Life and Freedom. The autobiography of the former president of Armenia and Nagorno-Karabakh

CHAPTER 5

BEGINNING OF THE LIBERATION MOVEMENT

In the spring of 1987, everything began with peaceful and legal actions: collecting signatures for an appeal to the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CC CPSU), to Mikhail Gorbachev to transfer control over the Nagorno-Karabakh Autonomous Oblast (Region) from Azerbaijan to Armenia. A similar process of collecting signatures and submitting an appeal to the Central Committee occurred during Khrushchev's time, during the thaw of 1966–1967, and was brutally suppressed by the authorities. But this time, the situation was radically different: it wasn't us who suddenly began to demand change – it was the changes that broke into our lives. They came rapidly, bearing slogans like "democracy," "perestroika," and "glasnost." All of a sudden, we could talk about everything that was wrong. For the first time in many decades, we hoped that we – ordinary people – could influence these processes.

It was a fascinating period, one full of hope. The 1st Congress of People's Deputies of the USSR was in session, and people all over the country were glued to their TVs and radios following the live simulcast. Captivating, well-educated legislators spoke openly from the Congress podium about things that people preferred to whisper about in the privacy of their kitchens a year ago. They instantly became stars, got invited to television talk shows, and their interviews appeared in the press. Suddenly, television, newspapers, and magazines became extremely popular, attracting millions of viewers and readers. In the mornings, lines formed in front of Soyuzpechat newspaper kiosks, and most popular publications had sold out by noon.

It was like someone had suddenly opened all the windows in a stuffy room, causing everyone to get lightheaded from the excess of political oxygen. This unusual freedom brought about a belief that we could choose, make decisions, and chart our own future – our Artsakh's future. Yes, we truly believed that the changes were for the better, and that our lives and our state structures would improve.

Parallel to this, an erosion of power was also taking place. Discreet at first, it slowly gained momentum. In a highly centralized, ideology-driven, and ethnically diverse country, the government itself was breaking familiar stereotypes and barriers. However, it didn't realize that it was also eroding the very principles of the USSR's form of government. As a result, the country was becoming ungovernable right in front of our eyes. The planned economy was in freefall, while intensifying centrifugal forces made the process irreversible.

I am often asked, "Didn't the fall of the Soviet Union start with the Karabakh movement?" and I answer, "No, of course not." The conflicts simply surfaced where they had always existed and in places where tensions were the highest. Throughout Karabakh's history, the weakening of central power inevitably led to intensifying ethnic disputes. Any political turmoil at the center that disturbed the regular course of events and created a perception of chaos resulted in the desire of the people of Karabakh to reunite with Armenia. It happened in 1917–1920: after the revolution and the fall of the Russian monarchy, Karabakh became the arena for clashes between the Armenians and the Azerbaijanis. In Tsarist Russia, the administrative territorial division was structured around guberniyas (provinces or governorates), without taking into account the ethnic make-up of its territories. Karabakh was part of the Elisabethpol guberniya, while most of today's Armenia was part of the Erivan guberniya. The fall of the Russian Empire was followed by the creation of newly independent states in the South Caucasus. Each of them declared its borders, which, in some territories, overlapped: Baku believed that the borders should be laid according to the administrative division lines of the fallen Russian Empire, while Yerevan laid its borders along the boundaries where ethnic Armenians resided. Armenians defended their approach, since it gave them an opportunity to fulfill their centuries-old aspirations for a unified Armenian state. However, when the Red Army entered Baku and Yerevan, the Karabakh dispute was resolved in Baku's favor. Nagorno-Karabakh found itself part of Azerbaijan, even though its overwhelming majority was Armenian.

We, the people of Karabakh, always felt that our interests were being ignored and violated. Having an autonomous status within Azerbaijan didn't shield us against Baku's administrative domination. During the Soviet years, Baku's primary efforts in Karabakh were directed at settling Azerbaijanis there to change the area's ethnic composition. It seriously alarmed us because we had already seen an almost complete de-Armenianization of Nakhichevan. Soviet authorities looked at any relations between the Nagorno-Karabakh Autonomous Oblast (Region), NKAO, and Armenia with suspicion and tried to curtail them as much as possible. The enforcement of Soviet atheism was being applied quite selectively. The last church in Karabakh was closed in the 1920s, and all Armenian churches, which Azerbaijani historians referred to as 'Albanian', stood without crosses. In contrast, a mosque functioned in neighboring Aghdam during the entire Soviet period. We even had to constantly fight for our right to speak our own language. Faced with manifestations of inequality everywhere, we felt like masters in Karabakh, but strangers in Azerbaijan.

Once, I characterized our relations with Azerbaijanis as 'ethnic incompatibility' and was harshly criticized for it for a long time. Perhaps it was a poor choice of words, indeed, but it was obvious that our peoples have entirely different ethnicity and religious and cultural traditions; put simply, we live differently. We have different preferences and ideas regarding government models in our countries, and we have different geopolitical priorities. Therefore, I believed that we could become good neighbors, but we definitely should not be subordinate to each other.

The desire to reunite with Armenia existed during the entire Soviet period of our history. Inconspicuous from the outside, this desire lay dormant in Armenian society, ready to awaken at any moment given the right circumstances. The initiative to collect signatures began in Yerevan and very quickly took over Karabakh. The process was unleashed by Armenian intellectual elites, primarily descendants of Karabakh who lived outside the region for different reasons. Everyone spoke of Zori Balayan[7], Bagrat Ulubabian[8], and Igor Muradian[9], but the movement didn't have a formal structure. It was spontaneous, like a wildfire: once ignited in a dry forest, it spreads rapidly and uncontrollably, swallowing everything in its path. At the time, I was still working as secretary of the Silk Factory Party Committee. Life flowed slowly – everything was calm, understandable, stable, and predictable. There was a good team spirit at the factory, like one big, tight-knit family.

And then, one day, two workers approached me and said, "Everywhere, people are collecting signatures to appeal to the Central Committee for the reunification of Nagorno-Karabakh with Armenia. We also want to do it at our factory – we are the largest business enterprise in the region. Do you object?" Of course, I didn't object. I knew what was happening in town, even though I didn't give it any significance yet. "Let's do it," I said. "If they are doing it everywhere else, perhaps this time it will happen." I discovered that almost everyone at our factory signed the petition in a couple of days. Within a week, all Stepanakert enterprises signed it, and by the end of the month, everyone in our city! Very quickly, in about three months or so, nearly the entire Armenian adult population of Karabakh had signed the petition – with the exception of very senior Communist Party officials, who didn't dare do it given their positions but nevertheless still treated the process with sympathy, empathized with the people, and supported them.

Signatures were collected secretly, so it's hard to say who led the process – there was no formal structure behind it (at least I never heard of it). There weren't any apparent leaders, either, but perhaps Arkady Karapetian stood out the most (later, during the war, he led the formation of the self-defense forces). Meanwhile, the movement initiated by a small group of enthusiasts grew exponentially and soon embraced the entire population. This bright, astonishing process captivated our people on a deep emotional level and united us. Optimism overwhelmed us; people sincerely hoped that they would be heard in the framework of perestroika and glasnost. We were convinced that the truth was on our side, and we hadn't done anything anti-Soviet – we had simply signed a lawful petition to the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the USSR, to its Politburo, and to Gorbachev.

On December 1, 1987, our Karabakh delegation went to Moscow and submitted the petition – signed by several tens of thousands of people – to the Central Committee of the USSR Communist Party. In it, we explained our position, citing documents on the history, ethnography, and culture of Nagorno-Karabakh in defense of our views. A month later, in January 1988, another delegation went to Moscow. Each delegation attempted to present a simple idea to the central government: there was a problem, a serious problem, that had already surfaced, could not be ignored, and needed to be addressed. This could be done gradually, there could be different solutions, but we couldn't pretend that it didn't exist. Otherwise, we would witness uncontrollable repercussions. The Central Committee said they understood the situation, but they could only look into its socio-economic dimension. They told us that there were some 20 similar issues in the USSR, and solving one could trigger a chain reaction. Moscow's position wasn't encouraging. On the contrary, it only added to the tension, mobilized our people, and pushed their natural stubbornness to its limit. Eventually, all that uncontainable energy burst out, drove people into the streets, and erupted into public demonstrations and mass protests.

Unsanctioned, spontaneous mass street rallies were unheard of in the Soviet Union. The last one probably took place during the times of the Russian Empire. The first demonstrations were peaceful, with sincere and naïve slogans – we all still believed that the central government's decision would be fair. People carried banners saying, "Lenin, Party, Gorbachev." The number of protestors grew with each passing day. We all felt that events of great historic importance were taking place, and everyone wanted to be a part of it.

Even the highest government officials, who – as one would suspect – should have been more cautious, took part in the demonstrations. The reality was such that if, for example, the first secretary of a Regional Communist Party Committee didn't rally with the people in front of the party headquarters, he would instantly lose all credibility.

Informal leaders began to appear – people who were brave enough to speak at the rallies, analyze the situation, and guide the people. Some of them had radical views, while others were more moderate. People knew many of them and respected them for their track records; they trusted them and paid attention to their words. They were plant managers, party leaders, college professors, writers, and representatives of factory workers.

An exciting process, unusual for the Soviet Union, of organizing a movement began to take shape. An informal group of leaders began to make all the decisions about the rallies. They decided when and where to hold them and how to ensure people's safety. No one elected us; it all happened naturally. We were joined together by a shared activity. It was winter, and it was freezing. We made sure that people stayed warm – we brought hot water, made tea for everyone, and distributed food. Paramedics organized a stationary ambulance service – just in case.

We got together at any suitable location (at work or at someone's house, for example), discussed the current situation, and made decisions. At the same time, general assemblies and party congresses were taking place at all Karabakh workplaces. The main topic of discussion was the same burning issue that interested everyone: the transition of Nagorno-Karabakh to Armenia's authority. Moreover, all meetings concluded with the same resolution: to ask the higher authorities to rule in favor of NKAO's reunification with Armenia. These resolutions were passed along to the plenary sessions and party congresses of the regional central committees, city central committees, and congresses of people's deputies at all levels, and all were adopted unanimously.

Azerbaijan's central authorities tried to change our minds. Different party and government officials came from the republic's Communist Party Central Committee and tried to convince us to stop holding public rallies. They didn't feel very confident, though. We thought that the central government was lost and didn't know how to react to the situation.

In mid-February, Moscow sent in the army. At the same time, Baku reinforced its police force with additional personnel from neighboring Azerbaijani regions. This attempt at coercion went against the declared policies of the central government and incited a wave of outrage and negative vibes toward the Moscow authorities. Now the entire town took to the streets, and the rallies went on non-stop. The primary demand was to convene the Council of the People's Deputies of NKAO and make a decision to reunite with Armenia. A signature campaign was initiated among the legislators to convene the extraordinary session on February 20, with only one item on the agenda: Karabakh's secession from Azerbaijan and its unification with Armenia. Collecting enough signatures didn't require much effort in that situation.

On February 19, Azerinform – Azerbaijan's state information agency – announced that the Central Committee of the Soviet Union's Communist Party had not discussed any territorial matters and didn't plan to discuss them in the future. In protest, Karabakh announced a general strike. A strike was unthinkable in the Soviet Union – a truly extraordinary development. The very next day, a delegation arrived in Stepanakert – Kyamran Bagirov[10], Viktor Yashin[11], and some other members of the Central Committee of Azerbaijan's Communist Party – to prevent the session of the Council of People's Deputies.

Bagirov instructed his security services to undermine the gathering. All day long, we used detours to move legislators, ensuring that the session took place. As soon as they got to Stepanakert, we provided them with the necessary material and talking points for on-the-floor arguments. Back then, legislatures were formed at the directive of the Communist Party, using quotas for workers and farmers, many of whom were not great public speakers. By the evening, we were able to get a quorum, and at 9 p. m., the session started. The square in front of the parliament building was overcrowded with people. Unexpectedly, Bagirov, Yashin, and Boris Kevorkov[12], as well as members of the Bureau of the Region's Communist Party Committee, arrived for the session. Bagirov was the first to speak. He talked about the brotherly friendship of our two peoples, our happy, peaceful coexistence in Azerbaijan during the past 70 years, and that a small group of irresponsible nationalists was instigating reckless actions. He promised to swiftly correct all the mistakes that Azerbaijan made in Karabakh. He stressed that the session of the legislature had no authority to address territorial issues and that Karabakh would remain part of Azerbaijan. Yashin spoke along the same lines.

In response, the legislators spoke passionately about the systematic undermining of Karabakh's interests. They said that the session had full authority to decide on any issue involving NKAO. Bagirov and Yashin often interrupted the speakers, promising that all the region's problems would be at the center of Baku's attention. Nonetheless, they couldn't change the course of the session. Having lost hope of getting what they wanted, they left. The session made the historic decision for Karabakh to cede from Azerbaijan and reunite with Armenia in their absence.

On the following day, February 21, the Politburo of the Central Committee of the Soviet Union's Communist Party (CPSU) passed a resolution – "On developments in Nagorno-Karabakh" – in which our demand to become part of the Armenian SSR was labeled as "adopted as a result of actions of extremists and nationalists," and that it "contradicted the interests of Azerbaijani SSR and Armenian SSR." Azerbaijani state television and radio immediately announced that the events in NKAO had been caused by "specific extremist groups." But the appeal to the Politburo was adopted during the full session of the regional council of People's Deputies, which was preceded by the decision of party and government bodies of all levels in the region! The Politburo resolution practically labeled all Karabakh Armenians as extremists. We joked that as true communists, we had to conform to the Politburo's assessment.