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From: dbd@urartu.sdpa.org (David Davidian)
Subject: Treatment of Armenians in Azerbaijan #1
Message-ID: <1993Apr6.121225.11169@urartu.sdpa.org>
Summary: Prelude to Events Today 
Organization: S.D.P.A. Center for Regional Studies
Date: Tue, 6 Apr 1993 12:12:25 GMT
Lines: 223


DEPOSITION of VITALY NIKOLAYEVICH DANIELIAN [1]


          Born 1972
          Attended 9th Grade
          Middle School No. 17

          Resident at Building 4/2, Apartment 25
          Microdistrict No. 3
          Sumgait [Azerbaijan]

Really, people in town didn't know what was happening on February 27. I came 
home from school at 12 o'clock, being excused to leave before the last period 
in order to go to Baku. When we left, everything in town was fine. Life was 
the same as usual, a few groups of people were discussing things, soccer and 
other things. Then we got on the Sumgait bus bound for Baku for my first 
cousin's birthday, my father, my mother, and I. We spent the day in Baku, and 
on the 28th, somewhere around 6:00 p.m., we got on the bus for home, figuring 
that I'd have enough time to do my homework for the next day.

When we were entering town, near the 12-story high-rises, our bus was stopped 
by a very large crowd. The crowd demanded that the Armenians get off the bus. 
The driver says that there are no Armenians on board; then everyone on the bus
begins to shout that there are no Armenians on board. The group comes up to 
the doors of the bus and has people get out one by one, not checking 
passports, just going by the way people look. We get off the bus, but are not 
taken for Armenians.

We set out in the direction of home. At first we were going to go into an old 
building where we knew there'd be a place to hide, but the whole road was 
packed with groups of people, all the way from Block 41 to the 8th 
Microdistrict. These groups were emptying people's pockets and checking
passports. People who didn't have passports with them were beaten as well.
Then we decided to go home instead. Near the 12-story high-rises I saw burning
cars and a great many people standing around the driveways, yelling. "Death to
the Armenians" was written on the cars.

When we came into the courtyard--we live in an L-shaped building--it was still
quiet. We went on upstairs, but didn't turn on any lights. We tried to call 
Baku to warn our relatives, who were due to arrive on Wednesday, not to come. 
Then there was a knock at the door. It was our neighbors, who advised us to 
come down to stay at their place. We went down to their place, and they led us
to the basement. They live on the first floor and have a basement which you 
enter across the balcony. We sat in the basement while an Armenian woman was 
beaten--she ran away naked. Our neighbors' daughter said that that's right, 
that's what the Armenians deserve, because in Stepanakert, allegedly, people 
were being killed, 11 girls from Agdam had been raped. We didn't stay very 
long in the basement. We tried to support one another as best we could, 
looking out the small window with the iron grating. Papa watched and said 
things now and then. He said that there was a fire near Building 5, probably a
car on fire. Then one of the groups approached our driveway and demanded that 
they be shown the apartments where Armenians lived. The neighbors said that 
there weren't any Armenians here, and the group set out for the other wing of 
the building. They appeared from the 5/2 side of the building, where, I later 
found out, a woman had been murdered. The woman who ran away naked died. Yuri
Avakian was killed, too.

When the crowd left, the neighbors said that it was all over and we could go 
home. We went back up to our place and again didn't turn on the light. We 
started to gather up our things in order to leave Sumgait for a while. We
tried to call a relative who lived in Sumgait, but there was no answer. We
decided she had already left.

We sat at home. The phone rang, and the caller asked to speak with my
father. I called him to the phone. It was Jeykhun Mamedov, from my father's
work brigade. He said he was disgusted by what was happening in our
town. He asked for our address and promised to get a car and help us get
out of the city. To be quite honest, Papa didn't want to give him our address,
but my mother got on the phone and told him. Some 15 minutes after the
call a crowd ran into our entryway. Bursting into the building, they broke
down the door and came into the apartment . . .

They came straight to our apartment, they knew exactly where the Armenians 
were. They came into our place. We tried to resist, but there was nothing we 
could do. One of them took my parents' passports and began to read them. He 
read the surname "Danielian," turned the page, read "Armenian," and that alone
was enough to doom us. He said that we should be moved quickly out into the 
courtyard, where they would have done with us. Another, standing next to him, 
pushed some of the keys on the piano and said "your death has tolled." They 
had knives and steel truncheons.

I had a knife in my hand. Unfortunately, I didn't use it. I just knew that if
I didn't give up the knife things would be much worse. They struck my parents 
and said that I should put the knife on the piano. Then, one of them commanded
that we be taken outside. One person was giving orders. When we were taken 
outdoors I went in the middle, and my mother was behind me. Someone started to
push her so she'd walk faster; I let her go ahead of me, and fell in behind 
her. When he tried to push me, I hit him, and at that moment they began 
beating my parents; I realized that resistance was completely useless.

We are taken out into the courtyard, and the neighbors are standing on their 
balconies to see what will happen next. The crowd surrounds us. At first they 
strike me, and I'm knocked out; when I come to, they beat me again . . . I 
lose consciousness often . . . I don't see or hear my parents, since I was the
first one hit and was out cold. When I come to I try to pick them up; they are
lying next to me. The crowd is gone, the only people around are watching from 
their balconies. That's it. I try to pick them up, but can't. My left arm is 
broken. I start toward the drive, wanting to tell the neighbors to call an 
ambulance. The bodies of my parents are still warm.

We were attacked at around 9 o'clock. I regain consciousness at about 11 and 
try to make it up the stairs home . . . When I knock at the neighbors' door, 
they push me back and tell me to go away. I go up to the third floor, our 
neighbor puts a damp cloth on my head and says she will call an ambulance; she
sends her son off for one and takes me to our apartment. I often look out the 
window to see if the ambulance has arrived, but I can't see very far as a 
result of the blows, and it seems that my parents have already been taken 
away. Then I calm down and try to convince myself that they have been taken 
away, and everything will be OK.

But they were still there. Later, at 8 in the morning as I found out, the
ambulance picked them up, but they were already dead. If they received
attention on time, it is possible they would still be alive. Later, around 12 
o'clock on the 29th, policemen in civilian clothing come to our house with 
some "assistants." They call an ambulance, and 20 minutes later it arrives, 
and I am taken to the Sumgait Emergency Hospital. There they stitch the wounds
on my head and rebind my arm. At 3 o'clock I and the other Armenians who are 
in the hospital are sent by ambulance to Baku.

In my ward at the Sumgait Hospital there were five people, all of them
Armenians. The hospital was nearly overflowing with Armenians. The only
Azerbaijanis there were those whose car had flipped over before the events,
before the 27th.

Then I was in the Semashko Hospital in Baku. I was there 38 days. When I was 
released, on the 40th day, I found out that my parents were dead. At first 
they told me that they were in Moscow being treated, but later I found out 
that they were dead. My father's older brother told me.

My father's name was Nikolai Artemovich Danielian. He was born in 1938. My 
mother, born in 1937, was Seda Osipovna Danielian. Papa worked at PMK-20, the 
leader of the roofing brigade; mamma was a compressor operator.

They were also beaten on the head. The coroner's report stated that their
heads were smashed open and bled profusely.

At the confrontation I met Jeykhun Mamedov, who had called. As it turned out 
later, he had been the one who tipped the crowd off. He had called 
specifically to find out if we were at home and to find out the exact address 
and dispatch the group. He knew the phone number, but didn't know the address.
Before the events I had never seen him, but had often spoken with him on the 
phone, when he would ask to speak with my father. I knew him by name. He 
denies that I was the one who answered the phone, saying that my father 
answered it. He denies that he called from a public phone, saying that he 
called from home, which also isn't true. I heard noise and the sounds of 
automobiles. As I later found out, earlier he had been convicted, but had 
never served any time--he had received a suspended sentence. He was about 20 
years old. I don't know if he has since confessed or not. I am sure that he 
was the one who tipped the crowd off. One-hundred percent sure.

My parents were from Karabagh. Father was from the village of Badar, and was 
two years old when his family moved to Baku, where his elder brothers were to
go to school. He was a student at the Naval School, but never graduated. He
went off to work on the virgin lands [one of the gigantic agricultural 
projects instituted under Khrushchev.] When he returned he lived in Baku, and 
later moved to Sumgait, helping with the town's construction. Mamma was from 
the village of Dagdagan, also from Karabagh. She worked in Sumgait, first in 
a bookstore, and later, on a construction site.


My sister is older than I. She lives with her husband here in Karabagh. I
always loved my parents. That was why I went on to 9th grade, because it
was their dream that I would continue my studies. I finished 8th grade and
wanted to enter the Baku Nautical School, and after that, the Military
School. But later I changed my mind, or rather, my parents got me to recon-
sider, saying that it would be better to finish the 10th grade and then join 
the Naval School. I was planning to be in the Navy almost my whole life
long--since childhood I had dreamed of being a sailor. My father wanted it
more than anything. He always recollected his youth, telling of the School,
and he always said that he had made a big mistake in leaving it.

Now I live in Karabagh and never plan to leave here. I will stay at the home 
of my grandfather, of my ancestors, till the end of my days.

While in the hospital in Baku I learned the fates of many others who had
suffered as well, like Ishkhan [Trdatov]. He managed to hold them off [at
their residence in Microdistrict 3, Building 6/2, Apartment 6.] for a long
time, lost his father [Gabriel], and by some miracle managed to survive. I
also learned of Uncle Sasha, from Building 5/2, whose daughter was raped

. . . Besides them, Valery--I forgot his last name--was in the hospital too,
about a year younger than I, he went to School No. 14. He was riding with
his parents in the car. People were throwing rocks at them, he was hit, and
his parents brought him to the hospital, and he was in our ward. We even
came to be friends. Before that we had just seen each other around town. But
in the hospital we got to know one another better. I learned of the fates of
others, those who had died, or who were befallen by misfortune . . .

Today Suren Harutunian, the First Secretary of the Communist party of Armenia,
was shown on television. To be honest I am glad that Armenia agreed to 
recognize Nagorno Karabagh as part of the Armenian Soviet Socialist Republic.
I was repelled, no, revolted, to hear the Baku announcer who read the decision
of the Azerbaijani Supreme Soviet Presidium against Karabagh becoming part of 
Armenia.

After the events in Sumgait and those in Baku, the best solution is to give
Karabagh to Armenia, return it to Armenia, since the people want to live
peacefully with the Azerbaijanis, but everything has to be right before they
can do that.

I arrived in Karabagh on April 11. I felt very bad. I had constant headaches.
After a while my strength returned. My older sister, Suzanna, took me in. I 
think that justice should prevail; the people are demanding their due.

You can't take away what is their due. My parents and I often spoke of Nagorno
Karabagh, often visited here--spent almost all of my vacations here. We had 
even decided that if Karabagh would be made part of Armenia, we would move 
here for sure. We always said that the Armenian people had suffered much, and 
that what had been done in 1921--removing Nagorno Karabagh from Armenia--was
wrong. Sooner or later, mistakes should be corrected. And in order to correct 
a mistake, it must not be repeated; and the fate of all Nagorno Karabagh lies 
in the hands of our government.

June 13,1988

Stepanakert 

-- 
David Davidian dbd@urartu.sdpa.org   | "How do we explain Turkish troops on
S.D.P.A. Center for Regional Studies |  the Armenian border, when we can't 
P.O. Box 382761                      |  even explain 1915?" 
Cambridge, MA 02238                  |              Turkish MP, March 1992 
