By Engy Magdy, Special to The Tablet
YEREVAN, Armenia — From generation to generation the killing continues — a history of bloodshed for the Armenian people that is not over yet.
From the genocide at the hands of the Ottomans more than 100 years ago to new warfare and displacements in Nagorno-Karabakh, successive generations of Armenians in the semi-autonomous region located on the western borders of Azerbaijan have been suffering pain and death inflicted by their neighbors.
[Related: Armenia’s Struggle to Survive Devastating Memory of Genocide]
On September 27, 2020, a bloody war erupted in Karabakh as part of a decades-old dispute over the region, which is controlled by its Armenian population.
In the 1920s, Armenia and Azerbaijan became part of the Soviet Union, which gave control over Nagorno-Karabakh to Azerbaijani authorities, even though Armenians were the ethnic majority. As the Soviet Union collapsed in the late 1980s, Nagorno-Karabakh’s regional parliament officially voted to become part of Armenia.
Last September, Azerbaijan attacked the region with the goal of regaining control over it. After six weeks of fierce fighting — in which thousands of civilians and Armenian soldiers were reportedly killed, with many more displaced — a Russian-mediated peace deal was agreed upon. Azerbaijan was allowed to hold on to the areas of Karabakh it had taken during the conflict while Armenia agreed to withdraw from several areas.
Pain and Humiliation
In Yerevan, populated by thousands of refugees, The Tablet met with some families to hear their testimonies of the tragic results of the geopolitical ambitions of their neighbors and the hatred wrought by extremist rhetoric.
A common thread among the victims who had to flee from the Turkish-backed airstrikes in Karabakh was the pain that overwhelmed them, so much so that many couldn’t even speak about what happened. Humiliation is another feeling that oppresses them, especially when they now have to ask for aid, despite once being wealthy in fine old homes where they lived in Karabakh, one woman said.
Speaking intermittently in a trembling voice, and with a memory wracked by the pain of losing a son and grandchildren — as well as her home and land — Noshik, a 67-year-old woman, told the Tablet about “the nightmare that swallowed her quiet life.”
She said her life was always filled with laughter and warmth, enjoying living with family in a large three-story house with a flower garden and a farm. Then, overnight, she was forced to flee with some family members after seeing Azerbaijani army planes bombing hospitals, schools, and surrounding homes. They had no choice, she said, but to leave behind a history that was rooted in land where her ancestors had lived.
“We saw the explosion near our house, so we decided that we should leave,” Noshik remembers. “We have a little daughter and had to run with her after her father and brothers went to war. We left everything, even our clothes.”
A relative took them in his car to a remote village on the border, thinking that it was safer, but there too they heard the sound of explosions as Azerbaijani airstrikes continued to bomb Armenian villages. It was then they decided to leave for Yerevan.
“They were bombing not only at military places but schools. It happened … on a Sunday, and luckily there were no students,” she added. “They bombed hospitals and homes. They targeted everything.”
Noshik was living with her husband, son, daughter-in-law, and four grandchildren, when they celebrated the birthday of her youngest grandson, Maher, on the night of Sunday, September 26. The next day, they received a phone call that their eldest son, 23-year-old Vasgen, had to return to his service in the army. After a couple of days, his brother David, 22, was called for recruitment. Later, their 48-year-old father volunteered to join the ranks as the war intensified after Turkey financed the deployment of Syrian mercenaries into the conflict. All three were killed on October 14, just five miles from their village.
‘Our Cruel Neighbors’
Fenira, a wife and the mother of four, was crying and refused to speak. In a far corner of the room, Idyk, a grandfather, was sitting on a chair crying and glancing at a makeshift memorial with the pictures of his son and grandchildren sitting on a table decorated with roses.
As his wife described the tragedy, their youngest granddaughter, 13-year-old Lillet, was watching, wide-eyed, the faces of her mother, grandmother, and grandfather.
When I asked her about her name, she looked at me with a thin smile that seemed mixed with pain that was not suitable for her young age, and replied in a voice so low it couldn’t be heard.
Lillet does not feel a sense of belonging in Yerevan, as she only knows Karabakh. She wants to return to her school and her classmates there. The grandmother says that Lillet refuses to describe their home in Yerevan as “our home,” instead referring to their home as being in Hadrut-Karabakh.
Currently, Azerbaijan occupies Hadrut and 35 villages in Karabakh.
“We knew that the Azerbaijanis burned everything, as they say that our bed is forbidden and impure,” the grandmother said. “Unimaginable how cruel our neighbors are. We used to hear about martyrs who died in the genocide and now we feel the same thing on our skin.
“As if the fate of the Armenians is blood, every generation of the Armenian people saw war and slaughter from our neighbors.”
Horror and Loss
In a hotel on the fringes of Yerevan, I met some other refugee families, who told tragic stories of their own.
Ten families stay in Blur Hotel, which is owned by Hermine, a policewoman from Yerevan who opened up her property to house 130 refugees, free of charge, after their villages were bombed.
Some of the refugees are very old, others are sick with terminal diseases. They came from Shushi, Hadrut, and Askeran. After the war ended with a peace deal, some people went back to Karabakh, while others lost their homes forever as Azeri forces still occupy some villages.
“We hid for four days in the basement of our home with very little food, as the Azeri forces bombed everything until we were evacuated. We left without anything, leaving home, animals, clothes, and even our personal documents” said Greta, a 72-year-old from Hadrut. “I saw my home was burning in a video on Facebook.”
Parteer, a 55-year-old mother from Askeran, lost her two brothers in the war.
Her son has been in a coma since last November after being injured in the war along with his father, who suffers from numerous physical disabilities.
In the hotel, I met Zafeen, a cheerful, quiet 15-year-old boy.
“When he came here, he was spoiled and disobedient but quickly, he turned to another person who helps all people here. He saw their suffering and tries to make them happy,” Hermine explained, describing Zafeen as a clever boy who likes his school and studies hard.
“I want to go back to my home in Karabakh,” Zafeen told The Tablet. “I like Yerevan but I want my home.”
Zafeen is not the only child who suffers from a tragic war that has displaced thousands of families with children. Others have lost their children in the conflict.
“When we hid in the basement, my nephew Hayq, 4-years-old, was afraid. He closed his eyes and said he wouldn’t go out ever,” said Anaheet, a 41-year-old woman. “Now, he remembers everything. Sometimes he remembers his toys, while saying that he can’t go back to get them as people kill anybody [who goes] there.”
Hermine depends on donations to help her guests who can’t pay for their stay because they lost everything in the war.
She creates daily activities for the families in her hotel to offer them some relief from the misery of war and displacement.
“We planted some flowers, we cooked together, we make barbeque parties and many other activities so they feel (at) home,” Hermine said. “Now we are one big family.”
