The 2020 Nagorno-Karabakh War Anniversary: Shosh Village Between War and Peace

Artyom, who dreams about becoming a soldier, lives with his parents, grandparents, and young cousins. His grandmother, Julietta Grigoryan, is 59 and works at the local school as a cleaning lady. She had to leave the village during the war for one reason: her sister-in-law was giving birth. The baby was born in early October in Masis, Armenia, where their family had temporarily settled. She recalls the days spent in Masis with warmth as she was affably welcomed by the locals. “Our neighbors were Yezidis,” she remembers, “and they would bring products for us every Friday: meat, coffee, and sugar — they shared everything with us.”

Despite the lack of proper living conditions, Julietta’s family returned soon after the ceasefire, with her newborn grandchild. They have received support from international NGOs, like the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), and the state but still believe the immediate menace is not eliminated since she can see the Azerbaijani troops right from her balcony. The villagers are concerned about their livestock as the location of the village prevents people from farming and pasturing. The Azerbaijani often take away the animals that cross the border, while sometimes the Russian peacekeepers intervene to return them. Grigoryan cultivated land on the other side of the border but now the access is very limited and is possible only with the intervention of Russians. Julietta explains: “Once I went there with my husband but the Azerbaijani didn’t let us in. The second time, they shot in the air to frighten us. Yes, we can collect our harvest with Russians, but we cannot freely cultivate.”

The presence of Russian peacekeepers doesn’t inspire that much hope in the villagers, and Margaryan recognizes the value of self-governance which has been impeded by the recent war. “Independence, anthem, and flag are values for which the Armenians struggled for hundreds of years. Now we are losing it,” he says. “I feel like a subordinate person in my own house. I have the keys, but my home doesn’t belong to me.” This opinion matches the viewpoint of Babayan, who believes that Nagorno-Karabakh will not belong to anyone. It will remain an apple of discord forever. However, he finds that there’s no alternative to the presence of Russians. “We should trust them as long as we have a chance to have our voices heard. If they leave, on whose door shall we knock?” states Babayan.

Babayan was among the ones who endured the sleepless nights and all the horrors of war, residing in the village which was so close to being taken over. His rock during those sinister days was his wife who left Shosh only in late October, as every second spent there became fateful. “I was sitting on this sofa with my wife, hearing the rumbles from neighboring houses that were destroyed, and waiting for the next bomb to target our house,” he remembers. However, the shadow of death following him did not prevent Babayan from taking measures. While his three sons were at the frontline, he would take care of the villagers’ livestock or take people to Stepanakert by his car. Animals suffered and died because of shelling and lack of care, but Babayan made it possible to keep safe some of the livestock.

Despite the difficulties the villagers undergo to maintain their rhythm of life, they still feel deeply attached to Shosh, and the notion of leaving the village for the sake of a better life is odd to them. People comprehend the abundance of issues in the village that need to be solved and are inclined to take measures and fulfill them. Margaryan is willing to complete the reconstruction of his destroyed roof to overcome the challenges of approaching winter frost and doesn’t hesitate to improve the living conditions for his grandchildren. “The one who is bonded to the village will dedicate his last gasp to Shosh,” assures Margaryan, adding, “This is our fate and we shouldn’t try to escape it.”

Hope springs eternal also for Samvel Babayan, whose silver lining lies in his son’s courage to create a new life after losing his watermelon fields. His eldest son cultivated lands in Aghdam (now in Azerbaijan) to grow and sell watermelons, but the war turned out disastrous for him as all the fruits of his labor was handed to the Azerbaijanis. “I lost my faith in the future for a moment,” states Babayan, “but lucky for me, my preconceptions were vague.” His sons overcame this setback and began to cultivate new lands in Askeran, which remained Armenian. This fact consoles Babayan, and he is now convicted that the game is not over. “My sons could leave for Russia like many others who lost pasturelands, but they didn’t. If they still hold out hopes, I’m proud of my sons,” says Babayan. He believes that if one desires to ensure the next day and the future, he should get a grip and work.

“Death is inevitable,” he says. “Today, we have to live.”