Almost six months after the mass exodus of the Karabakh Armenians, their plight in Armenia remains as uncertain as ever. On Wednesday, some will even protest in Yerevan’s Freedom Square. There had been no major humanitarian crisis, despite claims of mass starvation as they crossed into Armenia via the Lachin checkpoint in late September, but the situation for many remains one of desperation or despair. A recent report by the International Crisis Group (ICG) highlighted that clearly earlier this month.
Malnourishment, insufficient medical assistance, and psychological trauma especially affected the most disadvantaged, previously inside Karabakh and now in Armenia. With limited financial support from the Armenian government, and trying to fit into an economy riding high mainly because of the re-export of EU goods to Russia, it was also hardly unexpected. Some of those problems were also borne out by my own visit last month to some of those refugees scattered across the country.
For a while, it was even uncertain how best to refer to the influx given that they simultaneously hold Armenian passports and are effectively considered as refugees inside Armenia itself. Some international non-governmental organisations internally used the term ‘displaced,’ while others such as the UN had their own – “persons in a refugee-like situation.” Now almost everyone calls them refugees.
Such ambiguities are not new and reminiscent of the situation I first encountered while documenting the plight of refugees in 1994 and then later from 2002 when terminology was dictated by the government. Those ethnic Armenians that fled Azerbaijan after the pogroms in Baku and Sumgait were “refugees,” but those from Karabakh were “displaced.”
Referring to displaced Karabakh Armenians from the 1990s as refugees would be tantamount to recognising the former territory as part of Azerbaijan but calling them Internally Displaced Persons (IDPs) would imply recognition of Karabakh as part of Armenia. This prevented international donors and organisations from constructing new houses for them so that they could stay. The government at the time insisted that they were meant to return.
Today, while Yerevan makes it possible for those from Karabakh to register for year-long temporary refugee status, it is nonetheless otherwise largely silent on their right to return even though the international community mentions it often. The government also makes certain assistance subject to applying for citizenship, such as loans to buy homes, something that Karabakh Armenians allege is by design.
Accepting that, some fear, could nullify any right to return, permanently or temporarily, or even disqualify them from claiming potential compensation in the future. Such fears are understandable since few of the displaced see a stable future in Armenia, though Armenian Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan rejects such accusations against his administration.
“If our forcibly displaced brothers and sisters do not have an opportunity or desire to return to Nagorno Karabakh, […] policy will be aimed at creating the necessary conditions for them to stay in the Republic of Armenia,” he remarked in a live-streamed press conference last week. But Pashinyan also claimed that others seek to exploit the Karabakh Armenians for the purpose of overthrowing his government.
That was a veiled attack on pro-Russian opposition forces in the country, and perhaps even Moscow itself, though it is unknown on what basis his claims were made. True, visiting her last month, one elderly former resident of Martakert recounted that local officials spread misinformation and disinformation to convince her whole village to immediately leave for the unused airport in Karabakh.
According to her, they were told that Russian aircraft were waiting to fly them to Armenia so they should leave immediately. They did, but when they discovered that there were no such planes or helicopters they had no choice but to head for Armenia by road instead. Incidentally, one of her elderly friends chose to remain and is still living in the village.
Karabakh’s de facto leadership is also largely missing in action despite the situation that many of its compatriots now find themselves in. Meanwhile, smaller groups, such as the initiative organising what is likely to end up being a small rally on Wednesday, are beginning to push for the issue of the right to return to be put on the agenda, though they also believe Yerevan has ‘washed its hands’ of the matter.
Though such a discussion should not be dismissed out of hand if it is conducted maturely, and even if only to visit graves and collect possessions left behind, it continues to look unlikely to happen anytime soon. Though many fled their homes clutching the keys to the doors of their homes, they still refuse to go back if it would mean living side by side with the “Turks.”
As a result, some of the more fortunate Karabakh Armenians have already re-established their businesses in Yerevan. Ironically, despite the owner of a chic restaurant in Karabakh recently telling media outlet Civilnet that it operated throughout the ten-month semi-blockade last year, replicating that success for its re-opened business in Yerevan could prove more difficult. A similar enterprise, also operating in Karabakh throughout the same period before reopening in Yerevan, didn’t last more than a few months.
That is unfortunate given that some of these venues could also play a vital role in keeping the community and its distinct dialect and cuisine alive, as well as providing a space to keep the community connected and help facilitate much-needed interaction with local Armenians. Though the newcomers have been welcomed for now, that might prove more problematic in the future.
Indeed, the owner of the Karabakh eatery and club now closed on Yerevan’s central Saryan Street, coincidentally also a lawyer, is instead using the restaurant’s page on Facebook to counter accusations of corruption against his compatriots by social media users in Armenia. He also answers questions on their legal rights in general.
But for now, according to official statistics, only about 6,000 Karabakh Armenians have left Armenia not to return. Though others claim the figure is much higher, that will likely increase in the future. Last month, for example, one young Karabakh Armenian said that while she refuses to take citizenship, she will also soon leave the South Caucasus for good in order to continue her education in the West.
She says she has no plans to return even to Armenia let alone Karabakh.
Paradoxically, however, she waxes lyrically about the many times she has visited Tbilisi with her friends. As soon as she crosses the Armenia border and enters the Georgian border village of Sadakhlo, she says, she feels as though “she has entered Europe.” “Sadakhlo?” I remarked in case I misheard. “You know it’s an ethnic Azerbaijani-inhabited village in a similarly populated region of Georgia?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“And you don’t consider that problematic to travel through?” I had to ask.
“No,” she said.
And it shouldn’t. Most passenger traffic from Armenia to Georgia passes through the overwhelmingly majority ethnic Azerbaijani-populated Marneuli municipality of the country’s Kvemo Kartli region every day. But though that is not enough to conclude that everyday coexistence and cohabitation will be easily reachable, it does at least suggest that it could be possible at some point in the future.
But first, of course, a peace agreement would need to be signed, with the necessary confidence-building measures in place. It would also require an open and public discussion on that potential right to return, temporary or permanent, to take place. Few might likely return, but that is also their right. It does, however, need to be an option, unlikely as it might seem for now.
source: Onnik James Krikorian is a journalist, photojournalist, and consultant from the U.K. who has covered the Armenia-Azerbaijan conflict since 1994.
photo: A Karabakh refugee sitting on her bed in a cohabited room in a dilapidated kindergarten building in Massis, Armenia, one of 100,000 others who fled in September last year. In front of her, the keys to the home she left behind in Karabakh © Onnik James Krikorian 2024
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