Kitabı oku: «Life and Freedom. The autobiography of the former president of Armenia and Nagorno-Karabakh», sayfa 5

CHAPTER 6
ON THE BRINK OF WAR

The End of Illusions

The Sumgait tragedy sent all subsequent events onto a different trajectory. Our hopes that the situation in Karabakh would be resolved quickly and peacefully disappeared in a single day. The shocking details about the pogroms and murders were hard to comprehend. They reminded people of the Shushi pogroms that took place at the beginning of the century. Nothing of the sort had ever happened in the Soviet Union, and no one had imagined that it was possible. Very soon, similar events forced Armenians to leave their lands in Kirovabad and then Gatashen, Chardakhlu, Zurnabad, and many other villages. They resulted in a surge of mutual aggression between our peoples, who quickly recalled grudges of the past two to three hundred years, which, in turn, multiplied the scale of the protests. By this time, the Popular Front movement had already been formed in Baku, and hundreds of thousands of people protested in the streets.

At the same time, an unending wave of mass demonstrations continued in Stepanakert. Everyone in Karabakh realized that there was no going back. It was clear to us that staying within Azerbaijan was not an option, as it was no longer a matter of trampled rights, but of physical survival. Slogans and speeches reflected this perception. We thought that the Sumgait tragedy had demonstrated that the safety of Armenians couldn't be guaranteed in Azerbaijan and that Moscow authorities would revisit their stance on the Karabakh issue. I had believed that a decision to remove the NKAO from Azerbaijan's territorial control immediately after the Sumgait pogroms would have been the most suitable decision and could have prevented the impending war.

However, it looked like the central authorities did not comprehend the seriousness of what was happening and hoped to calm people down with promises. On February 29, Bagirov spoke on Azerbaijan's state television and radio, informing people about the clashes in Sumgait and Kirovabad, the instances of robbery, looting, and violence directed at Armenians. He appealed to the Azeris for calm. On the same day, Demichev arrived in Stepanakert, where 100,000 people demonstrated non-stop in the central square. He appealed to the distraught people, trying to calm them down with an announcement that the Politburo of the Communist Party had decided to revisit the Nagorno-Karabakh issue, study the materials more closely, and discuss it one more time. But at that point, almost no one trusted those promises anymore.

Totally spontaneously, right there at the demonstration, the Krunk Committee was formed. The necessity for a structure was hanging in the air, but it was Arkady Manucharov¹⁷, the director of the Stepanakert Building Material Factory, who articulated the idea. We discussed it among those standing by the podium, and everyone supported the idea. Manucharov took the floor and suggested that a committee be formed. People in the crowd began to shout out the names of those who had proven themselves and whom they trusted. Someone mentioned my name.

This was the very first attempt to create some kind of a coordinating body – in the future, we would be doing this many times. The name had a dual meaning: in Armenian, Krunk means a crane bird and symbolizes the return to the homeland and the comfort of a home, but it was also a Russian acronym for the Committee of Revolutionary Administration of Nagorno-Karabakh. Krunk was announced as a social-political organization, but in reality, it coordinated the emerging freedom movement. In the future, everything was done on behalf of the committee. New leaders – the most active participants of the recent events – joined Krunk. Arkady Manucharov was elected as its leader, while I headed its ideological section and wrote its program and bylaws.

The committee acted entirely legally. We gathered openly at the center of Stepanakert, across from the offices of the regional committee of the Communist Party, in the building of the local newspaper Soviet Karabakh, or at one of the town's business offices. Krunk had many members who were directors of enterprises and Communist Party committee secretaries at local plants. There was no regular meeting schedule – we didn't have time to put one in place, and the events developed rapidly. We met as often as necessary. We didn't keep minutes or records. All of us were experienced in party work and in business. We had good organizational skills, but Krunk was and always remained a product of the street protest movement. We didn't divide responsibilities among us. Each of us assumed a function that we could do best – everyone wanted to be as helpful as possible. Our meetings were dynamic and emotional, and we debated about how radical we should be. Some of us presented tougher demands; some were more moderate. Radical approaches could be sensed in the slogans and in the language of our public appeals. Some suggested that we stop short of demands, saying that we were appealing to Moscow and that we should try to convince them. Others said that the time for pleas had passed and we should start making demands. The third point of view was that words alone were not enough, no matter how convincing, and we needed more decisive actions, such as strikes. Both radicalism and restraint reflected the temperament of the participants in the discussion, rather than their approach to the future of Karabakh – there was no disagreement there.

Of course, our moderation and radicalism both looked the same to Moscow. From today's standpoint, all these arguments – which were very significant – could be seen as naïve. It was unthinkable to seriously debate whether or not to strike during Soviet times. The very concept was perceived exclusively in the context of workers' rights somewhere in the West! And here, we had a group of about 25 enterprise directors, college professors, artists, poets, and party officials – all members of the Communist Party – discussing a general strike. An incredible shift took place in people's minds within several weeks, reflecting the unprecedented situation in the country. I am not sure whether social psychology existed as an academic discipline in the USSR – at least we didn't hear much of it – but I think that sociologists would be fascinated to observe how quickly and drastically transformation happens in people and in society as a whole. Behavioral models, embedded into the psyche of disciplined and law-abiding citizens all their lives, crumbled in a matter of days. Both the individual and the collective perception of what is acceptable, and what is not, fell to pieces.

I was never a part of the moderate camp, but I didn't hold extremely radical views either. I tried to be rational, to not succumb to emotions, and to evaluate the risks and consequences of our decisions, being guided by the best interests of the cause. I understood that we had to use all the opportunities at our disposal to succeed. Besides holding protest rallies, it was essential to continue to work with Moscow. We needed to try to influence Soviet authorities, gain allies among influential individuals, tell the truth about developments in Karabakh, prove that we were right, substantiate our views, and insist on making the right decision.

We didn't plan to fight – it was something unreal back then. We wanted justice and peace. We continued to send delegations to Moscow, asked for meetings with the Politburo, interacted with People's Deputies, and spoke at different forums. In the beginning of March, I flew to Moscow as part of a delegation. We met with Yegor Ligachyov¹⁸ and heard again that Moscow was not ready to address our issues. Ligachyov made the same arguments as before, as if Sumgait had not happened. All members of our delegation (Maksim Mirzoyan¹⁹, Sayda Orbelian²⁰, Ivan Atayan²¹ and others) spoke honorably, demonstrating firm conviction and readiness to continue the struggle. The meeting didn't go very well; we didn't feel any sympathy or compassion – everything was being reduced to the socio-economic development of NKAO. Ligachyov didn't impress me at all, and the conversation left a bad aftertaste.

This was where I first met Yevgeny Primakov. The meeting was organized by his friend, Konstantin Geyvandov²², who then worked for the Izvestiya newspaper. We met at Primakov's home. At the outset, he asked me whether I was ready for a candid conversation. After confirming that I was, Primakov explained that the best way out would be to attain the special status of an autonomous republic within Azerbaijan. He presented the advantages of such a status in depth, hinting that the Azerbaijani leadership wouldn't object if we were to agree. Many years later, he wrote about our meeting in his memoirs: "The conversation was so relaxed that I, at the risk of offending my guests, said, 'Historically, Armenians have been known as scientists, merchants, artists, and military leaders, but not as politicians. Perhaps that's why there were great losses, like the Western part of Armenia that was ceded to the Ottoman Empire. Today, you have to act like very seasoned politicians. Maksim Mirzoyan was inclined to accept that, perhaps, today, the status of an autonomous republic was the best solution.' Robert Kocharyan rebuffed me, saying, 'Our people in Nagorno-Karabakh won't accept that.'"²³

This was my first trip to Moscow since the beginning of the Karabakh movement, and I tried to make it as useful as possible. There had been scarce official information about the developments in Karabakh, and that information didn't accurately reflect the reality of the situation. We tried to fill this void by telling the truth to as many people as possible, hoping that they would hear us, understand us, and support us. We interacted with people who had influence – Armenians in Moscow who held rather high positions in the Central Committee and in different government entities. We met with representatives of the then nascent Russian democratic movements. We tried to use all available resources.

We came back from Moscow confident that the government didn't intend to solve our problem. However, we saw that we had many friends and supporters in Moscow. We didn't plan to give up, so we had to think about what to do next and how to ratchet up the pressure.

A week later, a high-ranking delegation flew in from Moscow representing the Central Committee of the CPSU, the Council of Ministers, and the Gosplan. It had intended to present the draft plan for the socio-economic development of NKAO to the leadership of the oblast. However, members of the Bureau of the Oblast Party Committee and the Oblast Executive Committee stated that the people demanded a different solution and no one believed in implementing any plans within Azerbaijan. The delegation went back with nothing.

The following day, on March 17, a plenary session of the Oblast Communist Party Committee took place. It adopted a resolution to ask the Politburo of the Central Committee of the CPSU to discuss the issue and make NKAO part of the Armenian SSR. During the same plenary session, the Secretaries of the Oblast Committees of the Communist Party – V. Bogoslovsky and D. Mirzoyan – were replaced by B. Malkov and V. Atajanian²⁴. Headed by Henrikh Poghosian, the Oblast Committee of the Communist Party joined the Karabakh movement, demonstrating defiance of Karabakh Armenians yet again. A new batch of anti-Armenian articles appeared in Moscow print media in response. We tried but failed to neutralize their impact – they were part of a larger campaign leading up to impending radical measures. The Pravda newspaper was at the forefront, publishing an article by Georgiy Ovcharenko²⁵ titled "Emotions and Reason" and publicly declaring us extremists once again.

Government sessions, both in Moscow and Baku, took place one after another.

On March 23, the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR adopted a decision "On measures related to the appeal of the union republics regarding the events in Nagorno-Karabakh, Azerbaijani and Armenian SSR." The measures were harsh and simple: special forces were deployed to NKAO the same day.

In response, a general strike began in Karabakh.

On March 24, the Presidium of the Azerbaijani SSR Supreme Council issued a decree, "On tasks to implement the decision of the Presidium of the USSR Supreme Council dated March 23, 1988." A separate decree disbanded the Krunk committee and banned all unsanctioned rallies and demonstrations in the entire NKAO territory.

Obviously, the gloves were now off. The authorities had suddenly switched gears from persuasion to intimidation and oppression. This approach clearly contradicted the policies of glasnost and democratization declared by the country's leadership. All these actions provoked a powerful new wave of protest rallies and demonstrations in Armenia and led to the creation of the Karabakh Committee. Levon Ter-Petrosian²⁶, the future president of Armenia, and Vazgen Manukian²⁷, the future prime minister of Armenia, were among its members. A new structure emerged that brought together strong, romantic, and pragmatic revolutionary leaders with extraordinary political skills.

The official government was losing power in Armenia rapidly. To halt this process, the Central Committee of the CPSU decided to implement personnel changes among the cadres. On May 21, it dismissed the First Secretaries of Communist Parties in Armenia and Azerbaijan – Karen Demirchian²⁸ and Bagirov, respectively. Most likely, the Politburo thought that the new faces would deflect attention and calm the agitated public. Demirchian was replaced with Suren Harutiunian, a rather dull personality, who didn't play any role in that historic time period. This replacement was celebrated in Karabakh: people remembered Demirchian's notorious televised statement that the NKAO Supreme Council decision on February 20 to integrate with Armenia ran counter to the interests of the brotherly peoples, and that, under his leadership, Armenia refused to integrate Karabakh into its territory.

Members of the Karabakh Committee were not yet known in NKAO, and I didn't know them either. But we hoped that with the creation of the new influential structure, Armenia and its leadership would begin to support us more. We actively sought to establish relations and cooperate with the committee. Our wishes were soon realized. Under pressure from tens of thousands of protesters in Yerevan, the Supreme Council of Armenia was forced to convene a special meeting. It lasted for several hours, while thousands of emotionally charged demonstrators were protesting in front of the Supreme Council building. Under these circumstances, it wasn't difficult to achieve the desired outcomes. On June 15, Armenia's Supreme Council voted to incorporate NKAO into its boundaries, citing the USSR's Constitution. Naturally, this decision was celebrated in Karabakh. Everyone felt a sense of the complete unity between Karabakh and Armenia. It was clear that the real power in Armenia belonged to the Karabakh Committee.

But our fate wasn't being decided in Armenia.

On July 18, the Presidium of the USSR Supreme Council addressed Yerevan's and Baku's appeals once again. It announced the "impossibility of territorial changes between the republics," adopting a resolution that left Karabakh within the borders of Azerbaijan. As a result, the general strike and a new wave of round-the-clock demonstrations resumed in Karabakh.

* * *

These developments were of great interest both in the USSR and abroad. It was during that period that we earned many supporters in European countries, as well. We achieved international recognition – reporters from prominent international news agencies and print and television media maintained a permanent presence in Karabakh. It was very common to meet a journalist from Le Monde or the BBC. Genrikh Borovik arrived with his film crew and made a documentary for Russian television which accurately reflected the situation for the first time. Andrei Sakharov²⁹, the famous scientist and human rights activist, visited us as well and wrote several letters to Gorbachev trying to convince him to listen to the "clearly stated will of the majority of the population of the autonomous oblast."

I found myself in the thick of it, actively working with regular visitors to Karabakh: groups of People's Deputies, sent to us directly by the then in-session Congress of the People's Deputies, and the press. I gave numerous interviews – every journalist who visited us wanted to meet with me. They wanted to hear my opinion – the opinion of a person who made a career in the Communist Party and became a liberation movement leader. Besides, I spoke good Russian, and my education and erudition allowed me to look at things more broadly and use easily understood concepts and arguments. I had a very specific goal: to make sure that as many people as possible learned the truth about what was happening in Karabakh. I wanted to announce our aspirations and our goals to the world. Providing information was crucial because, despite the declared policy of glasnost, censorship still existed in the Soviet Union. The media was forbidden to report anything on Karabakh that wasn't in line with the official position of the central government.

Besides journalists, representatives of different popular fronts from the Baltics, Ukraine, and Moldova were always present in Stepanakert. They revered the idea of independence, and they viewed the situation in Karabakh as a rehearsal of future events in their countries.

I also met with members of the Armenian intelligentsia in Moscow – in those years, many Armenians worked at different Moscow news magazines, and the majority of them were originally from Karabakh. They actively assisted us in establishing contact with influential individuals in the Communist Party's Central Committee, and later, with the People's Deputies. Zory Balayan, who knew a wide circle of writers and politicians, played a tremendous role in establishing contacts, especially with legislators. We mostly met with representatives of the democratic block: Yuri Afanasyev³⁰, Galina Starovoytova³¹, Anatoly Sobchak³², and many others. It was easier to work with democrats; they supported us. We invited the legislators to Karabakh, offering them a chance to witness the situation firsthand and draw their own conclusions – and many accepted. We organized public meetings and, after interacting with the local populace, our guests understood the stark contrast between reality and the official information.

Arkady Volsky and His Committee

For the first time, Arkady Ivanovich Volsky was sent to Karabakh in July 1988 as the representative of the Politburo of the Communist Party's Central Committee. By September, a state of emergency had been declared in Nagorno-Karabakh, a curfew was introduced, and all public events were banned. The Soviet Internal Troops established a permanent presence, their numbers ranging from eight to twelve thousand, depending on the situation. Several months later, in January 1989, the USSR Supreme Council decreed that NKAO would be placed under a special administration regime³³. Our local government structures – the Oblast Council of People's Deputies and the Oblast Committee of the Communist Party – were disbanded, and all power was ceded to the Special Administration Committee, which was headed by Arkady Volsky³⁴.

Volsky was an extraordinary person. Clever, and with an excellent sense of humor, he was exceptionally charismatic and unbelievably charming. His ability to establish relationships with just about anyone and his mastery of persuasion were unmatched. He was a captivating storyteller who could even tell jokes, deftly adapting them to local idiosyncrasies.

The Special Administration Committee was headquartered at the building of the former Oblast Communist Party Committee. Henrikh Poghosian's office was now occupied by Volsky. It was always crowded there: he liked interacting with people, and he genuinely strived to normalize a situation without resorting to harsh punitive measures. His forceful speech at the extraordinary session of the USSR Supreme Council on December 1, 1989, in which he denounced Azerbaijani state television's anti-Armenian propaganda, was well known.

Volsky and I met frequently. Being a shrewd and experienced politician, he understood that he couldn't have accomplished his mission of calming everything and everyone down without cooperating with the individuals who influenced various processes in Karabakh. Now, looking back, I can say that Volsky tried to do this with the maximum benefit to us in mind, according to his own perception of the situation.

Volsky was full of energy and worked hard, always meeting with senior executives of business enterprises and party officials. He seemed to be asking for everyone's advice, although I am not sure how sincere this was. Volsky was friendly toward us. He always tried to show that he wished us well, and he wasn't disingenuous – he genuinely wanted to solve our problems. Volsky was skilled at reading people and could adeptly utilize their strengths and weaknesses. He knew how to win people's loyalty. Thanks to him, Karabakh began to be better supplied. The directors of our enterprises often went to Moscow to negotiate investment contracts directly with central government agencies. They stayed at fine hotels near Red Square. Not only did it boost their self-esteem, it also significantly improved their attitudes toward Volsky.

At times, Volsky spoke passionately about certain incomprehensible and fantastical ideas he had for Karabakh's development. He asked us to make suggestions regarding the socio-economic development of the oblast. I am not sure whether he actually believed in any of these ideas, but they nevertheless aroused great enthusiasm in those who heard them. Sometimes this enthusiasm went overboard, stunning even Volsky himself. I remember once how, during one of these meetings, Maxim Mirzoyan, director of our local auto depot and one of the leaders of the Karabakh movement, suggested we start growing garlic in the oblast. Mirzoyan painted rosy pictures, energetically citing numbers and comparing the low production costs with high retail prices in the northern parts of the Soviet Union. He was trying to show that garlic had a high profit margin and would revolutionize Karabakh's economy. Volsky listened very attentively, and when Mirzoyan finished, he paused and exclaimed with feigned enthusiasm, "Wow, Maxim, what a nail biter!" No one felt offended by Volsky.

One time, a delegation from Japan visited us to conduct research on human longevity. In the Soviet Union, Karabakh statistically had the largest number of centenarians per capita, and our people genuinely believed that one of the reasons for this was the consumption of homemade mulberry vodka. The elderly population in our villages traditionally started each day with a shot of mulberry vodka, yet alcoholism was never a problem there. Volsky reported that the Japanese had become very interested in the vodka and took some back to Japan to test its effects on human longevity. About a month later, during one of our meetings, he announced that he had received an official report from Japan. After a long theatrical pause, he said, "The Japanese are convinced that mulberry vodka definitely affects human longevity. Your people wouldn't have lived twice as long if they didn't drink it!" I suspect that there had been no Japanese researchers to begin with, and that Volsky had made the whole thing up. At least, I had never seen them. But I know for a fact that Arkady Ivanovich Volsky didn't drink anything else besides mulberry vodka during his entire stay in Karabakh.

Volsky was also a skilled orator. He captivated audiences from the start. His soft and soothing voice had a hypnotic effect on people. "To eliminate all contradictions with Azerbaijan, we have to practically remove Karabakh from its subordination. Little by little, we will accomplish this. We will establish a partnership between local enterprises and their Moscow counterparts, institute direct subordination to central ministries, and effectively achieve your goal!"

Practical steps accompanied his words. Some enterprises were, in fact, directly subordinated to Moscow, which was a blessing: investments followed and goods appeared on the local market while the entire country was experiencing severe shortages. Volsky was very convincing, and a good number of our enterprise directors started to believe that his plan could solve our problems.

I, on the other hand, wasn't as optimistic. I believed that we had to build up the pressure and plan for the worst, as any kindheartedness on our part would only lead us to defeat. The sad reality was that the pogroms had taken place in Sumgait, the "road war" was underway, and skirmishes with Azeris had become commonplace. We were completely shut off from Armenia, while the military curfew and security checkpoints all over Karabakh didn't inspire much optimism. I could sense that the central government was in agony, Moscow was preoccupied with other things, and sooner or later, we would find ourselves one-on-one against Azerbaijan.

Although Arkady Ivanovich Volsky was a very insightful man and had a deep understanding of the country's situation, he could never have imagined that the Soviet Union would dissolve in just a few short years. We argued with each other a lot, and I eventually turned into one of his most unrelenting opponents. However, even though I actively resisted his plans and effectively obstructed his work, we built a warm and friendly personal relationship that lasted until the day he died.

With time, my anxiety turned into a premonition of the imminent collapse of the Soviet Union. Any hope of support from the central government vanished completely.

The Special Administration Committee could not solve the Karabakh problem, and that wasn't its purpose. Volsky had to buy time, distract us with economic issues, and reduce some of the pressure while stalling the political solution and putting the brakes on its process. I saw the danger in this approach, as I realized that delaying the political solution would only exacerbate the problem. We would have to solve the problem one way or another, but under far more challenging conditions.

By that time, the Special Administration Committee was discharging all governmental duties in Karabakh. The Commandant's Office was established and headed by the Commandant of the Special Region, who, like the Head of the Internal Affairs Department, was an ethnic Russian. Security agency chiefs were appointed by Moscow. Thus, all the legal levers of government were taken away from us. This forced us to create informal structures. The state of emergency strictly limited our rights and freedoms, so we had to act covertly. The Council of Directors, which led the movement while Krunk was banned, lost its operational effectiveness. Many of its members had believed Volsky and fully cooperated with the Special Administration Committee. They enthusiastically engaged in business activities, attracting investments, managing their facilities, building partnerships with other producers, and utilizing resources. In short, they did exactly what they were supposed to do. It was time to do away with the Council of Directors, as it had become increasingly difficult to discuss drastic moves there. We needed a new structure to lead both public and covert activity.

This is how Miatsum (Reunification) was born.

Miatsum

On June 30, I spoke at a public rally in Stepanakert's central square before several thousand people and announced the creation of Miatsum. I wrote its bylaws, and several days later, we gathered for its inaugural conference. We elected Miatsum's Board, which was made up of 11 members. I became its chair, and Serzh Sargsian³⁵ became my deputy. Officially, Miatsum was declared a public benefit organization; however, its published bylaws did not fully reflect our activities.

Those were challenging times. Ethnic skirmishes had drastically intensified at NKAO's borders and in the villages with mixed populations. Armenians had already been driven out of Shushi. So-called "road wars" ignited. Driving through Azeri villages had become dangerous, so everyone used side road bypasses, and buses were escorted by armored personnel carriers. News spread of blown up bridges, gunfights, and people being wounded and killed. Self-defense units were being formed in villages to guard perimeters at night. Despite the presence of thousands of troops, the conflict only intensified.

Public rallies, banned by the state of emergency provisions, took place non-stop and often concluded with protest street marches. No one tried to break up the demonstrations, as no one wanted to shoot at people – special riot police carrying batons didn't exist then. However, the authorities tried to use other methods to crush the protests: arresting movement leaders, disseminating incriminating leaflets, summoning individuals to the Commandant's Office, and issuing threats.

The USSR Prosecutor's Special Investigative Unit, which was quartered at the local prosecutor's office, closely observed everyone, and we were routinely questioned there. At the time, you could be detained for a single speech at a rally. We always expected to be arrested. All of our activists had spent time at a prison in Rostov; their names were known, and the Commandant's Office had the list. First, you would get a summons to the Commandant's Office, and then you would be flown to the prison in Rostov. People even got arrested without a warrant – a person would come home, get arrested on their doorstep, and be taken away for a month. There was a special flight that took detainees to the Rostov jail.