A Country At War

The United States has been either at war, or involved in an armed conflict, since 2001. Technically, I've been living in a country engaged in an active military conflict for more than half of my life. But it wasn't until I cam here that I really felt like it.

Armenia still reels from the genocide in Turkey in 1918- the Armenian & Turkish border is closed and guarded by the Russian military. More recently, Armenia and their eastern neighbor, Azerbaijan, declared war over a border dispute in the 1980s. This dispute was never resolved, and the war has been in a state of suspended animation since an uneasy ceasefire agreement was reached in 1994. 

The marks of war are still ever-present here. The highways have deep ditches and high embankments to hide troop movements from anyone who might be watching from across the border. Every student has "military class" which teaches both history and combat skills, starting in elementary schools. Military service is mandatory for every boy when he turns 18. My 8-year-old neighbor tells me she is afraid that Turks and Azeris will kill her in her sleep. 

And all of these background reminders of war were brought into stark focus this weekend when large scale fighting broke out along the border of Azerbaijan and the disputed region of Nagorno Karabakh. It's the most fighting this area has seen since 1994, and no one here has remained unaffected by the violence. 

On the night of April 1st, Azerbaijan launched a large-scale assault on the NK border, utilizing heavy artillery for the firs ttime since the '94 ceasefire. News of the assault came on April 2nd, with both sides reporting casualties, including civilian deaths. There are no international reporters on the front lines- and thus, unbiased news sources are hard to find. New reports are often conflicting. There is very little clarity, and lots of fear. 

In Sisian, old men gathered in the snowy town square and were issued camouflage uniforms and rifles. It took me a while to learn that these men were "volunteers'- they were signing up to go to fight at the NK-Azerbaijani border. Several of my students fathers were among them. The entire town was filled with old men in uniform as families said goodbye to their patriarchs. That evening, Sisian has a tense, melancholy feel to it. 

Things became much works yesterday. One of the vans carrying the "volunteers" from Sisian and the surrounding villages to the line of conflict was struck by a drone, killing seven people. We don't know who was killed yet. The town is in mourning. People are shocked and scared. It's difficult to describe. Everyone is afraid. Because we lack reliable news sources, we don't know what is happening in NK. No one knows what will happen next. 

This includes Sam and I. The Peace Corps has so far been silent on the issue. I know they're very protective of their volunteers- if we were in any danger here, they'd pull us out, but I still wish they'd issue some kind of statement. 

The intense patriotism and militarization that's been brought forth from the community here in Sisian over the past few days reminds me of the weeks immediately following September 11th back home. I find it unsettling.