in cash and 12 real estate properties without clearly identified sources of income. While declarations are formally submitted, genuine transparency remains elusive. Ironically, instruments designed to document wealth and income function more as imitations of control than as effective safeguards against corruption.
Among high-ranking officials, Deputy Minister of Labor and Social Affairs Arayik Yesayan also stands out: with an official salary of 15 million drams, he has declared approximately 100,000 USD in cash and eight real estate properties. Equally indicative are ministers whose family members manage companies that continue to receive state contracts. Health Minister Anahit Avanesyan is among such cases. Conflicts of interest thus become almost emblematic of a system in which legal restrictions exist on paper, are formally observed, yet fail to operate in practice.
Particular attention should also be paid to the direct commercial involvement of public officials. Heads of regional departments and deputy ministers act as sole shareholders of companies that regularly secure government contracts. In such cases, the formal prohibitions of the Law on Civil Service appear largely decorative, failing to prevent personal enrichment.
Another notable practice is that of “non-transparent ownership.” Some declarations include, for example, 12.7 million drams in cash alongside real estate registered under “actual ownership,” without disclosure of the true owner. Analytically, this appears as an elegant method of circumventing oversight: the asset is formally declared, yet transparency is not achieved.
Deputy Prime Minister Tigran Khachatryan provides another example, having acquired property without indicating its value — thereby limiting the ability of supervisory bodies to assess the legality of the transaction and the accuracy of the declaration. Similarly, the mayor of Tsakhkadzor has declared real estate while reporting zero funds in his accounts, without clarifying the source of financing for such acquisitions.
Finally, the apparent disregard for decisions by anti-corruption bodies further demonstrates that legal restrictions and enforcement measures often remain declarative. For example, an individual subject to restrictions as of February 6 was nevertheless able to participate in an official event on February 16, suggesting that control mechanisms exist largely on paper.
Taken together, these episodes paint a vivid picture of the systemic gap between the declared objectives of anti-corruption policy and its actual implementation.
Ironically, formal income and asset declarations create an illusion of transparency and accountability, while in reality, corrupt practices persist — and may even become institutionalized — turning the law into a largely decorative element of public governance.
