was followed by the creation of newly independent states in the South Caucasus. Each of them declared its borders, which, in some territories, overlapped: Baku believed that the borders should be laid according to the administrative division lines of the fallen Russian Empire, while Yerevan laid its borders along the boundaries where ethnic Armenians resided. Armenians defended their approach, since it gave them an opportunity to fulfill their centuries-old aspirations for a unified Armenian state. However, when the Red Army entered Baku and Yerevan, the Karabakh dispute was resolved in Baku's favor. Nagorno-Karabakh found itself part of Azerbaijan, even though its overwhelming majority was Armenian.
We, the people of Karabakh, always felt that our interests were being ignored and violated. Having an autonomous status within Azerbaijan didn't shield us against Baku's administrative domination. During the Soviet years, Baku's primary efforts in Karabakh were directed at settling Azerbaijanis there to change the area's ethnic composition. It seriously alarmed us because we had already seen an almost complete de-Armenianization of Nakhichevan. Soviet authorities looked at any relations between the Nagorno-Karabakh Autonomous Oblast (Region), NKAO, and Armenia with suspicion and tried to curtail them as much as possible. The enforcement of Soviet atheism was being applied quite selectively. The last church in Karabakh was closed in the 1920s, and all Armenian churches, which Azerbaijani historians referred to as 'Albanian', stood without crosses. In contrast, a mosque functioned in neighboring Aghdam during the entire Soviet period. We even had to constantly fight for our right to speak our own language. Faced with manifestations of inequality everywhere, we felt like masters in Karabakh, but strangers in Azerbaijan.
Once, I characterized our relations with Azerbaijanis as 'ethnic incompatibility' and was harshly criticized for it for a long time. Perhaps it was a poor choice of words, indeed, but it was obvious that our peoples have entirely different ethnicity and religious and cultural traditions; put simply, we live differently. We have different preferences and ideas regarding government models in our countries, and we have different geopolitical priorities. Therefore, I believed that we could become good neighbors, but we definitely should not be subordinate to each other.
The desire to reunite with Armenia existed during the entire Soviet period of our history. Inconspicuous from the outside, this desire lay dormant in Armenian society, ready to awaken at any moment given the right circumstances. The initiative to collect signatures began in Yerevan and very quickly took over Karabakh. The process was unleashed by Armenian intellectual elites, primarily descendants of Karabakh who lived outside the region for different reasons. Everyone spoke of Zori Balayan[7], Bagrat Ulubabian[8], and Igor Muradian[9], but the movement didn't have a formal structure. It was spontaneous, like a wildfire: once ignited in a dry forest, it spreads rapidly and uncontrollably, swallowing everything in its path. At the time, I was still working as secretary of the Silk Factory Party Committee. Life flowed slowly – everything was calm, understandable, stable, and predictable. There was a good team spirit at the factory, like one big, tight-knit family.
And then, one day, two workers approached me and said, "Everywhere, people are collecting signatures to appeal to the Central Committee for the reunification of Nagorno-Karabakh with Armenia. We also want to do it at our factory – we are the largest business enterprise in the region. Do you object?" Of course, I didn't object. I knew what was happening in town, even though I didn't give it any significance yet. "Let's do it," I said. "If they are doing it everywhere else, perhaps this time it will happen." I discovered that almost everyone at our factory signed the petition in a couple of days. Within a week, all Stepanakert enterprises signed it, and by the end of the month, everyone in our city! Very quickly, in about three months or so, nearly the entire Armenian adult population of Karabakh had signed the petition – with the exception of very senior Communist Party officials, who didn't dare do it given their positions but nevertheless still treated the process with sympathy, empathized with the people, and supported them.
Signatures were collected secretly, so it's hard to say who led the process – there was no formal structure behind it (at least I never heard of it). There weren't any apparent leaders, either, but perhaps Arkady Karapetian stood out the most (later, during the war, he led the formation of the self-defense forces). Meanwhile, the movement initiated by a small group of enthusiasts grew exponentially and soon embraced the entire population. This bright, astonishing process captivated our people on a deep emotional level and united us. Optimism overwhelmed us; people sincerely hoped that they would be heard in the framework of perestroika and glasnost. We were convinced that the truth was on our side, and we hadn't done anything anti-Soviet – we had simply signed a lawful petition to the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the USSR, to its Politburo, and to Gorbachev.
On December 1, 1987, our Karabakh delegation went to Moscow and submitted the petition – signed by several tens of thousands of people – to the Central Committee of the USSR Communist Party. In it, we explained our position, citing documents on the history, ethnography, and culture of Nagorno-Karabakh in defense of our views. A month later, in January 1988, another delegation went to Moscow. Each delegation attempted to present a simple idea to the central government: there was a problem, a serious problem, that had already surfaced, could not be ignored, and needed to be addressed. This could be done gradually, there could be different solutions, but we couldn't pretend that it didn't exist. Otherwise, we would witness uncontrollable repercussions. The Central Committee said they understood the situation, but they could only look into its socio-economic dimension. They told us that there were some 20 similar issues in the USSR, and solving one could trigger a chain reaction. Moscow's position wasn't encouraging. On the contrary, it only added to the tension, mobilized our people, and pushed their natural stubbornness to its limit. Eventually, all that uncontainable energy burst out, drove people into the streets, and erupted into public demonstrations and mass protests.
Unsanctioned, spontaneous mass street rallies were unheard of in the Soviet Union. The last one probably took place during the times of the Russian Empire. The first demonstrations were peaceful, with sincere and naïve slogans – we all still believed that the central government's decision would be fair. People carried banners saying, "Lenin, Party, Gorbachev." The number of protestors grew with each passing day. We all felt that events of great historic importance were taking place, and everyone wanted to be a part of it.
Even the highest government officials, who – as one would suspect – should have been more cautious, took part in the demonstrations. The reality was such that if, for example, the first secretary of a Regional Communist Party Committee didn't rally with the people in front of the party headquarters, he would instantly lose all credibility.
Informal leaders began to appear – people who were brave enough to speak at the rallies, analyze the situation, and guide the people. Some of them had radical views, while others were more moderate. People knew many of them and respected them for their track records; they trusted them and paid attention to their words. They were plant managers, party leaders, college professors, writers, and representatives of factory workers.
An exciting process, unusual for the Soviet Union, of organizing a movement began to take shape. An informal group of leaders began to make all the decisions about the rallies. They decided when and where to hold them and how to ensure people's safety. No one elected us; it all happened naturally. We were joined together by a shared activity. It was winter, and it was freezing. We made sure that people stayed warm – we brought hot water, made tea for everyone, and distributed
Balayan, Zori Haykovich (b. 1935) – a Soviet and Armenian writer and publicist, politician, and public figure. Active participant in the struggle for the independent Nagorno-Karabakh Republic. People's Deputy of the USSR (1989–1991). Hero of Artsakh.
Ulubabian, Bagrat Arshakovich (1925–2001) – a Soviet and Armenian historian, Ph.D. in History, renowned for his works on the history of Nagorno-Karabakh. Active participant in the Karabakh movement
Muradian, Igor Maratovich (b. 1957) – an Armenian political and public figure, active participant in the Nagorno-Karabakh independence movement. One of the co-founders of the Karabakh Committee.
