Neue Zurcher Zeitung NZZ
Sonntag 21. August 2005
Armenian question raises controversy over racist article:
Denying the Armenian Genocide is not racism, says Georg Kreis,
president of Racism Commission, and thus receives indignation and
criticism
Armenien-Frage lost Kontroverse um Rassismus- Artikel aus
von Markus Hafliger
Die Leugnung des Genozids an den Armeniern sei nicht rassistisch: Das
sagte Georg Kreis, Prasident der Rassismus-Kommission, und stosst
damit auf Emporung und Kritik
– sogar in seiner Kommission.
In der bereits angeheizten Debatte um den Volkermord an den Armeniern
tut sich ein neues, uberraschendes Konfliktfeld auf: Die Gesellschaft
Schweiz-Armenien wirft Georg Kreis, dem Prasidenten der
Eidgenossischen Kommission gegen Rassismus (EKR), vor, den Genozid zu
verharmlosen. Ausgerechnet der EKR-Prasident offne die Tur, “den
Volkermord an den Armeniern zu leugnen”, emport sich die
Gesellschaft. Auch EKR-Mitglieder gehen auf Distanz: “Georg Kreis hat
sich etwas weit aus dem Fenster gelehnt”, sagt die
EKR-Vizeprasidentin, Nationalratin Cecile Buhlmann. Sie sei mit Kreis
“teilweise nicht einverstanden”.
Ausloser ist ein Artikel, den Kreis in der “Neuen Zurcher Zeitung”
publiziert hat. Darin bezweifelt der Basler Geschichtsprofessor, dass
die Leugnung des Armenier-Genozids im Sinne des Strafrechts
rassistisch sei. Dieser Positionsbezug ist brisant, weil derzeit
Strafverfahren gegen zwei prominente Turken laufen, die den Genozid
von 1915 geleugnet hatten. Diese Verfahren haben eine diplomatische
Krise mit der Turkei provoziert. “Ungeschickter” hatte Kreis “vom
Zeitpunkt her” nicht handeln konnen, schreibt die Gesellschaft
Schweiz-Armenien. Auch der Freiburger Strafrechtsprofessor Marcel
Niggli halt Kreis’ Stellungnahme fur problematisch: “Der politische
Druck auf die Strafverfolgungsbehorden ist ohnehin schon gross.”
Rassistische Schulbucher?
Die Kontroverse dreht sich um den Rassismus-Artikel im
Strafgesetzbuch. Kreis argumentiert, die Leugnung eines Genozids an
sich sei nicht rassistisch. Rassistisch – und somit strafbar – sei
eine Leugnung nur, wenn sie Teil einer rassistischen Ideologie sei.
Die Leugnung des Holocaust etwa sei strafbar, “weil dieses Leugnen
antisemitisch ist und weil offentliches Bekunden von Antisemitismus
verboten ist”.
Punkto Armenien beurteilt Kreis die Situation anders: “Zu fragen ist:
Gibt es im Fall der Armenier eine historische und, wie im Falle des
Hasses auf Juden, sich als unheilvoller in der
Geschichte reproduzierende antiarmenische, rassistische Ideologie,
die uber die Leugnung des Armenier-Genozids genahrt wurde, aber nicht
genahrt werden sollte? Nach dem Stand unserer Kenntnisse gibt es sie
nicht.” Mit anderen Worten: Wer den Holocaust an den Juden leugnet,
handelt rassistisch; wer den Volkermord an den Armeniern leugnet,
nicht.
“Äusserst erstaunt” reagiert auf diese Sicht Nationalrat Ueli
Leuenberger, Co-Prasident der parlamentarischen Gruppe
Schweiz-Armenien. Sarkis Shahinian, Co-Prasident der Gesellschaft
Schweiz-Armenien, weist Kreis’ Argumentation vehement zuruck: “Der
rassistische Beweggrund der Leugnung des Volkermordes an den
Armeniern ist erwiesen.” Als Beleg fuhrt Shahinian etwa turkische
Schulbucher an, in denen die Armenier heute noch als “Feinde”,
“Verrater” oder “Barbaren” bezeichnet wurden.
Niggli gegen Kreis
Marcel Niggli, Autor eines Kommentars zum Rassismus-Artikel,
argumentiert grundsatzlicher. Er sagt, dass die Armenier gar nicht
beweisen mussten, dass es antiarmenischen Rassismus gebe; das Leugnen
eines Genozids sei “per se” rassistisch. In einer Entgegnung im
“Tages-Anzeiger” schrieb Niggli, der Artikel 261bis stelle die
Leugnung aller Genozide unter Strafe – egal ob sie an Juden,
Armeniern oder Tutsi begangen worden seien.
Zwar raumt Niggli auf Anfrage ein, dass der Gesetzesartikel nicht
ganz eindeutig formuliert sei. Als das Parlament den Artikel
debattiert habe, sei Armenien jedoch “ausdrucklich als Beispiel
erwahnt” worden. Gegenuber der “NZZ am Sonntag” erwidert Kreis: “Wenn
so etwas in einer Parlamentsdebatte gesagt wurde, kann es nicht fur
die Auslegung des Artikels bindend sein.” Gegenuber Shahinian
signalisiert Kreis hingegen Gesprachsbereitschaft: “Es ist moglich,
dass das Leugnen des Armenier-Genozids doch rassistischer ist, als
wir aus unserer westeuropaischen Perspektive meinen.”
Diskussionsbereitschaft wird Kreis brauchen. Denn auch die zweite
Vizeprasidentin der EKR, Boël Sambuc, halt das Leugnen des
Armenier-Genozids fur rassistisch nach dem Gesetz. Trotzdem
verteidigt sie Kreis: “Es muss erlaubt sein, eine solche Frage
aufzuwerfen.” Cecile Buhlmann will Kreis’ Artikel nun intern zur
Sprache zu bringen. Gelegenheit bietet sich bald: Am 30. August
trifft sich das Prasidium, am 15. September tritt die ganze
19-kopfige Kommission zusammen.
–Boundary_(ID_555Q5BA5837qC8yo2hVmXw)–

PUBLIC AFFAIRS OFFICE
NEWS RELEASE
EMBASSY OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
AMERICAN AVENUE 1
YEREVAN, ARMENIA
TELEPHONE (+374 10) 46 47 00; 46 47 01; 46 47 02
E-MAIL: [email protected]
August 19, 2005
Democratic National Committee Chairman Howard Dean Visits U.S. Embassy
Democratic National Committee Chairman Howard Dean visited the
U.S. Embassy in Yerevan on August 19. Traveling in Armenia on a
private visit, Dean, who is the former Governor of Vermont, discussed
topics including the political-economic environment in Armenia,
U.S. assistance to Armenia, and issues of democratic governance with
Ambassador Evans.
U.S. Ambassador John Evans and Democratic National Committee Chairman Howard
Dean at the U.S. Embassy in Yerevan
Howard Dean and Ambassador Evans at the U.S. Embassy
Howard Dean and USAID Armenia Deputy Director Karl Fickenscher
U.S. Deputy Chief of Mission Anthony Godfrey speaks with Ambassador Evans
and Howard Dean

Cabinet approves payment of dlrs 10m loan to 7 states
Islamic Republic News Agency, Iran
Aug 21 2005
Tehran, Aug 21, IRNA — Cabinet on Sunday approved payment of a
10-million-dollar grant to seven states upon a proposal of the
Foreign Ministry.
According to Public Relations Department of Ministry of Economy and
Finance, the grant will be provided from development credit fund.
Based on the cabinet’s approval, Iran will grant 2.5 million dollars to
Tajikistan, two million dollars to Iraq, 1.5 million dollars to Niger,
1.5 million dollars to Guinea, 1.5 million dollars to Mali, half a
million dollars to Armenia and half a million dollars to Georgia.
The credit will be allocated to the states for completion of Anzab
tunnel in Tajikistan, Iraq’s reconstruction, renovation of gas transfer
pipeline to Georgia and implementation of development projects in
four other countries.

Charleston Gazette (West Virginia)
August 18, 2005, Thursday
MUSIC Political System Early exposure to real-life evil still fuels
band
Evelyn McDonnell Knight Ridder Newspapers
Among the myriad norm deviations that make System of a Down one of
the millennium’s strangest musical acts is the fact that a holocaust
indirectly spawned the group.
>>From 1915-23, an estimated 1.5 million Armenians were killed by the
Turkish government in a horrific campaign of massacres, deportation,
starvation and torture. For System, this brutal history is something
more than prime heavy metal song fodder: It’s personal.
“Because of the genocide, Armenians scattered,” System bassist Shavo
Odadjian explains over the phone from his Los Angeles home. A number of
the displaced, including 4-year-old Odadjian and his future bandmates,
eventually made their way to America’s 20th-century promised land:
Hollywood. System of a Down is probably the first group whose members
all attended an Armenian-American academy.
Odadjian, guitarist/singer Daron Malakian, singer Serj Tankian and
drummer John Dolmayan all speak Armenian. And while their music
isn’t filled with Armenian instruments, their shared ethnic history
undoubtedly unites them – and shapes their distinct worldview.
They’re a thrash band that throws in operatic trills. Progressive in
their musical tastes and politics, they’ve shot a video with Michael
Moore. On “Mesmerize,” their recently released fourth album, they
mostly seem to be channeling the goofy, artsy ghost of Frank Zappa,
if he were in Metallica.
The band members’ experiences as progeny of the Armenian diaspora
provided the fuel for “Mesmerize” and “Hypnotize,” its companion CD
to be released in late fall. Malakian’s family fled from Armenia to
Iraq before winding up in California. (Malakian was born in Hollywood,
Odadjian in Armenia, Tankian and Dolmayan in Lebanon.)
His personal and politicized fear, anger and sorrow drive “Mesmerize,”
from the opening “Soldier Side,” through the fierce anti-war
“B.Y.O.B.” to the melancholy “Sad Statue,” in which the Statue of
Liberty – the beacon of immigrants – weeps over her torn domicile.
“He sees it totally differently,” says Odadjian of Malakian’s view
of the war in Iraq. “It’s not because he’s from there, but because
it’s family. He doesn’t know when he’s going to get that call saying
something’s happened to somebody.”
Malakian’s need to express his feelings on global politics changed
the very dynamic of the band. For the first time, on “Mesmerize,” the
guitarist wrote the majority of lyrics and sings leads, while Tankian,
the traditional front man, plays such instruments as acoustic guitars,
piano and synthesizers (and co-writes and sings). It’s as if Keith
Richards and Mick Jagger traded roles in the Rolling Stones.
System built a reputation by gigging before releasing their self-titled
debut, on Rick Rubin’s American label. Rubin produced the band’s
four records to date, including ’01’s “Toxicity,” which became an
unlikely multiplatinum global hit with such singles as “Aerials” and
“Chop Suey!”
System’s intense, sometimes grandiose music has also earned the
group its share of detractors. For the haters, the best thing about
“Mesmerize” is the fact it’s mercifully short, just 36 minutes.
Odadjian says the group chose to release the two CDs separately,
rather than as a double album, because they thought songs would get
lost to modern listeners’ short attention spans.
“The youth of today has ADD, or at least they like to say they do.
The school we came from, albums were 11, 12, 13 songs, and every song
meant something.”
With his videos and the CD art, Odadjian says he tries to supplement
the songs, not duplicate or explicate them. Like the band’s odd name,
or such lyrics as “Gorgonzola gonorrhea,” some things are better
left unprobed.
“We don’t like to explain what we mean. It takes away the mystery.
It’s good to leave it to the person that’s seeing it or experiencing
it. I think our band is like an abstract painting.”

Grandma Ani, if you hear me, H-E-L-P!
By Anita Houk
commercialappeal.com , Tennessee
Aug 21 2005
First, Araxee Ross didn’t even want to meet Kristian Moxley.
She was a University of Memphis sophomore with deep roots in the city
and a keen interest in having fun.
He was an ex-Marine, a Texan new to the city, a world traveler with
little direction.
But once Kristian heard of Araxee through a mutual friend, “I kept
pressuring him: ‘Can you give me her phone number?’ I was at his mercy;
so, I’d just show up wherever she might be. There was no real first
date. Just meeting.”
“Going out with friends,” she explains.
Until New Year’s Eve 2000, their first outing-for-two.
Their romance advanced steadily. “I knew what I was looking for and
how she fit in with that picture.”
Soon, however, he realized it might not be easy convincing this
Southern belle.
“Armenian belle!” she declares. “You know My Big Fat Greek Wedding?
That’s my family, but Armenian. And my family didn’t like him.”
Kristian didn’t have big life plans yet. He hadn’t finished college.
Her folks didn’t approve.
“I was under a lot of stress when we first started dating,” she says.
“If my parents didn’t like the guy, I would normally just break up
with him. So I went to break up with Kristian, and he said, ‘What do
you really want?’ ‘I want to date you.’
“So I decided we were still going to date and my parents, well,
eventually they had to see who you really were.”
Did her folks need an errand run? Kristian would volunteer. The yard
raked? He’d sweat.
“I had to convince them. I’d do anything they asked.”
But they remained unswayed. Araxee was so concerned she reached out
to the netherworld.
“My mom always told us that my Grandma Ani (Anitza Keshishian)
was always looking after us,” Araxee says. “One day, when all the
struggle over my family not liking Kristian seemed endless, I took a
picture of him and a little ceramic angel to my grandma’s grave site.
I didn’t tell a soul.
“I said a little prayer, showed her a picture of Kristian and said,
‘Grandma, I really love this boy.’ I asked her to watch over our
relationship and if it was meant to be, to help us out.”
Kristian got a plan: In addition to working, he signed up for
college. He’s majoring in accounting, planning to be a certified
public accountant.
Then, he got up his nerve.
“He had to talk with my mom.” He wanted Araxee to come; she refused.
“My mom,” Araxee says, “is the tough one in the family. She’s the
one all the boyfriends are always scared of. She’s Armenian. My dad
is from upstate New York, Swedish background. But he was kind of in
on it, too!”
“A joint venture,” says Kristian — all smiles now.
He went alone. “We sat down for a couple hours: What were my intentions
for her daughter, and how precious she is to her, and how much she
means to her parents. I knew she’s not going to give me any slack.”
And now?
“They love him, LOVE him,” says Araxee, who has graduated college and
is working at the Assisi Foundation and on her master’s in education.
“Her family is wonderful,” he said. She elaborates: “My family is
very protective. They know everything that everyone in the family is
doing. Everyone is involved in your life.”
So the party was huge after Kristian, 29, and Araxee, 25, wed at
First Baptist Church Caudill Chapel on June 25.
“The night before we got married, I started to cry,” says Araxee,
“because I was reminded of the day I had prayed to my grandma.”
When Araxee explained her tears to her mother, “she said that my
grandma was always one for true love.”
,1426,MCA_521_4014793,00.html

Newsweek
Aug 21 2005
My Secret Istanbul
Turkey’s best-known novelist recalls a childhood in the city that has
become his soul, rich in mystery.
By Orhan Pamuk
Newsweek International
Aug. 29, 2005 issue – I was born in Istanbul. Except for the three
years I spent in New York City, I’ve lived nowhere else. At the age
of 53, I am living again in the Pamuk Apartments, which my
grandparents built for our large extended family when I was an
infant. On summer evenings, when I stand at my window and peer
through the swaying branches of the old plane trees lining Tesvikiye
Avenue, I can just see the lights of Aladdin’s, the shop where my
father bought his cigarettes and newspapers, and where I would go for
chocolate, bubble gum, water pistols, plastic watches and the latest
issue of Tom Mix comics.
When I was a boy, Istanbul was a tired provincial city with a
population of a million; half a century later it is a metropolis 10
times that size, ringed with strange and distant neighborhoods I’ve
never seen, and whose names I know only from the papers. When I stand
at my window, it’s hard to accept that these alien outlying villages
are really part of my city. Not even in my dreams did I ever expect
the streets of my childhood to be as crowded as they are today. But
when you are as tied to a city as I am to Istanbul, you come to
accept its fate as your own; you come to see it almost as an
extension of your own body, your very soul. So when I see Istanbul
streets and shops and squares changing before my eyes (and over the
past few decades, I’ve seen all the most important cinemas,
bookstores and toy shops of my childhood close their doors), I react
in just the same way as I see my own body growing older. After the
first shock and dismay, I resign myself to my new shape.
Can a city have a soul? If it can, what is its soul made of? Does a
city’s soul come from its size, its culture and its history, or does
it rise out of the image its streets and buildings imprint on our
minds? Or does a city’s soul depend on how crowded it is or how
empty, how misty or how hot? Is it the river flowing through it, or
(as in the case of Istanbul) the sea that divides it in two? Where is
it that we feel this soul most keenly? Is it when we see it from the
top of a high hill, or when we’re walking through an underground
passage, our ears ringing with the din of the city and our nostrils
stinging with its damp and dirty air? Perhaps it’s when we’re all in
bed, listening to the city settle into sleep like a tired old animal,
and we hear a foghorn sounding on the Bosporus. In my view, a city’s
soul changes as the city itself changes. Today’s new and affluent
Istanbul is no longer the melancholy city I knew as a child.
But even now, it speaks to me of loneliness. On summer evenings, the
city’s soul resides in the old buses struggling through clouds of
dust, smoke and exhaust, taking their tired and perspiring passengers
home; it resides in the cloud of smog that hangs over the city as it
goes from orange to purple with the setting sun, and in the blue
light that bursts out from a million windows when the city turns on
its television sets at almost the same moment (and at just the same
moment women all over the city are frying eggplant for the evening
meal). At noon on cold, calm autumn days, when the city is humming
with activity, the city’s soul resides in the lonely man busily
fishing as his little old boat rocks in the wake of the ferries and
the great cargo ships passing up and down the Bosporus.
Everyone in Istanbul is an outsider, and so everyone is alone. When
the Turks arrived in 1453-or, rather, the Ottomans, for there were
Christians in their Army-they found a city waiting for them. And so
they were, by definition, newcomers. Those the Ottomans brought to
this city during their 500-year reign came from vastly different
countries and cultures; so they, too, were foreigners. When a city
goes from a population of a million to 10 million in the space of 50
years, then nine tenths of its inhabitants must also count as
foreigners. This is why, whenever I strike up a conversation with
someone on the street, or on a bus, or in one of the shared taxis
known as a dolmu, the first question they ask, after we have
complained about the weather, is where I’m from. If I admit somewhat
shamefacedly that I’m from Istanbul, they ask, somewhat suspiciously,
about my father’s father and my mother’s relatives.
Istanbul’s great secret is that even those of us who live here do not
really understand it, and we do not understand it because it defies
classification. To wander through our crowded streets is to sense the
many layers of history beneath our feet, but even as we are reminded
of the many great civilizations that came before us, we remember,
too, that we don’t own them. That is what gives the city its foreign
air.
I would go so far as to say that its soul resides in its very refusal
to be categorized or rationally understood. This, indeed, is what I
take from the popular historian Resat Ekrem Kocu’s strange and heroic
enterprise, the Istanbul Encyclopedia, which he began during the ’50s
but never took beyond the letter H: far from putting the city into a
clear order, this hardworking writer added to the confusion by
writing at length about his secret passions and the bizarreries of
Istanbul, to which he added fond accounts of his favorite drinking
companions.
Since childhood, the city’s older stores have seemed to me to be the
most eloquent expressions of its inspired disorder. When I’m standing
in a parfumerie-call it a pharmacy, if you will-and looking around me
at the array of colored bottles and boxes and jars, it seems to me
that the city’s soul comes not just from its history but from the sum
total of all the passions and dreams of all those who have ever lived
here. Like the Beyoglu shops I visited with my mother when I was a
child-Turkish on the surface, but Greek and Armenian underneath-they
remind me how many older cultures feed into our own, and how
unknowably rich their influence has been. In Istanbul, every object
carries its own secret history.
Pamuk’s most recent novel is “Snow.” He is also the author of
“Istanbul: Memories and the City.”

Business and Industry
FN
August 15, 2005
ARABIAN SIGHTS WOMEN’S : WITH HER GROWING EAST-MEETS-WEST COLLECTION,
KARINE ARABIAN HAS HER EYES ON ATTRACTING THE ATTENTION OF LARGER
DEPARTMENT STORES.
by Michelle Baran
Karine Arabian is ready for romance.
Four years after launching her eponymous shoe collection, the
Frenchwoman is hoping to court a better department-store business.
But Arabian knows she’s going to be up against numerous other suitors.
“Fashion nowadays is very difficult,” said the Paris-born designer,
during a recent visit to New York. “Big companies are in China —
they have small prices. And for me, I am little and I have high
prices. It’s very challenging.”
Arabian, who has had her own store in Paris for five years and built a
substantial European business, most notably in Russia, is hoping that
her 30-style, elegant yet eclectic footwear collection will catch
the attention of larger U.S. retailers such as Bergdorf Goodman,
Barneys New York and Saks Fifth Avenue. Arabian’s shoes are sold at
upscale boutiques, including Pasadena, Calif.-based In Soho Curve in
Los Angeles and Primadonna in Marlton, N.J. Arabian is also toying
with the idea of unveiling a second store, in New York, within the
next two years.
“It’s a dream for me,” said Arabian, whose cousin, Dan Yeremian serves
as her business partner. (Arabian and Yeremian are both of Armenian
descent.) “I love New York.”
But as passionate as she is about pushing into the American market,
Arabian said she is aware that such a move will require a keen
business sense. In hopes of seriously growing her business, Arabian
said she also plans to show at The Train in New York and Premiere
Classe in Paris, along with having made her WSA debut earlier this
month. “I want to design, but I also want to be practical,” she said.
“A designer now has to be an artist and a businesswoman.”
After studying at Paris-based fashion schools, ESMOD and Studio Bercot,
Arabian started out designing jewelry and handbags for Swarovski and
Chanel before deciding to create her own line. The Karine Arabian
collection also includes her own jewelry, belts and handbags, along
with footwear. “I’m a woman, I love shoes and I’ve broken a lot of
heels,” said Arabian, whose grandfather is a shoemaker. “It was very
natural for me to do shoes. Shoes made by a woman for a woman.”
Two years ago, Arabian moved production from France to Italy’s Veneto
region. The change reflected a focus on improving the quality of her
line as well as an evolution of her design philosophy. Her styles
have segued from 1960s- and 1970s-influenced erraticism to more
romantic sophistication, ranging from $450 for a pump to $1,000 for
a knee-high boot.
A self-proclaimed fan of boots, Arabian admits that although her
passion originated in fall styles, she has grown to love designing and
developing spring product. Three main themes provided inspiration for
her spring ’06 collection of sandals and pumps: romance, the desert
and the Italian Riviera.
Meanwhile, in addition to her own shoes, Arabian has already been
approached by Swarovski to help design younger, trendier footwear
under the Swarovski name.
Surrounded by inspiring male French shoemakers, from Louboutin to
Frissoni to Clergerie, Arabian is in the minority as a Frenchwoman
designing shoes — a distinction she hopes will come across in the
way she designs her collection. “All the designers, they are all men,
and they do things too masculine, over-sexy,” she said. “I do shoes
very feminine, but not tacky.”
Caption(s): Designer Karine Arabian has partnered with Swarovski to
produce youthful styles.Copyright 2005 Fairchild Publications, Inc.554

Azerbaijan News Service
Aug 19 2005
AZERI AMBASSADOR APPEALS US CONGRESSMEN
2005-08-19 14:36
Ambassador of Azerbaijan to the United States Hafiz Pashaev called US
congressmen not be keen on pro-Armenian counterparts counterfeit. Co
chairs of the US Congress Group on Armenian issues, Frank Pallone and
Jo Nollenberg, representatives New Jersey and Michigan states, called
other congressmen to support their proposal to appeal to President
George W. Bush on sending more aid to Daghlig Karabagh. According
to AZERTAC Agency in respond Azeri Ambassador to the United States
Hafiz Pashaev sent letter to all US Congress members and exposed the
real face of Frank Pallone and Jo Nollenberg. The Ambassador said that
the appeal byFrank Pallone and Jo Nollenberg doesn’t attract properly
the climate of the Region and international community’s position on
Daghlig Garabagh status. Daghlig Garabagh is an integral part of
Azerbaijan. So, Washington should take any political and economic
steps connected with Daghlig Garabagh within legal, political and
economic intereats of Azerbaijan. Hafiz Pashaev revealed the world
known facts for US Congressmen. As a result of Armenian aggression
not only Daghlig Garabagh, but also 7 other regions of Azerbaijan are
under occupation. As the result, 1 million people became IDPs. Azeri
Ambassador also outlined Armenia’s neglect of UN Security Council
Declarations on unconditional withdrawal of Armenian troops from
occupied territories, and calls of NATO and OSCE. He remembered that
though Russia played the mediator role to achieve cease-fire in 1994,
merely Russia’s military help to Armenia and illegal transformation
of weapons costing over 1 billion USD, contributed to aggressive
policy of Armenia. Hafis Pashaev called US Congressmen to respect the
United States official policy on recognizing territorial integrity
of Azerbaijan. He said that in the terms of ongoing negotiations
between Azerbaijan and Armenia on solving Daghlig Garabagh Problem
any support to Frank Pallone and Jo Nollenberg’s proposals would
undermine the Minsk Procecc. Mirana Ismail, ANS

Azerbaijan News Service
Aug 20 2005
ARMENIA CONFIRMS AZERI SERVICEMAN CAPTURE
2005-08-20 17:43
Armenian Defense Ministry Press Secretary Seyran Shahsuvaryan
confirmed that Ramil Khudaverdiev, sergeant of Azerbaijan Army has
been taken hostage. He said serviceman was captured two weeks ago.
Currently Ramil Khudaverdieb is kept in an isolation ward in Armenia.
According to Red Cross Committee Erevan Representation, the hostage’s
state is satisfactory. OSCE Chairman Personal Representative Anji
Kaspirshic considers as an undesirable case that Ramil Khudaverdiev’s
is still kept in hostage. According to him, keeping the Azeri
serviceman in hostage ahead of Azeri and Armenian presidents could
have negative impact on negations. “I am completely sure that the
hostage will be released. The conflicting sides have an agreement on
this issue. According to that agreement taken hostages must be freed
within a short period. so, again I make you sure that the hostage
will be released”, said Anji Kaspirshic

In the Mountains of Karabakh
A war-ravaged former Soviet region tries to recover its winemaking
roots
By Matt Kettmann
>From Wine Spectator magazine, June 15, 2005 issue
A skinny sprig of Khindogny grapevine, freshly plucked from warm and
nourishing soil, is clinging to life on a short knob of rootstock.
The sprig, growing inside a dark barn where the smoky air is pierced
by rays of light shining through walls riddled with bullet holes,
symbolizes hope for the future of the isolated and war-torn region
known as Nagorno-Karabakh.
Stuck in geographic and political limbo between Christian Armenia and
Muslim Azerbaijan, Karabakh’s ethnic Armenian population is trying
to revitalize the ancient traditions of winemaking that were almost
destroyed by a bloody war for independence from Azerbaijan in the
early 1990s.
As he spins the sprig of Khindogny, a variety traditional to the high
southern Caucasus Mountains, Vladimir Zakiyan’s eyes well up with
tears. He speaks in a village called Kheramot, which was destroyed
during the war and occupied by Azeri soldiers for nearly two years
before being liberated by Karabakhi troops. “We started from zero,”
says Zakiyan. “This village lost 31 young men and had a lot of people
injured. It was destroyed to the ground. … We started to rebuild
our lives. Everybody can destroy, but not everybody can rebuild.”
Inside the formerly bombed-out barn in Kheramot, where wood fires keep
the temperature warm to accommodate early vine sprouting, Zakiyan shows
how the Karabakh grape shoots are being spliced onto rootstocks from
the United States that are resistant to phylloxera. The voracious
root louse has recently devastated native Karabakh grapevines and
threatens to eliminate entire strains of endemic grape varieties.
But the young vine represents a collaboration-of foreign aid and
local perseverance-that could eventually put the region back on the
world wine map. The boisterous in-country director of the Fresno,
Calif.-based nonprofit Armenian Technology Group (ATG), Zakiyan
is aware that the struggle has just begun. “It’s not a time to be
proud,” he reminds the local villagers. “Our reconstruction is still
in progress. But maybe in some time, we’ll be proud.”
But pride is strong among Armenians, an ancient people who, in the
early part of the fourth century, became one of the first to proclaim
Christianity as a national religion. An Armenian tale recounts how
the biblical Noah walked down from the slopes of nearby Mount Ararat,
where the Ark had come to a rest after the Great Flood, and ventured
into what is today Armenia, where he planted the seed of the world’s
first vineyard. In so doing, he established the lands between the
Black and Caspian seas as a winemaking epicenter.
One of the region’s viticultural fonts is called Artsakh by the
Armenians, who have populated its remote, mountainous terrain for
the past two millennia. Situated in the misty mountains of the South
Caucasus, Artsakh is an ancient place of both natural beauty and almost
constant war. Farmers of this bucolic enclave became adept at growing
high altitude-friendly varieties in fertile soils at some 3,600 feet.
Local lore has it that the people of Artsakh-benefiting from a climate
cooler, wetter and more variable than that of their more arid lowland
neighbors-were known to produce the best fermented grape juice around
and to keep barrels and jugs full even during the repeated invasions
of Turks, Mongols, Persians and Russians.
In the 1920s, the Soviets took control. The mostly Armenian
Artsakh-officially renamed Nagorno-Karabakh, which translates to
“mountainous black garden”-was separated from Armenia as a result of
Stalin’s machinations, becoming part of Azerbaijan. In the following
decades, grapes from the mountainside vineyards of Karabakh supplied
the Soviet Union with red wine and brandy. Eventually, 14 wineries
made wine from the 200,000 tons of grapes harvested annually.
All of that changed in 1991. With the Soviet Union in its death
throes, the mostly Armenian population of Karabakh voted to become
independent. War between Azerbaijan and Karabakh (backed militarily
by Armenia) quickly ensued. For three years, the battles raged,
killing close to 30,000 soldiers and civilians and ravaging the
countryside. Agricultural fields, including acre upon acre of
grapevines, were destroyed or left unusable due to unexploded ordnance
and mines.
Though 1994 brought a cease-fire, it did not bring closure. The war
is officially unresolved, and the Nagorno-Karabakh Republic sits in
international limbo as diplomatic talks continue. Following the war,
the economy collapsed. It looked as if one of the world’s first major
winemaking regions was lost forever, a doom hastened by the onset of
phylloxera in the late ’90s, which nearly finished the job the war
had begun.
But Armenian pride wouldn’t let that happen. Today, as the future of
Karabakh is debated by the leaders of Armenia and Azerbaijan as well
as ambassadors from the United States, France and Russia, grapevines
are growing once again.
The road to Karabakh’s wine country mirrors the reality faced by the
struggling republic: It’s uphill and rocky once you leave Stepanakert,
the slow-paced capital of Karabakh. It traverses a breathtaking
landscape whose features range from snowcapped peaks to rolling
pastures in luminous shades of green. It can be hard to remember
that one wrong step could prove deadly, inasmuch as many meadows are
minefields and the seemingly quiet villages are littered with shrapnel.
About an hour’s drive from Stepanakert, the road passes the relatively
bustling town of Karmir Shuka, which means “red market” in Armenian. At
one end of town stands an impressive steel gate adorned with an
oversize cast-iron cluster of purple grapes. How fitting: It’s the
entryway to the wine- and spirit- processing plant owned and operated
by Karabakh Gold, one of only two alcohol-producing companies still
operating today.
This gritty factory is no wine boutique, and visitors-especially
non-Armenians-are few. Yet the workers proudly relate the history of
the factory, which was founded in 1927 to process mulberry wine (a
celebrated elixir in the region) and was operational as a producer of
various spirits, wines and brandies until the war began. It reopened
after the 1994 cease-fire and managed to maintain production until
1998, when the postwar economy faltered and phylloxera hit.
This downward spiral speaks to the dramatic decline of grapegrowing in
the entire region over the last two decades. In the 1980s, Karabakh
had more than 42,000 acres of vineyards. Today, the total acreage
under vine is less than 3,000, and grape harvests are down to less
than 5,000 tons.
In 2002, Karabakh Gold’s investors purchased the factory and took
advantage of the new government’s economic policies, which provide
investment incentives and tax breaks as the means of invigorating
a stagnant economy still under blockade from both Turkey and
Azerbaijan. Production started again after extensive repairs, with 400
tons of grapes-namely a white Georgian variety called Rkatsiteli and
the domestic red grape Khindogny-collected from neighboring villages.
In 2003, the company began cultivating wheat to make vodka, which now
constitutes most of Karabakh Gold’s output, and expanded production
to include pomegranate wine, blackberry wine and the traditional
mulberry blend. Most promising was Karabakh Gold’s signing in 2003
of a contract to sell grapes to the Yerevan Brandy Company, which is
owned by the large French firm Pernod Ricard.
The new bottling plant for Karabakh Gold is a few dozen miles away
in Martouni, separated from that district’s war-ravaged capital
of the same name by a large minefield. Inside, the very busy Vladik
Alibabyan-who graduated nearly 20 years ago from Yerevan’s Agricultural
Academy with a specialty in winemaking-plays consummate deal maker,
constantly barking orders to his various assistants and jabbering on
his cell phone.
Between sips of the semisweet white Rkatsiteli and of the dry, jammy
red Khindogny, which he prefers with barbecue, Alibabyan explains that
last year, only 3,000 tons of grapes were processed by Karabakh Gold,
but the goal is to reach 20,000 tons soon.
“We aren’t being controlled by the number of grapes,” he explains,
visibly frustrated that he sells exponentially more vodka than fine
wine. “It’s the market demand.” But with the involvement of Pernod
and the marketing potential of the rare and tasty Khindogny grape,
Alibabyan is confident that the balance will shift.
Karabakh’s only other winemaker represents the sort of collaboration
that could lift the region out of its current depression. It’s a
partnership between the Karabakhi-owned company Artsakh Alco and
Zakiyan’s California-based ATG. Artsakh Alco is headquartered
just a few miles east of Stepanakert in the town of Askeran, a
community framed by an ancient fortress that has repelled numerous
invasions-including Azeri advances in the most recent war-and survives
as a symbol of Karabakh’s strength.
Like Karabakh Gold’s factory, Artsakh Alco’s facilities-initially
constructed in Stalin’s era and rebuilt around 2000, with production
beginning in 2001-aren’t finely polished. Yet the science of wine is
taken seriously here, where lab coat-wearing technicians work under
the watchful eye of winemaker Karian Akopian. She, like Karabakh
Gold’s Alibabyan, graduated from the Agricultural Academy in Yerevan,
the capital of Armenia.
Artsakh Alco makes a variety of alcohols, but Akopian, like Zakiyan,
is most interested in making quality wines. When provoked, they each
rattle off an impressive list of traditional Karabakh grape varieties,
ranging from Khindogny to Haghtanak, a red whose name translates to
“victory,” and Kagun, a white. Artsakh Alco does not make any sweet
wines, both in deference to Akopian’s tastes and because they don’t
sell well.
During the war, the front lines were little more than a mile away, and
Askeran was regularly shelled. The oak barrel-making factory next to
the Artsakh Alco plant was a tank-repair warehouse, so it’s no wonder
that hollowed husks of Russian tanks still sit behind the property. But
these days, the imported technology on the premises consists of Italian
bottling equipment, German hardware and French filters, all acquired
in the company’s determined attempt to produce the best Karabakh wines.
East from Askeran, toward the current front lines, where sniper
fire is often exchanged between young Azeri and Karabakhi troops,
Zakiyan-flamboyant in a bright yellow shirt and grape-cluster bolero
in a land stylistically dominated by plain black suits-oversees ATG’s
grapegrowing operations in Kheramot.
These young vines are then sold at half-price to villagers-around
50,000 were sold last year-or planted by ATG employees from Kheramot
in a site once vineyard, then minefield, now vineyard again. The ATG
vineyard was cleared by the Halo Trust, a British nonprofit involved
in mine- and bomb-removal projects across the republic. Unfortunately,
the ATG vineyard is a rarity; most of the cleared vineyards are being
turned into wheat fields because, as one Halo Trust officer put it,
“You can’t live off wine.”
Zakiyan oversees an ATG winery in nearby Chartar as well. When fully
operational, it will likely become the face of Karabakh wine for the
growing number of tourists.
Yet even as the sun begins to shine on Zakiyan and his colleagues
through the region’s thick fog, nature is unrelenting. The 2004
crop was almost totally destroyed by an unexpected spring frost,
with temperatures dropping to 28° F in April. Close to 80 percent
was lost. Will they bother picking the rest or just call the harvest
a total loss?
“We will pick the grapes no matter what,” says a smiling Zakiyan,
his optimistic spirit as formidable a force as the weather and the
constant challenges that hamper him and his countrymen. “The future
of Karabakh is in good wine production. It’s our national tradition.”
Matt Kettmann is the pop culture editor for the Santa Barbara
Independent and a freelance correspondent for Time magazine. He
journeyed to Nagorno-Karabakh last spring.
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