Kitabı oku: «Life and Freedom. The autobiography of the former president of Armenia and Nagorno-Karabakh», sayfa 6

The authorities' tactics were simple enough: intimidate the leaders and decapitate the movement. They targeted those who mattered – people who shaped public opinion, actively engaged in the process, and organized protest rallies and demonstrations – trying to force them to cease their activities. In fact, those harsh measures didn't really impact the course of events, however. Some, of course, were intimidated, but the majority of our activists took the arrests philosophically and even with a sense of humor. Upon their return from Rostov, they shared funny anecdotes from their adventures. Very few stopped doing the things that had sent them to jail in the first place. Detainees were treated fairly well in Rostov. There were no beatings or harassment, and the Rostov police didn't show any hostility. However, those who ended up in Azerbaijani prisons were treated drastically worse.

Arkady Ghukasian³⁶, the editor-in-chief of the Soviet Karabakh newspaper, had also served time at the Rostov prison. While he hadn't spoken at the public rallies, he had written rather scathing articles. In January 1990, he was arrested and spent 30 days in the Rostov prison for the piece he had written condemning the organizers and perpetrators of the Baku pogroms. Simultaneously, Roles Aghajanian³⁷, our road construction department head, was also arrested. Upon his return, Arkady remarked that he had spent an unforgettable month in the wonderful company of intelligent and cultured men. For Arkady, an excellent storyteller with an extraordinary sense of humor, jail time had become the source of many funny stories and cheery anecdotes.

Arkady Manucharov had a harder time. At the end of November 1989, he was arrested on trumped up corruption charges. He spent a little less than a year in prison. They had tried to arrest him in Stepanakert, but he had miraculously evaded the Special Forces of the Internal Troops. Friends had helped him escape to Armenia, where he was eventually found and detained, probably with the help of Armenia's KGB. Dozens of intellectuals, directors of enterprises, and college professors were arrested.

In this situation, Miatsum had to take over the responsibility of carrying on the struggle in the public arena. At that point, we mainly relied on people who didn't occupy notable positions and weren't in the public spotlight – it gave us more room to maneuver. A special workers' group, which I had put together earlier, joined the organization. These were employees of different Stepanakert production facilities. It was headed by Rafik Gabrielian, a foreman at the local furniture factory. Members of the group passed around leaflets, mobilized people for public rallies and marches, raised awareness in the labor groups, and explained future goals. Soon we started printing and circulating the Miatsum newspaper. I never imagined that I would become the editor of an underground newspaper! We couldn't print our newspaper at the printing house, so we used office copiers.

People responded with massive participation in all the protests that we organized. Every week, we held unsanctioned and, therefore, illegal public rallies, which were followed by the arrests of our speakers. But we found new speakers for the subsequent protests. This intense, meticulous, and risky weekly activity took place in a challenging setting: NKAO was still under a state of emergency and a military curfew.

Security in Question

In August 1989, I took the spot of an outgoing Kirovakan member of the 11^th legislative session of the Armenian SSR's Supreme Council, and in February 1990, I became a member of the Presidium of Armenia's Supreme Council. The parliament was not a permanent body at the time, but it didn't diminish the status of a legislator. I was elected as a member of parliament almost in absentia, at the initiative of Kirovakan activists. I hadn't campaigned and met my constituents just once, due to their persistent insistence.

Incidentally, this was the first case in which a Karabakh resident was elected to Armenia's parliament. There had been a close emotional connection between Armenia and Karabakh at the time. We were like "connected vessels": events occurring in Karabakh were immediately known in Armenia and vice versa. Everyone knew my name, and I was becoming more and more popular. My organization of the public rallies in Karabakh, my trips to Moscow, and my series of interviews with different periodicals contributed to my recognizability in Armenia. Armenian journalists filmed all the events in Karabakh and showed them in the news.

Everyone could easily identify me when I traveled to Armenia, even passersby in the streets. People also knew the names of and recognized almost all of our activists: Arkady Manucharov, Zori Balayan (who lived in Yerevan), Boris Dadamian (who was a USSR People's Deputy)³⁸, Zhanna Galstian³⁹, and many others. People approached us, said hello, wanted to get to know us better, talk to us, and ask us questions. The war hadn't started yet, but people sensed that events of great national significance were taking place in Karabakh. We were seen as people who came from the epicenter of those events and bore the brunt of it all.

Leaders of the Karabakh movement were just as popular there: Levon Ter-Petrosian, Vazgen Manukian, Ashot Manucharian⁴⁰, and all the others. Their popular activities quickly garnered them public recognition.

I was elected to the 12^th legislative session of the Armenian SSR Supreme Council in May 1990, from the same electoral district and with the same campaign staff. But this time, 14 Karabakh representatives had already entered Armenia's parliament: 12 from districts in Karabakh, and Manucharov and I from districts in Armenia. Manucharov had been under arrest at the time, but was elected as a member of parliament from Charentsavan.

I am grateful to the Kirovakan guys for what they did. Members of the Supreme Councils of the republics had immunity within the entire territory of the USSR. That wasn't the reason for my election, but it helped me tremendously in my struggle for Karabakh's future. I was constantly summoned to the Commandant's Office, but I never went there. They couldn't arrest me legally or fabricate any graft charges against me – what abuses could a factory party secretary have made? Thus, I was never sent to the Rostov prison. I realized that I could be illegally detained by the military and sent to Azerbaijan, so I had to do what others did – carry a gun and spend nights at different locations.

The situation steadily deteriorated, with security considerations becoming increasingly critical. What had become an absolute necessity was the creation of our own armed units that could defend the Armenian population not only from the skirmishes with Azeris, but also from Azerbaijan's Special Purpose Police Units (SPPU) – stationed in every Azerbaijani village – which wreaked havoc. These police units were made up of local thugs who were dressed in police uniforms, issued firearms, and given permission to use them. We couldn't rely on protection from the Soviet troops – Azeri-armed groups were now considered legal police squads, unlike our self-defense units. Besides, the Azeris had cozied up to the Commandant of the State of Emergency Special Region, and it had worked to their benefit.

Our militia was made up of local units, armed mostly with hunting rifles, sometimes with old shotguns. At some point, homemade guns turned up, mostly of low quality. They came from Armenia, where everyone suddenly seemed to have become gunmaker enthusiasts. These defense units were not coordinated, and only the defenders of nearby villages talked to each other.

We needed to rearrange everything – to create new mobile units, arm them, and coordinate their activity on the scale of the oblast. We understood that hunting rifles would not protect us.

* * *

From the very beginning, I had good working and personal relations with the leaders of the Karabakh movement. By that time, the committee had already become a force to be reckoned with in Armenia. Later, in November 1989, it transformed into the Pan-Armenian National Movement (PANM⁴¹). I was elected to its Board, though I had only learned about it through the newspapers.

PANM's rallies drew tens and sometimes hundreds of thousands of people. They were in the position to force the government to make decisions that contradicted Moscow's orders. Based on its influence in society, the PANM was, in fact, an alternative government.

I traveled to Yerevan to foster cooperation with the Karabakh committee, along with other political parties and organizations. Vazgen Manukian and, later, Vazgen Sargsian⁴² coordinated security matters at the PANM. The situation in NKAO became so complex that we no longer simply requested weapons and ammunition from Armenia, we demanded them. I didn't have any contacts among the highest government officials, so we worked through informal channels. Armenia had to deal with its own security issues more and more as clashes erupted on the border with Azerbaijan.

Everyone who had even the slightest opportunity, including the police, secretly helped us. One person might have had a shotgun hidden at home, another had useful contacts, someone else laid his hands on a couple of automatic rifles – all of these resources eventually found their way to us. Natives of Karabakh – who had moved to Yerevan a long time ago and made their careers and occupied high offices there – used all the means at their disposal to help us. For them, it was about the security of their ancestral villages and the well-being of their relatives. They bought weapons with their own money and delivered them to Karabakh. Visiting Karabakh and not bringing something for the self-defense units was a deadly sin. The more unstable the Soviet Union became, the easier it was to get weapons from the Soviet military. Seizures of weapons and ammunition were initiated – some real, some staged. By that time, everything was up for sale.

We used helicopters to transport the weapons from Armenia. Most of the time, they landed above Kolatak village, less frequently near Vank and Haterk. The main landing field was near Kolatak, in an incredibly picturesque spot in the Khachen river valley. Farther away from the village, the mild alpine landscape led to tall and rocky mountains, whose whimsical cliffs looked like giant protruding teeth. During the Soviet times, this was one of my favorite spots. I went there often to hunt and fish, either alone or with friends. We put up tents and fished in the river. The fish weren't too large, but there were plenty of them. Two or three people could catch a bucket full of fish in a couple of hours with a simple fishing rod. When my older son turned five or six years old, I started to bring him along there. He loved to sleep in the tent. Now, despite the war, the fish splashed in the water as before, but we didn't care.

I often flew in helicopters that were transporting military cargo. During one of those flights, I traveled with several villagers who had pretty sizable loads. The overloaded helicopter started to lose altitude above Kelbajar, and the pilot had to land it, or rather drop it, on a narrow mountain plateau. To continue the flight, we needed to lose some weight. I remember how difficult it was pulling one of the passengers away from the sack of flour he was clinging to tightly. Ultimately, we jettisoned half of the crates and bags onto the snow, allowing the helicopter to take off for Kolatak. It unloaded the passengers and went back to pick up the cargo, intended for the self-defense units.

* * *

At the time, the Armenian Revolutionary Federation (ARF), also known as Dashnaktsutyun⁴³, played an essential role in organizing the self-defense forces. Ready for armed struggle, it actively created chapters and armed units in Karabakh, which in time merged into a separate battalion within the NKR Defense Army. The name "Dashnak battalion" stuck to it forever. All the actions of the Dashnaks were in line with their party's signature secrecy and fidayin (resistance fighter) sentiment – swear on a gun, party bylaws, and coat of arms. The party refrained from any public activity until the end of 1991.

As the number of armed groups and weapons grew, we felt the need to coordinate the arms supply and the activity of the armed units. It was necessary to regulate all security matters. We created something resembling a coordinating council consisting of me, Serzh Sargsian, Samvel Babayan⁴⁴, and three ARF representatives – Georgy Petrosian⁴⁵, Zhanna Galstian, and Valera Balayan⁴⁶. We worked cohesively with each other, meeting once a week to discuss recent developments and plan the next steps. At the time, there were no serious disagreements among us. We did this as part of our Miatsum activities until 1990; albeit, formally, I was still secretary of the Silk Factory Communist Party chapter – no one had relieved me of my duties.

But Miatsum was a public organization, just like its predecessor – the Council of Directors. The government of NKAO had been disbanded by Moscow. We realized that we needed to create a group that embodied the totality of Nagorno-Karabakh and had a mandate to speak and make decisions on behalf of the oblast. Within a month of Miatsum's coming into existence, we began organizing to establish the NKAO National Council, which was voted into existence by the assembly of the representatives of the people of Karabakh on August 16, 1989. Actually, the creation of a national council had already happened once before in our history, in the 1920s. We followed the same principles: all administrative units of Karabakh – its regions and the town of Stepanakert – sent delegates to a national assembly, which became the prototype for the Congress of People's Deputies. This assembly elected the National Council, composed of 80 members, 20 of whom formed its Presidium. It was headed by Vachagan Grigorian⁴⁷, the USSR People's Deputy from the NKAO. It was a deliberate choice – his legislator's immunity would protect the chairman of the National Assembly if the authorities moved to arrest him. I became a member of the Presidium.

I wouldn't say that, in the beginning, the National Council functioned at its full capacity as the oblast's executive branch of government. Mostly, we used it to make various political statements. Its most significant accomplishment was the joint session of the Supreme Council of Armenia and the National Council of Nagorno-Karabakh that voted on the unification of NKAO and the Armenian SSR. It took place in Yerevan on December 1, 1989, immediately after the dissolution of Volsky's committee. We understood that Moscow was washing its hands of us by dissolving the Special Administration Committee, and we viewed our unification with Armenia as a countermeasure to Baku's expected repressions. I remember that, as part of Karabakh's National Council delegation, I struggled through the sea of people gathered in front of the session venue in Yerevan. As soon as people recognized us, they formed a corridor to pass through and chanted "Karabakh, Karabakh!" It was a very bright, memorable, and highly emotional moment, one that demonstrated the energy of the national unity with Armenia.

Very soon, with the formation of Azerbaijan's Karabakh Organizational Committee, we entered into an entirely different, and far more difficult, period, during which the National Council would become the real center of power. But that time had not arrived yet, and the National Council and the Special Administration Committee functioned in parallel. One represented the power of the short-lived Soviet Union, while the other represented the unofficial power striving to defend its country and ensure its people's survival.

The Special Administration Committee was dissolved on November 28, 1989. The main reason for its dissolution was pressure from Azerbaijan, which wouldn't accept its existence. Azerbaijan insisted that the committee's actions were absolutely unacceptable and accused Volsky of pandering to separatists. Azerbaijan's leadership believed that he stood in the way of crushing Artsakh by force. As a result, Azerbaijan got its way. Most likely, there were different positions on the issue within the Politburo, and at some point, the conservative wing prevailed. It's possible that the weakening central power simply gave in to Azerbaijan and got rid of the Special Administration Committee. It was replaced by the Republican Committee on NKAO, headed by the Second Secretary of the Central Committee of Azerbaijan's Communist Party, Victor Polyanichko⁴⁸.

CHAPTER 7
GUERILLA WARFARE

Effaceurs

Following the Armenian pogroms in Baku in January 1990 and the deployment of Soviet troops, it became clear that the Sumgait massacre wasn't an isolated incident. It was evident that our peoples wouldn't be able to coexist peacefully in the foreseeable future. Armenians were hastily leaving Azerbaijan, and Azeris were leaving Armenia. A mass exodus of populations ensued.

It seemed that Moscow, recognizing its inability to control the situation or guarantee public safety, had left the Armenian population of a small and rebellious autonomy to the mercy of Azerbaijan. In other words, it had greenlighted the organized ethnic cleansing. The internal troops of the Soviet Union's Ministry of Internal Affairs took part in the deportations of Armenians from Getashen and Martunashen in March of the same year.

It was a very challenging time; psychologically, it was even more difficult than the full-scale war that followed the fall of the Soviet Union. During the war, at least you clearly knew who you were fighting and why, and you understood that this was the only way to survive and not become a refugee. Under Polyanichko's leadership, Azerbaijan – shielded by the USSR Ministry of Internal Affairs troops – began systematically uprooting Armenians from their ancestral lands. Now our resistance led to confrontations not only with Azerbaijan's Special Police Units, but with the Soviet army, as well. The entire year of 1990 was nothing more than a succession of dramatic events that foretold the impending collapse of a great country.

But let's go one step at a time.

Arkady Ivanovich Volsky flew back to Moscow. We said goodbye to each other warmly, not knowing that he would never return to Karabakh again and that the fate of the Special Administration Committee had already been sealed. It was replaced by the Republican Committee on NKAO, headed by the Second Secretary of the Central Committee of Azerbaijan's Communist Party, Victor Polyanichko (at that time, the Second Secretaries of all republics were ethnic Russians).

Polyanichko was Azerbaijan's man, and the new Republican Committee on NKAO reported to Azerbaijan's government. It was created to "combat Armenian nationalist extremists," which, to Baku, meant all Armenians.

The committee was a tool that Azerbaijan planned to crush our will with and keep NKAO within its borders – and, preferably, free of Armenians, as it turned out later.

The name "Committee" only created an illusion of collegiality. In practice, Azerbaijan established a punitive authority, with Polyanichko himself enthusiastically assuming the role of executioner. All security forces were subordinated to him. In reality, the Soviet troops stationed in Karabakh were also under his control through the Commandant's Office, which enforced the State of Emergency rule. While Soviet army personnel didn't necessarily harbor any animosity towards us, we started to sense their overt hostility. Naturally, our attitudes toward them changed accordingly.

The newly formed committee banned the remaining government structures that were still accessible to us across the entire territory of NKAO, including the oblast and regional Councils of People's Deputies, and all party and public organizations. The exception was the Shushi region, where all the constitutional government bodies remained intact. Azeris were in the majority in the Shushi region, and the ban didn't include them. Moreover, party organizations in Azeri villages were given additional authority. Some were nearly elevated to the status of regional party committees.

The territory covered by the state of emergency was expanded. Besides the entire Nagorno-Karabakh oblast, it now also included adjacent Armenian and Azerbaijani regions. New restrictions were introduced in Stepanakert: the drama theater, as well as all movie theaters and museums, were shut down. All sporting and entertainment events were banned – even during state holidays. In January 1990, the Commandant of the State of Emergency Zone outlawed the Miatsum movement. In addition, the terms of the military curfew were expanded: besides walking the streets, it was now illegal to gather in courtyards. Patrolling soldiers yelled sternly, "Armenians, get inside!"

The Commandant's Office was responsible for enforcing the terms of the state of emergency. It was also in charge of the Soviet Ministry of Internal Affairs troops, as well as special tactical detachments – Azerbaijan had created an enormous army of Special Purpose Police Units (SPPU). The detachments were stationed in every Azeri village in Karabakh. They were primarily local residents, who were issued police uniforms and firearms and were paid a monthly salary.

Imagine two neighboring villages – one Armenian and the other Azeri. The Azeri village was protected by a well-armed SPPU of about 80 men, while the Armenian village had only several members of the local militia armed with hunting rifles. Absolute inequality had been set up. Instances of robbery, assault, and cattle raiding in Armenian villages significantly increased during this period. It wasn't a coincidence. Acting in the name of the Republic's authorities, uniformed, armed, and badged SPPU servicemen shamelessly committed crimes against Armenians and were covered up for by Azerbaijan's entire law enforcement system. This was the reason why the SPPU became the primary target of the Armenian underground's military campaigns during that period.

With the intensifying blockade, we were being cut off not only from Armenia, but from the outside world in general. The railroads were blocked – passenger service was cut first, followed by the freight trains. Up until that point, it had been possible to go to Yerevan by car, albeit with a military convoy. Now roads were blocked, and shortages of food, industrial goods, and fuel soon followed.

Shielded by the USSR internal troops, the authorities took control of the Stepanakert airport, the last remaining link to Armenia. The number of flights from Stepanakert was cut drastically, and the airport was put under the control of Azerbaijan's SPPU. Any young male adult flying to Yerevan could be arrested. Moreover, Azerbaijan's authorities had a plan to close the airport. Under the guise of building new housing for the Meskhetian Turk refugees from Central Asia, the nearby Azeri village of Khojalu was being expanded in the direction of the airport all the way to its runway. This would make the airport inoperable, as it would be too close to residential buildings. Enormous resources were dedicated to the construction project.

Karabakh was being completely isolated. Helicopters were the only way to connect with the outside world.

* * *

There are two government buildings in Stepanakert's main square, separated by about 100 yards. Today, one houses the president's office, and the other houses the Nagorno-Karabakh Cabinet of Ministers. During Soviet times, these were the headquarters of the Central Committee of the oblast Communist Party and the Oblast Council of People's Deputies.

At that time, the Republican Organizational Committee occupied the offices formerly belonging to Volsky's committee at the Communist Party headquarters. The Executive Committee of the officially defunct Council of People's Deputies continued to operate in the building next door. The Executive Committee was chaired by Leonard Petrosian⁴⁹, and Oleg Yesayan⁵⁰ was his First Deputy. Both power structures coexisted in parallel – one was outlawed by them, while the other was categorically rejected by us.

None of us ever visited the Organizational Committee's building, and they never came to us. The commandants tried to establish contact between us, but unsuccessfully: we viewed Polyanichko and his "committee" as the enemy, and they saw us in the same light. The Communist Party building was cordoned off with barbed wire, with reinforced checkpoints installed and the SPPU brought in for security. The entire grounds were meticulously guarded day and night, and one couldn't enter the building without a special pass. They sat there in complete isolation, afraid to go into town. They came in and out under the protection of armored military vehicles. From that building, Polyanichko's "committee" planned all operations to crush the national liberation movement of the Nagorno-Karabakh Armenians.

During that time, operations to "enforce the passport regime in the state of emergency zone" were carried out on a massive scale. They were ordered by the Organizational Committee, planned by the Commandant's Office, and carried out by Soviet internal troops and Azerbaijan's SPPU. In essence, these were raids, during which troops encircled villages, searched all houses, and checked residents, trying to find weapons and combatants. Of course, these raids took place exclusively in our villages, as it was assumed that only Armenians could be militants. Below are the reports of the USSR Ministry of Internal Affairs cited from Victor Krivopuskov's book Rebellious Karabakh. During those years, Krivopuskov served as the chief of staff of the operative investigative unit of the USSR Ministry of Internal Affairs in the NKAO.

In 1990, we carried out 160 military operations to enforce the passport regime and implement the June 25, 1990 Order of the president of the USSR "on prohibiting the formation of illegal armed units and confiscation of unregistered weapons." Of these 160 operations, 156 took place in towns and villages inhabited entirely by Armenians.

Every such operation invariably ended with mass arrests, with no justification required. As a rule, those arrested were people selected at random who had nothing to do with the self-defense force. Our fighters knew they were being hunted and took precautions, rarely getting caught.

Those arrested were handed over to Azerbaijan's law enforcement and incarcerated in Azerbaijan's prisons without the right to a defense. By that time, ethnic strife and mutual hatred had reached a point where prison guards began lashing out at Armenian prisoners by harassing and torturing them. (There was another reason that had encouraged arrests – money. Frequently, relatives had to pay a ransom for a prisoner's release.)

During the same period, the Commandant's Office had established control over roads inside the NKAO. Checkpoints were installed everywhere, and it was hard to get around them, even on village dirt roads. To ensure the free and discreet movement of people and weapons, we constructed numerous access roads to bypass Azeri villages and checkpoints. We restored old abandoned roads and built new ones, clearing obstacles and compacting the ground with tractors. In fact, we created an alternative road system, thanks to which we were able to get from Stepanakert to the farthest regional center, Hadrut, circumventing all checkpoints.

In response, the military altered their tactics, relocating checkpoints to new and unexpected locations. But this didn't work for very long – although it was small, Karabakh was quite densely populated, and the local residents quickly figured out new checkpoint locations by following the movements of armored personnel carriers and police SUVs. The news then spread around the neighborhoods, and within several minutes, every car passing by was warned of the checkpoint ahead. Drivers then passed the information all across the region. As a result, it was pretty hard to catch our militia groups off guard.

The rules of guerilla warfare worked in our favor. We were in an environment that supported us but was hostile toward them. It gave us an enormous advantage.

Friends and Enemies

In order to withstand the intensifying pressure, we tried to boost our military capabilities and minimize losses by establishing contacts and streamlining cooperation with the Soviet military. We had good relations with some of the regional commandants and senior officers of the USSR internal troops. The Soviet military was deployed, following orders to respond to a flash point. They had no reason to be hostile towards us, and we felt the same towards them. The military was aware of the temporary nature of their deployment, as their rotations occurred every six months. They also saw that the nation was in complete chaos, and the Soviet Union was nearing its end. In that situation, they had no reason to be particularly zealous or make enemies among the people who had nothing against them and could take revenge on them. It was easier to serve the six months quietly and go back home. Many officers, particularly those in the middle ranks, had genuine sympathy for us, liked us, and endeavored to assist us. In their hearts, they didn't approve of the actions of the Organizational Committee, and some even tried to thwart them to whatever extent they could.

Sergey Kontsevenko, head of the oblast KGB, was one of the first security officers we established good relations with from the very start. Leonard Petrosian was the first to get close to him. Leonard noticed that he was a reasonable man, didn't hold any prejudices against us, and was loyal toward us. Through Leonard, we set up a meeting initiated by Kontsevenko. Even I felt suspicious about it.