By Vrej Haroutounian

During the feudal period of Japan (1185-1868), a rōnin (浪人^?) was classified as a samurai who did not have a lord or master. A samurai would become a rōnin upon the death, fall or loss of privilege of the master.  

A few days ago, I received a phone call from an older friend inviting me to attend the 27th anniversary commemoration of the Sumgait anti-Armenian pogroms, which was to take place in Nagorno-Kharabagh (Artsakh).

Upon agreeing, I arrived at the Ashtarak city center at 7:00 am and was immediately greeted by a large group of men. We were soon sorted into various commuter buses and embarked on the long drive to Artsakh.

I soon came to realize that I was traveling to Artsakh in a bus full of veterans from the Artsakh War. Initially, their demeanor took me aback.

 These were not the azadamardeegs (freedom fighters) that songs and folklore had been written about. Neither were they the azadamardeegs whose pictures we glorified and names we remembered.

These were the very villagers who took up arms at the beck and call and stood ground in unknown forests to protect their homes and people from the cold hand of aggression. I recalled the documentaries filmed by Tsvetana Paskaleva, which I had seen years earlier at the Pasadena Armenian Center. These were the very men from the screen, shuffling between trees and tanks, smoking cigarettes and driving towards the frontlines as caravans of people sought refuge in the other direction.

During the first rest stop, our caravan organized an impromptu lunch where everyone contributed something from their “shepherd’s meal bag,” creating an impressive spread of bread, cheese, boiled eggs, pickles and homemade vodka. Glasses were filled, toasts were said and, after a few cycles of the repeated process, the caravan was ready to move forward.

As we continued down the road, the singing commenced and was followed by storytelling reminiscent of the war, while all of this was accompanied by, of course, more drinking. I was traveling in the company of heroes, but these men were a far cry from elitist soldiers.

Untrained, ill equipped and inexperienced, these first-responders mustered up whatever was available and put up the fight of their lives. Now, they were reuniting at the very site of their victory, celebrating their victories and commemorating the ones that they could not save. The gravity of their experiences was written on their tired and weathered faces. I soon came to learn that alcohol dependency substituted medical care for many of these men, as many became reliant on the bottle as a way of dealing with untreated ailments. These men exhibited the whole gamut of emotions: from being visibly emotional at times to scenes of friendly nostalgia.

They laughed, cried, poked fun at each other, and remembered the good old days. All of their emotions blended in a beautiful cohesion of their past valor being tied to a current, tangible land that came to fruition due to their efforts. In Shushi, they joined the new generation in song and celebration, truly enjoying the well-deserved heroes welcome organized for them. Pride and joy emerged in Stepanakert, clearly affirming that these men were ready and willing to serve again, should the need arise.

As we were descending from Shushi, one of these men pointed to a collection of sculptures made by a group of European sculptors and proudly claimed that the children of Shushi made them. Without hesitation, I commented of their great beauty and withheld my urge to affirm their European origin. The delegation that had installed these sculptors had been contested by Azerbaijan several years earlier, which claimed that the artists did not have the proper paperwork to install such a project. I came to realize that these men were the embodiment of the spirit and guardians of the Armenian mountains. The hope that Armenian children would create and thrive on this land was what led them to the battlefield 25 years ago. One could not have the audacity to argue of such matters with the very men whose stouthearted grit was the sole reason of that land’s existence.

While continuing the festivities on our return trip, we were surprised to find out that one of the men who had been traveling with us was Karen Mshetsi, whose soulful singing made the night unforgettable. As the night progressed and the singing soon dwindled out, the conversations became more personal. These men shared their stories. Many had not gone to school or earned a fancy title at work. Most of these people still were suffering from psychological and physiological trauma as a remnant of the war. Many lived in remote villages that received little consideration and even fewer visitors.

These men are the Rōnin of the Armenian mountains. They are the forgotten ones. They are the ones whose names are not mentioned in songs. They are the ones who did not make it into the books of the defense ministry or onto any veterans list. They simply sacrificed and fought for the independence of Artsakh and then went home to rebuild their lives.

"Warriors are not what you think of as warriors. The warrior is not someone who fights, because no one has the right to take another's life.

The warrior, for us, is one who sacrifices himself for the good of others. His task is to take care of the elderly, the defenseless, those who can not provide for themselves, and above all, the children, the future of humanity."

~ Sitting Bull 

These men are true warriors, fighting against aggression and risking the ultimate sacrifice on the frontlines. For these men, peace and an independent Artsakh came with a hefty price tag. Without hesitation, they paid for the price of peace and used every means necessary to ensure the security and survival of the land. It is now our duty to take care of them. With Our Soldiers (www.withoursoldiers.com) is an initiative organized a few years ago that has done substantial work in supporting the veterans of the Artsakh War.

As always, when donating funds, please be proactive and hold the organizers responsible for delivering reportable results for your donation, so that we can encourage solidarity and provide support for the right efforts in Armenia.

Vrej Haroutounian and his brother Vahe operate Four Peaks Landscape + Architecture in Armenia. Vrej moved to Yerevan from California.