Author: Varazdat Torgomian

Following Armenia’s defeat in the 2020 Artsakh War, and the Armenian government’s concessions under the sham banner of “democracy,” came the “peace” narrative – peace at any cost, even if it meant recognizing Artsakh as part of Azerbaijan and abandoning its population to ethnic cleansing, which has been swiftly followed by the willingness to give away the enclaves (eight villages demanded by Azerbaijan) and the Syunik province.

Prime Minister Pashinyan presents the “Crossroads of Peace” project at the Tbilisi International Forum in October (Prime Minister of the Republic of Armenia)

This has now been elevated to new heights by the “crossroads of peace,” a plan for regional interconnectivity that was introduced by the European Union and mimicked by Armenian Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan as if it is the genius invention of his administration. While presenting the project at an international conference in Tbilisi on October 26, PM Pashinyan said it would enhance communication between Armenia, Turkey, Azerbaijan and Russia through infrastructure development.

But what does it really mean? 

The current government has admitted that Azerbaijan’s appetite for more territory was not satisfied by the fall of Artsakh, and a peace agreement might not end Azerbaijani aggression towards Armenia. It also says that Armenia has no security guarantor, as Russia has stopped its role. Instead of offering a substantial policy to fill the security vacuum, Armenia feels it has no choice but to offer the “crossroads of peace” for the sake of the economic wellbeing of the region, which is supposed to bring a hypothetical peace.

Instead, the “crossroads of peace” is an extension of appeasement, a foreign policy of pacifying an aggrieved country through negotiation in order to prevent war. It compels Armenia to submit and concede, to become useful to aggressive neighbors through realism.

The concept of regional connectivity through transit routes is not new, as it has been considered by previous administrations. However, it is unrealistic at this stage, as alternative trade routes already exist that bypass what is offered under the “crossroads of peace” plan. Rather, the project would further benefit Azerbaijan. Through soft power, Azerbaijan would control Syunik and the enclaves and disrupt other infrastructure. The peace agreement that PM Pashinyan is so keen to carry out, even though he does not have the legitimacy to do so, is a pretense for capitulation that would bring further losses and see the creation of Azerbaijani settlements on Armenian territory.

To participate in this project and create a route connecting Armenia and Turkey, the latter would demand that Armenia end claims to historic lands, stop pursuing Armenian Genocide recognition and change the wording of Armenia’s constitution. This is actively being discussed in the ruling Civil Contract party circles and has been mentioned a few times by the Prime Minister. All nationalist, “revanchist” elements of society would be banished, followed by a change in the education system to implement internationalism and globalism as opposed to national values. Armenia would become a society void of any identity, where nationality does not matter and only money and commercial benefits are prioritized.

But is the concept of “peace” realistic in an environment where Armenia is surrounded by aggressive, fascist states that only want to see Armenia’s demise? In such an environment, Armenia could be wiped off the map, as its survival would not be tolerated. 

Moreover, the “crossroads of peace” will not serve the independence and sovereignty of Armenian statehood. The operating license of Armenia would be handed over from Russia to Turkey and Azerbaijan. 

One must fight for sovereignty, independence and freedom, as was the case during the world wars, after the Armenian Genocide and during the 1990s. A country must build an army that is not afraid to die for liberty and form alliances with powers that can guarantee the strengthening of military capacities.

Pashinyan is not capable of creating a sovereign state or strengthening the army. In fact, he has done the opposite and has become a symbol of defeat and capitulation. The bar has been lowered to the point that no red lines remain. 

It has been three years since the end of the 2020 war, and no alternative narrative has been put forward to create an army and foreign policy that will strengthen Armenian statehood. Instead, a defeatist narrative has penetrated the opposition mindset as well. . 

We have heard endless messages about how Armenia is facing an existential danger. However, for three wasted years, Armenia has waited for Russia to come to its rescue while it has repeatedly betrayed Artsakh. We must accept that Russian interests have changed, and while it no longer sees Armenia as a useful slave, it has forged deep alliances with Turkey and Azerbaijan. Russia greenlit the war in 2020, the blockade and the genocide carried out by Azerbaijan in Artsakh. 

Yet, the opposition still has not accepted this reality. It does not openly criticize Russia and still believes that negotiation can win Russia over. The opposition has made several mistakes:

1. It never openly rejected the November 9, 2020 ceasefire agreement.
2. It trusted Russia’s promises that it would come to power in the near future, made periodically over the last three years, which gave the opposition a false hope and only cemented Pashinyan’s power.
3. During the blockade, it never expressed dissatisfaction towards the peacekeepers’ inability to keep the Berdzor (Lachin) Corridor unobstructed and avoid the massacres of September 19. It never demanded an international peacekeeping presence.
4. To this day, it has not demanded answers from Russia regarding why it assisted the genocide and forced displacement of Artsakh’s Armenian population. Artsakh’s Armenians, unlike Pashinyan’s Armenia, stayed loyal to Russia until the end. They entrusted Russians with their safety and returned to Artsakh after the 2020 war, where large billboards were raised featuring Putin’s images.
5. It did not demand to know why the security and dignity of Artsakh’s Armenians were not protected. Rather, they were subjected to humiliation by the abduction of civilians at Azerbaijan’s checkpoint along the Berdzor Corridor and of Artsakh officials from Stepanakert.

The longevity of statehood is ensured by creating policies and offering solutions to survive in a complex geopolitical environment and evolving world order. It is not ensured by repeating that we are in crisis.

Instead, some of the opposition members have come up with the defeatist solution of joining  the union state with Russia. The so-called nationalists prefer to forsake sovereignty and join a union that is not accepted by the world for the sake of saving what we have left.

Some of the opposition is prepared to offer a shrunken country to Russia rather than keeping the current territories intact. It provides parallels to 1920, when Armenia became Sovietized to deter more bloodshed. However, Russia is not the same as it was then. The Soviet Union and the Cold War no longer exist. Russia is weak, rejected by the world, isolated and in a deep strategic cooperation with Turkey and Azerbaijan. One cannot trust the security guarantees that Russia offers but is incapable of or willing to implement.

Our current political elite has presented two scenarios: to submit to Azerbaijan, concede to their demands and end up with a Yerevan city-state with no national identity, or join the union state. Both are equally flawed and equally dangerous for the survival of Armenian statehood. 

What are some alternatives?

Although we have lost precious time and territories with the loss of Artsakh and the war, national values can be reinvigorated by contributing our global nation’s collective resources to create the ideal state. The time to act is now. We cannot wait until the traitorous “peace” agreement is signed. We did not resist when Berdzor was handed over without a fight, which was followed by the blockade and depopulation of Artsakh. We must organize to stop the shrinking of our land bit by bit and uphold our territorial integrity. We must rebuild the army and form alliances that will strengthen our security. We must reach a consensus for a national agenda that will protect our statehood and reject the two remedies that do not serve national interests. All the concerned and caring groups who want to see an independent state must unite to determine what we want as a nation.

Armenians made the impossible, possible after the Armenian Genocide, when we had no state institutions and no external help. We achieved this once again in the 1990s, when we created an independent state based on the ideology of Artsakh’s independence, with no army or assistance. History demonstrates that when Armenians unite in times of adverse danger, they create victorious resistance movements.

This is not an easy task. It requires leadership with the right mindset, dedication, sacrifice, conviction and determination to succeed. If we do not fight for our survival, no one else will do it for us. We will only gain our integrity and respect from the international community when we stand for our just cause. If we don’t, we deserve to be stateless. After all, romanticism brought us victories, not realism.

The view from Aposhian’s room in Aleppo

Same-sex marriage laws were approved in Denmark, the state television of Egypt lifted its ban on veiled female news presenters, and the Mayan calendar came to an end. The year 2012 seemed like any other through the eyes of my 13-year-old naive self, but little did I know, the harmonious life I’d led was coming to an end.

The early 2010s marked the beginning of the Arab Spring. Unfortunately, as an Armenian who was raised in Syria, I, along with thousands of other Armenians, was heavily affected by these events. It was not until 2012 that my city Aleppo was sucked into the hole of hell and became a theater of modern-day war.

The conflict in Syria began with peaceful protests against President Bashar Al-Assad’s regime in 2011 and transformed into a bloody civil war. Reports from BBC, the New York Times, the Atlantic, and Al Jazeera characterized the war as a religious conflict opposed by Assad’s minority Alawite sect, with Shiite fighters from neighboring Middle Eastern countries pitted against the Sunni rebellious groups. Yet all of that meant nothing to me. I could not comprehend how a country where my great-grandparents, grandparents, parents and I had lived safely for decades could suddenly turn into a battlefield.

I vividly remember the very first bombing that took place in Aleppo. It was late January on a cold morning, and I was at school. Everyone was quietly sitting in the classroom when suddenly, we sensed an internal vibration. We first thought that it was an earthquake, so we all hid under our desks for a few minutes. When we no longer heard the sounds, we returned to our seats, and the teacher tried to reassure us that nothing bad had happened. Yet it was no use, as we were all panicked. Parents showed up at school to take their kids home, including my two younger brothers and me, even though our house was just next door. On our short walk home, I asked my mom what was going on, to which she answered, “No one knows yet. Walk fast, and let’s get home safely.” 

When we got home, my dad hugged us tight and detached himself from the newscast for a few seconds. On the television, the reporter was announcing that the bombing location was a gas station a few blocks away from our house. I looked at my parents’ faces for reassurance, yet they could not offer any. My father’s eyebrows were pulled up, and my mother nervously bit her nails while watching the livestream of the attack. A few hours later, my mother got a call from our school, informing her that schools would shut down for a week until further notice. As we heard the news, my brothers and I jumped with joy, as we thought we would have more time to have fun, but this new announcement made my parents worry even more. Nothing happened during that week, schools and shops reopened, and normal life continued in Aleppo for a short while.

Just a month later, another bomb attack took place, and then another and another. These explosions got bigger and more frequent, and large numbers of people were killed and injured. Water shortages and electrical outages all over Aleppo followed. Leaving your home meant risking your life, yet homes were not safe either, as a bomb could fall and demolish a residential building at any given second.

A few months passed, and it was already summer. Living without electricity, especially without fans or air conditioners in Aleppo’s heat, was unbearable, as the temperature would reach 37 degrees Celsius, almost 100 degrees Fahrenheit. We spent our days sitting around the house, waiting for the power to go back on so we could use the air conditioner and watch some television. We hardly left the building except to go to my grandmother’s house, which was two blocks away, and we would return home before it got dark.

At first, people remained optimistic and convinced themselves that it would all be over soon, yet unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. As time passed, bomb attacks became more brazen. Having electricity and water for a few hours a day became the new norm, and anticipating large-scale bombings became surprisingly mundane.

In early August, my father decided that it would be best to send my mother, my siblings and me on a short trip to Yerevan, Armenia. My father was not the only one who thought of this plan, as a large number of other Syrian-Armenian families considered moving to the motherland as the best short-term solution.

Despite having never visited Armenia, my parents thought that it would be the closest thing to a safe home, and if the situation got worse in Syria, we could settle there.

My siblings and I were enthusiastic when we first heard the news about traveling to Armenia, but when I saw my mom pack my school certificate, the reality hit me: I could leave Aleppo and never come back. Although living through those six months was unbearable, I was still living in my own home with my entire family, and I got to see my cousins and friends every once in a while.

Aposhian’s seven-year-old brother drew this airplane when he learned that his family was leaving Syria for Armenia

Moving to Armenia meant leaving all of those things behind, and I was not excited about the idea of being a foreigner in my own motherland. With tears falling down my face and a muffled voice, I selfishly sobbed, “I would rather live here without water or electricity than in some strange country.” Yet it was no use, as my parents had already made up their minds.

As the day of our flight, August 22, got closer, my anxiety grew. My friends told me how lucky I was to be leaving Aleppo and moving to a city where terror was not a component of the daily lifestyle, but it was no use. When I visited my grandparents’ house for the last time, my grandfather dug out an old book he got in Armenia when he last visited it in 2010. The book was Armenia in Pictures by Bella Waters, and as he read it to me, I understood why our people admire Armenia. The idea of living in a peaceful country with beautiful nature did not sound so bad after all.

On my last day, we met up with our acquaintances for one last time. They all expressed their excitement for us, yet I felt guilty leaving them behind. Although I was going to have a much more comfortable and safe life in Armenia, they were still stuck in Syria, living every day as if it might be their last, risking their lives every time they went outdoors.

On the days leading up to our trip, I witnessed the sadness in my father’s eyes, as he realized that it might be the last time we all spent time together in our own home. He was putting his life in danger by staying in Aleppo and not leaving his job to make sure we could live a comfortable life elsewhere. Of course, he would try his best to visit us every once in a while, yet the household dynamic would never be the same again. I felt inescapable shame as I packed, leaving my hometown and my family behind to start a new chapter in my life. Yet there was nothing that I could do but accept the harsh reality and hope that one day things would go back to normal.

I still remember my last night in Aleppo. The bed that I had slept in for the past 11 years did not feel as comfortable anymore. I spent that night rolling around, looking outside the window, listening to the chirping of birds, and waiting for the sunlight to reflect on my skin. Finally, the alarm clock rang at 6 a.m. sharp. My young brothers could barely open their eyes, and I was in charge of waking them up and getting them fully clothed. “Come on, get up! We’re leaving for Armenia,” I sighed while standing in the middle of their two separate single beds. They both jumped out of their beds with excitement and smiles that ran from one ear to another. Breaking away from its usual mold, I witnessed pure chaos in our home as I left the room. My dad carried our heavy luggage out the door, while my mom ran back and forth shoving paperwork and passports into her handbag.

The moment arrived. We stepped outside our building, and my brothers and I waved goodbye to the place we called home. The airport was just a 30-minute drive, but it felt never-ending. Each street, each building and each shop represented pieces of home to me, pieces that I tried so hard to cling to as I took blurry pictures of them from our new pink digital Sony camera that my father bought for our trip. As my father accompanied us inside the airport, I remember how firmly I held his hand, trying to stop the tears from falling and gathering the strength to say goodbye. 

What followed next was a blur–tearful eyes, long hugs and saying goodbye to things and people I never thought I’d ever have to leave behind. As we sat on our cold, metal chairs at the gate, waiting for the announcement to get on our plane, I saw the emptiness in my mother’s tired brown eyes. In a desperate attempt to distract myself, I took out the camera and glanced through the pictures I had taken earlier that day. I gazed at those pictures of random empty streets in amazement, clueless that the city, my home, would never be the same again.

I can never erase the beautiful view of Armenia from above from my memory. The mountains were like nothing I had ever seen before, and I remember thinking to myself that the pictures in Waters’ book did not do the country any justice.

I’d be lying if I said that moving to Armenia was easy, regardless of the misconception that moving to one’s motherland should be easier than moving elsewhere. It was difficult to get accustomed to the Eastern Armenian language, post-Soviet culture and an unfamiliar yet calmer lifestyle than the one back home. Yet as time went by, waking up to the view of Mount Ararat every morning, having sweet Medovik cake and hot tea with our new neighbors in the afternoons, and seeing Armenian letters used for street signs, neighborhood names and billboards made it all worthwhile.

In spite of all the efforts to move on and live my new life, the sense of wrongdoing would forever linger. Whether it was a simple phone call with a relative from back home, a scroll through Facebook or even a glimpse through old photos, all the feelings I so desperately tried to leave behind would effortlessly reemerge. It still occurs to this very day, 11 years after I moved to Yerevan. Whenever someone asks me where I’m from, I reply Syria–with a tone saturated in both remorse and pride.

Although we were forced to move to Armenia, we were caught off guard when it turned not into our second home, but our first one. Despite all the tragedies and difficulties my parents, grandparents and great-grandparents endured, we were finally in the motherland. We were back home.