News
Comment
War & peace
5 min read

After the first war, before the next

Once more border clashes between Armenia and Azerbaijan are occurring. Lika Zakaryan reflects on what happened since the last war ended.

Lika Zakaryan is a writer and photographer based in the Republic of Artsakh (Karabakh).

A child protestor holds a placard at a demonstration
Artsakh citizens protest against the blockade and its effects.
VoA, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

More than two years ago the war between Armenia and Azerbaijan for Nagorno-Karabakh/Artsakh ended, but many fundamental issues remain. Who will provide security and services for the region’s residents - Armenians? How is humanitarian aid managed and by whom?. And, nobody knows if the so-called “ceasefire” will hold.  

Azerbaijan won the war, with the Armenian side losing significant territory in and around Nagorno-Karabakh. Over one-third of the population became refugees, losing their homes and everything they managed to create during all their lives. Now Azerbaijan controls those territories, but they mainly remain not inhabited. Those territories that remained under the control of Armenians, are still populated only with Armenians, and Azerbaijanis have to approached them. In order to prevent any armed conflict in the region (in fact, to protect Armenians from Azerbaijanis) 4,000 Russian soldiers-peacekeepers and emergency services staff keep an uneasy peace.  

They were already in Artsakh within hours of the peace agreement’s signing. Artsakh is part of Nagorno-Karabakh, an Armenian enclave within Azerbaijan. Since then, peacekeepers have done a lot: escorting villagers to visit graves, mediating disputes, tending crops, and fixing water pipes. They set up checkpoints along the only road connecting Artsakh to Armenia, to ensure a safe corridor for Armenians living in Artsakh.   

Before the war, there were 150 000 Armenians living in Artsakh. After the war, the numbers decreased to 120 000. Some people didn’t come back from Armenia, where they found a shelter, after losing their homes. Some moved to Armenia or Russia because they didn’t want to live in uncertainty. And, unfortunately, wars take lives, and some people lost their lives during that period. But mostly the people of Artsakh remained resilient and wanted to live in their homes or create new ones, even not knowing for how long they will last.  

It is said in Artsakh and Armenia, that every human being now living in Artsakh is a hero. They say that because it’s not easy to sleep every night not knowing if you are going to wake up in the morning tothe sounds of bombs, or if you are going to wake up at all. Because since the end of the war Azerbaijan has done so much to traumatize people physically and mentally. 

According to the peace agreement Armenians and Azerbaijanis should remain in the positions they were in at that moment. In other words, after the signing and the cease-fire, they have no right to move forward and occupy new territory. However, after just one month, Azerbaijan entered and captured two Armenian villages, taking more than 60 Armenians as prisoners of war. After that, during those two years, similar military operations were repeated numerous times by Azerbaijan. Again, people were afraid of the sounds of war, they heard and saw military drones, and felts those feelings again. 

It was also a manifestation of psychological violence that the Facebook page of the Artsakh National Assembly was hacked, with a flag of Azerbaijan posted as the main picture. The accompanying text read:  

“We call on the Armenians living in Karabakh to leave the occupied territories of Azerbaijan within 168 hours, otherwise all Armenian citizens will be killed.” 

People had no idea if they should believe that threat or not. Maybe this was just another provocation, but could it really happen? Did they need to evacuate everyone. Or not believe it and stay in their houses? No matter how hard people try to stay strong, no one closed their eyes that night, thinking that it was possible that Azerbaijanis will enter the cities and villages and commit a genocide against the peaceful residents.  

Many violations happened during these last two years. And then since December 12, 2022, Azerbaijan has blockaded the only road connecting Artsakh to Armenia depriving residents of a basic right - a right of freedom of movement. It’s the only road people can travel in and out on, the only road through which the 120 000 people get food, medical and other supplies. It's the only road that connects Artsakh with the outside world. Blockading this road caused a humanitarian disaster. Lack of food, medicine, work, and cash. Nobody can pass along that road. 

The blockade was not enough, and Azerbaijan decided to shut off gas and electricity supplies to Artsakh again during the coldest months of winter. People simply do not have the opportunity to warm up. In a sub-zero temperature, people were deprived of the opportunity to turn on a small heater for hours. The little children, unable to stand the cold, fell ill and ended up in the hospital. 

The healthcare system in Artsakh is still a little weak. There are hospitals, but people who are in critical condition, between life and death, are mostly transferred to Yerevan, the capital of Armenia, in order to receive proper treatment there. However, due to the blockade, some people could not be evacuated, and died. 

Also, a food rationing system was introduced in Artsakh, where people can get food only with a coupon. According to the system, every person gets one kilogram of rice, one kilogram of pasta, one kilogram of sugar and one kilogram of buckwheat in a month. With those coupons, people come to the stores and buy their share. 

Food is so scarce that locals have begun to notice that street animals are starving to death because they can't find food in the dumps. The reason is that people have nothing to throw away. 

Many families have been divided because one or another family member mistakenly stayed on the other side of the blockade. Many people went to Yerevan to see a doctor and due to the road’s blockade cannot return home. The same impact was felt for those going in the opposite direction. In total, 1,100 people remained in Armenia and did not manage to return to Artsakh. 

Artsakh children are deprived of the right to education. Schools and kindergartens are closed for months because there is no way to heat them. Also, they cannot feed children in kindergartens due to the lack of food, and children in schools cannot take food to school, because there is almost no food at home. And sitting for six or seven hours without food is very difficult for children. 

Azerbaijanis also regularly cut telephone and Internet wires, and people are deprived of the only opportunity to even connect with the world virtually. 

People are trying to overcome all these difficulties, but no one knows when these provocations and torments will end. When they will finally be able to live decently. And the world hasn't even heard of that small area in the far South Caucasus and the resilient people of Artsakh, who are so loyal to their roots and homeland.

Column
Comment
Football
Identity
Sport
5 min read

Football’s rainbow row shows up symbolism’s flaws

The vagueness that gives symbols power reduces the chance for nuanced conversation.
A football boot with rainbow laces
Premier League.

In 2013, the LGBTQ+ charity Stonewall partnered with the Premier League to launch the Rainbow Laces campaign. For certain matches, Premier League footballers are encouraged to wear rainbow colour laces and armbands when captain. 

The stated aim of the campaign is to ensure “everyone feels welcome” at football matches. All the league’s clubs have committed to the campaign, although the wearing of laces and armbands is optional for players.  

Recently, Ipswich Town’s captain Sam Morsy decided to wear a standard captain’s armband, rather than the rainbow-coloured version. The club later released a statement saying he made this decision due to his religious beliefs, which the club respected. Morsy again declined to wear the rainbow-coloured armband for Ipswich’s match against Crystal Palace a few days later. 

Speaking of Crystal Palace, their captain – Marc Guehi – did wear the armband, but wrote “I [heart] Jesus” on it. While the FA did not punish Guehi or Palace, they did write to them to remind them that religious messaging of any kind was not permitted on kits. Subsequently, during Tuesday’s match against Ipswich, Guehi changed the message to “Jesus [heart] you.” 

It says something about society’s view of Christianity that people saw Guehi’s “I [heart] Jesus” message and took it as an anti-LGBTQ+ message. The Church is doing something wrong if people can so easily equate loving Jesus with hating LGBTQ+ people.  

Of course, it is undeniable that many people have been – and continue to be – discriminated against and persecuted because of their sexual orientation or gender identity in acts of violence and abuse underwritten by religious beliefs. 

However, being ‘religious’ is not a straightforward predictor of someone’s views of sexual orientation. Many people who self-identity as Christian, Muslim, Jewish, or as members of any number of other faiths, would describe themselves as inclusive and affirming of people of all sexual orientations and gender identities. 

So, why are we talking about what colour armband grown men are wearing – or not wearing – when playing football?  

The issue emerges because of the use of these armbands as symbols. Symbols are inherently empty of content; they only mean something when individuals or groups assign meanings to those symbols.  

This is how the meaning ascribed to symbols changes over time, as they are used in different ways and received by different social groups. For centuries, the swastika was a wholly positive religious symbol in a variety of traditions across Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism, often carrying connotations of prosperity and good fortune. 

You would be hard pressed to find someone who ascribes this meaning to the swastika from the 1930s onwards.  

Symbols are powerful, but they are so precisely because they are devoid of intrinsic meaning. Humans are unsurpassed in their ability to fall out with one another. By centring campaigns and movements around symbols, people who would ordinarily be at each other’s throats are more easily able to stand alongside one another, ‘filling’ the symbol with whatever meaning sits most comfortably with them.  They are meaningless banners under which odd bedfellows might bury the hatchet in service of greater aims.  

But symbols can be a double-edged sword. Their lack of concrete meaning also allows different people to find competing meanings in the same symbol. Part of the reason for the dispute over the wearing of rainbow armbands, then, is due to different groups ascribing different meanings to the same symbol.  

For some footballers, being encouraged to wear rainbow armbands might be received as being encouraged to wear a symbol encoded with meanings that undermine their entire system of religious belief.  

And, for these people, religious belief is not an optional extra; it is their most fundamental identity and it is the framework within their entire existence and experience is rationalised and given meaning. To undermine a framework like this is no trivial matter.  

But for people who identity as LGBTQ+, seeing their team’s captain wearing a rainbow armband might ‘mean’ something as simple as: “If you identify as LGBTQ+, you are welcome here at this football match, and we want you to feel safe here.”  

It’s not hard to see how a refusal to wear an armband might be received as a slap in the face for people who ascribe that meaning to the armband; it’s tantamount to a refusal to acknowledge their existence. While it unfortunately does need repeating, the mere existence of LGBTQ+ people is not a threat to religious belief.  

The malleability of the symbol means that both individuals – and by extension, the groups to which they belong – are left feeling as though there is no space for them in football. Or, at the very least, that they have to compromise on being who they are if they are to be afforded a place within the football community.  

The desire for beige corporate gestures designed to be cheap, easy and unoffensive wins often reduces the scope for conversation and dialogue. 

And this is the problem with trying to navigate complex issues such as societal inequality through tokenistic gestures and symbols: the same power that enables symbols to unite people can also divide people. The same vagueness that makes symbols so powerful also minimises the possibility for genuine and nuanced conversation. 

This is not to say we should do away with such gestures altogether. The comedian Matt Lucas took to X to recount something of his experiences as an Arsenal fan. Twice this season – just this season – Lucas has been abused at football matches because of his sexuality. 

I’ve never been abused at a football match because of my sexuality, gender, race, ethnicity, or, for that matter, my religious beliefs. I don’t think it’s up to me to decide what does and does not make LGBTQ+ supporters feel welcome and safe at the match. If symbols such as rainbow armbands make these supporters feel safer at football matches – and again, it’s not up to me to decide if they do or they don’t – then I can only imagine that is an unqualified positive.  

That being said, if football is going to have meaningful and fruitful conversations about questions of faith, religion, and sexuality, then I think it’s clear that tokenistic use of symbols is simply not equipped for that. Like so much contemporary public discourse, the desire for beige corporate gestures designed to be cheap, easy and unoffensive wins often reduces the scope for conversation and dialogue.  

Symbols lie at the heart of human experience. The fallout from the actions of Sam Morsy and Marc Guehi demonstrates the significance of symbols to human life, but also of the importance of understanding the meaning of our cultural symbols, both as we understand them, and as they are understood by others.  

Too often we focus on what symbols mean to us, at the expense of what they might mean to others. When we assume that symbols carry a shared, fixed meaning for all, we deny ourselves the opportunity to listen and learn from the ways in which we experience our shared cultural symbols.  

And if there is one thing we really could do with more of, it is listening. 

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