My last two posts related to the war

On november 9, 2020 the war was stopped...a ceasefire was imposed after 44 days of intense fighting.  

Two days after the chaos that followed I posted this on facebook before deactivating my account:

And my final diary post on the 40th day of the war, on November 5:  

Day 40 of war

The war is going on for 40 days now, together with Covid, hand in hand, killing us in different ways, each day.

Hospitals are full to capacity and there is a waiting list for 640 patients…640 more beds needed to save people who are seriously ill due to the virus. We are getting 2000-2500 cases of infection and an average of 30-35 deaths per day. 

I stopped counting the killed soldiers, someone said they are not numbers and I agree. 

We have been resisting for 40 days…some on the frontline, some in the bombarded cities, some in shelters, some on the streets, some on hospital beds, some in front of foreign embassies, some in diasporan communities, some behind the computer, some with humanitarian work. We are ALL resisting. 

History is repeating itself over and over. Numbers are symbolic. 

Our 40 days of Musa Dagh ended today, but the war continues and no rescue on sight, except ourselves. 

On the 40th day, traditionally, families revisit the graves of their deceased … 40 days passed since the first group of young soldiers and civilians were killed in this war…it is already time to revisit their graves. We are still in continuous collective mourning, mostly on the denial and anger stage, it will take us a long time to accept these losses. 

Women usually take off their black dresses after the 40th day…not in South Caucasus, black dresses stay for months, years, a whole lifetime for some. Another endless war, another generation of women in black, raising kids to whom they have no more strength to explain things. Kids playing in shelters, sad but smiling, drawing beautiful pictures to help ease the pain of their grieving parents. 

More than 80 000 people were displaced in this war, mostly women, children and elderly. 

Stepanakert and Shushi are under constant shelling for days, for more than a month. The hospitals have been targeted. The one in Stepanakert was hit while doctors were treating people. Associated Press was there and filmed the panic inside, doctors and patients running downstairs, the horrible sounds, the cries, the fear…but, still no action taken, kind and sorry words, but no action…people react for a while, then naturally the shock fades away until the next one, until things become normal, until the war becomes normal. Does it ever? Yes, it does, unfortunately…war was normal in my childhood. It was normal to play "soldiers and enemies" outside with our neighborhood kids, in Lebanon. Then, there was that large cemetery in Biqfaya, near my grandmother’s summer house where we used to stay when the bombings escalated in the capital. That cemetery was a revelation, it became for many of us, an educational playground. During some days, the combat would be so intense that one funeral after the other would take place in that large mysteriously majestic cemetery. I remember how we used to sneak inside, a group of 10-12-year-olds. We would wait for the gathered mourners to leave the site and then slowly approach the graves, touch the fresh earth, observe the photos of the deceased, smell the flowers, while scaring each other with horrible stories of mutilated corpses and blown up bodies constantly seen on the evening news. 

War has a strange way of sneaking into our mind, transforming our being and inner self, destroying, awakening, rearranging many elements inside our heads. What remains afterward is what we have to deal with for the rest of our life. 

International humanitarian workers on a short visit in Yerevan this week were stunned that Armenia was handling so well the displaced population situation with almost no external aid. They have rarely seen so much mobilization in any country during conflict. They are so amazed of people here and in the diaspora uniting their efforts to ensure that those affected by the war are treated in dignity and in a timely manner. No one is left out, no one is without food or shelter. Local clinics are welcoming the Artsakhtsis for free consultations and help with covid cases. Schools are open to all newly arriving students even without papers. Yes, we are a humane society. Yes, this is how it should be in a caring democratic country. No matter how much hate we experienced, how much repressions, corrupt leaders, wars, indifference, genocide and exile, we kept our humanity as a society, our sense of solidarity for each other. Despite our differences we are there for each other in times of crisis. After this war, we need to learn to be there for each other in times of peace as well. 

For the 5th week already, our women’s center, like many other local initiatives, is continuing to provide aid packages for women and families. Half of our staff has been infected by Covid last week and while they are trying to recuperate at home, the other half is working overtime to ensure that help continues. 

I am trying not to spend much time on thinking about the adequate reactions (or the lack of it) of the international community or human rights organisations. I started to get used to the idea that this fight will be a lonely one for us as a country, and I don’t mean only on the battlefields. 

I am repeating to myself every morning that things are going to be ok soon, that we will be able to survive this. 

War trauma

PTSD

Children having nightmares

Some wetting their beds again at night

empty seats in University classrooms

Mothers crying for lost ones, absent for the ones alive

Wounded people

Shattered families

Devastated parents

We will survive this

We are not alone, we have each other

No one will be left behind…

No matter the outcome, we will find a way.

Day 36 of #war

Summer 1999, NK

So much happened these past days. We received the news and watched in horror the phosphoric bombs falling from the sky on the majestic mountains and forests of Artsakh. Those mountains were always a safe haven for the population, the peaceful villagers in the region.

I remember Abel from Karin Dag(under the rock), in that small but courageous Armenian village located just under Shushi. I used to volunteer there, renovating the tiny old church in the center of the village with many volunteers of Land and Culture, from around the world. It was 1999, and after hard working days, we used to gather outside the village school where we slept, made a bonfire and sat for long hours together with the villagers listening to their stories of war, loss, victory and resistance. Since there was no internet at that time and almost no phones, that was our only entertainment on those hot summer days.

Abel, a young man born and raised in that village, which we nicknamed Hercules for his strong arms and ability to transport heavy rocks, was silent most of the time. He was just a kid during the war of the 90s, he didn’t participate much to the discussion and with a sad gaze would sit beside us, listening quietly. Then one day, some of us started asking him about his life during that time. After a certain time, he started telling us his story, while holding back his tears…He was a just a child, and together with his siblings living an innocent life in that village. Then when it all started, their homes were bombarded by Azerbaijanis. Among the fire, the smoke and destruction, mothers took their children and ran fast up in the mountains for safety… everyone knew that would be their only safety. Many were saved…the men stayed behind defending their village. Abel’s mom was running up the hill, and when the bombing started targeting the civilians, she asked the kids to lie low and then she covered them with her body to keep them safe…and that is how she died, she was hit by a piece of the shelling and killed on the spot, while the kids stayed alive under her heavy body…heavy memories carried by many kids in those times.

Karin Dag tells many stories of survival and death…in almost each home you visit in that village there is a corner allocated to the lost ones, a father, an uncle, a son, a brother…some kind of a shrine with candles, flowers, photos…keeping the memories alive. More will be added after this war…more will be added everywhere after this war. And life one day will go on, despite our efforts to stop it.

Yesterday, I tried to process the information that jihadists and Syrian mercenaries hired by Turkey to fight for Azerbaijan against Armenians in Nagorno-Karabakh were paid 2000 $ per month and an additional 100 $ for each beheading.

Yes…you heard it well…beheading. Erdogan and Aliyev are sending terrorists to savagely kill people in the 21st century. Now process that for a minute or two, then ask yourself, why is this happening right now, at this moment?

Then there are people known in their community like the press secretary of the Qarabag football club of Azerbaijan writing on his wall “we need to kill all Armenians, children, women, elderly, without distinction…”

There are also the planned organized Turkish mobs roaming the streets of France 100s of them at once with the grey wolf genocidal sign, looking for Armenians to beat up…in those communities where most survivors settled fleeing the 1915 Armenian Genocide.

I am trying to see possibilities of dialogue and peace among all this hate...I am failing, we are all failing...

Several human rights defenders and advocates for peace around the world and most importantly those who used to be active in our region…seem to not notice these events…never heard of hate crimes, state sponsored Armenophobia…denial of Genocide…never. They never heard about the Sumgait massacres which started the first war, when Armenians were killed under Azerbaijani rule…they never heard of Safarov, the terrorist, the murderer greeted like a hero in his hometown…Or it doesn’t suit them to be vocal right now…many things are at stake right now and Armenian lives are not one of them it seems…Yet some of them are busy sharing one or two tiny reports of Human Rights Watch, retweeting at most, if pressed by time... but only if it mentions both sides and get done with the whole issue…feel good, thinking they did their part…ignoring all the rest. Ignoring the scope of the conflict, ignoring the fact of an obvious larger aggressor, also known as a dictator in his country, who started a war in a middle of global pandemic against a new developing democracy(whose main crime is that there is no oil found on their lands to bribe anyone)…ignoring the constant refilling of sophisticated weapons coming from Israel to Baku…the hired mercenaries from Syria, the genocidal speeches of Erdogan supporting his brother Aliyev…yes, those are just not as important it seems…

Then of course there is Belarus…and the elections in Georgia and many other more important things to talk about in the region than just a tiny population of 150 000 supported by a 3 million fighting for survival against two well-known dictators with more than 90 million population, oil money, caviar for the most refined foreign politicians, or international media, supported by the arm industry of Israel, Turkey and many others combined.

Sure, nothing to say there, except the two reports and maybe the “occupation” discourse…but occupying what? Who? How can the indigenous Armenian population of Artsakh who has been discriminated and oppressed historically on their lands under Azerbaijanis, can be safe under this Azerbaijani rule, bloodthirsty, not only killing soldiers but beheading them, torturing, spreading hate speech on governmental level… who can guarantee their safety? surely not the Europeans or the Americans or any other power right now, they can’t even force Aliyev to a ceasefire, let alone something else… it seems that Armenians can rely only on themselves, their own people...every Armenian child has heard this by his/her grand-parents and tried all his/her life to prove it wrong, just to be met with more disappointment at the end, like these days.

And for all those rejoicing, including so-called peacebuilders from the other side, with each news, true or fake, of a territory taken…let me ask you, is it worth it? All the blood? The killings, was it this way how you imagined it?

Life continues for many of you out there. There was Halloween…soon, Christmas and New year will be here and many more events to plan and live. But history shows us that wars don’t stop at the borders where conflict is happening…

Yes, there are very serious violations happening in Belarus right now…and I am DEEPLY concerned and urging both parties to find a peaceful solution, so more civilians and protesters don’t suffer, get killed or attacked on the streets…yes, urging everyone to stop! It's Ridiculous right? what I am saying? …and yes, you are right! it is extremely ridiculous and unacceptable to say the least.

You can never ask victims to make peace with the aggressors, you cannot ask them to stop defending their lives and rights in the middle of a survivor war when the aggressor is even more ready to kill and annihilate. It is the aggressor that you need to address first, yes that one exactly... the one who decided to launch this large scale war in the middle of a global pandemic. Maybe you forgot about that slight detail...

And of course some things help in the middle of all the chaos I am living right now…private messages from friends, acknowledging what is happening and offering support, diaspora Armenians constantly sending aid, money, medicines, doctors to help, and global activists and intellectuals sending words of solidarity across the oceans to the forgotten tiny population…

“From one world historical people, we in the midst of the American Empire, I raise my voice, one voice, but my voice, in deep solidarity to another world historical people, to a people who have been traumatized for over 2000 years... Solidarity is not abstract, it’s blood-soaked, it is tear-soaked. And we refuse to allow the lies, and the crimes against the Armenian brothers and sisters to have the last word.

Don’t get discouraged,

Don’t let anything dampen your fire…it’s a sacred fire that burns inside of you…

And it burns in such a way that you’ll tell the truth, you’ll seek justice, not in the spirit of self-righteousness, but in spirit of humility tied to a moral tenacity” — Dr. Cornel West, 2020

My War diaries - October #ArtsakhStrong

On September 27, 2020 Azerbaijan has declared war on the civil population of Artsakh in the middle of a global pandemic. Since then,  the territory of Nagorno-Karabakh has been bombarded heavily, cities, hospitals, kindergartens, schools and civilian residences. Thousands are being killed including soldiers and civilians, more than 60 000 have been displaced from their homes, mostly women, children and elderly...

I kept a diary of these days, while I was engaged like many of us in Yerevan on providing humanitarian aid to the refugees and those affected by the conflict. 

I am reposting here my previous posts, so I remember...

October 1 - Day 5 of war: the worst part these days is to wake up to the suffocating uncertainty and fear each morning.

After managing a few hours of sleep, send a message to loved ones in NK, hold your breath and wait with anxiety for them to respond that they are ok.

Then quickly and hysterically go over the news feed or whatever info available(not much) to try figure out how worse the situation became in the few hours that you passed out, hoping that damages are scarce, not more than what your heart can handle.

Then try to breathe...

October 3 - Day 7 of war. I don’t know what to feel anymore, fear? Panic? Sadness? Anger? This morning I am thinking about the aftermath of all this. If we stay alive and sane, How are we going once more to deal with all the consequences that war leaves behind, losses, destruction, dismantled infrastructures, destroyed homes, orphaned children, widowed women, the hate, broken bodies, broken souls...

The already extremely sad entrance walls of schools will be filled once more of new fresh photos of fathers, uncles and brothers of kids, who were killed these days. And children will walk in their classrooms under the heavy gazes of these portraits remembering each and every day those who are no more with us.

those among us who survive this, will spend another lifetime cleaning up after all the mess that war will leave behind, pick up the pieces, try to restore and heal the souls... reconstructing the roads and houses would be the easiest part, it’s the rest that I am afraid of.

Many of you are writing asking how to help. If I don’t answer back, it is because honestly I don’t know how...but it helps a lot that you are asking and offering support.

Talk about what’s happening here among your circles. Donate to

Hayastan All Armenian Fund Հայաստան համահայկական հիմնադրամ

to ensure the humanitarian aid. Check on your friends, relatives here, talk to them if you can.

Yesterday, I was practicing with my kids what to do during an emergency air raid. It is so sad to see how children grow up so fast in these situations.

I wish I could predict the end of this war in the coffee cup, i wish it was as easy as that, I wish I had all the answers and appease everyone...but there is so little I can do and feeling so empty right now.

A letter to my second daughter leaving the nest

Dear Varanta

Today is the start of the next stage in your life. You are leaving home to travel alone as an adult for the first time. You are ready to explore the vast world despite the pandemic. It’s your time to travel, experience and learn. Where do I start from to let you know how proud I am to be called your mom? From the first moments you were born, in that friendly quiet hospital, sleeping by my side with enquiring eyes and holding my finger with a strong fist, I knew that the universe was offering me the precious gift to hold in my arms and nurture a unique and magnificent individual. 

Your activist soul started appearing very early in life around 5, when you were forcing me to read over and over again the little book of Children’s Rights every June 1st, then applying all that you have read in that tiny book on your teachers, and later on on your classmates, forcing them to respect your rights, respect each other. I can’t recall how many times your father and I were called to the principal’s office because you had given a lecture to a teacher on racism. Unfortunately, one time the teacher had asked you to pass on the beige color pencil, calling it “skin color”. Shocked, you explained to her in front of the class that it was racist to do so, that skin colors are different. Or that day, when you refused to leave the playground before the end of recreation, grasping the door while a teacher was trying to push you inside, you were shouting like crazy that “it is your fundamental right to have clean air once a day as a child”. Yes, you were always talking truth to power and that was not always appreciated in your school, we even had a teacher asking us to talk to you less about human rights. You were disturbing the “peace”…good for you!

Later, during your teen years, you spent your break times in between classes to raise awareness among your friends about domestic violence, equality, discrimination, challenging their stereotypes and denouncing any act of bullying you witnessed in class. The activist in you was not able to stop and many among your peers loved you for that and learned how to defend themselves. 

I remember how much I enjoyed traveling with you. You used to accompany me for conferences abroad, feminist gatherings. Sitting in one corner, listening carefully to each and every word, then asking me all kinds of questions, analyzing, trying to find solutions for social problems and injustices, very early in life. 

Yes, you were my little walking, smiling, talking activist. Wherever you went, family gatherings, among friends, at home with your siblings, always denouncing unjust and discriminatory words or acts, educating all of us about respecting people’s rights and dignity. So, everyone in the house, extended family and friends had to be careful what word to use around you, check if it was sexist or racist, in order to avoid a whole lecture on BLM, islamophobia and internalized misogyny. 

Life has not always been easy for you. At 16, you had to go through the pain of losing a dear friend and classmate to cancer, I remember the devastation and anger against the world and everything in it. I couldn’t do anything, just be there and listen, sharing your tears and the feeling of unfairness. You had to also fight all the discriminatory approaches and injustices you witnessed in the education system in this country, the inaptitude of some teachers, the sexist approaches, the prejudices. Although you loved the school and had amazing group of friends, you often came home angry, frustrated then determined went back to face the problematic ones, ask questions, point at the mistakes and hurtful acts, talk about it, denounce it. They loved you dearly, but they did not always appreciate what you were trying to change, but you did it. You changed many perceptions around you and helped so many, stood up for the most vulnerable among you. Even on the so-called prom day! 

Whenever life was bringing you hardships or challenges, you were growing stronger and more resilient, sure of yourself. On your graduation day, Covid19 happened and you were the only one affected in our home, but you fought hard and overcame that too. My hamovig, you have taught me so much in how to be a better parent, a better person, to be more patient, more resilient and I am so grateful for all the joy and craziness you brought in our home. Our house will be so silent for a certain time and finding your room empty is going to feel awkward and sad. But you are leaving us for a good cause; to start your new life, and gradually engage further in human rights and social justice studies. You are ready for this new journey that will take you first to Canada and then the rest of the world for you to explore. Although your father and I are going through a bittersweet feeling during this transition, we are happy for you and will be watching from afar each and every step you take. Remember, we will always be here, whenever you feel the need.

As you embark on your next big adventure, remember these words of wisdom: Trust your instincts, leave any situation or company that does not feel right, follow your passion, take risks if needed, love with all your heart, never stop learning, try new things, explore, never let anyone tell you or make you believe that you can’t achieve your dreams and of course take your vitamins, protect your skin, eat healthy food 

Life is a beautiful thing, sometimes it can be bumpy and despairing, take breaks but never give up. Whenever you need to come back, rethink, rest, I will always keep an empty spot beside me for you, no questions asked. 

As they say, go into the world and do well but most importantly do good.

Love always,

Mom 

Letter to my daughter who is leaving for college

My identity as a mother started with you 18 years ago. I was young then and you happened like a big surprise! I wasn’t much prepared to all the changes and new feelings. The amazing ride over the years even though joyful was also full of bumps. I learned many things with you; how to love unconditionally and care for another human being completely dependent from myself, how to expand my heart to the extreme to fit all the overwhelming emotions, how to let go from time to time so you start exploring but fearing at every step that you might fall or hurt yourself.

No one really prepares you for motherhood but you learn through lots of laughs and many tears.

I remember when you were born. That day, I really understood how strong humans we are as women. Through the pain, the stitches and several medical interventions, I learned to appreciate this magical body of mine, which connected me with you.

I remember the first days, at home when back from the hospital with you wrapped on my chest. Overly anxious, I couldn’t sleep much the first weeks; I would wake up every hour to check if you were still breathing. You looked so fragile and I was afraid that I wouldn’t be careful enough, that something tragic would happen…

Years passed. You were almost 3 when we decided to move to Armenia as a family. It was a huge change for all of us. We spent the first years exploring the old streets of Yerevan, when there were not so many cars around and you would dance all the way from our rented apartment near vernissage to our favorite Artbridge café, the haven of repats at that time.

I remember how I used to tell you stories about the small “talans” where little elves would hide and every time we crossed that small entrance between two buildings you would play along and say “SHSHSH mom, gardses hon en klkharge desa” – Yerevan was so magical for a 4 year old in those days.

I remember how years later, at 7 or 8, you would walk again with us but in a more critical mood with your little scrapbook, taking notes of all the things that needed to be restored and renovated in this small city and that you were planning to rebuild them once you became the mayor of Yerevan: old parks with shabby playgrounds, broken pipes, holes on the sidewalks, destroyed doors, devastated buildings.

Then, you suddenly grew up to become a beautiful person inside out, a free spirit. Of course the road was even bumpier the last years… school… high school … where you were discovering yourself, your identity, your style and questioning every single thing. We had some rough days, and some better ones. In this very conservative society, we had to fight together at school, with inadequate teachers, insensitive pedagogues, prejudices and stereotypes. And sometimes you had to fight alone, on the streets, in the marshrutkas or the doctor’s offices to counter discriminatory remarks from passerby about your looks or hair or piercings.  And I would listen to your stories, hurting and feeling guilty, questioning myself often if moving to Armenia was the best option for my kids.

We also continued the struggle on the streets for justice, for equality and for better Armenia. You were there all the way, accompanying me in protests against domestic violence from an early age, and up to recently during the velvet revolution, closing the streets with your friends and making together with many other young ones this revolution possible.

It was tough sometimes but you were growing stronger and wiser and eventually Armenia became your home, a place you cherished and where you belonged. Sometimes, I look at you thinking how much talent is in that amazing body of yours and the great paintings that come out of your fingers, displayed here and there in every corner of our house, the music, the songs, the colors…  all inspired and created in this place, this country, with many kind people you met.

But the day has come and you are leaving soon to start university. You will be going away for a while to start a new chapter in your life, in a new country, a new adventure. You have found something that really interests you and you are going after it. No matter how challenging it might look now, you are ready to try and move out of your comfort zone and experience real independence.

I am so proud of you.

My heart is a mix of sadness and joy and I am holding myself to not go into panic mode right now, as most mothers would feel. I am repeating in my mind “she is going away, away, away…” and tears are ready to burst any time. I know you are not moving to Katmandu but just 3-4 flight hours away but still, my “normal” is going to change from next week on. Your room will be empty, at least for a while.  It will be hard to adjust to your temporary absence but life is like that; a series of goodbyes and reunions.

I will miss your smell, your hugs, and your voice. I will miss the changing colors of your hair with every season. I will miss the dirty cloths that you insist on leaving on the floor, your messy room. I will miss the long discussions, the weird cakes you bake and every single thing, but I am so happy to know that you are taking this brave step in your life.

We don’t know what life will bring us and how busy you will get with new projects. The world is yours to discover, go on, spread your wings but one thing is sure and that you can rely on is that I will always have an empty space next to me for you to come back to. Whenever you need to, no matter when and how often, that space will remain there and ready to welcome you and let you go again as many times as you need to.

Love,

From a proud mom.