It is August 2 . The scorching sun makes the day even more challenging. Garin and I have difficult yet important visits ahead of us. The first stop is at Armen’s house. He has three little ones, all girls. The youngest one, 1.5 year old, is too little to understand but is visibly and by instinct feeling uncomfortable. The older one, age 12, stays in the hallway and walks in only briefly to quiet the little one. She is listening to the adult conversation from behind the wall. We are all concerned about Armen. We concur that the evidence clearly points to the contrary which is that his intention and active call was for peace. We have all watched the videos over and over again.
Armen’s mom tells us that after the preliminary hearing Armen was allowed to pay a brief visit – only a couple of hours - to the family to put things in order. As he was leaving he hugged his three girls and said “Your father is going to jail, but he is not a bad person, he has done what is right”. I hope that this time as well, he was convincing for the girls. As I walk out, I hug the older girl and say “You know your father is a good man and he wanted a better Armenia for all us”.
Our next stop is on the other side of the Erebouni fortress. It is a familiar territory. I was born on the other side of the mountain. We stop at the gate of a private dwelling. The first door is the uncle’s and we are pleasantly redirected to next door. We are greeted by Davit’s parents first and then his lovely wife. Daron is at the computer. He has been my favorite since he was born perhaps because he bears the same name as one of my sons. Although only 8, Daron’s strong manly personality shines through. He is proud of his father and he follows what is going on intently on the computer. His younger brother is quiet, he knows something is up.
I look at Davit’s mom and recall the tape I watched of Davit unconsciously taken away by four tugs. Her voice is ringing in my ear “ Give water … I did not give birth and bring a son into this world ….”. She tells us the story of how Davit stopped to help a young lady whose clothes were caught on fire from the stun grenades on that infamous night. She apologetically tells me that she was more concerned about Davit. I quickly comfort her telling her I am a mother of five and know the feeling quite well.
At departure, I hug Daron and try to say a few words to make him feel better.
As we sit in the car, Garin and I are quiet. A terrible feeling strangles us. Five little ones who are deprived of fatherly love, and all because an order has been given that “it is politically necessary”. All I can think of is the words of Siamanto “O human justice let me …..”.
Founder of Orran
