Far from being over. Injustice, revenge and suffering in Nagorno-Karabakh

Baku residents celebrating victory in Karabakh war 2020. Photo: Interfase (CC) commons,wikimedia.org

On November 7th 2020 media outlets covering the second war in Nagorno-Karabakh were busy with reports that Azerbaijani soldiers allegedly entered Shusha. Authorities of the unrecognised Nagorno-Karabakh Republic and Armenia denied these assertions. Finally, after two days of a propaganda battle full of contrasting information, the Armenian side had acknowledged its loss. In Azerbaijan, euphoria and enthusiasm took over the streets and social media. Even those Azerbaijanis quite distant from, if not critical towards, Ilham Aliyev’s regime caught on to the narrative of sacred revenge and the return of ancesteral land. This time, the tragedies of Armenians losing their homes were marginalised. A day later, in Moscow, another ceasefire agreement was signed. This time, the Azerbaijanis should be considered the undisputable winner.        

Foundation of rivalry

Before 2020 and 1992 there was 1988 – when all Armenians were expelled from the city of Shusha. Earlier there was 1920, when Armenians were slaughtered and the majority of the Armenian districts in Shusha were destroyed. In 1905-1907, during the Armenian-Tatar War, as Russian sources call it, ethnic tensions, abused for years by the imperial power, led to massacres of both Christians and Muslims. The story of Shusha/Shushi is symbolic for the destiny of Karabakh. Yet, it is not only an example of the process of how neighbours become enemies, but also the symbol of the longevity and complexity of the conflict.

In both Armenia and Azerbaijan, contemporary ethno-national identities are inextricably related to the existence of the conflict. The creation of these modern nations and their self-perceptions based on imagined communities appeared simultaneously with the moment the Russian Empire began slowly disintegrating. That opened up national discussions about space, territoriality, and borders. In effect, the inter-ethnic tensions were strengthened by political discourse. From the very beginning of modern nationalism, Nagorno-Karabakh was the centrepiece of the Azerbaijani and Armenian identities. It was also the foundation of rivalry – both narrative and physical. In other words, there is no Armenia without Karabakh, and there is no Azerbaijan without it either. Consequently, it is hard to imagine Azerbaijani-Armenian relations without reference to Nagorno-Karabakh. To consolidate imagined communities a fitting mythology is required. To build one up, the ancient figures have to be translated into historical, objective forms. In consequence, the mythologies and instrumentalisations of history and memory surrounding the conflict stand as the inevitable obstacle for the reconciliation and final determination of Karabakh fate.

A first component of the past, which stands against the potential settlement, is the feeling of historical injustice. In both Armenia and Azerbaijan discourse, returning to historical events is common. It is possible to mention multiples of “historical injustices” emphasised in the discourses in both countries. In Azerbaijan, the first injustice is the “ethnic” loss deeply mythologised in cultural memory. Most scholars agree that ethnic and religious composition in the region has altered in the first half of the 19th century. The Russo-Persian Wars determined the dominant role of Tsarist Russia in the Caucasus and allowed the introduction of ethnic policies aimed at solidifying imperial rule. The Russians supported Christian Armenians against “untrustworthy” Muslim inhabitants. The ethnic policy in Eastern Transcaucasia has caused a massive exodus of Azerbaijanis to Persia and Armenians moving in the other direction. The approach of the Russian Empire transformed in the late 19th century after Grigory Golitsyn was appointed the viceroy of the Caucasus. He was responsible for the confiscation of the Armenian Church properties and the endorsement of the Muslims against predominantly loyal Armenians. That led to further intensification of ethnic tensions which reached their peak during the 1905 Revolution with the so-called Armenian-Tatar War.

However, frequently highlighted in the Armenian discourse, this issue is secondary to historical injustices related to the feeling of the loss of Nagorno-Karabakh in July 1921. After the Soviet annexation of the Caucasus, the Caucasus Bureau was the body responsible for the decision of the region’s destiny. A resolution from July 4th went along the expectations of Armenians. The next 24 hours were ambiguous – it is uncertain what exactly happened. On July 5th the Caucasus Bureau decided that Nagorno-Karabakh was to rather remain a part of Azerbaijan, with the Armenians there receiving broad autonomy. Historians interpret this switch differently. Some support the thesis that it was a decision of Joseph Stalin, who wanted to satisfy Turkish nationalists and regulate relations with Turkey. Some believe that the decision was a result of the liquidation of the Armenian Mountainous Republic in Zangezur. At the same time, the struggle of the Azerbaijan Bolshevik leader, Nariman Narimanov, should be mentioned, along with the restraint of the Armenian Bolsheviks.

Yet, these are only speculations, as there is no source material on which to base firm conclusions. Despite the true nature of events, their consequences somehow have determined the Armenian narrative until today. Since the late 1980s, the Armenian side has been constructing a narrative about Nagorno-Karabakh as the historical injustice of the abovementioned decision. It was combined with an emphasis on the lack of respect for the right of people to self-determination. This element was the core of the agenda of the Nagorno-Karabakh Movement. It also had a continuation after the end of the first war, when the Armenians considered the lack of international recognition of the Nagorno-Karabakh Republic as discrimination. The sense of injustice, historical and political, intensified after the recognition of Kosovo by the majority of western countries. It was seen as an example of western dual standards. Perhaps even more painful was the 2008 Russian recognition of Abkhazia and South Ossetia (breakaway republics from Georgia) – Moscow, it is worth noting, is considered the closest ally of Yerevan.

Understandably, this narrative has been juxtaposed with yet another historical injustice perception in Azerbaijan. This is the loss of Nagorno-Karabakh in the 1990s and the occupation of the seven regions surrounding the former Nagorno-Karabakh Autonomous Oblast. Unfairness has been expressed towards two main issues. First, the lack of support from the international community for the Azerbaijani territorial integrity based on the practice of uti possidetis iuris – that newly formed states should retain territory within the borders from the period of dependency. Second, are the absence of any reaction towards the occupation and the fate of the thousands of internally displaced persons. This led to the narrative of Armenian state terrorism violating Azerbaijan’s territorial integrity and human rights.  In Armenia, the religious argument became even more propagated during the second war, even though the conflict always had, and still has, an ethno-political character. In this perception, the “first Christian nation” is being attacked by Muslim aggression and was betrayed by Christian Europe. Unsurprisingly, in secular Europe, this argument does not resonate. Taking into account these elements, it is difficult to believe that either side will easily stop using historical injustice arguments in their official discourse. Thus, injustice continues, despite the outcomes of the Moscow-led ceasefire agreement.

Suffering

All these stories from the past are misused for particular political goals. One can call this mechanism, equally exploited by both sides, as the monopolisation of suffering. In Armenia, the memory of Nagorno-Karabakh is associated with the memory of the Armenian Genocide. The Armenian discourse is based on the logical continuity between the events of 1915, the 1988 Sumgait massacre, and any consequent approach to the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict. This creates an imagination of a complete version of Armenian history. If the Armenian fate and struggle with “Turks” is understood as continuous and Azerbaijani-made pogroms are a logical consequence of the events from 1915, then recognition must also be made of history as a whole. In this discourse, there is no place for a partial agreement – the recognition of Genocide requires the approval of the Armenian version of the Nagorno-Karabakh issue. Suffering is the centrepiece of collective memory, which includes a certain lack of compassion and the rejection of the other side’s right to sorrow and grief. In this vision, only the Armenians have a right to suffer.  

This scheme is juxtaposed with a similar pattern in Azerbaijan, often based on contradictory argumentation. The first step is rejecting the rights of Armenians to seek recognition for genocide. In Azerbaijan, the Armenian Genocide is labelled as an “Armenian myth” and the victims depicted as the traitors of the Ottoman Empire who deserved punishment. In some occurrences, the Azerbaijani narratives are more radical than official Turkish standpoints. The second is a narrative in which Azerbaijanis are the victims of genocide. The most frequently used historical references are the March Days in Baku in 1918 and the Khojaly Massacre from February 1992. On the occasion of the 10th anniversary of the Khojaly massacre, for example, then President Heydar Aliyev said: “The Khojaly massacre is [a] continuation and the bloodiest page of the policy of ethnic cleansing and genocide continuously conducted by the Armenian chauvinists and nationalists against the Azerbaijanis over around 200 years.” In this narrative, the only events which deserve compassion of the international community are the atrocities against Azerbaijanis. Only one side has a right to suffer, and only the suffering of one side can be recognised.

These narratives were translated into the current war, demeaning the human tragedies. On October 27th and 28th, the Armenian military held the missile attack on the Azerbaijani city of Barda using Russian BM-30 Smerch cluster munitions. The attack left at least 26 civilians dead. Despite harsh criticism from the international community, the answer from the majority of Armenian commentators was that they were justified by the action. On December 2nd, Human Rights Watch published a report in which the mistreatment of the Armenian prisoners of war was severely criticised. Physical abuse, humiliation and beatings were among the violations of international law mentioned. Since the very beginning of the war, brutal videos depicting torture and beheadings were circulating on social media. Notably, these also included attacks on civilians, not mentioning the destruction of Armenian cultural heritage sites. The response from Azerbaijan was as expected. After so many years of trauma and suffering, the “spontaneous” reactions of soldiers “liberating” the Nagorno-Karabakh are understandable, and, to some extent, justified. In the end, a lack of compassion towards the enemy is a double-edged sword.

Settlement or revenge

The history of inter-ethnic hostilities between Armenia and Azerbaijan is a long series of repeating pogroms, massacres, and violence. The plot of the escalation is always built on the same structure. The first step is minor violence, rather among neighbours than members of an ethnic group. Then gossip spreads, with the usual dynamism of rumours embellishing and dramatising the event. After that, there is a response, which already includes an ethnic factor. Next, the escalation is stopped, but the politicisation of the issue begins: Baku in 1918; Shusha and Ganja in 1920; Sumgait, Stepanakert, and Kirovabad (today Ganja) in 1988; Baku 1990; the first war; the 2016 April War, etc. All of these events were constructed around revenge. Afterwards, the whole process is recurring, repeating itself until the tension builds too high.

Currently, on a discussion regarding the Armenian response is taking place on social media. Voices calling for peace and reconciliation are needed, but sadly rare. Most online comments are rather emphasising the need for revenge. They call for patience and that payback will come not tomorrow but in a couple of years after a thorough and efficient preparation – in other words, the professionalization of the army and a redefinition of alliances.

In Azerbaijan, the narrative of “unfinished business” is gaining by the day. The first step was made, and another is to be taken soon. First, retaking back whole Nagorno-Karabakh or what is left of it. Second, is removing all the Armenians from Azerbaijan and its proximity. Sadly, these narratives are used not only by radical nationalists on both sides, they are becoming mainstream deliberations. There is little space for reconciliation, just the act of revenge. For the moment, it is difficult to imagine that the second Nagorno-Karabakh war is nothing more than another stage in a never-ending conflict.

Bartłomiej Krzysztan is an assistant professor at the Institute of Political Studies of the Polish Academy of Sciences. His research interests include cultural memory, identity in the post-Soviet space, and politics in the South Caucasus.

Armenia, Azerbaijan, Nagron-Karabakh, War