Arsen Kharatyan wrote the following essay. Arsen has twice been taken into custody along Northern Avenue. He is the son of ethnologist Hranush Kharatyan who was the Head of the Department of National Minorities and Religious Affairs until her dismissal from office on March 6th upon the personal order of Serzh Sargsyan.

I went to Northern Avenue with a book under my arm. When I returned from America about six weeks ago I had a real aversion to even walk down that street. Now, there is such emotion there, that the same Northern Avenue has been turned into a real public space owned by the people. Now I am heading towards this public space once again with the same degree of pleasure to rub shoulders with those wonderful people.

It was about six in the evening that I reached the start of Northern Avenue. Most of the people walking around were uniformed police carrying clubs. Someone in civilian dress was barking out some orders. Alongside him was someone with a video camera who knew most of the citizens present from previous days. This was just a continuation of his psychological assault on those in attendance. The difference was that now he was focusing his camera on all passersby as well. Those coming into his camera’s sights could be immediately hauled off to the police station.

I sat down on one of the benches and began to read my book. About three minutes later two policemen approached me.
-    Get up, said one of them.
-    Why, I asked him.
-    Let’s go, said the other.
-    Where? I asked him.
As I was asking these questions, they took me by the arms and sat me in their police van. There was an elderly woman next to me clutching the latest edition of “Chorrod Ishkhanutyun” and a middle-aged woman as well. The old lady was hitting the policeman sitting opposite her in the head with the rolled up newspaper and cursing him. The officer replied that he was only carrying out his orders. The woman sitting next to me continued to maintain that she had been picked up on the way home from work. We soon reached the police station. In front, a crowd of people had already gathered. 

Inside, it turned out that there were more arrested individuals than police officers. There was a positive energy about the place. After registering all of us “criminals” they took us to a large room and told us to be patient and wait. Most of those detained there were women.

The detainees soon broke into small groups and started their own mini-meetings. Soon tiring of the debate, one of the women got up and said she was a mathematics teacher. She suggested we pass the time trying to solve some riddles. She took out a box of matches from her handbag and we all began to solve the brainteasers.

A policeman suddenly entered the room holding a radio in his hand. He said that Radio Liberty was broadcasting some news about us. He closed the door and asked that we quietly listen to the broadcast. Another police officer entered the room and said:
-    What’s going on here...give that radio back. Who gave these “criminals” that radio?
A bit later two young guys entered the room carrying bottles of water.
-    Here auntie, take this water. Tomorrow or the next day we’re going to see each other on the street again and exchange greetings.
After saying this, the guy quickly exited the room.

Soon afterwards another officer entered and began reading off names. For an instant I imagined that they were taking our friends to the gas chambers. I soon realized that they were only categorizing us according to our place of residence. They lined us all up against the wall and photographed us.

Later on, we were placed in different cars. In the same car with me were the two same ladies who continued with their private meeting. The policeman was mumbling something along the lines that he was only doing his duty.
- I have two kids. I swear on their souls that I wasn’t carrying any gun on March 1st

We the car reached the intersection of Koryun and Teryan Streets, just opposite the offices of the first president, we ran out of gas. The driver opened the trunk and pulled out a plastic bottle full of gas. The woman sitting next to me said,
-    So this is what you guys carry around with you so that you can broadcast on Haylur that we attacked you with these bottles?

We reached the state police headquarters. They took us to the third floor and looked for an empty room. Somebody suggested that they use his room, so he left. They put the two women and me inside that room. Two other women were brought in a bit later. They had been ‘thanking’ the police for bringing them to the station as a gift for the women’s month long campaign. 

The TV in our room was showing a film, something about Prometheus. We all started to watch it attentively. The door to the room was open. A young guy carrying a TV walked past the room and we could hear someone say, “What a luxury room you’ve given us.”

The staff at the station was mostly uncommunicative. After about an hour a young officer with an angry face entered the room without any greeting and soon began asking for names. He spoke to us using the singular ‘du’ form, rather than the polite ‘duk’, and never looked us in the eye. When it became our turn I asked one of the ladies:
-    Has the use of the word ‘du’ become standard policy here?
-    It’s probably an educational deficiency; said the guy.
-    No, it’s most likely a lack of upbringing; I replied.
The angry young officer remained stone-faced.

After about an hour and a half a young guy entered the room and read off my name. (By the way, when we had asked why we had been brought here the police’s only response was that we’d be informed in good time.) After ‘exposing’ my secrets he called the angry guy over and told him to escort me to the police chief.
-    Straighten out your sweater; he said.
-    What? I asked.
-    You’re not going to wash up. Why have you rolled up your sleeves?
-    We have a washing machine, I replied
-    Does it work OK? the angry guy asked.
-    Perfectly, I said as he approached the chief’s office
-    Wait here, said the guy and he went inside.
A minute later I was called into the office. The chief was a middle-aged man and his office was tastefully done up. He was on the phone, smoking a cigarette.
-    Sit down, he said.
-    Can I leave? asked the angry young officer, somewhat resigned. The chief gave him a wave of his hand and he exited the office.
After getting off the phone, the chief once again verified my address and telephone number. Our conversation then began.
-    Hmm. It appears that you’re an educated guy, he said.
-    How do you know? I asked.
-    Because it turns out that you’re not a criminal.
-    What makes you say that, I asked
-    All right, where did they bring you from?
-    The Central Police Station.
-    No, I mean before that.
-    Oh yeah, from Northern Avenue.
-    And what were you doing on Northern Avenue?
-    Reading a book.
-    You couldn’t find another place to read?
-    That’s where I like to read books.
-    That’s a good answer. But you’re such nice, clever guys. Isn’t it a pity?
-    What exactly do you mean? I asked.
-    I mean that they are using you.
-    Who? I asked.
-    OK, I don’t have the time right now. Stop by the office tomorrow around three. We’ll sit down and have a nice long talk.
-    About what?
-    Stop by and I’ll convince you.
-    Convince me about what?
-    All right, we’ll talk later.

The chief called the angry police officer back and told him to release me. I then left the station. I hugged the crowd of familiar people and strangers assembled in the yard and told them about our “acts of bravery”. All us of us waited for the others to come down. The police were releasing groups of the other detainees ever half-hour. They all had new stories to tell regarding their encounter with the police. The last detained person was released around two in the morning and he declared our protest action was over. We all went home. I silently reflected that the day proved quite interesting.

Arsen Kharatyan