by Guy Chazan
At the Shehidler Khiyabani park in the Azerbaijani capital, Baku, a huddle of women wail and keen by a graveside. They are grieving over yet another victim of the Karabagh war, a conflict that has claimed over 2,000 lives and decimated many thousands more.
Aref Alakhveldiyev was only 21 when he died fighting in Fizuli, on the border of Karabagh. Now, on what would have been his 22nd birthday, his family gather round his grave, dressing it in the dolls, paper flowers, photographs and carnations that would have adorned his wedding car had he lived to marry. "Most of these men died bachelors," says film director Mayak Keremov, pointing to the long lines of graves.
Hugging the horseshoe-shaped Caspian coastline, Baku is a charming city, green with tree-lined esplanades, medieval mosques and khans' palaces. But these days, few people stroll down the promenade and drink tea in the seafront "chaikhanas." A mournful atmosphere pervades the city.
"People are not in the mood to enjoy themselves," says journalist Vagif Rustamov. "There has even been pressure to ban entertainment programs from the television, because of the war."
Baku was once the most cosmopolitan city in the Soviet Union. Armenians, Azeris, Jews and Russians lived peacefully together, creating a sophisticated and unique cultural climate. But the Armenians have been driven from the city: the Jews have emigrated to Israel; and the Russians, fearful of Azeri nationalism, are also packing their bags.
"Baku is a ghost town these days," says one Western businessman based in Azerbaijan. The city's population has recently been replenished, however, but from an unexpected source-refugees from Karabagh. There are now 200,000 refugees in Azerbaijan, displaced from their homes in Karabagh and the Western regions bordering on Armenia.
"Azerbaijan had just finished dealing with the problem of 165,000 refugees from Armenia, and the 45,000 Turkish Meskhetians from Uzbekistan, when people started arriving from Karabagh," says Azerbaijan's Parliament Speaker, Isa Gambarov.
Most began streaming in May, after Armenian military successes in the mountainous enclave and the Lachin corridor that connects it to Armenia proper drove the last remaining Azerbaijanis from Karabagh.
The refugee issue is a headache for the authorities. In Baku they are housed in workers' sanatoria and soldiers' barracks, which provide a temporary shelter. But the conditions are wretched, and discontent runs high.
About forty refugee families live in a crumbling student hostel attached to the railway workers' polytechnic in an industrial suburb of Baku. They live five to a room, without water and gas. The place is shabby and ill-lit, the smell of filth overpowering.
Chichak Zeinalova, 35, lives with her five children in a room designed for two students. She arrived in Baku May 9 from the Lachin region, when her village was seized by Armenian forces. After two days spent walking barefoot through the snow to reach safe haven, her feet are frostbitten and crippled.
"The Armenians came in, killed my husband and burned down the whole village," Chichak says. "We used to have our own house and garden. Now I'm living in one room. I'm not allowed to work, and the state doesn't do anything for us."
The refugees are not registered in Baku, so cannot apply for work. Some of the women have got jobs as cleaners: the rest survive on the occasional handout. Staff at factories, state farms and cooperatives collect money and charities like the Red Cross and CARE are active in Baku. But there is no state sponsored program to help the refugees and most still languish in squalor.
The authorities admit they are not rushing to find permanent homes for the refugees, since this would amount to an acceptance of the status quo. "We resettled all those who fled from Armenia, but these refugees we hope to return to their homes in Nagorno-Karabagh and the border regions," admits Isa Gambarov. "In strategic terms this problem is hard to solve."
With close to 30 million rubles-dlrs. 100,000-being spent on the war every day, the money is simply not there to deal with the refugee issue. As it is, the government has slashed public spending and abandoned most social programs to keep the growing budget deficit in check.
As the problem of the refugees becomes more intractable, hostility towards them grows in Baku. The newcomers are mostly from rural areas, and their behavior occasionally shocks urbane Bakintsy. "The refugees have ruined the town," says Ali, a taxi driver. "They are peasants, coarse and dirty. Some even keep sheep on their balconies."
As the number of displaced people grows, attitudes harden and the desire to find a peaceful solution wanes, replaced by a new militancy and paranoid distrust of the enemy.
"The Armenians won't be satisfied until they reach Baku," says Fikrat Urdzhuv, 23, a soldier on furlough from the front visiting his refugee wife and 18-month-old child in a Baku hostel.
Speak to any Azeri about the conflict and you will hear a stream of speculation about Yerevan's plans to create a "Greater Armenia," incorporating parts of Georgia, Turkey and Azerbaijan where large Armenian-speaking communities live.
"When you talk to refugees you do not hear from them ‘we don't need this war:' you hear ‘we want our land back,' " says one Western diplomat. "No one is pressing to stop the fighting: there are no peace groups here." The militancy is growing. "The Armenians have violated our state borders," says Gen. Fahmin Gadzhiev, commander of Azerbaijan's Interior Ministry forces. "This is no longer a civil war: it is international."
Mayak Keremov scans the women grieving at Aref Alakhveldiyev's graveside, their wails echoing around the cypresses of the cemetery. He seems broken by the sight of so many burials, so much mourning. But when it comes to the Armenians, he is adamant. "Karabagh has been Azeri land since time immemorial," he says. "The Armenians should either obey the law and make do with cultural autonomy, or get out. But they won't do either. This is a war without end."
