From Hero to Hero:

The influence of social narratives

of the 2020 Nagorno Karabakh war
on the Armenian Youth Identity

Alexandros Koutras (s1058298)

MSc Human Geography: Conflicts, Territories & Identities
Radboud University
Nijmegen 12/08/2021
The pomegranate is associated with Armenian culture, and symbolises fertility, revival, and prosperity.
Its invaluable seeds have been metaphorically used in poems, songs, ceremonies and sculptures.
It is a living narrative.

I
 Master Thesis

From Hero to Hero

The influence of social narratives
of the 2020 Nagorno Karabakh war
on the Armenian Youth Identity

Name: Alexandros Koutras

Student number: s1058298
Master’s program: Human Geography: Conflicts, Territories, and Identities
Academic Year: 2020-2021
Home institution: Radboud University
Faculty: Nijmegen School of Management
Internship: American University of Armenia
Supervisor: H.W. Bomert (Bert)
Second reader: H. Ernste (Huib)
Internship Supervisor: V. Ter-Matevosyan (Vahram)
Date 21/08/2021
Place: Nijmegen, The Netherlands
Word count: 34.815

II
Նվիրվում է բոլոր հերոսներին՝ ողջ և ընկած

III
Dedicated to all heroes, living and fallen.

IV
Preface
The first time I delved into the South Caucasus region was in 2013, while studying geography in
Athens; ever since that time, I decided to return to the region of Nagorno Karabakh. My personal
goal was not to present a master thesis analysing one more conflict, but rather to understand how
small nation-states deal with disputes within their society. The reader needs to comprehend the
post-war Armenian reality through the collected stories and interviews. This approach is redolent of
a short ethnography, a methodological tool for being part of the place of investigation. I offer a
chance to the reader to walk in my shoes and experience it on his/her own.

In 2017, I worked on my bachelor thesis regarding nationalism in the Western Balkans and the
youth. While walking in Mostar, Bosnia Herzegovina, I met a local, Igor. He shared his memories
from the war. He compared narratives before and after the war and now worked for peace and
reconciliation. For his younger sister, reconciliation and peace were less attainable as she was born
after the war. She had no memories to recall. She had always lived in a divided society. I realized
how narratives and memories are interconnected elements on a personal and collective level,
shaping people’s perceptions, acts and emotions. To remember is both a blessing and a curse. As
Garagozov and Gadirova (2019: 450) argue, “Narrative can imprison us, [but] it can also set us
free.” Narratives and memories lactate, raise and indoctrinate an entire generation from the very first
moment on.

During the 2020 Nagorno Karabakh war, thousands of soldiers and numerous civilians were killed,
Armenians and Azerbaijanis alike. The Armenian youth endured a significant loss of land, family and
friends – as well as an identity, an identity based on victory. The narrative of the war was cruel,
ruthless. They had not seen war before, but now they fought in it. Focusing on them was
academically and personally a unique experience. Balancing between humane empathy and
academic objectivity was difficult, as they were often in conflict. After a month of fieldwork, I
challenged myself as a young scholar in a country where stability and security are not taken for
granted – a region where war is not simply a word.

What is real pain, and when does it stop? What are dreams, and who is not allowed to dream? What
is loss, and how long do we wait until we rise again? Reflecting on such questions during my stay in
Armenia, I was motivated to continue my goal, to give voice to the voiceless. Nagorno Karabakh is
not well known, it is not very significant for us – but for some, it’s their home. Their stories are brave
and memorable, full of sorrow, despair, distress, strength, and optimism. The feelings generated by
their storytelling are common to all of us, ubiquitous to all humanity, and it does not matter whether
the conflict zone is in our backyard for us to be interested and compassionate. For peace and
prosperity to blossom, we always had to struggle, and always care for those small corners of our
planet. Someone in Armenia said to me: “Tell them our story, let them know who we are.”

The initial title of this thesis was ‘From Hero to Zero’, a phrase indicating loss and degradation.
Similarly, in war, victory versus defeat. I adjusted the title after interviewing nine people and visiting
Yerablur (the Yerevan cemetery of the fallen soldiers from the wars). Despite losing the war and the
abundance of traumatic memories, narratives often bring hope, healing and freedom. Heroes are
heroes, dead or alive, victorious or defeated. Nothing can stop them from being Heroes.

V
Acknowledgements
Firstly, I would like to express my gratitude to Radboud University that during the tough
academic year of the global pandemic managed to provide the highest quality of education. At
the same time, I’m sincerely thankful to the John S. Latsis Public Foundation from Greece, that
honoured me with a full master scholarship for the academic year 2020-2021. Their support
helped me move to the Netherlands and focus on my studies.

I want to thank my supervisor Dr Bomert (Bert), for always being motivational with precise and
fast feedback to my thesis, supporting me during my fieldwork and answering any question in
several online meetings. Of course, I’m glad to have met Dr Ter-Matevosyan (Vahram) from the
American University of Armenia to obtain better knowledge about Armenian reality.

During the last months, I was not alone. Many people supported me in this thesis. My flatmates
in 104 and my classmates with whom I shared my thoughts and concerns on implementing this
thesis during the winter lockdown; the AUA students and their excellent input; the respondents
who overwhelmingly shared their stories and the new friends in Armenia who made my
one-month stay unique. I thank you all for your time, joy and contribution to this work.

I’m exceptionally thankful to Samvel and Gaya. Samvel was my first Armenian friend and
always motivated me to visit and learn more about his country. Because of him, I built an
extensive network for my research, saw hidden gems, and became ‘հայ‘ [Hay=Armenian].
Gaya is a strong Armenian woman and mother. Her personal story was a lesson of valuing our
life. Although the original saying is ‘from hero to zero’, she made me rethink; heroes, no matter
what, remain heroes. Therefore, ‘from Hero to Hero’.

I sincerely thank my family. We have stayed apart for a long time, but I never felt alone. They
have always been next to me and recognised my passion for geography, from drawing maps as
a kid till my last graduation ceremony.

Alexandros Koutras
04/07/2021 Nijmegen
The Netherlands

VI
Abstract
Storytelling is a way to remember the past and make sence of the present. In the same context,
social narratives are collectively produced by society, inherited in schools and memorials, and
used by politicians as 'stories' that drive an entire nation's social behaviour. This master thesis
aims at analysing the impact of social narratives generated before, during and after the 2020
Nagorno Karabakh war and the effect on the Armenian youth identity. In particular, it delves into
dominant narratives (or beliefs) that existed in Armenian society and the new ones that
emerged after the war. The lack of personal memories from the 1990s war bolsters the
influential role of narratives that can 'construct new memories'.

The primary methodological approach is qualitative research, with on-the-spot fieldwork

observation and semi-structured interviews. Through a relatively free sampling, respondents
share their stories on how narratives from their social environment and the war itself have
shaped their identity. Their recent experience from the war draws similarities with the past and
addresses new deviated patterns.

This thesis shows how a post-war society can abandon a dominant narrative and fastly produce
new ones. In Armenia, the old 'victimisation narrative' overshadowed by the (first war) 'narrative
of victory' returned, along with a nation that grieves, symbols that arise, and a youth that seems
determined to develop the state or emigrate.

The qualitative approach provides a fruitful insight into what post-war realisation entails for
youth in rebuilding a defeated nation. This new era of narratives can facilitate in designating
policies both in Armenia and other similar cases.

VII
Table of contents

Preface V

Acknowledgements VI

Abstract VII

List of figures and tables X

List of maps X

1. Introduction to the topic 1

1.1 Research project 1
1.2 Research questions and objectives 3
1.3 Scientific relevance 5
1.4 Societal relevance 5
1.5 Thesis design 6

2. Theoretical framework 7
2.1 Introduction: 7
Between collective memories and social narratives 7
2.1.1 Collective memories 7
2.1.2 Sharing the memories 8
2.1.3 Social representation and transitivity of collective memories 10
2.2 Social Narratives 11
2.2.1 Role and goal of social narratives 12
2.2.2 Ideology and war narratives 14
2.2.3 Audio-textual narratives 14
a. Introduction 14
b. Storytelling and testimonies 15
2.2.4 Visual Narratives 16
Symbols 16

3. Methodology 18
3.1 Introduction 18
3.1.1 Qualitative research 18
3.1.2 Operationalization 19
3.2 Data Collection 20
3.2.1 Literature review 20
3.2.2 Fieldwork Research (observation) 21
3.2.3 Interviews 22
3.2.4 Sampling 24
3.3 Data analysis 25
3.3.1 Literature review 25
3.3.2 Interviews (transcribing and coding) 25
3.4 Considerations 26
 3.4.1 Ethics 26
3.4.2 Research limitations 26
3.4.3 Reliability 27
3.4.4 Validity 28

4. Historical background of Armenia and Nagorno Karabakh 29

4.1 Introduction 29
4.2 Embracing primordialism: is it valid? 29
4.3 The Armenian Genocide: Trauma and victimhood 31
4.4 Soviet era: commonality? 35
4.5 The first war of Nagorno Karabakh: Pride and vindication 38
4.6 After the war: a fragile status quo 41

5. Data analysis 44
5.1 Introduction 44
5.2 Ad Bellum narratives 44
5.2.1 Memories and narratives for identification 44
5.2.2 Family stories, personal narratives 48
5.2.3 Society and school 50
5.2.4 Politics and status quo 54
5.3 In Bello Narratives 56
5.3.1 Introduction 56
5.3.2 The start of the 2020 war 57
5.3.3. Into the war 59
5.4 Post Bellum Narratives 62
5.4.1 Introduction: a new symbol is born 62
5.4.2 Losing - the war 64
5.4.3 Realising - the new reality 65
5.4.4 Adjusting - to the new era 68
5.4.5 Securing - borders and land 70
a. Turkey-Azerbaijan axis 70
b. ‘Forced friendship’ with Russia 73
5.4.6 Electing - in the first Post-war elections 75
5.4.7 Dreaming - a future in Armenia or abroad? 77

6. Conclusion 80

7. Discussion 84

References 86

Statement of independent work 96

Appendix 97

IX
List of figures and tables
Figure 1 Operationalization design. 19
Figure 2 Percentage of Armenians and Azerbaijanis (Azeris) in Nagorno Karabakh 36
Figure 3 Military expenditures of Armenia and Azerbaijan 42
Figure 4 Relationship of Armenia with other countries 46
Figure 5 Opinions on opening the border with Turkey 46
Figure 6 Opinions on unification with Armenia 49
Figure 7 Support for a military solution to the conflict 54
Figure 8 The biggest success of the government 55
Figure 9 Prevailing mood of the population 68
Figure 10 Is Armenia heading in the right or wrong direction? 69
Figure 11 What is the most crucial problem in Armenia today? 71
Figure 12 Evaluation of the relationship with other countries in 2021 73
Figure 13 Opinion about Pashinyan and Kocharyan, May 2021 77
Figure 14 Leaving for another country permanently 77
Table 1 Respondents’ profiles 24

List of maps

Map 1 The Caucasus and the various regions of conflict and tensions 2
Map 2 The Republic of Artsakh 2
Map 3 Nagorno Karabakh and the surrounding regions after the 2020 war 2
Map 4 Places visited during the fieldwork observation 02/06/2021-29/06/2021 22
Map 5 Regions of the origin/place of residence of the respondents 23
Map 6 Ancient Armenia, c. 600 BC - c. 1100 30
Map 7 SSR of Azerbaijan and NKAO 1928 35
Map 8 Changes in the borders of Nagorno Karabakh 36
Map 9 Nagorno Karabakh and the occupied territories from the first war 40
Map 10 The level of readiness for territorial concessions in the conflict area by province 49
Map 11 Energy, transport and Russian bases in South Caucasus 72

X
1. Introduction to the topic
While information is becoming more accessible, people worldwide seek numbers and stories to
answer their questions. The abundance of available sources has generated a booming media
industry with up-to-date news. However, the information might often be misleading or
persuading the reader in a specific direction. A narrative is a form that delivers not simply
knowledge but a sequence of memories, beliefs, emotions, and ideologies to convince the
receiver to change, adjust, and follow. Headlines are composed of stories since numbers look
weak. Statistics on war victims or casualties on the battlefield do not convince as much as the
tale of a refugee, the testimony from a genocide, or a stateless nation’s burdens. Reporting an
event is a skilful technique. It is not merely a story but a method of transmitting memories and
emotions while engaging the listener and/or reader to the plot. In other words, narratives
materialize memories, and individuals make sense of themselves by joining the past and the
present.

In Human Geography, there is a general interest in the observation and production of social
phenomena. In Conflict Studies, many scholars focus on the foundations, the conduct, and,
most importantly, the resolution of war. Social narratives are always present in the social
domain – in turning violence into negative and positive peace, in building a social infrastructure,
in restoring democratic values, and in economically developing a conflict zone. Narratives
change and adapt to popular demands. For instance, war narratives prepare an imminent war,
while testimonies and monuments narrate specific events worth remembering. National
cohesion and identity-building are fundamental pillars for all types of collective narratives. This
thesis reviews a specific case study where narratives have impacted the flow of history.

1.1 Research project

On September 27, 2020, the South Caucasus region was once more in the international
spotlight. The conflict between Armenia and Azerbaijan over the territory of Nagorno Karabakh
was making headlines. Historically, the area has always been important for both countries, but
since the first ceasefire in 1994 the war has been frozen. Over the past two decades, sporadic
violence has erupted, alongside small-scale disputes. Nagorno Karabakh, inhabited
predominantly by Armenians, is located within the territory of Azerbaijan (Britannica, 2020).
Although the local government has declared independence as the Republic of Artsakh (see
Map 2), it has not obtained any legitimate state status. The second war in 2020 began as a
breakdown of extended negotiations and dialogues over the course of the previous decades.

1
 Map 1. The Caucasus and the various regions of conflict and tensions (Geurkjian, 2011)

Map 2. The Republic of Artsakh, left (Welt & Bowen, 2021)

Map 3. Nagorno Karabakh and the surrounding regions after the 2020 war, right (BBC News, 2020)

2
This master thesis analyses the impact of the war on young Armenians rather than the war as
such. Young Armenians who live in the country or have fled the war zone are our primary focus.

A post-war reality is always a traumatic condition for the party that lost – and in this case, a
phase of internal turbulence. Over the last couple of months, a domestic political crisis, an
attempt of a military coup, and large demonstrations amid the global Covid-19 pandemic thrilled
the Armenian society beyond its limits. One can argue that the post-war experience has been
equally ambiguous as the six weeks war itself. Although we examine a recent case, we refrain
from being superficial. As it is easy to report on (the mistakes of) the war and life thereafter, our
academic approach is different. It is based on the impact of narratives by building similarities
with the past, acknowledging behavioural patterns that will let us understand the new reality.

When preparing for a conflict, a political elite addresses specific stimuli of the civilians. Like in
every war, preparation is a sequence of separate political agendas aiming to activate public
opinion. Social narratives involve powerful speeches (rhetoric and propaganda) that stimulate
the social domain. Manipulation is easier in times of crisis when an impending threat is on the
horizon. Other narratives that circulate in society focus on the moral weight of preserving the
national identity and heritage. In evoking the historical past and purposely pointing at enemies
and allies, embracing the glorious past while constantly recalling past deeds, narratives
navigate people’s minds and beliefs.

This analysis examines how social narratives produced during and after the second Nagorno
Karabakh war affected young Armenians. Narratives spread quickly. They become manipulative
and persuasive, pushing for human action. Their efficiency improves when someone lacks
personal memories from past experiences (such as the first war in 1994). Young people
exclusively depend on what is said, heard, and learned through ‘stories’.

During the second war, several narratives were observed. During the first war, Armenia was the
winner – but not of the second. The advanced warfare technology used by Azerbaijan overtook
the conventional tactics of the Armenian army. Mistakes, incorrect decisions, and promises
made by the Armenian government were part of the war. Optimists, fuelled by patriotism,
believed in a positive result, even victory, up to a few days before the ceasefire. Narratives
reinforced the perception of a victory, although step by step the Azerbaijani troops conquered
the area. Overnight, the mood changed sharply for Armenians, who had perceived themselves
as superior in the Nagorno Karabakh region. Seen from that perspective, ‘From Hero to Zero’
depicts the transition of the currently most prominent narrative in Armenia.

1.2 Research questions and objectives

As mentioned above, social narratives are always present in society regardless of socio-political
conditions. They might prevail in extraordinary situations and drive the social beliefs during war,
but at the same time, they can help in generating social cohesion and a sense of belonging. To
comprehend the effect of ‘stories’, a distinction is made between two different types of
narratives; audio-textual (stories, speeches, textbooks, testimonies, movies) and visual
(museums, memorials, symbols). Subsequently, we divide these narratives into three different
3
time frames: before, during and after the war. Central to this research is the following research
question and two sub-questions.

How and to what extent have social narratives from the second Nagorno Karabakh war
influenced the Armenian youth identity?

This question includes how narratives influenced the young Armenians after the ceasefire
agreement in November 2020 and the extent to which new (or not) narratives affect their social
life, identity perceptions, and beliefs. Both audio-textual and visual narratives were developed or
re-emerged during the 2020 war. The Armenian society, and hence young Armenians,
witnessed the war (be it directly or indirectly), experienced the state of emergency and became
subjects of dominant narratives that penetrated their idiosyncrasy. What were they expecting,
how did they experience the war? What was the role of politics and the influence of small-scale
groups such as community or family? Did the outcome generate negative feelings and/or
contradictory beliefs? Two sub-questions relate to two time periods, before and after the war.

(1) How have social narratives been formed in Armenia before the second (2020) war
over Nagorno Karabakh?

The answer to this first sub-question is mainly based on a historical approach. The chapter
dealing with the historical background addresses most of the relevant cases that have shaped
Armenian identity. The Armenian Genocide is considered to be the most significant event
relating to the Armenian identity, and through the ashes of annihilation it ‘revived’ national
consciousness. In addition, religion, culture, myths, and tradition have also impacted the making
of the nation. The Soviet era secured a definite time of peace, yet it was during this period that
new animosities arose. Actually, the first Nagorno Karabakh war was perceived to be a product
of inadequate Soviet rule.

However, we do not neatly summarise the events using a timeline, but we extract the most
prominent narratives generated at particular moments in time. The adoption of Christianity
became the core of a distinct nation in the South Caucasus, the Armenian Genocide contributed
to social cohesion, while victimhood and survival empowered a robust in-group identification for
all Armenians. The allegedly peaceful Soviet period created the roots for a new wartime, the
first Nagorno Karabakh war. After 1994, victimization decreased and got replaced by a sense of
victory and atonement. Justice and vindication made them the lawful owners of the antique
Artsakh, as Armenians call Nagorno Karabakh. However, the recent war erased these claims,
and Armenians confronted the past fears.

(2) How do the narratives of the 2020 war influence the youth, during and after?

The fieldwork observation research and the on-spot interviews attempted to provide answers to
this second question. Opinions on the current socio-political context, ideas, and concerns were
collected by conducting interviews and analysing the context. Narratives in the media, as well
as the political exploitation of the post-war crisis show how the war itself impacts youth. Are the
new narratives promoting social cohesion, a sense of victimhood, or the need to reform the
institutions and the military? Is Armenian society accepting the defeat, and/or will the new
narratives support a new war?

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1.3 Scientific relevance

Collective memories and social narratives are well cited in the academic spectrum. Many
scholars emphasize the importance of collective social memories (Stambulski, 2019; Erll et al.,
2008; Kansteiner, 2002; Olick & Levy, 1997), while theories of representing memories also
dominate conflict studies (Vinitzky-Seroussi & Teeger, 2010; Kienzler & Sula-Raxhimi, 2019;
Shenhav, 2015). Such views include the role of remembering events (Hirsch, 2008; Schwartz,
1991; Licata & Mercy, 2015; Ochs & Capps, 1996; Zerubavel, 1996) and co-memorializing the
past in parallel to the current social context (Tint, 2010; Michaelian & Sutton, 2017). In addition,
several authors include the significance of narratives in nation-building and social cohesion
(Adler et al., 2019; Chaitin & Steinberg, 2014; Houghton et al., 2013; Erőss, 2018) or their form
and practical implementation (Bamberg, 2012a; Jovchelovitch, 2012; Shenhav, 2015). Other
researchers narrow their study to dominant narratives as powerful stories (Feldman & Almquist,
2012; Callahan et al., 2006; Bourdieu et al., 2002; Hammack, 2008). An example of a master
(dominant) narrative are war narratives (Bamberg, 2012b; Langellier 1989; Kvernbekk, &
Bøe-Hansen, 2017; Loseke, 2012). Finally, several authors address the (persuasive) content
and the symbols deployed while transmitting knowledge (Wydick, 2015; Klein, 2013).

In comparing narratives before and after the second Nagorno Karabakh war, we include
theoretical insights. The participant’s observation offers a ‘journalistic’ viewpoint that enriches
the thesis by connecting theory to subjective practice. We aim to fill the gap in how past and
new narratives motivate and affect the mindset of young Armenians. Some authors (O’Lear &
Whiting 2008; Dixon, 2015) discuss the relationship of time and national identity, such as the
Armenian Genocide to the first war over Karabakh (Cheterian, 2018); however, there is no
considerable interest in more qualitative studies in regards to the second war. This might have
to do with the fact that not much (and not enough) time has passed since the war. Some
surveys examine public opinion (Michaelian, 2017; Alisauskiene, 2019) or measure
radicalization (Simonyan & Manukyan, 2018). Others aim to fill the knowledge gap between
Armenians and their neighbours (Novikova, 2012; Companjen, 2010; Neyzi &
Kharatyan-Araqlyan, 2010) or show the psychological aspects of past atrocities (Beukian,
2015). They mostly have a quantitative approach rather than a qualitative one. This thesis tries
to give the reader a qualitative perspective of post-war Armenia.

1.4 Societal relevance

“As an Armenian migrant, a great weight was put on us, to secure the rebirth of the nation”
(Tchilingirian, 2018: 2-3). Storytelling, testimonies, or political speeches, have resulted in a
social change in Armenia by cultivating a sense of victimhood among generations. The strong
cultural and religious identification contributed to the nationalist uprising during the 1980s, just
as the battle of Avarayr in the 5th century AD (see Chapter 4). The necessity to defend the land
and preserve the heritage encourages nationalism. Within just a few years, Armenians and
Azerbaijanis became allegedly ‘enemies’. The former anti-Soviet movement during the 1980s
turned into a present-day Russian-Armenian alliance, and the diaspora took the role of a
satellite observer with significant influence.

5
Fluctuations in beliefs, purposes, and priorities have been evident, occurring during crisis
frames. Today, the defeat in the second war creates a similar pattern. A return to victimhood is
likely to result in increased disappointment and socio-political instability, internally and
regionally. However, our mission is not to predict – but rather to be aware of such a pattern.
Revealing new narratives is useful to Armenian society and contributes to the scientific
community. Is Armenia facing a new February 1988, when political instability and the revolution
began, or is it fading to more enclosed policies? This thesis helps in understanding the
collective ‘psychological’ and sociological frame that Armenia is undergoing today. The
discussion shares thoughts about the future. It encourages other scholars to conduct additional
research to provide cross-thematic comparisons, arguments that could promote agendas and
policies.

1.5 Thesis design

Chapter 2 delves into the concept of collective memories, how they are reproduced and
maintained. This chapter also discusses three forms of narratives: textual, audio and visual,
emphasizing their meaning, function and goals. Chapter 3 introduces the reader to the
methodology as well as to the limitations of the thesis. Chapter 4 addresses the historical
background, focusing on remarkable events that shaped Armenian identity and produced social
narratives that are still valid today. Such a chronological sequence prepares the ground for the
data analysis (Chapter 5): the fieldwork research and the interviews with young Armenians. In
this section, we primarily focus on the 2020 war. Inevitably, we refer to the past to explain why
many narratives prevail in the social domain while others do not. Chapter 6 contains the
conclusions and reflects on the researcher’s thoughts regarding the results of the qualitative
research.

6
2. Theoretical framework

2.1 Introduction:
Between collective memories and social narratives

The theoretical framework draws upon the strong interconnection of social memories, narratives
and identity based on various scholars’ opinions. While these interdisciplinary notions are not
explicitly defined or even academically oriented, we allocate their similarities to one another.
Although our primary concern is the impact and validity of social narratives on the public
domain, we ought to zoom out and examine two more issues that accompany narratives; social
(collective) memories and the formation of (national) identity. Through narratives, memories “go
towards constituting personal identity” (Klein & Nichols, 2012: 677). They are cornerstones of
understanding ourselves. Therefore, this chapter is divided into two sections, addressing
memories and narratives, respectively.

Firstly, we delve into the nuance of collective memory, extracting ideas and approaches of their
formation and impact on the social context. Their contested and controversial use merely
advances the belief that memories have a crucial role in identity formation – before narratives.
However, their existence is meaningless, ignoring the means of addressing and importing
records into our social life. Hence, social narratives will be extensively examined in the second
part of this chapter, focusing on three categories. Narrating is the step from making sense of
memories and expressing them in the public sphere. The ‘what’ (memories), through the ‘how’
(narratives), lead to identity formation.

“Memory needs a place, a context. Its place, if it finds one that lives beyond a single generation,
is to be found in the stories that we tell [...] the nature of the relation between memory, historical
narrative, and self-formation” (Chaitin & Steinberg, 2014: 34). This statement shapes the
theoretical framework in guiding our case study. On the one hand, memories seem to be tricky,
“since they are invariably and inevitably selective” (Vinitzky-Seroussi & Teeger, 2010: 1107). On
the other hand, narratives are ambiguous because they bridge the “direct connection between
the real and the remembered” (Kansteiner, 2002: 190). The recipient struggles between the
past and the future while claiming the present. “History feeds off other forms of memory, just as
they feed off of history” (French, 1995: 10).

2.1.1 Collective memories

We encounter thousands of faces during our lifetime, but most of these people will simply
remain unknown faces. Interacting with other humans or meeting people is also likely, but we
will not sustain a social relationship with more than dozens, at most hundreds. There must
already be a bond that connects us with most of these people, even though we know nothing
about them. Such a bond could be national identity. In his study on nationalism, Anderson
(2006) referred to ‘imagined communities’ because people might not know each other
personally, but imaginatively. They inherently have many things in common and elements of a

7
shared identity. To make sense of our identity, we ought to know who we are by remembering
who we are, even though “remembering is a form of forgetting” (Ochs & Capps, 1996: 21). By
forgetting ourselves, we automatically erase our past, identity, and the group we belong to.

Collective memories (or group memories) are shared within a group of people belonging to a
given group as members of a specific culture (Stambulski, 2019: 7). Halbswachs (1992),
referred to as the ‘father of collective memories,’ was the first to use the term ‘memoir collective’
(Erll et al., 2008: 3). Another definition of collective memories focuses on the individual and
collective acts of remembering, based on a social context or national memory (Erll et al., 2008:
2). Collective memories focus on history to make sense of the present, usually omitting the past
significance to the expense of a better understanding of the ‘now.’ Therefore, Kansteiner (2002:
180) argues that “collective memory is not history,” but rather a “collective phenomenon
manifested by individuals.”

Given the notorious and multidimensional approach of memories, as they inherently encompass
both individual and collective agency, we enter an interdisciplinary field (Erll et al., 2008: 3). It
includes psychology, sociology, philosophy, political sciences and conflict studies. Many
academics unleashed the multidisciplinary character of collective social memories over the last
decades, mainly focusing on the representations of the past, such as words, texts and
narratives (Vinitzky-Seroussi & Teeger, 2010: 1103). However, Schwartz (1991: 222) follows a
dual approach by referring to collective memories as a construction process motivated by the
present and as a continuity in our perception entailing social change. Collective memories are
multi-dimensional in academic approaches and multi-timely understood as an “active process of
sense-making through time” (Olick & Levy, 1997: 922).

Whether past, present or even future-oriented, collective memories are undoubtedly a cohesive
element of in-group identification. For Thompson (2009: 196), “they are defining features of a
communal identity, a heritage that unites people through space and time”. Anderson would
agree with such a statement. According to Klein (as cited by Hirschberger, 2018: 3), group
cohesion is ultimately a product of incorporating the past into the present. Members of the
group function as lay historians who try to connect meaning between the two time-frames. This
sense-making derives from shared memories and not exclusively from individual memories
(Zerubavel, 1996: 293). For these memorabilia to be adopted, implemented, and get practical
usage, there are various ways of keeping them alive in time and space (Erll et al., 2008: 2).

2.1.2 Sharing the memories

Collective memories are, by definition, shared, but the debate is focussed on whether
individuals and collectives function and remember the same way (Stambulski, 2019: 7). For
Zerubavel (1996: 294), this process combines different personal pasts embodied in a shared,
collectively remembered history, while for French (1995: 9), a shared past does not necessarily
mean that people collectively agree on it. Being a member entails collective conformism, but
individualism is also alive. For this process to follow, (collective) memory needs to be
constructed (Tint, 2010:242) through several mechanisms within the public domain and the
social context. The notion of invented traditions, coined by Hobsbawm & Ranger (1992), is to

8
sustain and maintain a group identification and affiliation to the past. It seeks to “inculcate
certain values and norms of behaviour [...] which automatically implies continuity” (Hobsbawm &
Ranger, 1992: 1). These mechanisms preclude the central pillar of ‘co-memorization’ (as we will
see later on regarding the theory of representation) where the “past is not only commonly
shared but also jointly remembered” (Zerubavel, 1996: 294).

Commemoration is the process of “acknowledging, honouring, and recycling certain events of

the past” (Tint, 2010: 242). Hence, remembering in collective groups is essential as the shared
memories date back to events that members did not take an active part in themselves
(Michaelian & Sutton 2017: 147). In the following chapters, social narratives express the
commemoration techniques and bring them to life. Most of them focus on commemorative
ceremonies within the concept of generating a regular habit (Stambulski, 2019: 9), where they
become part of everyday life. It is also important to note that remembering the past is
sometimes blind or selective. Focusing on glorification and victories increases one’s self-esteem
and develops a group’s identity and the (biased) understanding of history (Chaitin & Steinberg,
2014: 33). This comparison with the past and the need to derive positive meaning is essential
(Licata & Mercy, 2015: 197). This inclination might be historically misleading and dangerous for
giving a rational meaning to the current reality. Yet, the outcome is a strong group identification,
cohesion, and a sense of belonging. Most of these commemorations – such as national days,
ceremonies, demonstrations – include strong sentiments with emotional weight, facilitating the
shift from the personal to the collective (Licata & Mercy, 2015: 196).

The influence of the social environment is a dynamic construction. Several authors stress and
clarify that it is necessary to understand the contemporary context rather than history itself. For
Klein (2013: 26), the Holocaust “as a singular event, influences how people react to subsequent
massacres.” Additionally, Schwartz (1991) and French (1995) argue that the social construction
of remembering is shaped by concerns and needs of the present, while for Thompson (2009:
202), memories are a “response to the need for recognition of present community members.”
Arguably, the process of remembering is an intrinsic part of acknowledging our mission as
members of society, where individual and group memory cannot exist independently from the
social context (Tint, 2010: 241). “It is in society that people normally acquire their memories
[and] recall, recognize, and localize their memories” (Kienzler & Sula-Raxhimi, 2019: 174) and
interaction of schemata from our cultural background (Licata & Mercy, 2015: 194).
Nevertheless, we conclude that the urgency of learning the present is pushing the past to a
secondary place. This notion of moving to the future, by looking back, is not simply an act of
self-identification but also a preparation for it.

“It is intergenerational,” says Hirsch (2008: 110), referring to post-memory. Hirschberger (2018:
2) adds self-continuity as a connection between the self and others. Collective memories are
not simply limited to the current social domain but are a historical chain between generations.
The successors understand that their past puts a moral weight on their shoulders to preserve
their heritage. This cultural property is a necessity (Thompson, 2009: 201). It is a duty of
“fulfilling a historical destiny” (Thompson, 2009: 196). It is the metaphysical, yet philosophical
realm of the Buddhist notion of Saṃsāra, which brings “life to the person and the “flowing-on” of
the stream of consciousness from one moment to the next and from one lifetime to another”
(Olendzki, 2019). We are still alive through our children’s lives, which brings the desire and the
responsibility to transmit our values and familiarise them with their past (Zerubavel, 1996: 290).

9
2.1.3 Social representation and transitivity of collective memories

It is fascinating how collective memory is ‘immortal’ and can live for more than one’s lifespan. At
the same time, groups share these memories but do not possess them themselves (Licata &
Mercy, 2015:194). Erll (2008: 5) argues that societies do not remember but reconstruct a shared
past and inherently create selective versions according to current needs. We already discussed
the significance of the present and its influence in shaping and passing on collective memories.
Yet, we should investigate the form of these phenomena. “Representation theory,” according to
Moscovici (cited in Hirschberger, 2018: 7), implies that “the way people construct and explain
historical events may have a marked impact on how they relate to the present, and what they
expect from the future.” In other words, these representations may have various forms of
everyday communication that build bridges between the present and past (Kansteiner, 2002:
181). There are multiple ways, tangible or not, in which people “remember, standardize and
reproduce” the past (Kienzler & Sula-Raxhimi, 2019: 174). They sometimes tell us what we
should remember and what we can or must forget (Zerubavel, 1996: 286). As Moscovici adds
(in Liu & Hilton, 2005: 2), it is not difficult for someone to grasp an idea of the past when most of
it is present in everyday life and other shared elements within a group. For now, (re)presenting
the past is adequate for “memory to create reality, rather than reality to create memory” (Tint,
2010: 244). This reality is usually formed to meet the interests of both the nation and the
individuals. This psychological reality becomes the guide for the following generations to
making sense of their lineage with their past. (Licata & Mercy, 2015: 197)

What is the environment where social representations occur? For Kansteiner (2002: 190),
“there are various combinations of discursive, visual and spatial elements,” such as stories in
archives, libraries, and museums adopted and given new meaning (Kansteiner, 2002: 182).
Zerubavel (1996: 289) adds families, organizations, and nations by calling them mnemonic
communities. The list goes on to workplaces, fan clubs, and ethnic groups. All these mnemonic
communities pass down memories through a process that produces visual, oral, and text
representations. Kienzler & Sula-Raxhimi (2019: 174) insert the term ‘memory industry,’
referring to small souvenirs, tourist boutiques, and activities contributing to re-presenting the
past.

However, there is still a gap between generating (if not producing) old memories and them
being adopted by society. If all these means mentioned above are not actualized, they will die
(dead material) without impacting society (Erll, 2008: 5). In a psychological approach, explicit
autobiographical memory is the real recorded memory of moments that someone experienced.
These explicit memories become implicit memories through a long-time process. With implicit
memory, one can demonstrate knowledge and “know about something” but “cannot explicitly
retrieve the information” (Kolb et al., 2019: 479). This process from explicit to implicit memory
occurs in the human brain. The hippocampus carries it out, which consolidates personal
memory to skills and habits (e.g., from memorizing words to being fluent in a foreign language).
The equivalent ‘social hippocampus’ consists of the leaders and scientists who consolidate
memories to the public domain (Michaelian & Sutton 2017: 148). For younger generations who
have no such explicit memories, post-memories can be “transmitted to them so deeply that
[they] seem to constitute memories on their own” (Hirsch, 2008). Memories based on traumatic
experiences cannot be easily forgotten and influence group identity development (Tint, 2010:
245). The direct outcome consists of negative feelings, such as victimization, helplessness,

10
revenge, frustration – which become part of social behaviour. When these powerful memories
are used for political purposes and benefits (Kansteiner, 2002: 187), it is unlikely for a society to
avoid them. Not only are these representations abundant, but they also exist at different levels,
such as family. In particular, our early recollections are only a representation of how they were
initially experienced and remembered within the context of our family (Zerubavel, 1996: 286).
When a society is under threat (such as in times of political crisis or conflict), group identity is
strengthened (Licata & Mercy, 2015: 194).

We adopt the term ‘mnemonic transitivity,’ which underlies the preservation of social memories
(Zerubavel, 1996: 291). The protection and sustaining of memories and group identity are
essential. As Hirsch (2008: 112) vividly stresses, it is a ‘bleed’ from one generation to the next.
Although the next generation carries memories, they are not responsible for past deeds. The
paradox is that apologizing for past atrocities means that the current generation might not have
existed at all if these atrocities had never happened (Thompson, 2000: 472). Hence, memories
are a dichotomy between remembering and forgetting, as well as between selecting and
rejecting. Representations filter, approve or neglect what we ought to carry along our national
continuity. Usually, the transmission of robust memories regarding atrocities, war, genocides or
famine generates a strong group identity, and the leading way to do so is through narratives. As
horrifying as they may be, historical deeds produce cultural stories and shared beliefs that
influence national identity. Narratives move one step further from social representation to
actualization (Shenhav, 2015: 12).

2.2 Social Narratives

The word ‘narrative’ originates from the Latin term narrare, ‘to tell’ (Kvernbekk & Bøe-Hansen,
2017: 218). For many, narratives are synonyms to stories, but a precise definition elucidates
that they are more than just stories. They constitute an entire structure, plot and sequence,
including characters, events and time, aiming to be clear and coherent to the audience
(Bamberg 2012a, 203). To a great extent, they relate to and rely on (collective shared)
memories by transmitting them and keeping them alive in an intergenerational spectrum (Licata
& Mercy, 2015: 196, Hammack, 2008: 233). While collective memories define who we are by
remembering our past, social narratives actualize and bring them into practice (Hammack,
2008: 232). For Jovchelovitch (2012: 442), they form a complex cultural discourse and an
ever-present human activity. Despite being addressed for multiple reasons (be it justified or not)
and by several narrators, narratives drive most individuals’ everyday practices and beliefs. On a
national level, they play a crucial role in addressing joint problems, political agendas and public
opinions, such as (inter/intrastate) conflicts, demonstrations and xenophobic behaviour. As
Vinitzky-Seroussi (2010: 1103) states, “they ensure that certain eras, people, and experiences
are remembered, by naturally turning them into words and images.” Overall, they are vital parts
of “identity-building, political goals, moral instruction, philosophical assertion, and
meaning-making” (Adler et al., 2019).

What are social narratives exactly? Kvernbekk and Bøe-Hansen (2017: 217) provide an
accurate answer, referring to a collection of “entire life stories, folk tales, lies, interview excerpts,
and historical analyses,” while Shenhav (2015: 23-57) adds national stories that usually appear
in school books, on TV, in the press, speeches, or even the national anthem. Narratives can
11
have different forms and meanings. A school textbook narrates the past by presenting a
sequence of events, while in a museum, social narratives are displayed both in text and visual
forms (e.g., exhibitions). As Shenhav (2015: 47) argues, narratives are “an entire set of ways in
which a story is told,” but they are reduced and simplified (Vinitzky-Seroussi, 2010: 1111). Such
a simplification allows them to be easily understood and shared. Their resonance is their
significance. If the link between the narrator and the audience is flawed, social narratives lose
credibility and validity. A strong relationship between the transmitter and the receiver is crucial
for memory to reach those who did not see an event. This received memory is not the same as
recalling the past by witnesses (Chaitin & Steinberg, 2014: 34).

Tindale (cited in Kvernbekk & Bøe-Hansen, 2017: 223) believes that audiences are complex
and dynamic, actual or virtual, particular or universal. Nevertheless, such groups that “need to
be persuaded” by a story (Klein, 2013: 39) will internalize the meaning and build beliefs and
ideas. When national institutions, organizations, public structures, or prominent individuals
generate narratives, they must reach an adequate level of public acceptance, both in peace and
crisis frames. It is not an easy task as individuals tend to ignore even the best-told stories,
“adopting those that make sense of the past that fit their own” (Kansteiner, 2002: 192). For
example, a collective tale of victimhood based on past atrocities can serve as a reason to fight a
current threat. Past animosities negatively influence people’s mindsets by a “charismatic
demagogue” (narrator), who will carry out this action.

Narrators can be individuals or social and political entities, such as family, church, government,
education, media (Langellier, 1989: 267). Their role is similar to a messenger telling and sharing
stories. In addition, narrators make sure to link their account (via plot and structure, examples,
emotional factors) to the current social and interactional context (Langellier, 1989: 257). This
process is called “transposition” (Ochs & Capps, 1996: 25), and it is vital because irrelevant
stories to what is nowadays topical or essential will fail. Our primary concern is not the
structurality of narratives but their impact on society. We acknowledge that they consist of
complex patterns, always filled with emotions and personal attachments to the plot (Shenhav,
2015: 40). We also recognize that narrators might be absent or hardly identified. Social
narratives can exist in visual forms, such as structures, statues, symbols, and memorials.
Narratives can also derive from other narratives conveyed by other people (Houghton et al.,
2013: 2). This reproduction is also the source of archetypes, such as stereotypes or solid
beliefs. The multiplicity of stories makes them more credible and acceptable.

2.2.1 Role and goal of social narratives

It is difficult to detach social narratives from collective memories because both facilitate specific
historical events and serve the current social context. In crisis frames, narratives create a
particular worldview (Houghton et al., 2013: 2) and position collective memories in space and
time. For Hirsch (2008: 110), “once verbalized [memories] are no longer unalienable property.”
The emotional context of narratives generates social change and uptake (Kvernbekk &
Bøe-Hansen, 2017: 220). Narratives help us understand and position ourselves in society,
follow values and norms, and communicate in an environment where people think they know
each other because they know themselves. Social narratives are elegant too. They inspire
imagination and cultivate emotions. It is not surprising that people are usually motivated and

12
stimulated by political speeches, highly influenced by the purposely use of images, myths and
symbols. Wydick (2015) assumes that narratives fight with numbers because they consistently
outperform numerical data influencing human action. Although numbers are more reliable, they
lack the plot, suspense, actors, emotions and relevance that stories possess. We tend to worry
more about narratives that relate our lives to an event close to us in space and time; these
stories are not simply verbal, like in speeches, nor just myths as in textbooks. They include
symbols or everyday practices, such as language, which brings the past and future to a
standard timeline. Through narratives, “humans [can] grasp a long past and a more intricately
conceived future” (Shenhav, 2015: 2). In other words, narratives answer what we want to hear,
what we want to understand, and what we want to achieve in the future. It is more like a story
made for us by us.

Narratives hold a purpose, legitimate or not, while their goal is to transmit shared values and
shared beliefs for collective action (Bamberg, 2012b: 4-5). Although usually the narrator is
society itself, sometimes narratives serve the interests of the political spectacle, implied for
policy argumentation and agendas (Callahan et al., 2006: 556-557). The political use of
narratives is not harmful per se, as they facilitate the inscription of group remembrance and
nation-building, which is essential for group cohesion (Kienzler & Sula-Raxhimi, 2019: 176).
Once narratives manage to form a cohesive society, social stability is more likely. Additionally,
they are addressed to gain supporters for specific political ends (Erll, 2008: 392) or drive public
opinion for crucial matters (e.g., elections, referenda). Feldman & Almquist (2012: 2) use the
term “remediation,” which refers to the selective representation and multiplicity of narratives in
media that present only specific events. This narrow presentation helps narrate only those
events that will benefit society and the political leaders at any particular moment. For instance,
during a war, the government empowers the morale of soldiers and civilians who are confronted
with dire consequences. Tint (2010: 243) points at the notion of myths in this representation that
lead to the emergence of national narratives. These national narratives are open to changes as
they are ‘stories’ that we use to define our nation, but they can quickly adjust to new needs and
outcomes. They are produced and reproduced through people who also understand these
stories as part of their identity and accept and applaud the politicians’ narratives (Hammack,
2008: 224).

Social narratives can either be accepted or rejected. They are vital for one’s identity and
everyday life sense-making. Powerful national narratives that give meaning to the most
prominent virtues, goals, and ideals have a significant impact. Despite being frequently used
tools to portray evil as good or justify means for illegitimate actions, they are inherently adopted
by civilians because there is no alternative. Their dominant character makes the individual
unable to reject them, undermining his relationship with fellow citizens. Living in a place where
one is the exception of a shared story leaves not much freedom. By definition, master narratives
or dominant narratives make people develop their identity to anchor to these narratives. An
example given by Hammack (2008: 227) refers to Israeli and Palestinian youth. They develop
their understanding and identity as rightful owners of the region and its history. Once they
disagree or reject this overarching narrative, they risk being rejected and marginalized by their
society. People tend to act in social conformism and follow the masses’ behaviour to avoid
being pinpointed (Bourdieu et al., 2002: 11). As a result, master narratives are community
builders with a familiar story (Ochs & Capps, 1996: 32), and people support the political elites
who reproduce these narratives to create a concrete community (Tint, 2010: 244; Shapira,
1996: 24).
13
Such narratives make us feel uneasy because they are the source of deliberately misleading
collective ideologies. They contain principles and notions to sustain an illegitimate regime in
power and drive a state to conflict with total public support. Ideologies in dominant narratives
can prove reckless or even detrimental when they follow strict nuances or the beliefs of the few
(if not one leader). During a war, they can mobilize atrocities, while in a peace frame they
consolidate social truths that discriminate or cultivate negative feelings (e.g., hatred or
stereotypes) against other social groups. “Dominant narratives are not called stories; they are
called reality” (Shenhav, 2015: 57).

2.2.2 Ideology and war narratives

For Hammack (2008: 230), ideology still exists, and in this analysis, social narratives contain an
ideological context. Mumby, cited by Langellier (1989: 268), shows how ideology functions by
addressing the interests of a dominant group, presenting and naturalizing a consolidated
situation, and subordinating groups by making them identify with the master narratives.
Narratives are infused by ideologies and beliefs beyond a simple description of events and the
passing of memories (Hammack, 2008: 233). Throughout human history, they have been
messengers of dominant ideologies and perceptions. The fascist versus socialist political
ideologies, empowered by national images and myths (Shapira 1996: 21), are currently giving
way to other contemporary ideological structures such as the European Union and the use of
symbols (e.g., coins or flags) that subconsciously cultivate a European mindset (Gregg cited by
Hammack, 2008: 230).

When dominant narratives consist of ideological sentiments before, during, and after a conflict,
they become war narratives. If society has experienced a past war, people will probably ‘update’
their beliefs and draw similarities from their cultural past to the current context (Houghton et al.,
2013: 4). As a sub-category of social narratives, war narratives are designated to assess a
conflict and how people confront this crisis frame. For Kvernbekk and Bøe-Hansen (2017: 232),
war narratives are a national matter that legitimizes the reason to participate in a war, while for
Garagozov and Gadirova (2019: 449), war narratives simply disavow the counter-narratives of
the enemy by including the public in this decision. Yet, the longer a war crisis lasts, the less
likely for such narratives to maintain the public’s interest and support (Kvernbekk &
Bøe-Hansen, 2017: 233). Instead, new narratives are created throughout the war, shaping
people’s perceptions and self-positioning by bringing identity, nationalism, power, authority to
understand the country’s tradition and faith (Said cited by Kienzler & Sula-Raxhimi, 2019: 177).
Once citizens shape new stories, a new post-war era will guide their beliefs for a long time. A
traumatic experience from war can also generate negative social narratives that shape a sense
of inferiority, victimhood and shame, leading to internal socio-political frictions.

2.2.3 Audio-textual narratives

a. Introduction

14
The first forms of social narratives introduced are audio and textual. According to Bamberg
(2012b: 3), most narratives resemble text; they are usually committed orally as performed
stories. Therefore, the audio and textual forms constitute one category. For Shenhav (2015:
19-37), social texts are “the mode in which the story is conveyed,” such as ink on paper
(articles, newspapers, books, archives), computer, tablet, graffiti. Other oral forms, such as
radio and the media (social media, movies, public speech, lectures, TV), are also included. The
importance of text narratives lies in the fact that they can remain untouched and intact for an
extended period. Managing social narratives in the political arena over the last decades (Erll,
2008: 9) showed that their reproduction and repetition for political interests might create a
prototype story. According to Loseke (2012: 5), only a few people in public policy shape this
prototype story, influencing millions of people through the mass press and media circulation.
Thus, the story of the few is available for everyone.

As noticed, ideology and the use of symbols and myths are often embodied in narratives. With
text narratives, political rhetoric forms a new dimension, where text words become the speech
of purposes. For example, the Gospels contain religious meaning but only for a limited number
of people who follow. Not everyone identifying as Christian has read the entire Bible.
Nonetheless, the oral addressing of the context and religious symbols activate the Christian
identity to a broader audience. More examples are present in social life, from family to political
parties that include ideology and beliefs for the political elites’ and civilians’ interests. Different
means in the orally addressed narratives aim at cohesion and in-group identification (Callahan
et al., 2006: 557; Hirschberger, 2018: 8). Therefore, text narratives in the first place include
elements (plot, context, actors, events) that can motivate people. Still, their operationalization
depends mainly on the narrators, the purpose, and how they introduce the narrative. Moreover,
their use can vary significantly, depending on the political and societal usage that inspire human
imagination (Callahan et al., 2006: 556).

b. Storytelling and testimonies

Text narratives are commonly asserted orally through the process of storytelling. It is a dynamic
and collaborative activity that constructs personal and collective identities (Katriel, 2012: 3). The
context of the stories includes places, events and actors, usually taking place in the past but
drawn upon similarities of the present (Bamberg, 2012b: 3). Bamberg (2012a: 207) also
correlates stories to “whole lives that are captured in four seconds” by engaging the speaker
and the listener in one process. As memories fade out, “the best analogy to remembering is
storytelling” (Bourdieu et al., 2002: 7). For Loseke (2012: 3), stories “told as fiction, fact or
fictionalized fact, are everywhere.” An outstanding example of our social environment is the
family as a pool of stories contributing to passing down memories from parents to children
(Thompson, 2009: 195).

Furthermore, families hold their own stories from the past, but they are affected by the social
context in which they live (Hirsch, 2008: 114). The storytelling uses highly personal stories of
traumatized and conflicting events to engage individuals in understanding and prioritizing
present or future actions. Simultaneously, storytelling helps reveal the experience to those who
did not witness the event and thus create a sense of belonging with the previous generation
(Shenhav, 2015: 3). This sense of belonging exists because individuals tend to relate to stories
and people they find similarities with, such as national identity, family bonds, political leaders,

15
voters, church and community. People, in general, are inclined to firmly adjust and adopt
behaviour by narratives of “pain, depression, and dissociation of a person who survived a
trauma” (Hirsch, 2008: 112). After all, most of us rarely witness historical events (Klein, 2013:
28), and ‘memories’ are exclusively based on what we learn or listen to. Memories invent
compelling stories similar to actual memories, even though they are not.

There is always a counterargument on the credibility of stories. Indeed, it would be implausible

to characterize social narratives, specifically storytelling, as unbiased or objective. Their
subjective point automatically makes them ideologically inclined. Their unique subjectivity can
influence collective behaviour, and this is what we recognize and analyse. While stories “justify,
persuade, entertain or mislead” (Shenhav, 2015: 2), they are more persuasive than data and
numbers (Polletta, 2012: 9) and able to unveil aspects of society and the truths (or not) of the
past. Testimonies are one of the narratives that include experience and information. Testimonies
are not simply stories but rather one’s eyes in witnessing an event. They are automatically
charged with emotional experiences and thus recalled more frequently to share someone’s
background (Tint, 2010: 246). They penetrate the imagination and make people think and live
like the narrator by relating themselves to the protagonist. However, not all testimonies are
credible. As Klein (2013: 29) suggests, those testimonies that include more details and have
more emotional aspects are usually perceived to reflect an authentic experience. Even though
we do not research the credibility of the testimonies per se, we examine their impact on society
by bearing in mind their occasional fallacious use. Eventually, storytelling also has a therapeutic
effect (Garagozov & Gadirova, 2019: 451) whether they are biased, unreliable, exaggerated, or
manipulative.

2.2.4 Visual Narratives

Although most narratives that originate from texts are conveyed orally, others are represented
visually. Objectification is the primary way of visualization, a process in which abstract notions
such as pride, victimhood or suffering obtain an actual structure of concrete experiences
(Verkuyten, 1995: 270). According to Erőss (2018: 20-21), commemorative plaques, statues,
memorials or street names are “physical reminders in public spaces” that inscribe specific
narratives in the public domain, a procedure of monument-building. Besides structures and
memorials, visual narratives can be transmitted through other optical forms, such as photos and
videos, freezing time and protecting memories from massive devastation (Hirsch, 2008: 115).
These digital forms offer a story without a single word, showing moments that should be
remembered (Hirsch, 2008: 107). Other narratives included in gestures, social activities,
paintings or sculptures evoke memories from the past through the “metaphor and juxtaposition
of shape, texture, and colour” (Ochs & Capps, 1996: 20). These features activate people’s
curiosity; they bring to life emotions faster and straightforward. When words are hard to be
understood or speeches unable to be accepted, visual narratives do nothing but activate the
viewer’s ability to decode the meaning. In any case, all these narratives use the human sense
of vision to dispatch memories and beliefs.

16
Symbols

Symbols are also part of visual narratives. They “are socially communicated to form part of a
common consciousness or social reality” (Verkuyten, 1995: 270), while they play a crucial role
in conflict and debates (Verkuyten, 1995: 264). Many leaders of different regimes have
deployed symbols to connect their narration according to their interests. Visualizing beliefs and
ideologies makes it easier and faster for individuals to memorize and familiarize themselves
with a narrative. They are also durable enough to exist longer than an individual’s lifespan
(Hirschberger, 2018: 6) and sustain an intact meaning even if the purpose or the context has
ended (e.g., Nazi symbols). Symbolism needs not to be simply displayed in parallel to the
narratives, but is frequently used in the context. For example, the flag, as a national symbol,
entails feelings of national pride, belonging, identification, and its display is prominent. It is,
therefore, not the symbol per se, but the moral, historical significance that needs protection and
deserves respect (Verkuyten, 1995: 270).

Symbols are also quickly reproduced to accompany (visual) narratives, as a ‘logo’ in product
marketing. We could refer to it as a ‘social brand.’ For the minor examples of antiques and
souvenirs in tourist spots, buildings, and ruins, mnemonic sites also have a symbol or logo to
address their story and correlate to events, nations and countries. In museums or the “national
heritage hotspots,” visual narratives are displayed to generate collective national memories and
contribute to the intergenerational transmission of valuable memories (Katriel, 2012: 4).
Similarly, to museums, religious sites also connect religion to one’s identity as the centre of the
everyday practice of faith. All of the examples of mnemonics sites or (casual) visual narratives
have the ability to (sub-)consciously immerse a message to individuals in common, just like
products and marketing. Narrators, in this case, are the sellers while individuals reject, accept
or even recommend (spread) the narrative, which is the product. While text needs more time
and rhetorics sound more impressive, visual narratives are simply asserted by the sense of
vision. As Shenhav (2015: 39) mentions, “not all stories are embedded directly in the text.
Dreaming, fantasizing or simply musing about past events” are included in narratives.

In conclusion, this chapter contains all the necessary theoretical frameworks in understanding
the correlation between collective memories and narratives. This thesis will focus predominantly
on narratives produced during the second war over Nagorno Karabakh, but the theoretical
framework is crucial for understanding why narratives are multiplied during the war. All these
theories are evident in the case of Armenia, from monuments and visual representation to
political speeches that strengthened the national cohesion during the first war. Other narratives
of hatred, nationalism and hostility might be part of society as well. Armenians underwent
several critical historical events that drastically shaped their identity. Therefore, memories are
an intrinsic part of individuals, but narratives and testimonies keep them alive. An Armenian of
2021 must remember himself as a Genocide victim, a survivor and a winner of the first Nagorno
Karabakh war. The recent loss changes the pattern and brings to life old narratives of faith and
struggle. Is it a repetition, or is Armenia moving to a new trajectory? The theoretical framework
will be thoroughly and practically examined in the next part, dealing with the methodology.

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3. Methodology

3.1 Introduction
Formulating a solid research question regarding social narratives and their influence upon the
youth facilitates the proper use of methods and practices. This chapter will analyse the main
strategies implemented, their benefits and limitations, as well as issues concerning the reliability
and validity of the research findings. An emphasis on qualitative methods rather than
quantitative ones marks this thesis’s qualitative approach. Nevertheless, some statistical
surveys are also quantifying the discussion, giving it a multidimensional approach.

3.1.1 Qualitative research

Scientific research has sometimes been perceived as equivalent to raw numerical data. Over
the last decades (mainly during the 1970s), the cultural turn to qualitative analysis by human
geographers (among other social scientists) was a reply to the one-dimensional character of the
positivist scientific approach (Johnston et al., 1981: 603). Understanding human behaviour,
social norms and attitudes brought to the foreground pioneer methodological approaches that
could access the analysis of social life. In agreement with Della Porta and Keating (2008: 283),
we do acknowledge that “numerical data are said to be more reliable.” Still, we also believe that
the multifaceted implementation of qualitative techniques grasps patterns of social life that
numbers – by nature – do not. In particular, psychological (individual or collective) behaviour,
emotions, ideologies, opinions and beliefs are hard to be ‘calculated’.

With qualitative research, we can analyse the non-numerical subsistence of social narratives
in-depth. Qualitative methods answer ‘how, where, when, and why’ by deductively building an
argument on existing theories (Leung, 2015). This approach entails (inevitably) subjectivity –
both by the participants and the researcher, who usually aims for “total immersion” to
understand a topic (Corbetta, 2003a: 4). Analysing narratives by qualitative methods, such as
discourse analysis and interviews, is like the fish explaining the ocean. “Fish surely know what
water is [...], but it can be a great challenge to see and understand the obvious” (Brinkmann,
2013: 4).

Critiques on qualitative research focus on the absence of credibility and impartiality due to a
lack of objectivity (Aspers & Corte, 2019). The actual participation of the researcher entails less
objectivity than quantitative research (Ratner, 2002). At the same time, the researcher’s
subjectivity and his fieldwork viewpoint might also generate biased results because the
procedures of collecting, transcribing, grouping, comprehending and arguing depend on
personal /professional approaches and not on statistics. Interviews might also be accused of
being unreliable sources. However, it is essential to note that it is hard to find strictly non-biased
research, even in quantitative analysis. Categorizing people’s answers with specific scales
ranging from 1 to 10 or statistical indexes entails fallacy in representation and mathematical
capacity. Therefore, total objectivity is probably unachievable.

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Dealing with the imperfections of both approaches, some social scientists consider the
unreliability of qualitative research “essential and inevitable, if not treasurable” (Leung, 2015).
Just as the fish in the ocean, we try to make sense of social narratives using discourse and
gathering narratives through interviews. We name it ‘homoeopathy research.’ For the social
narratives in Armenia generated throughout the second Nagorno Karabakh war, we have to
listen to people’s stories and their truths. Truths might be considered unreliable, not facts but
vital to access the past because “there is no unbiased access to the past” (Bourdieu et al., 2002:
8).

3.1.2 Operationalization
Conducting research presupposes the designation of specific research questions. Social
narratives cannot easily be measured, observed and calculated in numerical data. Therefore, it
is essential to be analysed indirectly with qualitative and some quantitative methods. To explore
the influence of post-war narratives on the Armenian youth in 2021, we will split the
operationalization design into two sub-questions, deploying two different techniques.

Figure 1: Operationalization design

What were the social narratives within Armenian society prior to the second war (2020)
over Nagorno Karabakh, and what was their influence (until September 2020)?

This first question emphasizes the recent past of dominant narratives cultivated in Armenian
society. As Corbetta (2003c:16) argues, “the qualitative researcher gives priority to
comprehension,” and this is what we need to focus on by obtaining enough knowledge of the
background. Social narratives (both audio-textual and visual) constitute social phenomena as
part of everyday life, accessible in various forms. In recent years, review and analysis of the
press, archives and academic articles or other publications cover information about the past

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predominant events. With this information, we attain ‘comprehension,’ vital for understanding
and categorizing the prevailing narratives. “Why and what needs to be answered before the
technical ‘how’ questions,” as Kvale (2007c: 6) puts it. By identifying the primary social
behaviour, we can confidently move further and build upon new narratives (in fieldwork
observation or interviews). Surveys conducted over the last years are a source of quantification
of these social patterns that “bolster credibility” (Della Porta & Keating, 2008: 287) and minimize
the researchers’ subjectivity by inserting the relevant numbers. In other words, the analysis of
the pre-war narratives and their interpretation is generally based on surveys and academic
publications that reduce any subjectivity.

What changes (or new narratives) do we observe during and after the second Nagorno
Karabakh war? What is their influence on the identity of young Armenians?

The first part of this question is the starting point to answering the main research question.
Identifying the dominant narratives that emerged or pre-existed will later on help in the
interviews. The researcher needs to immerse himself in and learn about the theoretical and
historical background. At the same time, new surveys, media articles, and recent academic
publications help in comparing the pre-war narratives with post-war ones. A discourse analysis
of political agendas, speeches, behaviours, and incidents is relevant to the war and thus taken
into account. The researcher groups them to categorize and identify new narratives.

Although surveys on public opinions and statistical reports provide reliability and objectivity, they
cannot investigate the second part of this question. The foundation of this thesis is the influence
of narratives. Indicating the new narratives is the first step, while their effect on the youth is the
second. A scale of 1 to 10 cannot depict the psychological background or the concerns,
behaviour, beliefs and ideas caused by narratives. Conducting semi-structured interviews and
fieldwork observation facilitate a better knowledge of the social impact, and they thoroughly
address the concept in a post-war traumatized society. Even though immersion is feasible, the
data produced are not bias-free, nor can they be generalized.

Moreover, the extent to which narratives influence the identity of the young Armenians depends
on various factors, which all affect the answers we receive. If narratives are context-based,
applicable to reality, reproduced and persuasive, it makes them dominant. The impact of
post-war narratives’ also depends on the background of the Armenian youth – their educational
or professional experience, geographical origins, financial status, political and religious beliefs,
gender and age, affect their response to the social narratives they receive. All these
independent variables are essential, and we expect a multitude of different answers.

3.2 Data Collection

3.2.1 Literature review

While the core of the research method is the conducting of interviews, we also use relevant
sources. It is difficult for a researcher to conduct fieldwork observation and interviews without
prior knowledge of the examined case (Kvale, 2007c: 8). Literature review involves collecting

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news articles, academic publications and historical documentation. Some scholars (Beukian,
2015; Andoh, 2014; Cheterian, 2018) provide information of events that shaped social narratives
and guided (influenced) the Armenian society for decades, from the atrocities during the First
World War, through the Soviet era and the first war over Nagorno Karabakh, until present-day
Armenia. By understanding the background a timeline of important events is generated that,
through discourse analysis, depicts the social route to the second Nagorno Karabakh war.
Throughout this thesis, by referring to the second war, we mean the war that erupted in 2020.
However, many respondents in Armenia consider the four-day April 2016 conflict as the second
war and the 2020 one as the third war.

In addition to academic publications, contemporary news items, videos and websites also
provide information about Armenia’s recent social and political events (Gamaghelyan 2010;
Kucera, 2020; Broers & Toal, 2013). Surveys are essential in grasping the (development of)
public opinion. The literature review answers the first sub-question dealing with the dominant
narratives before the war and prepares the ground for addressing the formation of the post-war
narratives. Newspapers and social media feeds (such as Telegram) provide day-to-day
information. Based on these sources, we can make sense of what post-war Armenian society is
experiencing in real-time. This plethora of material, although time-consuming, can be effectively
managed and organized, using software that codes and separates them into thematic
categories (Johnston et al., 1981: 703).

3.2.2 Fieldwork Research (observation)

“Familiarity with the content of an investigation is not obtained only through literature and
theoretical studies” (Kvale, 2007c: 8), and this is what makes fieldwork research a substantial
part of this thesis. For Johnston et al. (1981: 519), it is a way to “grasp the native’s point of
view,” while for Anderson et al. (2002: 2), it entails responsibility as the researcher becomes the
core of observing and filtering down information. The style, remarks, and fieldwork observation
are described in words, and thus the way the environment is (mis)understood will be evident on
paper. Anderson et al. (2002: 3-6) also address the sensory system of the researcher who tries
to affiliate with the subjects. Another responsibility is the researcher’s position, an actor beyond
empathy (Anderson et al., 2002: 6). Given the “intense contact” between the subject of the
study and the researcher (Corbetta, 2003a: 2), a non-emotional and impartial stance cannot be
easily obtained. When participants narrate their testimonies in cases of sensitive topics, it is
always important to stay neutral. Therefore, the researcher’s identity and emotional expressions
are challenged, should they be constrained in favour of distance and objectivity.

The scientific weight of the fieldwork observation (and not participation, as the latter
presupposes a more prolonged involvement) is beneficial for the case study of Armenia. Since
the analysis focuses on the social narratives after the 2020 Nagorno Karabakh war, the new
social and political phenomena are still part of a dynamic process. The wounds persist, as does
the socio-political crisis, so the fieldwork observation grants a ‘journalistic’ style. Such
techniques have proven to be suitable for cases where little is known (Corbetta, 2003a: 5), such
as the post-war reality of Armenians. Furthermore, the personal (along with the professional)
experience and the empirical data collection is a memorable and worthwhile experience for the
researcher and a premise for enriching knowledge and improving analytical skills. Corbetta

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(2003a: 3) claims that the researcher does not become part of the case with other methods
(interviews, statistical data analysis), as compared to fieldwork. This approach becomes a
‘must.’

Since the end of the Nagorno Karabakh war in November 2020, diverse social behaviour has
emerged. Visual narratives, symbols, protests, and demonstrations would not have been
observed without being in the field. Talking with young Armenians off the record and learning
how the post-war experience affected them made us ‘partially one of them.’ The proximity with
people, and the person-to-person conversation (outside the formal framework of interviews),
testimonies from people in the border region who lived under the threat of the missiles, soldiers
who try to overcome their traumas by rebuilding their lives, and the covering of the first post-war
election are all worth noting. Observing monuments, churches, and museums where ‘narratives’
and ‘memories’ are side by side and objectify the theories we examined before is equally
relevant. The photos were collected during the fieldwork trip in June 2021.

Map 4. Places visited during the fieldwork observation 02/06/2021-29/06/2021 (Google Maps, 2021)

3.2.3 Interviews

The conducting of semi-structured interviews is a tool in comprehending individual perceptions,

analysing social behaviour and attitude. Narratives can also help in testing the implications of a
theory or hypothesis (Kvale 2007c: 7). They provide the detailed meaning of a topic that
concerns people and their experience within society (Johnston et al., 1981: 393). This thesis
includes nine interviews with young people (ages 21-33) from Yerevan and the countryside.

22
Interviews with five females and four males with different occupations, educational
backgrounds, ages, and regions were held to provide a diverse depiction (see Map 5). Focusing
on those born during or after the first war (with one exception) serves to interpret the role of
narratives when personal memories do not exist. Despite the lack of personal memories, they
now have memories from the 2020 war, so new war narratives and memories reinforce their
answers. This gives us a combination of narratives adopted along with recent unhealed
memories.

Map 5. Regions of the origin/place of residence of the respondents (Google Maps, 2021)

Social phenomena “go beyond self-representations, and examine the persons’ assumptions
and general ideologies” (Kvale 2007c: 7). The researcher has a crucial role, for he facilitates the
conversation and the structure of the interviews, guides and keeps the participant’s attention
from deviating and rambling on. Respondents tend to change their behaviour when they know
they are observed and/or recorded and give answers that ‘fit’ the question, regardless of the
researcher’s expectations (Corbetta, 2003c: 13). In this case, the interview questions focused
on the social narratives before and mainly after the 2020 Nagorno Karabakh war. What is the
youth’s opinion, and how did the post-war loss affect them? Are there differences in what they
were expecting from society and the politicians before the war and nowadays? To answer these
questions, we need to let the interviewee introduce her/himself and freely discuss before
moving to the more sensitive topics. It benefits both parties. The interviewee becomes more
confident as the process continues, while the interviewer works on structuring the follow-up
questions based on the answers collected.

During the fieldwork research, the responders were invited for a person-to-person interview in a
public place (park, coffee shop); in one case, the researcher was invited to a house. These
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places had a relatively quiet setting and few distractions, necessary for the audio recording and
the concentration of the participants. All the responders were thoroughly informed days,
sometimes weeks beforehand about the role and the educational institution of the researcher.
The interview context was also discussed in advance, allowing the respondents to grasp an
idea of the topic (purpose of study) (Wa-Mbaleka, 2019: 122). Anonymity has been provided for
all. Throughout the interview, the participants were motivated to expand and elaborate their
thoughts. Table 1 below lists the respondents’ profiles. They were allowed to refuse to answer
or withdraw at any time during the interview. According to research ethics, they cannot be
recorded or considered anymore if they wish so. The total duration of the interviews varied from
24 minutes to just over one hour. The longer ones included a parallel translation from Armenian
to English.

# Origin Occupation Age Language Place of conduct Date Duration Comment

1 Vanadzor Student 21 Armenian Vanadzor 10/06 32min

2 Vanadzor Teacher 33 English Vanadzor 11/06 26min Refugee

/Kalbajar

3 Vanadzor Cameraman 21 Armenian Yerevan 13/06 1h 5min Soldier

4 Tavush Student 23 English Yerevan 14/06 24min

(village)

5 Hadrut Teacher 27 Armenian Charentsavan 14/06 1h 1 min Refugee

6 Kapan Unemployed 22 English Yerevan 20/06 35 min

7 Yerevan/ Private 24 English Yerevan 22/06 34 min

Russia foreign
company

8 Goris Psycho- 23 Armenian Yerevan 25/06 37min

therapist

9 Yerevan Tour 24 English Yerevan 27/06 34min

Operator

Table 1: Respondents’ profiles

3.2.4 Sampling

Finding respondents is a time-consuming task. Sampling presupposes finding people that will
provide the results necessary to understand the research question and deliver information from
their viewpoint. In ordinary research, a sample of 15 (+/-10) people is usually the range followed
(Kvale 2007c: 12). However, this can be challenging as some topics need a wider variety of
answers; other cases require geographical distribution or people with specific knowledge or
experience. This thesis requires all of these factors. Following the non-probability sampling,
respondents were also found via social media and were asked to participate voluntarily.
However, this approach is not representative. The snowball sampling is helpful for the
researcher as respondents are easily found from one person to another; it helps reduce the

24
time spent on searching. The contacts granted through the American University of Armenia and
the network built with friends and master students helped find people willing to participate.

Even though the benefits of snowball sampling, such as time reduction and workload, are
essential, we encountered some limitations. In this approach, we seemingly meet the “most
social volunteers” (Corbetta, 2003b: 16) and listen to those who want to speak, marginalising
those who might hesitate to do so. Moreover, a network built in and around a higher education
institute might not let us approach people with lower education levels. The capital city of
Yerevan comprises one-third of the Armenian population, resulting in an overrepresentation of
the urban at the expense of the rural. Such restrictions call for a configuration of the sample by
implying some criteria. One of these is the number limitation of young people’s geographical
and educational background by interviewing individuals who live in the countryside (near the
border with Azerbaijan and Nagorno Karabakh) and are not students. The male/female ratio
was also taken into account, looking for a gender balance. Eventually, interviews with a soldier
who fought during the war and a woman who fled Nagorno Karabakh in the autumn of 2020
were also incorporated, thanks to the efficient network built during the fieldwork observation.
Their stories and experiences show what the war created – or flushed away.

3.3 Data analysis

3.3.1 Literature review

The information from relevant publications needs to be systematised into thematic categories.
Chapter 5 distinguishes the social narratives into three timeframes, before, during and after the
war. Each of these sub-chapters is divided into thematic parts so that the analysis follows a
clear and logical order. This distinction helps to identify the main narratives within Armenian
society and draws comparisons. Eventually, the examination of the post-war narratives will be
mainly extracted from the interviews.

The literature analysis would not be possible without using text analysis software such as
MAXQDA 2020 (Kuckartz & Rädiker, 2019). This software can combine, code, systemise and
subscribe data according to the thematic groups assigned by the researcher. The analysis takes
less time because of the capacity to identify patterns with similar context, search for words or
sentences, and highlight controversies. MAXQDA is also used in the theoretical framework and
the overall structure of the thesis, while the capacity to transcribe audio records to text is
remarkable. Even though the use of the software is crucial, it has to be noted that “computers
don’t analyse data, people do.” (Kvale, 2007a: 8)

3.3.2 Interviews (transcribing and coding)

Following the literature review, interviews also enter the process of grouping and coding, and
“their meaning is reduced to a few simple categories” (Kvale, 2007b: 6). This helps in
understanding the patterns and similarities between different answers and their relevance to the
topic (see Appendix). The coding procedure takes place simultaneously with the data collection

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(Kvale 2007c: 15). By entering the interviews soon, the researcher can identify and make
preliminary assumptions that might be useful in grasping the main concepts and predict the
pattern of the following discussions. Transcribing and coding fragments with titles and
comments allow a “more systematic conceptualisation of a statement’’ (Kvale, 2007b: 5). In
other words, if a given interview does not provide enough (relevant) data, there is still time to
reflect on what should change, be it in the questions or the interviewees. As Kvale (2007a: 4)
adds, researchers “learn about their interviewing style” and interviewing becomes a learning
process.

The questions are relevant to the impact of social narratives. The recent war and the
consequences are evident in the questions about the personal psychological effect. The impact
of narratives circulating in the media can also be questioned by asking participants about their
views, impressions, or reactions to the message of such descriptions. The various answers
were coded and categorised according to the timeframes (see the interview guide, included in
the Appendix).

3.4 Considerations

3.4.1 Ethics

“Researchers have the moral obligation to uphold the highest ethical standard” (Wa-Mbaleka,
2019: 117), which means to obey the rules of qualitative research and adhere to the moral
limitations that are required. In-depth interviews and participant observation are challenging
techniques, while most of the ethical dilemmas that emerge, according to Clifford et al. (2016:
10), focus on “participation, consent, confidentiality/safeguarding personal information.” The
post-war situation in Armenia involves even more ethical dilemmas, such as the line between
academic research interest versus sensitivity and accessibility. The researcher’s role and
presence might be uncomfortable in specific social environments. He should refrain from
over-investigating a topic for the sake of the analysis by mentally harming the participants (by
addressing sensitive issues, being overcritical, judgemental). Such aspects become problematic
for the reliability and validity of this research (Anderson et al., 2002:10). As mentioned,
participants had the opportunity to withdraw at any time from the interview and the entire study.

3.4.2 Research limitations

The questions might have been sensitive (although this was never the researcher’s intention).
In this case, while collecting stories of those who experienced the war, directly and indirectly, we
might not receive the ‘right answers.’ This problem is generated both by the topic itself and the
fact that the war ended only recently. Such research might lead to the ‘ambulance-chasing
fallacy’, which takes advantage of a very topical issue to produce results. It is also expected to
make people more interested in these findings (Della Porta & Keating, 2008: 268). Even though
the subject is topical, the research question addresses a recent event linked to the past, with
pre-existing narratives.

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Another constraint that significantly affected the research (especially the fieldwork observation)
was the research period, from February to July 2021. Firstly, although the war and its
consequences are part of the leading research question, it is at the same time an impediment
that creates political instability. Fake news, scams, and people from abroad were trying to
extract personal information (Kucera, 2021). The option to conduct online interviews is not
favourable as the young Armenians’ hesitancy and suspicion were prevalent. Being in the place
was necessary but complicated, given the following limitation.

The Covid-19 global pandemic implied financial costs and a re-organisation of the plan. Flight
cancellations and the health rules made it harder to approach respondents for a
person-to-person interview. However, all necessary precautions were strictly followed, thus
conducting this research became a real challenge. Nevertheless, the advantages of obtaining
research skills, observing the Armenian society, interacting with locals, and having on-spot
conversations outweighed the drawbacks.

During the fieldwork observation, we tried to expand the research to Nagorno

Karabakh/Artsakh. Applying to the Embassy of Nagorno Karabakh in Yerevan was simple, yet
not a promising option. The press office warned tourists not to visit the region given the security
risks, and we were also informed about the strong possibility of rejection. The first time the
application was for tourist reasons. A week later, it was rejected, and the embassy was
informed again, this time with the basis for research conduct. After several days of emailing and
providing the Embassy of Nagorno Karabakh with every detail (even the interview guide), the
application was again rejected by June 28.

3.4.3 Reliability

Joppe (cited by Golafshani, 2003: 598) defines reliability as “the extent to which results are
consistent over time and an accurate representation of the total population under study [...] If
the results of a study can be reproduced under a similar methodology, then the research
instrument is considered to be reliable.” We need to understand how our results are equivalent
to reality; thus, we should evaluate the credibility of our outputs. Proofreading and transcribing
the interviews strengthen the reliability and the correctness of the context. It can be perceived
as a quick “reliability check” (Kvale, 2007a: 7). The interviews conducted in June 2021 give an
in-depth insight into the participants’ perceptions, which cannot be generalised without caution.
Nevertheless, such data provide valuable information for the case study. To form a reliable
sample that would be in line with a proportional representation (so that some conclusions and
remarks could be drawn), a calculation of who would be willing to participate was necessary by
asking people of different ages, gender, educational backgrounds and geographical regions.
Although such a model is suitable for other similar studies of post-war societies, we cannot
claim transferability because the answers are only based on recent events. While the current
context indicates a post-war society, the very same answers and data might not be appropriate
in the future. Such a limit affects the ‘topicality’ of our findings. Still, these limitations do not
necessarily decrease the overall reliability, as the research is directed at a limited target group
in Armenia over a specific timeframe.

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In practical matters, all the data can be confirmed by audio and visual material collected during
the fieldwork. Although fieldwork for only a limited period might not be as reliable (Anderson et
al., 2002:11), it is still worthwhile considering its benefits to the researcher, who will ‘filter’ the
data later on. The sources collected are accurately verified and cited (Leung, 2015), while
notes, pictures, and videos of the participant observation might also increase the reliability of
this thesis.

3.4.4 Validity

Validity cannot be reached without ensuring reliability because “validity determines whether the
research truly measures that which it was intended to measure” (Joppe cited by Golafshani,
2003: 599). The main research question was to understand the influence of social narratives on
the youth. By asking people with different backgrounds, the reliability of the answers gives us
the confidence to claim validity, as the arguments are based on several interviews. The insights
answer the central question in various ways, showing how narratives affect(ed) their identity.
MAXQDA is a credible tool that nicely organises the answers. Validity is supported by the
combination of interviews, academic and journal articles, surveys, and fieldwork research. This
mixed methodology reaches the ‘appropriateness’ to answer the main research question
(Leung, 2015). Once again, confidence that data are valid because of a coherent and
comprehensive methodology does not mean that inaccuracies or fallacies do not occur.
Moreover, generalisation of the data cannot be expected, for Armenia nor for other cases,
because the number of interviews and the sources used are not adequate for such a claim.
Nevertheless, they provide opinions and beliefs that answer the topic.

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4. Historical background of Armenia and Nagorno
Karabakh

4.1 Introduction

Armenians are closely identified with their land and their roots. They say, “we are our
mountains” (Kasparian: 2001), pointing at their historical and mythological significance.
Present-day Armenians praise their homeland, referring to numerous chronological events that
shaped and (re-)formed their national identity, the ‘Armenia-ness’. To hold an identity first
requires an understanding of its historical value. “Personal experiences become meaningful by
acquiring collective significance, and collective meanings resonate in members’ personal lives.”
(Katriel, 2012: 5) Therefore, identity is dynamic and undergoes several historical processes at
the collective level.

This chapter addresses a historical sequence of events that shaped present-day Armenian
identity, both in Armenia and Nagorno Karabakh (Artsakh). As the recent war requires a more
profound comprehension of its regional history, we will detect remarkable moments that
significantly influenced the flow of history. This synopsis will question how narratives of the past
are still active today and how memories have been crucial in the psyche of the war for
independence and a nationalist build-up. History is a powerful tool in comprehending people’s
collective behaviour. As the state’s inception, we analyse the struggle of formation, competition,
and consolidation of ancient powers in the South Caucasus and the Armenian Genocide. Based
on this chapter, the reader will know more about the topic before analysing the war of 2020.

4.2 Embracing primordialism: is it valid?

Every modern nation-state has an identity that usually traces back to ancient tribes, kingdoms,
and empires. While such identities are newly invented and constructed (Hobsbawm & Ranger,
1992), they are essential in sustaining social cohesion and time endurance. Primordialism in
nations entails an identity fixed and originating back in time, static and solid, “useful in reviewing
the analytical framework for the study of nationalism and ethnicity” (Coakley, 2017: 328). The
Armenian national identity is old, and one could claim the authenticity and autochthony of
Armenians on primordial assumptions. Yet, such claims are contemporary constructions,
purposely invented to justify the right of ownership to, in this case, Nagorno Karabakh. This long
chronology has strengthened in-group identification for citizens in the country, Nagorno
Karabakh and the diaspora.

Armenia is a landlocked country comprising 29,743 km2 and a population of 2,954,000 (2020),
located in a mountainous plateau, bordering Turkey, Georgia, Azerbaijan and Iran (Howe et al.,
2021). It used to be part of a greater kingdom that was incrementally wicked, resulting in today’s
small land. Historians place Armenians as descendants of Urartians (9th century B.C.), who
settled along the upper Euphrates and west Caspian Sea (Chahin, 2001: 45). According to

29
religious tales and specifically the Book of Genesis, Armenians are considered the offspring of
Noah’s son Hayk, who rested his ark on mount Ararat (O’Lear & Whiting 2008: 190; Petrosyan,
2001, 278). Such references make Armenians ‘ancient,’ facilitating the construction of
primordialism. Nevertheless, historical documents show that Armenia has existed in the region
for a long time. In the subsequent centuries, “Armenia has historically been both the victim and
the beneficiary of rival empires” (Suny, 1993: 1), such as Arabs, Ottomans, Russians, Persians
and Mongols (Masih & Krikorian, 1999). Their Christian faith was why Armenia prevailed and
attained a robust and distinguished identity at this geographical crossroads.

Map 6. Ancient Armenia, c. 600 BC - c. 1100 ( Chahin, 2001: 16-17)

Christianity is almost synonymous with Armenian identity. In the year 301, Armenia became the
first nation in the world to adopt the new religion. “At that time, the blessed world of Armenia
became wonderful” (Abrahamian, 2001: 52). The new-build Christian churches replaced the old
pagan temples, and the use of local raw materials (stones and soil) was a metaphor for being
“as solid as the mountain” (Petrosyan, 2001, 46). Mount Ararat had always been their holy
mountain, just as Olympus to ancient Greece. This substantial change during the fourth century
was a factor that helped build national consciousness, and religious nationalism worked as a
shield against external threats (Guroian, 1994: 4). Myths derived from historical events also
were (and still are) included in many parts of the public sphere. For instance, in the battle of
Avarayr, Armenians – threatened by the Sassanid Zoroastrian army (modern-day Iran) –
managed to preserve their Christianity (Joulfayan, 2018). Textual narratives (stories, myths)
referring to this seminal event are still used and reproduced in Armenia today, to remind the
ancient primordial allocations to increase self-esteem. “Drenched in emotional content,
mythologies familiarise the unfamiliar and give social groups confidence to deal with innovation
and change.” (Jovchelovitch, 2012: 448) Be they real or not, exaggerated or misleading, myths
have helped the Armenian nation to survive.

30
Despite the strong affiliation with the Armenian Apostolic Church, Armenians today may refer to
other national elements that support their argument of ‘cultural uniqueness’. In 405, Saint
Mesrop Mashtots created the first Armenian alphabet, contributing to the writing of the first
religious manuscripts in Armenian and the development of the literature (Masih & Krikorian,
1999: xxi). On the hillsides of Mount Aragats, where he is buried, there is a monument depicting
all of the first 36 Armenian letters (Patowary, 2017). This monument preserves a narrative of the
combination of literature and religion under a linguist who became Saint. The “wonderful” time
that was achieved by adopting Christianity, as mentioned above, now made Armenia “religiously
and culturally independent” (Joulfayan, 2018). To a certain extent, all this explains the mission
of Armenians to preserve their identity, in contrast to the predominant Muslim neighbours.

For Armenians, Artsakh is an intrinsic part of their national heritage. One of the main arguments
for Armenians against Azerbaijani claims is based on the ancient monasteries in the region.
Each nation is alternately perceived as “newcomers”‘ (Novikova, 2012: 552). Azerbaijanis claim
to be indigenous to ancient Albania (not to be confused with Albania in Europe), a kingdom with
a distinct language, stretching to present-day Azerbaijan (Geukjian, 2016: 27) though they have
Turkic origins. Regarding Nagorno Karabakh, one might think that this old animosity and
incompatibility on who owns the land led to the flare-up in the 1990s. Paradoxically, primordial
enmity does not exist, neither does “ancient hatred” (De Waal, 2013: 241). For a long period of
time, Armenians and Azerbaijanis lived peacefully, usually in neighbouring villages, and
sometimes even in mixed families in cities with large groups of both nationalities, such as Baku
(Rumyantsev & Huseynova, 2018: 913). In other words, primordial claims are simply evasions
that justify current agendas and ‘ownership rights.’ The origins of the Nagorno Karabakh war
were instead a product of the contemporary formation of the present-day states of Armenia and
Azerbaijan (Hopmann, 2015: 173). Armenian peasants referred to the word dost (of Turkish
origin) to their Azerbaijani neighbours (Mikaelian, 2017: 20). Nowadays, such a word does not
exist in social narratives.

4.3 The Armenian Genocide: Trauma and victimhood

“To experience a great trauma is to remember things vividly [...] I don’t remember anything from
when I was four, but my grandmother remembers all this very clearly,” Murat said, cited by
(Beukian 2015:16). This segment refers to the Armenian Genocide, a narrative, or better:
storytelling. Earlier experiences are stored, and traumas are transmitted and internalised. The
witnesses do not narrate these stories, but their descendants do. They illustrate how powerful
narratives can be. What happened in 1915, and how did the Genocide become ‘time zero’ for
every Armenian today?

During the final years of the ruling Ottoman Empire and the subsequent uprising of the Young
Turks in the leadership of the new state of Turkey, political and social instability was prevalent,
mainly caused by the First World War. Furthermore, the Ottoman Empire had experienced great
defeats by the alliance of the Balkan states (during the first and second Balkan war), which
eliminated the Turkish regime almost entirely from the Balkan peninsula. The Young Turks,
humiliated by the defeat, were prompted to reform and restore the new state’s territorial
sovereignty and political integrity. Out of fear of further loss, or one more war with Russia, the
Turkish authorities were worried about a possible Armenian (Christian) minority uprising. The
31
blame for the defeat of Enver Pasha at the battle of Sarikamish with Russians was put on
Armenians and their “treacherous behaviour behind the front line” (Masih & Krikorian, 1999:
xxv). It is unclear whether this was an interpretation by the Turkish authorities or a grounded
concern. The instability, along with increased suspicions, pushed Armenians further away from
the central authority. Harsh nationalistic and linguistic discrimination against the Armenians
(Tatz, 2019: 383) followed, under the guise of national emergency; minorities were suspected to
be allied with the invader, perceived as a liberator (Robertson, 2009: 18).

On April 24, 1915, Armenian intellectuals were persecuted in Istanbul, marking the beginning of
the Armenian Genocide. Other massacres had occurred decades before, such as the
massacres of 1884-96 by Sultan Abdülhamid II (Masih & Krikorian, 1999: xxiii, Schwanitz, 2021:
106; Howe et al., 2021). This was one of the most notable acts of the ‘Turkification project’,
which aimed at the annihilation of Armenians by “mass burnings, drownings and asphyxiation at
desert camps” (Robertson, 2009: 16). Large parts of the national heritage, such as churches
and schools, were destroyed, along with the property of the locals (Suny, 2021; Vakfi, n.d.).
Most of the victims were deported to southern Anatolia, to the Syrian desert of Deir Ez Zor;
many Armenians dying of starvation and diseases (Tatz, 2019: 384; Howe et al., 2021). Mass
raping of women and girls, as well as suicides, were also documented. The Turkification plan
aimed at a new, purely Turkish nation within the new state of Turkey. Even in 1921,
“de-Armenization and destruction of the Armenian heritage” was reported in Nakhichevan
(Novikova, 2012: 557), while those who survived were forcibly converted to Islam to avoid
persecutions (Robertson, 2009: 14). Foreign witnesses – journalists and politicians – told the
story; the Sydney Morning newspaper published more than fifty articles on the atrocities (Tatz,
2019: 381), while the American ambassador Morgenthau shared the news along with the first
survivors/refugees (Tatz, 2019: 387).

Image 1: Victims of the Armenian Genocide, captured by Henry Morgenthau (Morgenthau, 1918)

Contemporary testimonies are powerful, emotionally loaded that can last for generations. For
Beukian (2015:18), “it is not surprising that the traumatic memories of the Genocide continue to

32
shape the national identity of Armenians.” Storytelling and national narratives have contributed.
Many people have heard of Aurora Mardiganian, the “Anne Frank of the Armenian Genocide”
(National Post, 2014). Aurora’s testimony describes and witnesses the atrocities (Slide, 2014).
The movie ‘Auction of Souls’’ was also produced to depict the events, including a notorious (and
controversial) ‘crucifixion scene’ (Brault, 2016). Although some argue the Hollywood frenzy
exploited Aurora, such powerful images constantly penetrate people’s consciousness.

Image 2: ‘Auction of Souls’ (The Armenian Genocide Museum, Yerevan, Armenia, 19/06/2021)

As more stories were published, commemoration days multiplied, and school textbooks and the
media reproduced the facts. The stories relate to two sisters who split a heavy Armenian book
(28 kg) and carried it on their shoulders (Petrosyan, 2001: 279). Another story refers to an
Armenian rug (an essential symbol for Armenians, with a long tradition) from a family that split it
apart and saved their two children. After decades, the two siblings found each other again and
stitched the carpet together. This visual narrative is part of an exhibition in the Megerian Carpet
Museum of Yerevan (Megerian Carpet Armenia, 2021). These stories have the same aura as
fairy tales. They engage every Armenian in cultural survival (the carpet and the book that
everyone has at home are obviously metaphors).

Up till today, 31 countries have recognised the Armenian Genocide (Armenian National Institute,
2021), the most striking one being the recent recognition by US President Biden (Roger & Gall,
2021). The persistent Armenian policy looking for international recognition does not stop until
Turkey shows some form of empathy. However, the Turkish stance on the issue has always
been non-negotiable. Nevertheless, a minor shift has taken place over the last decades, from
absolute and total denial to acknowledging at least some casualties as part of a broader war
(Dixon, 2015). The Turkish authorities are unlikely to take any further steps, as the claims of
Armenians regarding a possible recognition might entail territorial claims too (Dixon, 2015). The
Armenian Genocide is at the heart of the social narrative of victimisation, sacrifice, survival, and
trauma. They make up the “uniqueness of the nation” (Beukian, 2015:17)

33
Image 3: Inside the Armenian Genocide Memorial, with the 12 slabs, each representing the lost regions;
while entering, people lower their heads to walk down the stairs and pay tribute to the victims
(Hill of Tsitsernakaberd, Yerevan, Armenia, 19/06/2021)

While such events are always controversial and subject to scepticism, the Armenian Genocide
did not achieve the expected ‘popularity’. Years later, in 1939, the instigator of the Holocaust,
Hitler, declared: “Who, after all, speaks today of the annihilation of the Armenians?” (Nolte,
2008) Had this Genocide ‘inspired’ Hitler? Whatever the case, the available data reveal more
than simply war casualties of Armenians (Masih & Krikorian, 1999; Slide, 2014; De Waal, 2013;
Schwanitz, 2021; Petrosyan, 2001; Howe et al., 2021). According to estimates, the first
Genocide of the 20th century resulted in 1 to 1.5 million victims (Schwanitz, 2021: 106). The
magnitude of this event traumatised the first generation, but the following ones also adopted it.

Image 4: Hitler’s quote (The Armenian Genocide Museum, Yerevan, Armenia, 19/06/2021)

34
4.4 Soviet era: commonality?

During the Soviet period, Armenia underwent a smooth transition, where all the narratives were
slowly but steadily cultivated within the society, yet not openly manifested. Once the borders
and the territorial integrity were secured, Armenians entered a post-traumatic frame. However,
the boundaries of the new S.S.R. of Azerbaijan and those of Nagorno Karabakh were a
constant discomfort for Armenians. Initially, during the early 1920s, Azerbaijani leadership
accepted the transfer of the oblasts of Zangezur (present-day Syunik) and Nakhichevan into
Armenia. However, this decision was soon withdrawn (Cornell, 1997: 2). The Nagorno
Karabakh Autonomous Oblast (NKAO), inhabited mainly by Armenians, was formed as an
enclave within the S.S.R. of Azerbaijan without bordering Armenia (see Map 7 & 8). Stalin
preferred “to leave Nagorno-Karabakh within the borders of Azerbaijan’s Soviet Socialist
Republic.” (Companjen, 2010:11) It was more than just a decision. Separating two Turkic
nations (Turkey and Azerbaijan) by granting the corridor of Zangezur to Armenia, thus bordering
with Iran, benefited both landlocked Armenia and Moscow’s role in its southern borders
(Kuburas, 2011:48). Another reason for the S.S.R. of Azerbaijan to hold on to Nagorno
Karabakh and the Nakhichevan exclave was due to its comparatively higher loyalty to the
communist regime. The Armenian political elite had been more loyal to the recently overthrown
Tsar (Kuburas, 2011).

Map 7: SSR of Azerbaijan and NKAO 1928

(Азербайджанская Социалистическая Советская Республика. Главная, n.d.)

Although Russians did not want to create a unified territory of Turkic nations, they considered
the newly established state of Turkey as an ally because Atatürk, like the Bolsheviks, had a
similar background of ousting old regimes. From that perspective, favouring Azerbaijan instead
of Armenia was preferable (Cornell, 1997: 2). Moreover, the Soviets “wanted to eradicate
nationalism and ethnicity” by investing in the economy (De Waal, 2013: 242). According to
Bačová (1998: 36), the Soviets tried to mix nationalities under a common ideology, as it seemed
to function positively. Peace and security were theoretically guaranteed (Howe et al., 2021), and
Soviet Armenians were friends with Soviet Azerbaijanis (Geukjian, 2016: 93). This multicultural

35
melting pot was a project that tried to promote peace “by fusing different ethnicities’’ (De Waal,
2013: 242).

Map 8: Changes in the borders of Nagorno Karabakh (Saparov, 2010: 316)

Figure 2: Percentage of Armenians and Azerbaijanis (Azeris) in Nagorno Karabakh

(Nagorno-Karabakh Republic USSR / Communist party, 2019)

36
Nevertheless, residents of Nagorno Karabakh soon felt the need for change and unification with
Armenia. During the 1980s, the Armenian majority complained about discrimination by the
Azerbaijani authorities. The living standards were lower than in Armenia, and Baku massively
exploited the natural resources in exchange for a few local investments (Melander, 2001:51).
The Armenian language was widely used in NKAO, and it pushed the region more in the
direction of Armenia (De Waal, 2013: 242). Yet, since the 1920s, the main economic link was
with Baku (Geukjian, 2016), as, at least during the first years, there was no single road
connecting the region with Armenia (Saparov, 2010: 321). As narratives of the Armenian
Genocide increased, monuments were erected in Nagorno Karabakh and Armenia, “despite the
resistance of the authorities” (Neyzi & Kharatyan-Araqlyan, 2010: 85). Younger generations
inherited the traumas and were calling for the restoration of justice and honour. Artsakh was the
place where Armenians could focus on restoring their ancient reputation. Several attempts and
petitions to Moscow looking for unification – in 1945, 1965, 1967, and 1977 – were rejected
(Novikova, 2012: 553). As the Soviet Union spiralled into a crisis, eventually leading up to the
total breakdown of the state, political and religious movements emerged. In 1980, the Church
mobilised Armenian nationalism in Nagorno Karabakh (Guroian, 1994: 5), and in 1988 the
so-called Karabakh Committee was founded.

Image 5: ‘We are our mountains’ monument in Stepanakert, Nagorno Karabakh (Richter, 2020)

A couple of years before the final disintegration of the USSR, protests and clashes erupted in
Yerevan. The Karabakh Committee was mainly focused on anti-Soviet narratives, “where
Armenia didn’t need a protector, nor did it exclude the possibility of living in peace with Turkey
to its west and Azerbaijan to its east” (Cheterian, 2018: 889). This paradoxical narrative
engages with the need for self-determination for Armenians. The inaccurate ethnic division
made by the Soviets and the creation of social hierarchy based on ethnic identity were the

37
reason why the first Nagorno Karabakh war erupted (Cheterian, 2018: 888). The leading cause
was the Soviet Union, and therefore the “dominant atmosphere was anti-Soviet, not
anti-Turkish” (Cheterian, 2018: 892). According to Geukjian (2016: 80), “it is reasonable to
assume that Soviet ethno-territorial federalism treated national identities as nations to stress the
primordial relationship of people with its homeland.” Warfare was around the corner.

4.5 The first war of Nagorno Karabakh: Pride and vindication

“It is the nation that needs the state more than the state needs the nation” (O’Lear & Whiting
2008: 188), was clear for Armenians in the upper Karabakh, comprising 74% of the population
as of 1987 (Melander, 2001:50). They were stateless. Novikova (2012: 554) calls it an
“ethnopolitical intra-state war” between Armenian secessionists and Azerbaijan. Armenia
offered military support to the region. It started with demonstrations in Yerevan where a million
citizens protested (Cornell, 1997: 5) and demolished Soviet statues. The political focus (mainly
on Moscow) turned into violence of the newly formed states (Cheterian, 2018: 890). Since the
first demonstrations, it took about four years for a full-scale war to erupt – against the
background of the security dilemma on whether Russia would intervene and, if so, on whose
side. (Melander, 2001: 57).

Image 6: Demolishing Soviet statues in Yerevan in the late 1980s (Haroutounian, 2015)

It is interesting to see how dominant narratives change so quickly during a crisis. Armenians
were calling for self-determination and unification with Nagorno Karabakh. Azerbaijanis were
doing the same, but simultaneously claiming Nagorno Karabakh as an officially recognised part

38
of their territorial integrity (O’Lear & Whiting 2008: 187). Azerbaijani radio reported the death of
two Azerbaijani in Askeran, Nagorno Karabakh, due to demonstrations against the local
council’s decision on unification (Melander, 2001:58; Cornell, 1997: 5). As a result, protests in
the streets of Baku and other major cities in Azerbaijan erupted. Earlier, in 1988, in Sumgait and
other towns, pogroms against Armenians took place as well (Panossian, 2001: 145), which
forced them to flee. In addition, Azerbaijanis pointed at discriminatory incidents inside Nagorno
Karabakh, where a new nationalist committee of Armenian intellectuals was formed in response
to the political turbulence (Kuburas, 2011). In both countries, tensions increased, and minorities
were targeted and harassed. The enemy was no longer the Soviet Union, but rather the two
respective countries. In Armenia, Azerbaijanis were perceived as “Barbarian Turks” (Cornell,
1997: 6).

The first prime minister of the independent state of Armenia, Manukyan, stated that “Sumgait
influenced us very strongly [...] it was like putting salt on our wounds. We already had
complexes linked with the 1915 Genocide [...] and Sumgait made us understand that the Soviet
Union provided no guarantee against new massacres” (Cheterian, 2018: 893). Following an
earthquake hitting northwest Armenia, resulting in the death of 50,000 people (Hauer, 2021), a
national emergency was looming on the horizon. Protests, inflation, emigration, unemployment
and poverty increased dramatically in the newly independent state. “Armenians bitterly joked
that they had achieved the distinction of becoming the first republic to go from the space age to
the Stone Age” (Dudwick, 1997, cited by Haroutounian, 2015).

This time, Armenians seemed to be determined to reverse their destiny. In 1989, the National
Council of NKAO and the Supreme Council of the Armenian S.S.R. decided on unification
(Novikova, 2012: 553). A subsequent referendum showed an overwhelming majority favouring
secession from the USSR and the S.S.R. of Azerbaijan, respectively (Novikova, 2012: 554).
Violent conflict sporadically erupted in Stepanakert, Baku, and Yerevan while both sides
approached the mountainous Karabakh. After the start of the war in 1993, Turkey closed its
borders in support of Azerbaijan (Cheterian, 2018: 892). Armenia seemed isolated, both
geographically and politically, yet the national front and pride flourished under this oppression.

It was not a conflict for socio-economic reasons but rather focusing on national identity (De
Waal, 2013: 241). Each side generated their narratives, claiming primordial continuity and
autochthony that would reasonably justify their intention to fight. In Nagorno Karabakh, or
Artsakh (Արցախ) for Armenians, the first Armenian language school was built in the Martuni
region (Kuburas, 2011: 46). At the same time, many Azerbaijani writers and poets originated
from Nagorno Karabakh, or Qarabağ for Azerbaijanis (Geukjian, 2016: 40). The battle of
Shushi/a was significant, given its geostrategic location (due to the possibility to overlook the
area). In May 1992, Armenians managed to capture the city, and the centre of a predominant
Azerbaijan population living in the city came to an end (Panossian, 2001: 153).

“Deep cultural differences in language and religion, a history of intense conflict with
accompanying myths, and an exclusive ethnic conception of the nation combined to give rise to
a strong willingness among Azeris and Armenians to contest the constitutional status of
Nagorno-Karabakh by force if necessary.” (Melander, 2001: 55) As Armenians went on, they
conquered almost the entire oblast of the former NKAO and seven peripheral regions that
served as a buffer zone with the Armenian mainland. In 1994 the war ended with the Bishkek
protocol, a ceasefire agreement designating the demarcation of the frontline (Map 9). The costs
39
of the war were high; approximately 20,000 deaths, 350,000 Armenian refugees, and 750,000
internally displaced people in Azerbaijan (Hopmann, 2015: 173). The former frontline became
the ‘meeting point’ of the two sides, resulting in a well-known ‘neither peace nor war’ situation,
with Russia being the primary mediator (Novikova, 2012: 552).

Map 9: Nagorno Karabakh and the occupied territories from the first war (De Waal 2013)

Back in Armenia, the victory brought a new sense of justice, a narrative of vindication. For
many, winning the war was an indication that Armenians “were not forever destined to be
victims” (Hauer, 2021). Although most scholars focus on the war and its origins (be they faults
and mistakes made during the Soviet era) and the use of primordial claims, few publications link
it with the Armenian Genocide. In our thesis, the narratives are usually considered as a tool for
human action. Narratives express humility, generosity, and manhood. They admire the strength
on the battlefield, but only a few acknowledge the role of women, who suffered the most,
especially in the Genocide (Beukian, 2015: 19). Getting married to a Turkish person and
converting to Islam was the ultimate chance for survival. Witnessing the atrocities and living
with the trauma is more painful than death. Women in the first Nagorno Karabakh war
“organised the fronts to fight, volunteered as equal to men” (Beukian, 2015: 19).

Interestingly, women were the transmitters of these traumas produced in the Nagorno Karabakh
war 75 years later. Another connection to the collective trauma from 1915 that emerged in the
late 1980s was the fear of repetition. Political narratives of the time “further fixed the
catastrophe and loss in the Armenian historical memory” (Novikova, 2012: 557). Armenians
need to protect their people and the last frontier of Armenian-ness. Christianity, suspended

40
during Soviet times, emerged as an additional narrative of national cohesion. The ancient fear
of being blocked to the west by Turkey, attacked in the east by Azerbaijan and claiming
independence from Russia (USSR) to the north made Armenians vulnerable. This exposure
should be rapidly filled by a solid element that would unite Armenians and drive them to a
collective mission. Ishkanian, in 1989 a member of the Karabakh Committee, argued for a
national revolution: “Our path to becoming a sovereign and independent nation will become
barren [...] if we forget our faith, which is being denied by the majority of our nation, we need a
return to Christianity like we need the air.” (Guroian, 1994: 7)

The return to old values and virtues – such as remembering the suffering, self-victimising and
producing the evil image – were dominant narratives in the political and social domain during
the war. “In the Armenian perception, the identification of Soviet Azerbaijan with Ottoman
Turkey was quickly made – however misleading” (Kurkchiyan 2005: 154). Furthermore,
Armenia’s need for territorial integrity led to religious dependence for national identification. This
narrative helped Armenia win the public opinion and the psyche to go to war, along with military
and material supplies from the Russians. Azerbaijanis also adopted narratives similar to
Armenians to support their claims (Cheterian, 2018: 896). Not only were they stressing the need
for territorial integrity and historical affiliation to the region, but the 1992 Khojaly massacre by
Armenians (Kuburas, 2011: 51) was (and still is) the biggest atrocity that took place during the
war (Novikova, 2012: 560). Azerbaijanis address this Khojaly massacre as a genocide
committed by Armenian separatists.

4.6 After the war: a fragile status quo

Nagorno Karabakh became a stalemate between the two countries and third parties. By
occupying 16% of Azerbaijani territory (Garagozov & Gadirova, 2019: 29), the self-declared
Republic of Artsakh – including almost entirely the old NKAO as well as some other Azerbaijani
regions – was not recognised by any country, not even by Armenia (Jarosiewicz & Strachota,
2011: 1). To promote diplomacy and negotiation for conflict resolution, France, Russia and the
United States formed the so-called Minsk Group (Hopmann, 2015: 167). Regardless of the
countless summits and agreements, both countries have adopted extremely opposite views –
with no intention to compromise. Azerbaijan offers “deep autonomy,” while Armenia considers
such autonomy infeasible for the security of the locals (Hopmann, 2015: 171).

It appeared that time favoured Armenia by maintaining a questioned status quo of an

unresolved conflict. Armenia moved from victimisation to superiority. In 2001, President
Kocharian sought Western ‘integration’ by joining the Council of Europe (Howe et al., 2021),
and in 2009 it joined the EU Eastern Partnership. However, talks were on hold (Park, 2014).
Armenia also retained ties with Russia as the most significant ally and in 2014 joined the
Eurasian Economic Union, composed of Russia, Kazakhstan, Belarus and Kyrgyzstan (Tarr,
2016). As a result, the European potential was abolished. The Armenian diaspora has not only
helped financially (O’Lear & Whiting 2008: 192), but large lobby groups, especially in the United
States, succeeded in pushing the topic of the Armenian Genocide and Nagorno Karabakh to the
table of the White House (Zarifian, 2014).

41
The blockade between Turkey and Azerbaijan has severely impacted the Armenian economy. In
2009, the government showed a willingness to a renewed dialogue and reopen the borders with
Turkey (Companjen, 2010: 10). This did not result in a further shift towards Russia. With a
military base in the second largest city of Armenia, Gyumri, Russia directly influences the
country’s military and defence capacity. However, its role has always been perceived with public
scepticism. Both the killing of two men by Russian soldiers in 1999 and the massacre of a
family in 2015 by another soldier in Gyumri resulted in protests against the Russian intervention
in the internal jurisdiction and retribution. Ultimately, Russia allowed the case to be resolved by
the Armenian jurisdiction (Gabrelian, 2017). At the same time, hatred towards Azerbaijanis has
increased, and so has national insecurity. Corruption was widespread, leaving aside the
militarisation of the frontier with Azerbaijan. The path towards economic and social growth,
while recovering from a border blockade and sustaining diplomacy with Russia, in combination
with preserving Nagorno Karabakh, turned out to be a problematic multitask for Armenia.

For Azerbaijan, the post-war process was different. Its oil industry boomed, transforming the
geopolitical status of the country and its population of ten million. By supplying Europe with gas
and oil, Azerbaijan managed to draw attention to Nagorno Karabakh through its economy. While
a “we-they narrative of losers and winners” (with Azerbaijanis being the losers) was generally
adopted (Novikova, 2012: 563), the military expenditures of a boosting economy over the last
years aimed to change the game. Even though Armenia had the upper hand in Nagorno
Karabakh, Azerbaijan’s “orientation toward the West was always in service of two priorities:
maintaining its grip on power and taking back the territory of Nagorno-Karabakh” (Kucera,
2015). The answer was ‘advertisement’. Big venues were hosted, such as the 2012 Eurovision
song contest, the 2015 inaugural European Games, the 2016 Formula 1 European Grand Prix
and the FIFA U-17 Women’s World Cup (Team, L.G.O., 2018). Baku became a significant hub
for Azerbaijani reputation and international diplomatic relations. Yet, the lack of social liberty and
the violation of human rights under an authoritarian regime has been a massive barrier to
sympathising with Azerbaijani claims over Nagorno Karabakh. The present Aliyev regime dates
back to 2003, media propaganda and human rights abuses are occasionally reported, with the
West being perceived as “too soft” (Kucera, 2015).

Figure 3: Military expenditures of Armenia and Azerbaijan (Avetisyan, 2021)

42
In Armenia, the case of Safarov is well-known for depicting the unjustified approach of
Azerbaijan. Safarov was an Azerbaijani soldier who participated in joint NATO activities in
Budapest in 2006. He was sentenced to prison in Hungary for murdering Gurgen Margaryan, an
Armenian soldier who also attended. In 2012 Safarov was sent back to Azerbaijan to continue
his prison term, but – surprisingly – he was welcomed as a hero. This increased the
Armenian-Azerbaijani animosity and had a negative impact on the Armenian-Hungarian
relations and was seen as proof of authoritarianism in Azerbaijan (Howe et al., 2021; Asbarez,
2016).

The next chapter will extensively analyse the prevailing social narratives before and after the
second Nagorno Karabakh war. So far, we have given a brief chronology of events, but we will
include past events and references while analysing the 2020 war in the next chapter. Looking at
the years just before the 2020 war will let us comprehend the new narratives.

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5. Data analysis

5.1 Introduction

This chapter combines data from articles, publications, and surveys with the data collected from
fieldwork participant observation in Armenia and the semi-structured interviews. It aims to
address and showcase the narratives that rule Armenian society and how numerical data and
interviews answer how much influence we observe on the youth.

In order to facilitate our analysis, it is crucial to structure this chapter in a cohesive way that will
allow comparisons and contradictions to arise. Furthermore, a logical analysis sequence is
pursued by grouping the data in time periods (three different sub-chapters), including relevant
themes for the research question.

First, narratives that pre-existed in Armenian society prior to the 2020 Nagorno Karabakh war
are addressed. This part enables a better understanding of the entire concept of the 2020 war.
It also attests to how narratives disappear or remain intact. It is necessary to grasp an idea of
the ‘societal frame’ before the recent war.

The second section focuses on how young Armenians experienced the war. Both their
testimonies and memories are being challenged. By investigating how they endured the war, it
becomes more likely to comprehend behavioural patterns after the war. Traumatic stories,
testimonies from the frontline, and struggle problems are some stories worth mentioning.

Ultimately, the third section answers the research question, facilitated by the previous ones
because the post-war narratives are a product of the war itself and the past. Young Armenians
speak about their everyday lives, plans, concerns, and political and personal views of society
and their future. Recent surveys on public opinion show the impact of the war.

5.2 Ad Bellum narratives

5.2.1 Memories and narratives for identification

To let the participants feel comfortable during the interview, they were asked to describe their
homeland in a few words. It is a rather simple question with several interpretations. Some linked

44
Armenia to mountains and green, while others focused on the current war and emotions such
as disappointment. Genocide is correlated to the inception of the Armenian origin and values,
inherent components of one’s identity. Specific words that briefly explain what a homeland
means to young Armenians comprise narratives too. Although none of them has actual
memories of the war, the ‘recollections’ from the past are solely stories or knowledge
accumulated in their early life. While memory is absent, the speed in which narratives fill the
gap and construct memories is remarkable. “Dangerous memory has two dimensions, that of
hope and that of suffering” (Zembylas & Bekerman, 2008). Words briefly express entire stories
of people who retrieve the positive and people who point to the negative.

The respondent who used the word Genocide mentioned her affiliation with the Armenian
identity:

I always identified myself with Armenians, not from Armenia and not even from Soviet
Armenia [...] My ancestors fled from there [Mus, nowadays located in Turkey] due to the
Genocide. [...] This narrative was always built that we are ‘the generation that has
suffered from the genocide’. I always got related. I felt Armenian in this way.
(Respondent 7)

This respondent was born in Russia, and she had a weak bond with Nagorno Karabakh. For
her, it was the Genocide tale that grew inside her. She adds:

I perceived that I was attacked. When the whole nation has been attacked, you also take
it as a personal attack on yourself. (Respondent 7)

As Hauer, (2021) vividly mentions in his article, “the stories of the Genocide would be passed
down to descendants, imprinting on each generation the tragedy that had occurred – and the
fear of it happening again”. In parallel, according to Novikova (2021: 558), the “victim complex”
of struggle has led Armenians to internalise and invoke the Genocide narrative in regards to a
possible reconciliation (Hopmann, 2015: 174).

Cheterian (2018: 887) refers to the counteractive role of this narrative, achieved “by
perpetuating a destructive legacy and by creating images of eternal enemies”. Additionally, the
church has always been close to the cultivation of a cohesive Armenian loyal identity (Novikova,
2012: 558).

45
 Figure 4: Relationship of Armenia with other countries (Alisauskiene, 2019)

A year before the war, this poll revealed how almost everyone in Armenia evaluated its relations
with Azerbaijan and Turkey in a negative way. The main reasons vary, such as the issue of
Nagorno Karabakh or the (lacking) recognition of the Genocide (among others). Over the last
years, a new liberal nationalism has emerged in Armenia (Guroian, 1994) – a sense of secular
nationalism that invests in preserving the Armenian identity and language, empowering ties with
the diaspora, and launching collective security and territorial integrity initiatives. This policy
could improve the relations with the neighbouring countries, especially Turkey, where the lack of
diplomatic ties derives mainly from historical reasons. Loda (2017) refers to Armenia as “a good
citizen of the international community”. The poll below shows how 51% of the respondents
would approve reopening the borders with Turkey.

Figure 5: Opinions on opening the border with Turkey (Caucasus Research Resource Center, 2015)

The most prominent concerns among Armenians were external security and regional stability.
Such beliefs were explicit in pre-war society. In the Armenian Genocide Memorial on the hill of
Tsitsernakaberd, a young Armenian shared his concern. ‘Danger is still here [referring to

46
Turkey], and so we cannot forget. I hope one day we will not need this memorial, but now we
do’. Insecurity was bolstered after the war, but it has to be pointed out that it was always
present. “Turks and Armenians and the way they see each other constitute two clinical cases:
Armenians with their trauma, Turks with their paranoia” (De Waal, 2021).

While the ‘Turkish paranoia’ is beyond the scope of this research, the Armenian trauma has
plausible reasons to survive. A young teacher from Hadrut in Nagorno Karabakh invited us to
her house for an interview. She found shelter in Charentsavan near Yerevan. In her opinion,
understanding trauma does not only apply to remembering the atrocities, but to the entire
lifespan.

My childhood memories and mentality are all formed and based on post-war Artsakh
[referring to the first war]. Of course, we had thousands of losses. There was no family
untouched by the tragedy. But let me try to explain this to you. We lived in our victorious
motherlands. Although my childhood in Artsakh has been very challenging, regardless of
the personal tragedy in my family, I can say I had a happy childhood. I never felt that I
had lost [materially] anything. I remember my childhood to be careless and happy.
(Respondent 5)

Another respondent from the Kapan region, in the south, adds:

Our fathers lost their blood for Artsakh. We lost so much blood because of it. I think we
should not give it to them [Azerbaijanis]. (Respondent 6)

Such personal connections with their homeland indicate the following. Neither remembering the
trauma nor the victim complex shape the Armenian identity per se. For young Armenians, the
victory frame embraced their beliefs at the expense of the lack of personal memories. The issue
of trauma and Genocide was pointed at in our interview with the respondent born in Russia, but,
unlike the previous two respondents, this was not her priority.

Respondent 2 left the city of Vanadzor and moved to Kalbajar in Nagorno Karabakh. She
mentions how she built a strong connection to her new home:

Vanadzor is far from Artsakh, and we didn’t have any connections to Artsakh at all. I just
started to study the Artsakh war and the conflicts when I was at university in the first
year. It was the first time I knew that we had some disputed territories. I didn’t know
about Kalbajar, Hadrut, Shushi. [...] I started to meet people who knew more about it.
(Respondent 2)

It shows that association with Armenia or Nagorno Karabakh is not a fixed collective narrative,
but rather a personal connection. Identifying with the region was either a personal tragedy, a
family story, a study object or a reference to the old origins. Therefore, narratives tend to relate
people with the region, but the lack of memories plays a significant role in its meaning.

But who are the narrators, and how do we connect situations with faces? The next part will
delve more into family stories and how textual and audio narratives impacted young Armenians
prior to the 2020 war.

47
 In reality, history is created out of several characters. Thanks to them I have some
knowledge. One of them is my history teacher; another is my uncle, the hero who died in
the war. It’s the first time I think about this. Yes, through these specific persons, I
understand the war. (Respondent 8)

5.2.2 Family stories, personal narratives

It was like a movie for me. I thought that, yes, they were brave. They were protecting
their land. But it was too far. You listen to this story, but you think it will never happen in
reality. You don’t feel it was real, but rather a fairy tale. (Respondent 9)

Likewise, respondent 7 mentioned the importance of stories from the Armenian Genocide, as
told by her grandparents or uncle.

I heard the stories when he [uncle] was a student going to the demonstration at schools
and saying ‘Karabakh nash’ (Karabakh is ours). (Respondent 7)

The theoretical framework specifies that storytelling loaded with emotions, tricks, and touching
plots (be they exaggerated or not) impacts the receiver and is hard to ‘escape’. “Family history
becomes oral history when the storyteller becomes a participant or even an actor in the given
events” (Neyzi & Kharatyan-Araqlyan, 2010: 84). Some respondents had family members who
were part of the first war; respondents therefore talk about ‘their experience in the war’ through
the lenses of their beloved ones.

A refugee from Nagorno Karabakh shares her family story:

The war lasted four years, and naturally, we had many memories and stories linked to
the war. My father’s family lived in Sumgait (Azerbaijan). During the 1988 pogroms that
started there, my grandfather was burned alive. [...] This story of my family, the tragedy
that happened to us, makes me feel more obliged to become a better citizen for my
country. I don’t know how to express my thoughts. My lifestyle has always been different
from ordinary people’s lifestyle because of my family history, which was also different.
And I’m obliged to remember that, during my everyday life, with my actions.
(Respondent 5)

A survey by CRRC conducted in Nagorno Karabakh in early 2020 illustrates how people like our
respondents position their region. Although many, if not everyone, in Armenia, indicate that
people in Nagorno Karabakh and Armenia are the same nation, most locals would disagree with
unification with Armenia, as the following graph shows.

48
 Figure 6: Opinions on unification with Armenia (Bakke, 2020)

“Memories of the personal tragedies of people [...] became topics of public debate for several
years, and of course, they were no longer as personal or unique. [...] the current views of young
people are more collective and social compared to the opinions of previous generations” (Neyzi
& Kharatyan-Araqlyan, 2010: 90). For young Armenians identifying themselves as victims
seems to fade away. Nevertheless, the power of storytelling (in family and public) prevents them
from forgetting or misinterpreting old narratives. For example, one of our respondents, who lived
just two kilometres from the Azerbaijani border in the northern region of Tavush, mentioned how
stories from his family and community made him more ‘active’:

I have learnt how to use weapons since I was a child. I knew what I should do if the war
started. War was normal for me. (Respondent 4)

It is also spatially evident how the war and the eagerness are interpreted in the various regions
of Armenia. The following map displays how the borderline areas are less willing to make
territorial concessions with Azerbaijan:

Map 10. The level of readiness for territorial concessions in the conflict area by province
(Mikaelian, 2017:15)

49
Stories also include parts that participants relate with. The young psychotherapist from Goris,
another region on the border of Armenia and Nagorno Karabakh, responds to reports from his
family:

A very romantic and heroic story in all its ways [...] My uncle died while saving his
friend’s life. Whenever they tell me this story, I feel chills in my body, and I understand
that whatever you hear during your childhood and touches your feelings stays forever.
(Respondent 8)

Respondent 6 from Kapan, also in the Syunik region, talks about a very specific person, his
father, affirming that a story needs a central protagonist. The closer the main character is to
reality and the listener, the stronger the impact.

My father also joined the first war. I will talk a bit more on a personal level. [...] He is now
in a psychiatric hospital [...] He was not afraid of the Azerbaijani soldiers. He became
sick because his close friends were lying dead on the ground next to him. It’s my father’s
experience, and he said it to me. (Respondent 6)

Both stories relate to the early youth, a period that inevitably shapes the attitude and the way
young people perceive their environment. It is the moment when they start questioning
numerous topics, like the war. It was surprising how most of the respondents cited ‘pride’
among their answers during these interviews. “National pride is also shaped by individuals. [...]
across countries, national pride declines with generation”. (Smith & Jarkko, 1998: 18). However,
according to our early findings, we question whether national pride decays. Although the young
Armenians might not feel as much pride as their parents, the insecurity and the fear of a new
war evoke national pride to motivate and boost inter-individual and national unity. Pride is not a
panacea, but it helps in keeping aspirations alive. The same respondent adds:

Before I was proud of my father, I was young, a child, and I didn’t understand. Now that I
grew up, [I believe] we are fighting for ground, and we lose many soldiers, which is not
good. (Respondent 6)

Respondent 2 added in the same pattern:

I felt proud that they stood and protected their land. I am against war, against attacking,
but I’m for protection. [...] I do not hate Azerbaijan, no, never. But I think we have to
protect our land and live. It’s our fate. (Respondent 2)

Here we see how the second respondent correlates pride with the present moment. Pride is an
ambiguous term deriving from the past, but being revived in the new social context. When a
mission or an imminent threat appears, pride is justifiably reinforced.

5.2.3 Society and school

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As expected, based on the theory, the school had a significant impact on young Armenians.
Some interviewees refer to teachers, school events, and courses that formed their perception
about the wars. They also emphasise their school days and their experience, providing valuable
insights.

The Armenian education system and especially the teaching methods used are characterised
as controversial and old-fashioned. According to Şekeryan et al. (2019: 46), “the teaching
methodology, again borrowed by the Soviet system, is based on students memorising and
reproducing the mandated materials. Little or no space is given to discussions, critical thinking,
multiperspective or developing analytical ability”. This way of teaching corresponds to some of
the following segments in which respondents call their teachers ‘patriotic’ or ‘Armenianist’. With
an education system based on old models, it is not surprising that solid patriotic sentiments
might reasonably produce biased or misleading perceptions among the youth.

Before going to the army, I was full of patriotism. Interest in society and community
development was vital for me because of the impact of school and church. (Respondent
3)

Besides the stories, the school had its impact. I remember my history teacher because
he was an intellectual who created those values through history textbooks and his
[teaching] approaches. (Respondent 8)

In both cases, the respondents highlight the impact of the school. However, it is still not clear
how school impacted them and to what extent. They mention feelings of patriotism and the
history textbooks or the church. A reminder to the theory notes that “schools, community
organisation, the church(es) [...] play a role in transmitting collective stories of suffering and the
collective history of Genocide” (Beukian, 2015: 165). In Armenia, the 1915 Genocide is seen as
a vital reference in the curriculum and the historical consciousness. Its value also extends
abroad. The interviewee from Russia, who previously identified herself with the old Armenia and
the Genocide, recalls her school years:

My history teacher was Russian but ‘Armenianist’. She was always discussing the
Genocide during our classes and that Russia opened the border to Armenians. [She]
explained why so many Armenians are all around the world. My parents were kind of
proud of the people who got out of Armenia from the Genocide. (Respondent 7)

Despite the intense feelings that school can create with traumatic historical events, there are
also secondary ways that pupils participate in events that lactate a sense of national identity
and a new understanding of the war. In the interview with the soldier, he was narrating his story
and repeatedly concentrated on the school. While asking him what stories impacted him the
most from the past in regards to the wars, he said:

Our school had a huge impact because our teacher taught us that we need to be
patriots. [...] Our classmate’s father participated in the 1993 war, and our classroom was
named after him. [...] When I looked at how they greeted Marian’s father [his classmate],
who died recently, it made me feel [pause, no answer]. I started to discover more about
the 2016 war because I didn’t experience the first war of Artsakh. (Respondent 3)

51
School celebrations make kids actively participate in commemoration days. Simultaneously, real
examples of people from the war intrigued the respondent to search more about another war
from 2016 with actual memories. Şekeryan et al. (2019: 56) add that “it is astonishing, within
just a couple of months after the April 2016 escalation in the zone of the Nagorno-Karabakh
conflict, the Grade 12 “Armenian History” textbook for the 2016-2017 school year includes a
two-page narration of it”.

In my school, there was a guy four years older than us, named Bony. When Bony served
in the army, he was seriously injured. One day he entered the school after his accident
while we were still studying. I saw him partly dead; he wasn’t even able to walk. Not able
to do anything. He was disabled. I remember that this affected me a lot. I was thinking,
ok, he goes to the army, now everyone considers and greets him as a hero, but he is not
the same as before the war. [...] Probably those moments had some kind of ‘energy’
because I thought, what if war starts during my service in the army? It was in my
subconscious. Maybe the war would start. My mind, though, was fighting against these
thoughts. No, it’s impossible; war will not happen. (Respondent 3)

The school, with the presence of physical characters and not just simply textbook heroes,
influenced the respondent subconsciously. For Zembylas and Bekerman (2008: 7), “history
curricula implore students to remember the nations glories and warriors through practices which
aim at establishing a historical consciousness”, and this is precisely the story of the last
respondent. School practices (ceremony) and curricula, with warriors (actual ones), establishes
a consciousness (as shown by the fact that he started to become more interested after the 2016
conflict). Zembylas and Bekerman (2008: 2) accurately continue that “the debate is not just
whether children should be taught to remember the past, but also about how the past is
interpreted”. History needs more ingredients than simply books and events to be genuinely
accepted as a narrative that is passed down (in this case, through school). In addition to school
history books, sites of memory, such as monuments, as well as national flags, commemorative
or remembrance dates, museums, national songs and so on, provide, according to Beukian
(2015: 161), a link, or in other words, a “historic lieux de Memoire”.

In Yerevan, most (if not all of the mentioned) elements supported a robust, vivid and vibrant
memory of the past. The colours of the Armenian flags displayed in the fountains, monuments
and the statues of Hayk and Mesrop Mashtots all contribute to collective remembrance. Three
images from the fieldwork observation in Armenia depict such sites. Every night, the Armenian
national anthem is displayed on national TV (Image 7). The second picture is a map of Armenia
and the Republic of Nagorno Karabakh before the 2020 war. Generally, it is unusual to find such
a map as most foreign countries do not recognise Nagorno Karabakh. However, it is debatable
in Armenia, yet not a huge issue of how the map of the two regions should be displayed. The
vast majority portray Armenia and the Nagorno Karabakh Republic as one geographical entity
and this can be easily found on tickets, city maps, banners and souvenirs. This visual narrative
has been commonly and undistractedly accepted. Broers and Toal (2013: 30) analyse the public
display of maps in Armenian social life. One interview adds, “at least we present the real
picture, not the figment of a pathological imagination, the dreams of Azerbaijanis, but what
exists in reality: Nagorno Karabakh and its liberated territories. There are wrong maps
sometimes in the weather programs on television [...] we decided to start a relatively long term
program to correct this mistake.” The final pictures expose a map in the Tatev airway cable car,
one of the touristic highlights of Armenia. Here, only a few kilometres from Nagorno Karabakh
52
and right before the end of a picturesque route over a deep gorge, the map calls upon the
tourists to become part of the legacy.

Image 7: The national anthem on TV

Image 8: Brochures with the map of Armenia and Nagorno Karabakh combined

Image 9: Armenia and Nagorno Karabakh, pre-war (Yerevan, 03/06/21)

Image 10: Armenia and Nagorno Karabakh Republic (Artsakh), Tatev, Syunik (23/06/21)

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5.2.4 Politics and status quo

Over the last couple of years, a spirit of change has been cultivated in Armenian society,
empowered by the so-called ‘Velvet revolution’ of 2018. The current Prime Minister, Nikol
Pashinyan, who formed the ‘My step’ coalition and organised several demonstrations around
the country, managed to force the old regime of Serzh Sargsyan to resign. His program, which
was overwhelmingly supported by the public, focused on abolishing the old corrupted
government and empowering democracy within the state (Demytrie, 2018).

Armenia’s policy in obtaining valuable time by not resolving the conflict would ratify the region’s
status quo (de facto) and recognition (De Waal, 2010: 160; Babayev 2020). All the opinions of
the young Armenians in the previous sections point at this assured possession Armenia had at
its eastern borders with Azerbaijan. By not having memories of the war themselves, the young
Armenians had grown up in a victorious framework which was step by step enhanced with
ideological and irrational sentiments. Be it the school and its impact, the church or the society
itself; all contributed to what Hauer (2021) refers in his recent article to as a “victorious attitude
for a generation that held and hardened”. How did the government handle this victorious state
before the loss in 2020?

Before we review some of the misconceptions occurring before the break-out of the war, it is
essential to understand the frame. This frame includes some of the notions and narratives
reported in the media and generally in public. Figure 7 shows the 2017 opinions of different age
groups in support of a military solution for the conflict with Azerbaijan. Young age groups
showed the most support, especially if compared to the group of 35-44 who have personal
memories from the first war and (therefore?) were less likely to support a military resolution.
Although it is merely an assumption, this explanation already became evident in the first
interview fragments. The ‘patriotism’ at school and those who had no affiliation with Nagorno
Karabakh but became interested after moving there or after some personal experience (e.g.,
the injured soldier at school) influenced the extent to which a new war among youth was seen
as a solution. In other words, the lack of a direct personal experience favours a military solution.
When a young generation is taught that they are the strongest, such numbers do not come as a
surprise. Being the strongest army in the region was also literally addressed a couple of months
before the 2020 war, by prime minister Pashinyan. (Avetisyan, 2021). Has this dominant
narrative, those populist words by overconfident politicians blurred the reality for the youth?

Figure 7: Support for a military solution to the conflict (Mikaelian, 2017:15)

54
De Waal argues that “the problem is rooted within the societies themselves, which display an
inability to get rid of illusions and rhetoric and to get ready for reconciliation with a country that
they still consider as their historical enemy” (Novikova, 2012: 556). The phrase ‘neither war nor
peace’ has been exaggerated by state-owned media (Novikova, 2012: 556). Such an illusion
should have been identified earlier within the Armenian society and the institutions. By that time,
Azerbaijan was already spending billions on military equipment, while Armenia had to face a
decrease in the GDP amid the global crisis (Avetisyan, 2021).

Politicians have a crucial role in awakening but also annihilating narratives. In the post-war
interviews (next section), the young Armenians expressed conflicting opinions about the
Pashinyan administration. “When politicians interpret local disputes in an ethnic frame, they
merely give people the license to pursue their agendas under the banner of “communal conflict”
(Fearon & Laitin, 2000: 855). Many young Armenians overwhelmingly welcomed the Velvet
Revolution and sought personal change through the overall frame of change. In Pashinyan, the
thriving journalist who became Prime Minister, Armenians discovered a new leader that would
presumably improve employment, transparency, and democracy. However, the term Velvet
Revolution is exaggerated. For Ter-Matevosyan (2018), all these events do not constitute a
revolution because they did not bring actual institutional changes.

The timeframe between 2018 and September 2020 was obviously too small to notice any
significant changes. However, as Figure 8 presents, respondents in Armenia do see some
changes, in particular the decreasing corruption by the newly elected government as the most
noteworthy success.

Figure 8: The biggest success of the government (Alisauskiene, 2019: 6)

55
Pashinyan used the old populist tactics that were incompatible with a revolution seeking
change. “He tried to transfer the same populist narrative that had helped him to succeed at
home. This democratic breakthrough would make the country immune to external threats’’
(Ter-Matevosyan & Nikoghosyan, 2021). The new government adopted a new stance over
Nagorno Karabakh and was probably not ready to handle a new Azerbaijani offence. For
instance, during the July 2020 exchange of fire in the Tavush region, three months before the
actual war, Azerbaijani civilians called upon their government to increase the military force (Welt
& Bowen, 2021: 8). Be it the global pandemic or a domestic issue that caused this escalation to
be underestimated, the Armenian government did not see it as a serious threat. Soon after
visiting Nagorno Karabakh, Pashinyan proposed to transfer the local government from
Stepanakert to Shushi (Gall, 2020). This move reinforced his notion of ‘Greater Armenia’, which
had aggravated the Azerbaijani side (BNE IntelliNews, 2021).

Our goal is not to evaluate the mistakes of Pashinyan nor his predecessors. However, the
populist rhetoric, lousy management, while ignoring crucial security issues were positioned on
top of a ‘victorious narrative’ pile. Being the strongest in the region was naturally understood as
a given fact by the society and the politicians themselves, who were the transmitter of the
narrative that “Karabakh is Armenia. Period” (Babayev, 2020: 5). Pashinyan and the nation fell
victim to a self-constructed illusion, which aligns with: “coming to power is one thing; governing
is another’’ (Ter-Matevosyan, 2018). Armenia was considered to be one of the most militarized
countries in the world, just behind Israel (Avetisyan, 2021). Yet, within 44 days, the victory
narrative completely crumbled. In the words of one of the respondents:

The reality that we were given from our childhood was a reality of victory and being the
winner. This turned out to be not like that.” (Respondent 8)

5.3 In Bello Narratives

5.3.1 Introduction

The recent war over Nagorno Karabakh started on September 27, 2020, with both sides
blaming each other for initiating the violence (BBC, 2020). Nevertheless, no direct and apparent
reason sparked the war, nor any recent diplomatic event. During the 44 days of the war,
Armenia declared martial law and many young men were conscripted to join the frontline. While
the Nagorno Karabakh Republic was demarcated by the line of contact according to the 1994
Bishkek protocol and ceasefire, Azerbaijan had achieved some reclaims over recent years. In
theory, the partition of 1994 should have brought an armed balance, as Armenians and
Azerbaijanis fled the war zone. No minority enclaves exist in Armenia or Azerbaijan. For
Johnson (2015: 20), Nagorno Karabakh was a good example of a location where war
resurgence was not very likely, given its demographical partition. Ironically, reality turned out to
be different. Sambanis stressed that “partition does not significantly prevent war recurrence,”
because “separating ethnic groups does not resolve the problem of violent ethnic antagonism”
(Johnson, 2008: 143). In sharp contrast with the theory, the war lasted for 44 days, with a
re-demarcation of borders and territories as a result.

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Next, we will record, compare and discuss how the interviewees confronted the warfare and
how the old attitudes changed or dissolved. We will quote several stories from within and
outside the war in order to get a multidimensional outlook of what the war was like for the youth.

5.3.2 The start of the 2020 war

The narrative-memory dichotomy has been extensively mentioned. Sometimes they go

together. Tracing back to when the war started, the participants were asked to recall their
experiences and memories.

I opened Facebook and then saw, and I got a message from the Minister of [civil]
protection asking us to go to the shelters. I woke up my friends and my husband. I told
them that war has started. (Respondent 2)

My friend’s reaction showed that he was scared. From his reaction, I understood that it’s
very serious. He has rarely been in a panic situation. [...] I understood that the war had
started. [...] It was harder when I understood that my brother was on the frontline. It had
been five days that I had not been in touch with him. (Respondent 8)

Although Armenians had recently (2016) been in a warlike situation, the 27th of September was
another ‘Doomsday’. Initially, the intensity of the conflict was hard to measure, and that is why
most of the respondents indicated that the war would not last long, drawing similarities with the
short 2016 April conflict:

It was a small war in 2016. I thought it would be a war similar to that – a war of a few
days. (Respondent 4)

I was sleeping. My mum came to our room and told us the war started. There were
cases before with Azerbaijan, such as the four days war [April 2016]. We never thought
it would last so long. I felt that, ‘ok, it’s today, it will finish as usual.’ Well, this was
something different. (Respondent 9)

We discussed that in the car, and dad said, ‘ok, it’s going to last two or three days
maximum.’ My dad also said it always happens. There is always conflict on the border,
not going to last long. (Respondent 7)

It is quite normal to expect that a full-scale war would not take place, considering the various
eruptions at the border and in Nagorno Karabakh. Most of the respondents expressed their
shock, but some mentioned that Russia would probably contribute to a resolution soon, as it
had done in 2016:

Russia will not let it happen, because Russia is interested in the region. A week passed,
and a week passed, and we understood that probably it’s not what we thought, two or
three fires shot by Azerbaijan, but a real war. (Respondent 7)

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 I felt that it will finish soon and that Russia will stop it, maybe not help but just negotiate.
(Respondent 6)

From September to November, Russia had shown to be willing to discuss with both parties in
order to reach a solution, however without actually supporting the Armenian side, even though it
had signed a defence alliance for protecting the territory of Armenia, albeit excluding Nagorno
Karabakh (Popescu, 2020). As a consequence of this Russian stance, Azerbaijan, with the
strong support of Turkey, managed to take the upper hand. Russia’s inaction towards Armenia
was caused, according to Putin, by the fact that the fighting was “not taking place in the
Armenian territory” (President of Russia, 2020).

While during the first days of the fighting Armenian troops seemed to control their territories,
much of the narrative was based on ‘fake optimism’. Almost all respondents initially believed
that Armenia would win. In the words of a respondent: “all of us were sure” (Respondent 8).

Where does this confidence come from? The first explanation is based on the old narrative,
extensively discussed previously. The notion of a victorious nation, being the strongest in the
region, one of the most militarised in the world, increased the illusion that this would last forever.
In 2019, Pashinyan had promised reforms in the military and an improvement in the conditions
for the soldiers, an army that will “be constantly strengthened and improved” (Sputnik, 2019).
One of the respondents was sure that Armenians would win:

Yes, absolutely. I served in the army, and I was sure that our military would win. I don’t
know why we lost. The army didn’t lose. Everyone was good. When I was serving, all
the equipment we had could stop them. I don’t know this time. Maybe because of a
wrong decision that politicians took. (Respondent 4)

Armenia has always been dependent on Russian military equipment (Cutler, 2020). However,
the Russian trade of weapons to Azerbaijan met with severe criticism of Russia (Bratersky,
2020).

In referring to this belief in Armenia’s invincibility, Giragosian named this old narrative “bullshit
exceptionalism” (Hauer, 2021). However, respondents stuck to this old narrative of Armenian
strength. Young Armenians did not expect this defeat. Even though it was known in Armenia
that Azerbaijan was building up its army, the belief of being undefeatable prevailed.

I haven’t seen another way. Do you know how it feels when you think about the idea of
losing your land? I told everyone we are going to win. [...] the movie became a reality.
We have listened to the war before, only heard. But now, it became a reality, and you
lived in it. Soldiers need help, and you should do your best. (Respondent 9)

Looking back at the pre-war situation and balance of forces, the Armenian defeat does not
come as a big surprise. However, for Armenia and especially young Armenians, the notion of
invincibility excluded defeat. Not everyone believed in the old narrative, and arguably not
everyone was optimistic from the first moment. Stories show how the war itself can generate
feelings that might eventually crumble down. The war itself strengthened patriotism, unity,
solidarity and pride. The role of the media and the politicians in all this is catalytic. After the
2016 conflict, Armenian politics remained dominated by a nationalist policy and a
58
no-compromise stance towards Azerbaijan – just like during the war. At the moment, no
Armenian would think about the tragedy, the loss of thousands of lives or the need to negotiate,
let alone give up territory or a ‘corridor’ beforehand. Armenians followed the political leadership,
and it was the only thing they could do. This leadership was confident with the old narrative of
Armenian power. Even in late October, when the media reported some advances of the
Azerbaijani army, state officials referred to them as “not critical” (Interfax, 2020). When asked if
they thought Armenians would win the war:

Yes. Because we didn’t know what was happening in reality. Our state propaganda was
cheating us. We lived there with many soldiers, they told us stories, but I listened only to
state propaganda. (Respondent 2)

To be honest, yes. Maybe because of fake news on TV, they reported that we got new
ground and did well. (Respondent 6)

The Secretary of Defense talked about an Azerbaijani retreat and heavy losses. “We have
warned that you are entering hell” (Ekhokavkaza, 2020). Another journal article published on
October 20, mentions heavy damage and 6,309 Azerbaijani soldiers being killed, compared to
just 725 Armenians. The title of the report was, “Retreat is not defeat. There will be victory!”
(Ami Novosti Armenia, 2020). In this respect, it is important to note that “large-scale ethnic
violence is provoked by elites seeking to gain, maintain, or increase their hold on political
power” (Fearon & Laitin, 2000: 846). Anto Ghatak et al. (2016), “the higher the perceived costs
of acknowledgement, the less likely a state is to change its narrative”. Fighting a war itself does
not offer time for manoeuvring. Negotiating is, of course, the preferable weapon, but many
analysts were expecting a large-scale conflict between Armenia and Azerbaijan. The
Azerbaijani elite had to prove its huge investments in the army, while Armenia in turn had to
prove its supremacy, of being the legal owners of Nagorno Karabakh. The latter had no actual
plan nor the will to retreat, simply because a narrative had already been built.

5.3.3. Into the war

Three respondents were actually in Nagorno Karabakh during the war. They narrate their
memories, actions and thoughts – a pallet of feelings characterized by fear, anxiety and despair.
According to Garagozov (2016: 29), “immediate participation in events places a special stamp
on the individual’s experience”. In this case, the stamp might very well be a physical and mental
trauma. Every war has sentiments of honour, ‘enthusiasm’, and pride. No one goes in vain, but
fights for values. The collected stories from the epicentre show how every ius in bello rule was
violated. Prohibited weapons were used (Human Rights Watch, 2021) and cities were targeted
(Stepanakert, Ganja and others), just as churches, for example in Shushi (Ronzheimer 2020).
The respondents discussed the historical meaning of the land, the symbolism and the root
causes. One respondent shares her views:

There were no similarities. I had an impression that the first war was mainly a ‘human
one’. People against people. This one was different, with heavy military weapons
involved. (Respondent 1)

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In June, I met with a 22-year old soldier in Yerevan. We managed to communicate in basic
Russian, whereas the interview was translated into Armenian. This young man seemed sane,
yet he had seen the hell of the war. According to Walzer (2016), the ‘father’ of the Just war
theory, in theoretical terms a soldier is just a unit. In the frontline, wearing military clothes, he
has no name, and he is arguably a legitimate military target for the opponent. In practice,
however, it is hard to distinguish the personal and impersonal sides of the same human. This
young man seemed ‘sober’, despite his traumatic story. This trauma beats the physical pain of
the 93 metal pieces that penetrated his body, as he later mentioned off the record. He narrates:

When we were in the positions [frontline] and the issues with Covid ended, they took us
down [to the base], where we spent two days. I hadn’t taken a shower for four weeks.
One day before the war, I took a shower, and we watched TV. During the night, while
chatting with my fellow soldier, who was sleeping next to me, I said to him, ‘this service
is shit. You can’t predict the next minute. Today I am here; the next day, they will take
me elsewhere.’ On Sunday [September 27, 2020] at 6:00 am they gave us the
command, ‘подъём’ [rise!]. They did that as usual, but on Sundays, we used to wake up
at 7:30 am. Our officer was a very mean person, but his decision saved our lives.
(Respondent 3)

They [Azeris] were massively bombing our building. They were destroyed. [...] I started
being conscious about the situation when I saw my best friend injured, entirely covered
in blood. Pieces from the explosion penetrated his chest. Blood was running from his
ears. He couldn’t hear anything. Another friend of mine was injured in his back by
several fragments [from the explosion]. Some others were dragging him, and I tried to
cover them. We tried to enter the bunker in the frontline. When I saw this guy’s back
covered in blood, I realised that I might die too. [...] The first time I did not see death, but
I killed a person. Since the first attacks, I didn’t see anyone dying. The first death I saw
was done by me. I killed. In fact, I had no emotions. After several days, I realised what
I’ve done. I blamed myself. You need to protect your position as a soldier. If we say that
human life is valued, then I condemn myself. (Respondent 3)

Another respondent who lived in Nagorno Karabakh shares her story, a scene of a city under
bombardment. Respondent 5, a refugee from South Nagorno Karabakh describes what she
witnessed:

We then listened to the noise of bombardment, and on the day a drone hit Kalbajar, all
the people went to school shelters. Children were crying, and people started leaving
Kalbajar one by one. By mid-day, no one stayed. My husband asked me to leave as
well, and my friends wanted to go back to Vanadzor. He couldn’t let them stay there
because it was very dangerous. (Respondent 2)

Azeris specifically targeted our towns and villages. In Hadrut, the condition was horrible.
They were bombing everything, the military bases, houses, hospitals. The first shots
came, of course, to military bases. For some reason, they knew where the weapons
were kept. They were targeting these buildings. (Respondent 5)

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The situation in Nagorno Karabakh was obviously chaotic, according to the respondents. The
soldier tells how the military organisation was falling apart and how he, in the midst of the
fighting, was suddenly ‘promoted’.

I told him, ‘they are attacking us. Can we use some weapons?’ They answered, ‘Do
what you want, do whatever you think is ok’. [...] On the same day, our leader was
injured as well. Someone called me and told me that now I am the captain of our group
position. I realised that I’m responsible for seven men. Everything depended on me.
Giving them a wrong command, and they would die. (Respondent 3)

A respondent from Yerevan, and the testimonies of her brother who entered the war two days
before the end, adds:

Massive corruption, but the soldiers were standing barefoot and had nothing to wear.
When my brother served, I heard some stories that they had nothing to eat, and their
family was sending money to them to buy something there. (Respondent 7)

Another respondent talks about her decision to leave Nagorno Karabakh, but later on returning
to volunteer. Many Armenians’ views about Nagorno Karabakh and its connection to their
historical continuity boosted their willingness to actively participate. The war activated a strong
affiliation with the past, the future and the identity at stake. According to Bačová (1998: 36),
“primordialism provides individuals with their deepest identity. It promotes unity and solidarity,
which overcomes all divisions within the community. It is strongly activated when a community is
in danger.”

When we were together and working, we had faith. We believed that we are all together,
and we will stand to protect Artsakh and overcome it. During the bombardment, I asked
God to kill me instantly and not lose my hands or legs. It was a very realistic feeling, I
felt it, and I overcame it, I think. [...] I can’t stay and wait here. On the 28th, I went to
Stepanakert with another friend because they needed many volunteers to make bread. I
started at the information centre, and then I did a lot of work. [...] I went to Kalbajar till
the end of the war. In Kalbajar, there was not so much bombardment and not so
intensively as it was in Stepanakert. Kalbajar was not occupied by force; it was just
handed. (Respondent 2)

During one of the first days of fieldwork research, I went to Vanadzor and was invited to the
English classes of a friend who helped me during my research. While his teacher asked me
about my research, one of his classmates was eager to tell me about her experience. She, as a
mother, felt responsible for continuing and participating in the war and decided to visit the
Syunik, where she and other women were trained in using guns and providing first aid to
soldiers. Off the record, she said, ‘we were trained how to defend ourselves, and if the enemy
was approaching, we learnt how to sacrifice ourselves, instead of falling into their hands’. The
willingness of women to participate and impact the outcome, even sacrificing oneself, in favour
of Armenia was remarkable. “Sacrifice and primordial understanding are correlated. If they
understand [the nation] in an extremely primordial way, their willingness [to sacrifice] is strong.”
(Bačová, 1998: 31)

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During and after the war, videos of Azerbaijani soldiers torturing Armenian soldiers and vice
versa Armenians committing war crimes were uploaded on social media, predominantly on
Telegram (Losh, 2021; Roth, 2020). Some participants describe their agony while watching
such videos:

During the war, I was constantly stuck with my phone checking the news, trying to
communicate with my family to reach the people who still live in our village. [...] When
we left Hadrut, they entered the city and started randomly bombing houses. A lot of
places were just burned. We have seen their videos burning houses in my
neighbourhood. (Respondent 5)

The provocative and motivational speech from politicians in the media on both sides also
increased. Videos show Pashinyan stating that Azerbaijan “must realise that today our army is
stronger than ever before. Azerbaijan must take into account that Artsakh is backed up by
Armenians from all over the world” (РБК, 2020). In Azerbaijan, Armenians were portrayed as
having a “disease” (Losh, 2021). It is obviously quite plausible that videos of torture and hate
speech generate hate among civilians and put more fuel on the fire. “All of the time, they’re
talking about violence, killing, torture. Torture generates hatred. It is very dangerous in terms of
living together in this region as two nations.” (Losh, 2021). In Yerevan, a respondent narrated
parts of his childhood before the actual interview. I asked him whether he had ever been
abroad, and he said jokingly, ‘Azerbaijan’. He lived near the border, and one day the cattle
crossed the forest 200 meters into Azerbaijani territory. He quickly went to get them back. He
then turned serious and said, ‘I went for the sheep, but I dreamed of capturing Baku’.

One of the narratives that soon became dominant was the role of Turkey, trying to complete
what it did a century ago, “exterminate the Armenians’’ (Ter-Matevosyan, 2020). On November
8, the Azerbaijanis took control of Shushi (Welt & Bowen, 2021:11).

We knew that something was wrong with Shushi; soldiers told us that we were standing
in Shushi, but the propaganda said Shushi is already taken. We knew the meaning of
Shushi, and losing it would be the end of the war. First, psychologically, because Shushi
was the symbol of revival and victory.” (Respondent 2)

5.4 Post Bellum Narratives

5.4.1 Introduction: a new symbol is born

Seven months after the end of the war, life in Armenia has switched to different speeds. In
Gyumri, the second-largest city, life in June seemed calm, with few cars and people around.
Nothing here displays a post-war society. The fountains, typical of the warm Armenian cities,
look brighter, and people meet in the main squares to enjoy the water shows. In Yerevan, I
bought apricots from the market (another Armenian symbol). After a brief conversation in the
busy Tigran Mets Avenue, the vendor told me that ‘Armenia was and will be beautiful again’.
The loss of war has two faces, those who let it go as ‘life goes on’ and those who refrain from

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being too happy as if nothing happened. I visited the wine festival, the most significant open flea
market with hundreds of producers of local wine brands, promoting and selling their products.
This year the large turnout from people was criticised, and the pandemic was not the reason.
The music and the festivities caused dissatisfaction, as one friend named them ‘too
spectacular’. One of the respondents mentioned:

Armenia has changed a lot. Before the war and after the war. The mood of people has
changed. Everyone is sad. When there is a wedding, they don’t turn on the music. We
are not happy anymore. We are a happy nation, but unhappy now. (Respondent 4)

Image 11: Republic Square fountain (Yerevan 16/06/21)

The war brought despair, because of the loss of thousands of Armenians, as well as the “deficit
in trust, security, diplomacy and economy” (Asbarez, 2021a). According to Losh (2021), the
humiliation will fuel “venomous hatred” for generations to come. Is this a hypothesis or a fact?
We answer by starting this chapter with a new symbol. In a word, it is called Yerablur, the
Military cemetery at the outskirts of Yerevan, facing the old symbol, Mount Ararat. Yerablur is a
landscape of pain, a constant reminder of a loss, similar to Tsitsernakaberd and Mount Ararat.
Hauer (2021) accurately states, “a constant reminder of what is lost, just one of many losses
that have imprinted themselves on Armenia’’. In Yerablur, it is not just the graves of fallen
soldiers but the endless lament of an entire nation, with grief, a vanished generation and lost
dreams. Yerablur talks with Ararat. In the words of the prime minister, “sometimes it seems that
our dreams have been dashed and our optimism destroyed”. (Losh, 2021). As of June 2021,
there are still open graves, waiting for the missing martyrs. Visiting Yerablur requires courage.
Its large entrance reminds of a genocide memorial while the Armenian flags create an
ear-splitting sound. Time stops when dust covers the images, and the wind blows away the
flowers. Families and individuals grieve silently, without talking to each other. To understand
why symbols like Yerablur matter, why this powerful picture will be imprinted in Armenians for
many years to come, we have to see how symbols have shaped Armenia in the past. All of
them carried a narrative that lactated generations. So will Yerablur. In this section, we will
analyse the post-war narratives and their impact on the youth.

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 Image 12: I lost my son. ‘For what? We lost the land and our sons for nothing’ (Yerablur 27/06/21)

5.4.2 Losing - the war

“The memory of suffering became a shroud for the whole nation and a stranglehold on any
attempt at interethnic rapprochement.” (Zembylas & Bekerman, 2008) On November 9, 2020,
the war ended, with Prime Minister Pashinyan announcing the content of the agreement with
Azerbaijan, calling it “unspeakably painful for me and our people” (Welt & Bowen, 2021:16).

It was the same feeling when my brother called me five years ago and said that our
father passed away. I felt that I lost a crucial thing for me. It was unexpected.
(Respondent 2)

It’s painful that you lost, and it should be a lesson for you to understand that you were
not giving much significance. (Respondent 8)

The most terrible thing is that I think in our nation, many people lose their dreams. They
lost their faith and hopes for the future. If we lost the war just because we were weak, it
would be a different case. But this time, I’m sure our authorities betrayed us. I blame not
our outer enemies but our inner ones. (Respondent 2)

There is an evident dissatisfaction, not only about the outcome of the war but primarily with the
government. The agreement of November 9 contains the following points:

● Exchange of prisoners and the dead

● Return of territories surrounding Nagorno-Karabakh to Azerbaijan’s control
● Deployment of up to 2,000 Russian peacekeepers in the conflict zone
● Establishment of a peacekeeping centre to monitor the cease-fire

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 ● Withdrawal of Armenian forces from the region
● Maintenance of a land corridor between Armenia and Nagorno-Karabakh
● Return of IDPs and refugees to Azerbaijan and Armenia: Establishment of a land
transport corridor across Armenia (Syunik)
(Welt & Bowen, 2021:16)

I could not accept that they signed this kind of humiliating agreement. I was super happy
that the fighting stopped, but I could not agree with this statement [...] and that he could
not negotiate a better outcome for Armenia and probably that he didn’t stop it in an
earlier stage. It is not possible. I remember clearly the feeling that Karabakh is a story.
As a myth, it doesn’t exist anymore. There is no Karabakh anymore. (Respondent 7)

The soldiers that we lost, about 6,000. I don’t care about the territory. Some of them
didn’t live an actual life. They finished school, and then they went directly to the army. I
felt it after the war. Maybe, before I cared, but after the loss, I started to think, ‘we lost
5,000 for this ground?’ (Respondent 6)

The two respondents seem angry at Pashinyan’s erratic negotiation and negligence for human
losses. The respondents clearly have a negative opinion on the outcome of the November
agreement and blame it on the authorities and the Prime Minister personally. This feeling of
dissatisfaction is not present among everyone, however. During the fieldwork research, many
said he just did his best as a new leader, unable to change the flow of the previous
government’s mistakes. Nevertheless, the propaganda spread by him, by his party and by the
media is for them a reason to feel betrayed or manipulated. While having a conversation with a
student, she expressed her dissatisfaction with the current government, with how ‘Armenia
became from a subject to an object’, indicating the loss of its diplomacy, respect and
international status among neighbouring countries.

5.4.3 Realising - the new reality

The Armenia-Azerbaijan war initially made headlines around the world. However, the regional
geopolitical situation is no priority for the United States or Europe and therefore prominent
Western media outlets gradually showed less interest. After 2020 Armenia had to deal with a
shrinking economy, as a consequence of both the war and the pandemic. The national debt has
increased (BNE IntelliNews, 2021). Labelling Armenia as a post-war country would harm the
tourist sector and should therefore be prevented. But, what is the impact on society? The new
narrative is a process that is still evolving. Respondent 8 talks about the shift from victory to
defeat and how war is way crueller than perceived:

The war affected us because [...] the reality we were given, being victorious, was too
different from what the new reality might be. The reality that we were given about our
homeland as a value was blurry and romantic. [...] This war demonstrated that it is not
as Remarque talks about ‘war and love’. It’s cruel and undesirable. One must accept
victory without any romanticism. (Respondent 8)

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It is a confession of a wrong collective mindset that the society was immersed in. Realising that
the territory is gone, is not simple. According to O’Lear and Whiting (2008: 197), territory as
such has both a tangible economic value and an inherent, symbolic value; “territory may be a
physically divisible object, yet, simultaneously, intractably invisible”. One Yerevanian mentioned
how Nagorno Karabakh is not simply perceived as sacred land but like an umbrella, a shield
protecting Armenia. The soldier said how he nowadays identifies himself, aligns with the
previous respondent and the lack of ‘war romanticism’:

From [the perspective of] society, yes, I feel that I’m a hero. But inside the army, as a
participant, I consider myself zero. Do you know why I feel zero? Because it was usual
for me to have an active role and influence [in society]. In this situation, I had no impact.
I couldn’t change anything. (Respondent 3)

The loss of territory and lives, of homes and national heritage produces multiple adverse
reactions. In order to understand how the respondents feel about the loss of historical
monuments, they were asked to look at pictures before and after the war. By looking at these
visual narratives of the loss (destroyed churches, crosses), we activated their spot stimulus.

The Turkish entering a church should destroy whatever is Armenian. I’m feeling pain,
and I’m broken. I need to be strong. (Respondent 8)

It was expected, because if you see photos and videos of an elderly grandpa being
beheaded alive or kidnapped and tortured inhumanely, nothing will make us think they
will not destroy our culture. I don’t know. It is expected that they are trying to erase the
evidence of Armenian existence. [...] Now they have a new policy. They no longer
destroy our heritage, but they represent it as [Caucasian] Albanian. (Respondent 5)

Several videos on social media show the harsh way of destroying the local heritage or
promoting it as being Azerbaijani. Satellite technology evidence confirms the destruction of
monuments (Blackwood, 2021). Recently, the Azerbaijani authorities organised an excursion to
Shushi for ambassadors located in Baku. Although there were notable absences, like Russia,
France, and the United States, many more country representatives participated, boosting the
image of the Azerbaijani claims (Dovich, 2021). This arguably has affected Armenian society.
The youth notices a disgraceful agreement, a loss of friends and relatives, a turbulent political
scene, and an additional humiliation of what is lost.

I try not to cry over every photo or video I see. That is not right. We must try to be a bit
more cold-blooded. (Respondent 5)

I understand that people who do it should be persecuted and held responsible, and
international organisations should intervene and stop. (Respondent 7)

I feel anger towards us. Because if we didn’t let them, this wouldn’t happen.
(Respondent 2)

While many feel anger and disappointment, another respondent shows another emotion:

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 I want revenge on our neighbour. I understand that another war will bring more death, so
it shouldn’t happen. [...] This is our culture, and those places are sacred to us. They
destroyed them. This is not the expected behaviour of humans. They are like animals.
(Respondent 3)

And yet another:

We will win, let’s start another war, let’s take revenge. What revenge are you taking?
Whose lives are you going to sacrifice now? What technology do you have to take
revenge? No. (Respondent 7)

War is expected to generate a wide range of feelings and emotions, from anger to revenge or
the need to reconcile or unite nationally and develop. Another respondent mentions how the
world was silent.

I just feel pain. It’s hard. It’s our history, and it’s destroyed. It should not be allowed by
the international community. History is destroyed, and no one helps. The world is silent.
‘I am sorry for that’, and no one is speaking up. They can, but they don’t do it.
(Respondent 9)

The main question is whether all these negative emotions of loss have changed their
perceptions. Some of the most interesting answers are given by the soldier and the refugee
from Hadrut. It is more profound than hate or revenge:

I tried not to speak anymore. It affected me in a way that I started valuing my life more.
It’s like a renaissance for me. After my injury, God gave me a second chance. So, I
began to look at life seriously. I try to be a better person. I hadn’t valued my family and
friends enough before the war, while after, I did. (Respondent 3)

The fact that you can live in Stepanakert and see the road leading to Hadrut and not
take it is a pain that you cannot bear. I cannot imagine. (Respondent 5)

The pain, the change of values, and all those above are well marked in Armenia seven months
after the war. In Vanadzor, an industrial city in the north with a robust Soviet architecture that
seems frozen in time, I encountered one of the strongest narratives, which visually affirms the
theoretical framework and the fundamental research question of this thesis. Narratives are
staying alive, and the new experiences will affect the next generation, whether directly or not. In
the main square, there is a memorial for all the fallen soldiers from the city. When visiting, a
school class with two teachers paid tribute to the fallen soldiers. Although the children might not
have been well aware of the occasion, the narrative of the loss of the war will follow them; in a
society where their predecessors were victorious, they will live in the loss. This new narrative is
already here, in the lenses of a camera. A friend of mine next to me said, ‘We used to do the
same when I was at school, for the soldiers of the first war of Artsakh. I didn’t know that our turn
would come.’

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 Image 13: ‘They fell for the fatherland’, memorial in Vanadzor (11/06/21)

5.4.4 Adjusting - to the new era

After the war, demonstrations and violent protests erupted in Yerevan, with people entering the
government building demanding Pashinyan to resign (Gauthier Villars & Simmons, 2020). The
anger in Armenia has been massive and from the very first weeks on, protests against and in
favour of the prime minister were held – “they stage their rallies barely a half-mile from each
other, curiously no scuffles took place at all” (Derluguian, 2021). Despite the several calls for
resignation or snap elections, Pashinynan did not accept any of those. As the months passed,
protests started to wane and most of them had fewer young participants. According to
Derluguian (2021), it was a sign of apathy. How has this apathy been expressed? Some of our
respondents try to give their answers:

I just agree that we lost. We were not strong. Azeris were stronger. Of course,
Azerbaijan is our enemy, and I will always hate them, but I agree that [Azerbaijani
leader] Ilham Aliyev cares about his country. He used many weapons in the last war, and
they were planning that. (Respondent 6)

Figure 9: Prevailing mood of the population (IPSC LLC, 2021: 9)

Figure 9 shows how younger age groups seem more disappointed than the older ones, with
fewer answers expressing optimism about the future. Respondents also point at the fear of
instability, insecurity and national weakness.

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 I want people not to hate each other. I want something new: [pause] Workplaces, less
unemployment, not one to be rich and the other one poor. I want stability. (Respondent
6)

I look at it realistically. The fear is that we will never become stronger than Azerbaijan.
They become stronger every day. I don’t want to be behind in this comparison.
(Respondent 9)

Some respondents talked about their integration into society. The refugee from Hadrut talks
about her new job as a teacher that helped her integrate into Armenia; the soldier mentions the
need to self-improve while the second respondent from Nagorno Karabakh does not feel
integrated yet.

Getting the job from Teach for Armenia tried to set me out of all this. I was going
somewhere. I can’t remember now, and [friend’s name] suggested me the job. I was
expected to work with refugee kids from Artsakh. With mine and their mental instability, I
had no idea how to recruit them. Naturally, it is very challenging to work with children
under these [mental] conditions. I decided to take the job, and now I have already
worked with these children for around six months. The only thing that moved me forward
was the idea that I’m doing a public good because these children were in significant
need of socialising as they didn’t attend school for more than two months. The time I
had spent with these children helped me mentally because I realised that I’m doing
something worthwhile. (Respondent 5)

I try to improve myself. I’m in a period of self-awareness, and I am focused on

self-improvement. I also work. And I am ready to do more. (Respondent 3)

Maybe I can’t explain it in words, especially in a foreign language. Yes. I’m now a guest.
I am trying to find a job or do something, but I feel like a guest here. (Respondent 2)

However, the main problems that refugees, soldiers and other Armenians face are politically
related as well. While Pashinyan showed a reluctance to go to snap elections until February,
there were incidents such as the military coup attempt that would further destabilise the political
arena (Socor, 2021). Currently, 55% of the population favoured snap elections, showing a
divided society once again (Stronski, 2021). Throughout 2021, more security problems
emerged: territorial disputes in the region of Gegharkunik, Armenian soldiers being taken as
hostages and occasional shootings (Zeit 2021; Ghazanchyan, 2021b). Aliyev’s nationalistic and
expansionist views regarding the southern area of Syunik and the corridor issue further fuelled
the dissatisfaction with Pashinyan’s moderate responses. Hence, residents in Syunik swore at
the prime minister in one of his visits, calling him a ‘traitor’ (Asbarez, 2021b).

Figure 10: Is Armenia heading in the right or wrong direction? (IPSC LLC, 2021: 7)

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The dissatisfaction among the population becomes clear in a February 2021 survey (see Figure
10). The combination of the various grievances eventually made Pashinyan call for early
elections in June 2021; former president Kocharyan returned as the main political rival. The
election campaign took place in the shadow of regional powers stepping into national affairs:
Russia with its controversial yet necessary presence, Azerbaijan with its victorious attitude and
Turkey with its geopolitical aspirations in the region. It resulted in insecurity felt by young
Armenians in response to the provocations of Azerbaijan (discussed in the next section) as well
as a lack of political affiliation and apathy (following section).

5.4.5 Securing - borders and land

a. Turkey-Azerbaijan axis

Insecurity, both territorial and political, is a central narrative circulating in post-war Armenia. The
axis between Turkey and Azerbaijan that politically and geographically splits Armenia is a
persistent threat to societal welfare and security. Historical enmity and the recent war had gone
away with all reconciliation moves achieved in the past. The Zangezur (Syunik) corridor, in the
south of Armenia, is a crucial topic. As of November 2020, Armenia agrees to reopen the
transport network with Azerbaijan, such as the railway connection Yerevan-Nakhichevan-Baku
that had operated from 1980 until the first war (Mkrtchyan, 2020).

Before the 2020 war, this connection has also been named “peace highway” (Hopmann, 2015:
177), including Turkey in the project. The Minister of Economy, Kerobyan, talked about “new
opportunities” for the Armenian economy (Karapetyan, 2021) and although Pashinyan also calls
it “of significant importance for the future economic development of our country” (Mkrtchyan,
2020), people in general appear to be more cautious.

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 Figure 11: What is the most crucial problem in Armenia today? (IPSC LLC, 2021)

Figure 11 shows the most significant problems in the post-war period. Except for unemployment
and financial topics, the following three are (directly) connected to the Nagorno Karabakh issue.
One of the respondents was in favour of a possible opening of the borders, but with limitations:

It would be perfect if all borders were open, both Turkey and Azerbaijan. It will bring
peace, and we will become good neighbours, even brothers. All this if there is no danger
and not end up in trouble by trusting them. (Respondent 3)

According to a survey held before the war there was a clear willingness to reopen borders, even
though Turkey was and is perceived as a historical competitor in the media, schools and other
narratives. After the Nagorno Karabakh war and Turkey’s assistance to Azerbaijan, things have
changed. Armenia is faced with a dilemma: opening its borders and boosting the economy or
sticking to its policies regarding the historical and political demands. The recent recognition of
the Armenian genocide by president Biden did not improve the ties between Armenia and
Turkey (De Waal, 2021). However, “Turkey is a foe, but also a neighbour”, according to
Pashinyan in an attempt to resume diplomatic relations (ArmenPress, 2021). A week before the
elections, Turkish president Erdogan and his Azerbaijani counterpart Aliyev met in Nagorno
Karabakh, signing an alliance memorandum – at the same time sending a clear message to
Armenia (Erbay, 2021). This arguably does not contribute to a post-war reconciliation and
building a ‘peace highway’.

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 Map 11: Energy, transport and Russian bases in South Caucasus (Wittkowsky, 2021)

While Azerbaijan and Turkey benefit from a land connection, there are doubts to what extent
Armenians can profit from it. Local businesses do not trust their products to be transported via
Azerbaijan; it is also feared that the competition with cheap Azerbaijani and Turkish products
will negatively affect the domestic economy (Karapetyan, 2021).

The economy is not the only factor in this discussion. The recent entry of Azerbaijani soldiers in
Gegharkunik decreased the likelihood of trust-building. Aliyev openly expressed his
expansionism by recapturing Zangezur, “whether Armenia wants it or not” (Asbarez, 2021a) and
stating that “Armenians have psychological disorders, they are full of poison and have no
morals” (Asbarez, 2021c). The so-called ‘trophies park’ in Baku, where the helmets of dead
Armenians are publicly exposed, is an audacious and immoral manifestation of power (Mathers,
2021). “Everyone who visits the park of military trophies will see the strength of our army, will
see our willpower, and how hard it was to achieve victory” (Avedian 2021). Despite the
presence of the Russian peacekeeping mission, the bilateral relations are tense.

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 Image 14: An artificial dike next to the highway Yerevan-Syunik one kilometre from the border with
Nakhichevan exclave. It works as a barrier to crossing vehicles from occasional shootings (Yeraskh,
23/06/21)

b. ‘Forced friendship’ with Russia

The need for protection and an alliance that would mitigate the control of Turkey and Azerbaijan
is Russia, acting as a protector and mediator. With a strong political, military and even cultural
influence on Armenia, Russia orchestrated the November agreement. However, its reputation
has certainly not improved, declining from 93% in 2019 (Alisauskiene, 2019) to 70% just two
years later (see Figure 12). The main reason for this decline is the reluctance to act fast
(Popescu 2020). Aiming for a hegemonic role in the South Caucasus, Russia did not actively
support Armenia but it did also not let Azerbaijan fully recapture Nagorno Karabakh – instead, it
found the perfect timing for a ceasefire (Ker-Lindsay, 2020) According to Popescu (2020),
Russia “betted on Armenian dependency and Azerbaijani gratitude”.

Figure 12: Evaluation of the relationship with other countries in 2021

(Caucasus Research Resource Center, 2021)

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 Russia has its interest, and we are lucky to have a similar interest. [...] The reality is that
no one in the world cares about the other, and it’s all about their interests. Same with
Russia. The bad thing is that we [think we] have someone who will save us from outside
[...] The belief is that Russia, in many cases, is our saviour. (Respondent 8)

While Armenia has a strong diaspora presence in Russia, there is dissatisfaction with the help
provided in the war. Some interviewees mention it:

I think Russia won’t let us solve this conflict. It is a very suitable game for Russia to
press us and Azerbaijan and sell weapons. No conflict, no weapon. (Respondent 2)

In different parts of history, they disappointed us. They wouldn’t help us if it were not for
their political interest. (Respondent 9)

The Russian-Armenian respondent answers:

When I saw that, I was shocked. For us, the narrative was that Russia would never let it
happen. [...] For me, it was a betrayal. [...] When I went to a coffee shop, even though
people were not looking at me differently, I felt that everyone changed their attitude
towards me as soon as I started speaking Russian. (Respondent 7)

In Yerevan, the Russian presence is easily spotted. Signs and names of streets are written in
Russian, the subway, phone apps, and restaurants’ menus are widely used in Russian, as
almost everyone in Armenia can speak it. As already mentioned, the Russian influence in the
military has also increased. The Russian presence in Nagorno Karabakh and the energy sector
in Armenia make the country unable to seek other allies, simply because there are no others.
After the war, the Defence Minister suggested a potential second Russian base in Armenia. At
the same time, many politicians called for such a base in the risky south zone of Syunik
(Reuters, 2021).

Image 15: Вместе мы сильны (Russian) Together we are strong (Yerevan, 18/06/21)

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 Russians are allowed to go to Artsakh but no one else. It became difficult for other
tourists, except the Armenians, who can easily go. This will have an impact. This land
will call for help, and only Russia will provide that help. (Respondent 9)

They are not just peacekeepers; I don’t know who they are. (Respondent 2)

We are safer with Russia. But if you want to change our direction to the West, Russia
will punish us. Like, it is our friend, but that friendship is not real. They force us to be
friends. What do you feel about this ‘forced friendship’? It is not good, but we have no
other choice. (Respondent 4)

All the respondents see Russia as the necessary ally, without any alternative. However, there is
either dissatisfaction or a negative attitude. Most agree that Russians are essential for the
country’s stability and security. Concerns about national integrity increase as Armenia becomes
more dependent on Russia. The former Soviet Republic is now just a satellite that Russia would
always benefit from, strategically and geopolitically in particular. The question is how young
Armenians perceive this influence. They are aware of it but obviously unable to change it. It is a
‘forced friendship’ with mutual benefits.

5.4.6 Electing - in the first Post-war elections

The June 2021 elections were held after a tense electoral campaign, dominated by Pashinyan
and former president Kocharyan. Although the reputation of the former had decreased,
Kocharyan was also reluctantly welcomed. His presidency has been characterized by a rapid
increase of the economy, but also by corruption and authoritarian leadership. Pashinyan had
the advantage of being relatively new in the political arena; his blaming the old regime for the
loss of Karabakh was supported by some. It is a technique that works perfectly. “Leaders can
increase support by exploiting the trust they have developed with followers” (Fearon & Laitin,
2000: 855), and this is where Pashinyan stepped in. The recent war had “overshadowed” the
Velvet Revolution (Piligian, 2021) and many followers were not really curious of Kocharyan’s
proposals. Whatever the case, the elections were characterized by uncertainty, division, and
hate speech.

After the war, everyone blames each other for who is guilty and why we lost the war.
Everybody is angry with each other. [...] Who is correct, the Prime Minister or the
ex-President? They talk about politics, but you can feel from the speech that they hate
each other. In Armenia, a group of people support the Prime Minister and another one
the ex-President. These groups hate each other. (Respondent 4)

Some respondents share their opinion about the two leaders:

I don’t say he [Pashinyan] is my hero; I don’t adore him. He is not the person who will
help people and make their dreams come true. I didn’t see anything terrible from
Pashinyan, but I saw it from previous ones. (Respondent 6)

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 I believe that Pashinyan has empathy for his people. In reality, it doesn’t matter what
political approaches he has [...] I think that we have a leader who cares about the
people’s pain. (Respondent 8)

I didn’t want Kocharyan personally to come because [...] now that we lost Karabakh, why
do we need to get back to the authoritarian trap? (Respondent 7)

Image 16: Pashinyan’s pre-election speech in Republic Square (Yerevan, 17/06/21)

The problem for young people is the uncertainty of returning to the old politicians. “It is okay not
to want this defeated regime to stay in power, while at the same time not wanting a return to the
corrupt old days.”(Asbarez, 2021a). Were people also polarized by poisonous hatred and
populist rhetoric? (Ghazanchyan, 2021a) During a chat with one of the people who helped me
translate the interviews, she mentioned that ‘three years ago we used to be happy. I don’t know
how it changed so fast.’ Young people were absent in the protests and the elections as well,
where the turnout was just 50% (PiIigian, 2021). According to a respondent:

It is pretty predictable because people have nothing to choose when you have no new
faces on the political landscape. Probably they will choose someone whom they feel
less hurt by. (Respondent 7)

When they are asked whether they would vote for the old regime of Kocharyan or still support
Pashinyan despite the loss and the criticism about the war, respondents once more appeared
hesitant:

“Yes, I supported him [Pashinyan]. In 2019, 80% voted for him. Everybody trusted him.
After the war, many things were discarded, many orders to the army were stupid, and
we lost many soldiers. I don’t support him anymore.” (Respondent 4)

“We just got rid of him [Kocharyan], and you want to bring him back? It was predictable
for me to see the victory of Pashinyan. From two bad, we choose the least one.”
(Respondent 7)

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A May 2021 poll came up with the following results for the two politicians:

Figure 13: Opinion about Pashinyan and Kocharyan, May 2021

(Caucasus Research Resource Center, 2021)

The electoral outcome in late June 2021 was 54% for Civil Contract (Pashinyan) followed by
Armenia Alliance (Kocharyan) with 21%. (Statista, 2021)

5.4.7 Dreaming - a future in Armenia or abroad?

A February 2021 survey showed the percentage of people considering moving abroad (see
Figure 14).

Figure 14: Leaving for another country permanently (Caucasus Research Resource Center, 2021)

One of the biggest concerns for every post-war society is emigration that further weakens the
economic transformation and rebuilding. The so-called brain drain is a modern phenomenon
that usually affects low income or post-war societies. Some of the respondents shared their
worries about a possible outflow of young people from the country, while others shared their
own plans of migrating.

I’m concerned about economic development and if the country will develop, or if there
will be migration flows abroad. Now I see so many people trying to get out of the country
who say, ‘If I have money, I will leave Armenia at this point.’ (Respondent 7)

I want to go to Europe, to Spain. But I need to try hard. [...] I don’t want to stay here
because I’m tired. (Respondent 6)

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Nevertheless, the percentage of people that said they want to leave is relatively small, and
many young Armenians think of staying. One of the respondents talked about ‘duty’ and his
decision to stay.

Everybody has this duty. If anybody wants to leave, then who will stay and protect?
When I was in the army, I wanted to go to another country and work there. But, now I
have changed my mind, and I understand that I love my country. (Respondent 4)

What then is this love for the country, and how do we interpret this new patriotism? Living
through war has negative effects, but at the same time it is a wake-up call for reflecting and
reviving national belonging. Escaping the poor economic opportunities and corruption is now
turning into patriotism and a rebuilding mission. A tour operator who has always been promoting
her country comes up with a new narrative:

I loved Armenia, but it was so individual. I want my Armenia to become popular among
tourists, to organise more tours and so on. The goal [for me] was to earn more money.
But now it’s for my country [that I want] to make more money. (Respondent 9)

Hacopian (2021) brings to the table the ‘new patriotism’ with five points that perfectly fit an ideal
scenario of rebuilding Armenia, that aligns with the youth’s views of what should be prioritised.
The loss of land, family, home and friends made them self-reflect, change their habits and
values, but at the same time, the ‘narrative of loss’ gives them the motivation to reboot their
lives. His five points include:

● building a modern economy that raises the living standards of Armenians living in
Armenia,
● building a functional democratic and competent state structure,
● building the finest small army in the world,
● investing heavily in science and education, and
● using the culture and collective narrative to bind all of the above-mentioned
modernizations.

To stand up and feel us as a country again. To develop our economy and be stronger in
Armenia. To be stronger and not be attacked all the time. To protect what we have now.
Now I feel that we need to protect every centimetre, because Azerbaijanis are coming
deeper and deeper. We cannot stop them if we are not stronger. No one will come;
neither Russia can stop Azerbaijan. (Respondent 2)

The best scenario for us is ending these political games and tricks and for the people to
unite around ideas and individuals, fight for our motherland, peaceful methods, and
bring back our lost homeland. (Respondent 5)

Both respondents seem to follow the path of a new patriotism, domestically centralised and
directed, without the intention of a new war. Their answers derive from the main problems that
emerged during the war and from the polarisation dividing society. Moreover, one of the most
common narratives (insecurity) – derived from the borders issue, the ‘corridor’ and the populist,

78
xenophobic rhetorics from Azerbaijan – brings the need for ‘independence’ that protects people
and land.

Hacopian (2021) added the need for ‘branding Armenia’ and building-up the military, so as not
to send soldiers off unprepared. In line with this, the interviewees added their opinion on what
they would do to see Armenia prosper.

What I think I would love to do is invest in education, if possible. [...] One of the
Armenian changes to evolve and develop is to become an education centre.
(Respondent 7)

The desirable thoughts can be different, but I would like to have a country with a strong
army, economy and professionals functioning without breaking down. (Respondent 8)

I want to make people know more and more about Armenia. To love Armenia as I do.
(Respondent 9)

Finally, the new patriotism is not an easy task, especially in the short run. Patriotism, as meant
here, focuses more on ‘re-loving’ the country by making it strong and respecting the values.
Furthermore, self-reflection is necessary to walk through a new era. ‘New’ patriotism cannot be
achieved without shifting from the ‘old’ narratives. Making a shift needs compromising,
minimising and accepting a reality, which many respondents already did or mentioned. The two
final quotes here are from two respondents sceptical of the new shift. How to understand the
new era, and what should Armenians prioritise before being patriotic?

The ideal scenario for Armenia would be to calm down and try to balance, be more
rational, stop always flying somewhere with these constructed myths that Armenia
always wins no matter what, with the idea that in the 21st century, one can win wars with
spirit. We need to forget it. Maybe not forget but should prioritise and become more
rational. […] Now you can’t rely on the idea that Armenia is always right and is going to
win. […] If you want to make your country a successful one, calm down, breathe in,
breathe out, start working, stop doing pointless demonstrations for every single issue,
and take personal responsibility for what’s happening. Stop blaming the leader, Russia,
the US and the EU, and get out of the narrative of being a victim. That’s what I don’t
really like in Armenia, that always feeling like a victim. (Respondent 7)

The soldier’s answer is also a profound thought on how narratives change in just a moment:

You try hard for many things, but one day your friend dies next to you. You acknowledge
that all the things you worked on in your civil life are now meaningless. If I lose my future
kids, if I need to lose a family member or a friend because of patriotism, I don’t want this
patriotism. (Respondent 3)

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6. Conclusion
The findings of the fieldwork research and the literature review-analysis provide compelling
insights into the influence of narratives on the Armenian youth. The primary research question
of the research was:

How and to what extent have social narratives from the second Nagorno
Karabakh war influenced the Armenian youth identity?

This question was split into two sub-questions, the first one dealing with narratives before the
war and the second one during and after. Chapter 5 has consequently also been divided into
sections with narratives and interviews referring to each time frame, answering these
sub-questions.

Sub-question 1: How have social narratives been formed in Armenia before the
second (2020) war over Nagorno Karabakh?

Over the years, social narratives in Armenia have been incrementally constructed based on
historical events, most noteworthy the Armenian Genocide. The dominant context of Armenia
before the first Nagorno Karabakh war was victimhood or a ‘victim complex’. Understandably,
such a ‘complex’ decreased in importance with the victory of the first war in 1994. The first war
gave room to a victorious narrative that many respondents addressed in remembering their
childhood. Some identify with those or even older narratives (victimhood), while others focus on
the first war. Memories, although shared, are individually manifested (Kansteiner, 2002). Those
who moved to Karabakh had a stronger affiliation with the war, while the respondent from
Russia identified more with the Armenian Genocide. The starting point was not the same for
every respondent, and ‘shared memory’ is, indeed, ‘individually’ manifested.

Regarding theory and practice, some respondents indicated how memories from their youth
shaped their current behaviour and how they adopted narratives that “fit their own” (Kansteiner,
2002: 192). For example, the refugee from Hadrut who – based on her family story – perceived
herself as different and ‘obliged to remember’. Other respondents adopted narratives that also
‘fit their own’. For instance, the Respondent 4, who learned how to use a weapon and dreamed
of capturing Baku. Victimisation gave way to a victory narrative.

During the last three decades, the Nagorno Karabakh issue has always been on the table. The
lack of memories made the youth more vulnerable to forget this critical issue, something also
observed in the interviews. Having no objective view of the cruelties of the first war, they
seemed more ‘patriotic’ but at the same time also less informed and aware (see, for instance,
the respondent who only learned about it while in university). All of them seemed to be
“persuaded” by a story, in the terms of Klein (2013: 39). Such persuasive narratives of “pain,
depression, and dissociation of a person who survived a trauma” (Hirsch, 2008: 112) have been
addressed before, during and after the 2020 war. Before the war, young people heard stories
through family storytelling. During the war, some experienced the frontline, others volunteered,
and yet others fled. The narrative became an experience.

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All respondents more or less confirmed the prevailing narratives of pre-war victimhood versus
victory and post-war narratives of self-awareness. The teacher who fled Nagorno Karabakh
talked about her father’s loss, whereas the respondent from Syunik shared his father’s mental
health issues. Such stories gave them a mission – to remember and continue. They also carry a
narrative of pain that creates ‘memories’, albeit implicitly.

On the other hand, a ‘bragging victorious narrative’ became prominent among the mindset of
society. The post-1994 ‘victory narrative’ was partially overshadowed by the old narrative of the
Armenian struggle, but also legitimised by it. Old pain made them ‘rightfully’ claim Nagorno
Karabakh and simultaneously legitimised a deserved victory. It was a vindication of the past.

According to the theory, mnemonic communities – such as schools, churches and monuments –
narrate the past. They are tools of Moscovici’s “representation theory” (Hirschberger, 2018: 7).
These communities are the tools for constructing memories, aligning them with the present.
Various examples were given by the respondents and how they were taught, in school and
within the family. Even though narratives are essential for national cohesion and continuity, they
are sometimes misleading, biased or manipulative. The education system in Armenia is flawed
and based on old curricula and methods. Nevertheless, the school as a mnemonic community
functions as a narrator, exemplified by the teacher. The soldier changed his worldview after
specific incidents at school and people he met. He recalls the patriotism of his teacher and how
he became aware of the past. The narrative shaped his behaviour and made him search for
more information about the 2016 war, the war he had witnessed himself. These narratives
“increased self-esteem and developed a group identity and understanding of history” (Chaitin &
Steinberg, 2014: 33).

Finally, these two prevalent and simultaneously driven narratives of victimhood and victory
dazzled civilians and politicians alike. The increased military expenditures by Azerbaijan, the
economic problems in Armenia, and occasional border clashes did not activate the Armenian
society. Moreover, the 2018 Velvet Revolution gave rise to a renewed hope for social change,
further disorienting the public from an actual threat. Its emotional context could “generate social
change and uptake” (Kvernbekk & Bøe-Hansen, 2017: 220), which actually also happened. This
overconfidence was built on the basis of the pre-war narratives, and only a few young people
were distraught. Most of them talked about the situation being ‘like a movie’, far from reality.
This ‘distance’ was also depicted in surveys, according to which young Armenians were more
willing to resolve the Nagorno Karabakh issue by violence, unlike the older generations – that
had seen the war. Such a lack of memories in combination with the security of a ‘well
implemented’ victory narrative (justified by victimisation), led to ‘inactivity’ among the
Armenians. In other words, a combination of constructed memories and persuasive (dominant)
narratives harmed Armenia’s ‘social readiness’ in 2020.

Sub-question 2: How do the narratives of the 2020 war influence the youth, during
and after the war?

Now victory became a loss, it gave once more room to the pre-1994 war narrative of
victimhood. Several surveys reveal how reconciliation with neighbours is hard to achieve, given
the negative perceptions. During the war, political rhetoric increased in order to support the
‘public morale’. The notion of multiplicity or remediation by Fieldman & Almquist (2012: 2),
refers to “the selective representation and multiplicity of narratives in media that present only
81
specific events.” This is exactly what Pashinyan did, and other government officials as well. He
has been criticised for being stubborn and politically immature, although he spread a collective
perception, based on an old narrative: to prove that Armenians are the rightful and invincible
owners of Nagorno Karabakh. Some respondents did believe in this state-orchestrated
propaganda and had no actual idea of the war escalation, as ‘everything was under control’.

As expected, the political turbulence affected the youth, and the new narrative of division
replaced the old one. The June 2021 elections generated apathy and low expectations to the
youth, as the country was grieving for human and territorial losses. Pessimism regarding the
future was also quite visible. During fieldwork research, negative feelings brought new
narratives of hope and self-reflection (starting from the individual) to the fore, while Yerevan
returned to normality. In general, interviewees stressed the need to (re-)focus on values (family,
life), rethink, work and reflect.

Humiliation, loss, and the provocations of Azerbaijan and Turkey in combination with Russia’s
passiveness, created a new collective trauma – a ‘post-war era to be remembered’. When
participants were asked to look at pictures of destroyed monuments, they all showed
disappointment, anger and frustration. At the same time, the narrative built during the war was
insecurity regarding both Azerbaijan and Turkey. This new fear aligns perfectly with the notion
that ‘memories are a response to the need for recognition of the present’. By identifying the
present threat (Turkey), memories of the past return to the foreground.

According to Hobsbawm and Ranger (1992), the invented tradition seeks ‘continuity’. Before an
‘old’ narrative dies (be it about victory or superiority), it gives birth to a ‘new’ one (insecurity and
grief). Yerablur Cemetery is an ethno-landscape of this new reality. It displays a sense of
innerness that calls for national unity. This unity is manifested by anger, sadness or even
revenge, but also asks for development, individually and collectively. In other words, it
resembles a ‘silent revolution’. The respondents desire a new, stronger country. Although we
expected a post-conflict society to experience brain drain, recent surveys and some
respondents showed their willingness to stay. However, this cannot be generalised. It simply
indicates how ‘old nationalism’ becomes ‘new patriotism’ and ‘love’ for a prosperous country. It
is a new collective mission of rebuilding.

Yet, one narrative prevailed throughout: the need for development, for cultural, economic and
educational improvement is not necessarily caused by the defeat. Surveys show that the
biggest problem before and after the war has been the economy and, later on, the political and
territorial issues. The youth seeks prosperity and wellbeing, and it appears as if the war made
them more determined to try it in Armenia.

Another insight from the interviews is that people seemed offensive, but at the same time
defensive. Some showed the will to retake, while others the need to hold back. Therefore, we
cannot make a definitive claim but rather summarise some observations. The new patriotism
(Hacopian, 2021) inspires a return to values, to rebooting. Armenians have come to realise the
bubble they had constructed by investing in powers they did not own. In addition, the role of
Russia as the only ally is also flawed. Given the neutrality of Western countries, Armenia moved
in the direction of Russia – the least bad option, as witnessed in the interviews and on-spot
observations. One respondent referred to it as ‘a forced friendship’. Armenians nowadays might
have less favourable perceptions of Russia – yet, they have no alternative. The November 9
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agreement puts Armenian integrity and sovereignty in question, and Russian influence is
expected to increase, be it welcomed or not. Armenia is producing new narratives, carried by
the memories and traumas of people, the testimonies of refugees, and soldiers’ survival. As
memories fade out, “the best analogy to remembering is storytelling” (Bourdieu et al., 2002: 7).
The young Armenians are trying to catch up.

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7. Discussion
The old versus new narratives analysis in Armenia is a challenging, yet exciting topic. Delving
into a society with recent scars and a collective sorrow might be complicated. The young people
are in a state of ‘debriefing’ and reflection. It can also be a confusion of identity but, more
precisely, of mission. The old narratives of victory evaporated for victimhood to re-emerge. The
cruelty of the war, the loss of friends, refugees and soldiers are actual memories and
experiences gathered in the interviews. These results show how the youth was confronted with
dominant narratives that were misleading and do not exist anymore. Such a state of ‘confusion’
is justifiable. However, this does not mean that they lack any motivation in their post-war plans.
A return to the development of their homeland is a new narrative (new patriotism) that might
alleviate their distress. They accept their weaknesses, and the will to change presents a young
generation flowering from the ashes. The results also tell how problems that existed in the past
(bad economy, corruption) are still high on the list. The war created a wound, but it was a (hard)
lesson to prioritize values and a second chance for a rational future. The youth were victims of
narratives and (unwittingly) supporters of master narratives.

The lack of memories definitely boosts the role of the narrative, according to theory. While
Armenia was investing in reproducing the past, cohesion was the first positive result. No one
could predict that ‘confidence’ with a narrative that ‘fits’ the needs of the masses would be at the
same time a burden that could shut down a whole nation. How to continue after a shock, and
how to accept the new mindset imposed? Schools had the leading role in educating kids, not
simply teaching them how to follow. They are lighthouses that could promote peace and
reconciliation and not rush to add the new ‘patriotic triumph’ in the history textbooks. Politicians
are also responsible for consolidating narratives, and Pashinyan and his predecessors were
reproducing and building a false narrative. We are stronger!

The post-war results contradict the pre-war narratives. It seems that there was a general
‘confidence’ that made the youth less proactive and, in some cases, less interested. The
distance to Nagorno Karabakh was there, and so was proximity. But being raised as victorious
and having strong stories from family and school, young people could not foretell the future, let
alone a defeat. However, today they are proactive, an optimistic element (narrative?) for a
society that recruits young pioneers to restart the national engine. This connection of pre- and
post-war narratives is an excellent topic for interested scholars and a ‘review’ for the Armenian
people.

The results correlate with the theory which connects narratives with memories. As expected,
young people were overwhelmed by storytelling from the past, which inspired their imagination.
Regarding Nagorno Karabakh, mnemonic communities such as schools, symbols or
audio-textual narratives such as political rhetoric were abundant even during the recent war.
Undoubtedly narratives influence the youth from the day they are born, and they all
commemorate the past differently and, therefore, make sense of the present differently. Some
want to move abroad or take revenge, while others stay and work quietly.

The limitations have been extensively discussed in the methodology part. No generalization is
possible from a few interviews. They provide a fertile ground for a first depiction of the situation

84
that might inspire other scholars to investigate the issue more in-depth. This is a thesis that
contributes to a psychological-sociological topic of a specific age group in a post-conflict society.
It is not common to analyse how ‘stories’ might drive a nation after a war. Once a war is over, it
is very likely for the attention to decrease. However, we raise awareness because the first steps
of rebuilding a post-conflict society by the youth’s most productive group help understand how
the entire community will continue.

Another limitation refers to the fieldwork research; ideally, it should be extended in time and
space. The perceptions and opinions vary in different geographical regions and the time passed
after the war. Unfortunately, this research could not provide notes from the conflict zone. A
timeline of how narratives develop might help ‘predict’ the future and help other societies with
similar problems.

Nevertheless, this master thesis has several positive features. It briefly provides a sensitive
topic from an unexplored region. The combination of on-spot interviews with participant
observation during the pandemic made it a real adventure that can be spotted on paper. Even
though the topic was sensitive, the respondents were more than willing to share their thoughts
and surprisingly, no one had a problem. Some also contributed by helping in translating,
suggesting places or introducing me to more people. The reader of this research can allocate
him/herself and find similarities with possible dominant narratives produced in his/her home
country. Symbols, the role of family and the political rhetorics, memories from the past are not
only present in conflict regions. The character of this thesis does not follow a strict academic
pattern. Using images, real testimonies from people who experienced the war added more
value. In contrast, the occasional use of the ‘I’ person reduces the researcher’s point of view
and the reader’s reactions. This thesis, ironically, becomes also the researcher’s narrative.

Small countries like Armenia cover interesting insights for scholars interested in the dichotomy
of narratives and memories. Armenia has a problematic geopolitical status, and it’s struggling
with internal and external threats; hence, future research could focus on the fluctuation of
narratives as time moves on and the geopolitical balance in South Caucasus. This will help in
identifying problems and formulating policies. It is likely to extract results from small-scale
countries that might answer narratives circulating in bigger societies, triggering scientific
relevance. What Armenia went through was evident in Bosnia and Herzegovina, Israel and
Palestine, Germany, Afghanistan and many more places.

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Statement of independent work
I hereby confirm that this thesis was written independently by myself without the use of any sources
beyond those cited or personal fieldwork notes and images, and all passages and ideas taken from other
sources are cited accordingly.

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Appendix
1. Interview guide

Part A. Introduction (General information: e.g. age, occupation etc.our

people and me)

1. Where are you from?

a. How is life here now?

Part B. 1st war of Nagorno Karabakh Discussion about memories and older narratives.

1. If you could give three words for your

homeland, which would they be?

2. Are there any stories/tales/testimonies Personal narratives/family/friends/relatives

from your family about the first war?

2. a. Do you feel connected to these Attachment to stories.

stories? If yes, how?

3. How important is religion for you in your

everyday life? Why/why not?

4. Few words about Artsakh. What does that

region mean to you?

5. Do you remember the 1st war of Artsakh? Lack of memories confirmation

5. a. Do you know someone who Personal attachment to testimonies.

participated (relatives, family, relatives)?
What stories did they tell you? How have
these stories shaped you as a person?

Part C. 2020 Nagorno Karabakh war and after Combining the new memories and narratives

6. Do you remember the day the second war Confirming the memories
started? Can you describe it to me (what
were you doing, where have you been)

6. a. What kind of memories did this new Influence and connection.

war

bring to you from the past?

7. What were your first thoughts/concerns

feelings during the war?

7.a. Did you feel at that time that you Analysing the dominant/political narratives
would win? Why/why not? influence.

7.b. What is the most traumatic effect of [Sensitive question]

the loss of the war for you?

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 7.c. Do you know people who were in the [Sensitive question]
war? Did you lose someone in the war?

8. How has the war affected you in your

everyday life?

8.a. Do you talk about it with family or

friends? If yes, what issues do you
discuss?

9. Did you participate in the war? Applied only for one respondent.

9.a. Can you describe to us your Applied only for one respondent.
experience?

10. I have signed a statement with the The influence of political speech/narratives.
presidents of Russia and Azerbaijan on
the termination of the Karabakh war,”
Pashinyan said in a statement posted on
his Facebook page, calling the move
“unspeakably painful for our people and
me.” What do you think about
Pashinyan’s statement?

11. What do you think about the influence of

bigger surrounding countries in Armenia?

12. What is your opinion about the Armenian

army (before 2018 and now after the
war)? Do you trust the army?

13. What are the motives for you to vote,

what should the new government
have/address?

14. What do you think should be the ideal

future of Artsakh and Armenia?

15. These photos (see pictures below) are The influence of visual narratives.
from the historical heritage in Artsakh
affected by the war. What do these visual
representations generate for you?

16. What plans do you have for the future?

17. Would you like to add something?

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2. Pictures used for question 15 (some of them).

Shushi’s Ghazanchetsots in 1904 and 1975 (source: Shahen Mkrtchyan, Historical-Architectural

Monuments of Nagorno-Karabakh, 1980);

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3. Cose System
Structure of the segments in MAXQDA 2020.

100