InternationalThe pain of an open wound
Personal memories of the earthquake
Published: Saturday November 08, 2008 in Earthquake 20 Years On
Cultural Center in Kirovakan (Vanadzor). Photolure.
The "wound" of 88, not yet healed completely, can be found near the village of Nalband, situated between Lori and Shirak marzes. It was the first to feel the powerful tremors of the devastating earthquake of 1988 in Spitak. It was one of the first to be devastated as a result of the fatal tremors and one of the last to be restored even though 20 years have already passed from that dreadful day....
I remember that cruel day and its inexplicable grief perfectly. Individual scenes have been imprinted in my mind with microscopic accuracy. However, the past is gradually fading into the fog of forgetfulness, just like the poisonous fog that surrounded the major part of Armenia 20 years ago, for it had been unusually warm that year.
A classroom shakes
1988. December 7. 11:35 a.m. We, the first-year students of the journalism department at Yerevan State University, were in class, as usual. However, those days were anything but usual. Those days we frequented Freedom Square and participated in the rallies for the unification of Artsakh more often then we went to class. However, that day we were in class. Unable to silence the just demands of the Armenian nation and neutralize the powerful motivation to struggle for Artsakh and freedom, the Soviet government toward the end of November had announced a state of emergency and imposed a curfew in Yerevan. The rallies stopped temporarily and classes resumed.
Like typical teenagers, we were sitting in class thinking about what we were going to do after class. However, in about 5 minutes nothing would be left of our youthful and carefree attitude. Instead we would feel an uncertain panic rising up. In just a few hours, fear and a soul-desolating shiver would take over.
Everybody jumped up at the very first tremor. Someone said, "It's an earthquake," putting to words what the rest of us were thinking. Our department building shook. I stood up and instinctively started moving toward the window. I looked out and said that as it was relatively low; we would be able to jump off the second floor without being injured. Someone else suggested evacuating the building. A few seconds later we felt another strong tremor and as we were preparing to leave, the professor told us to relax. "Do not panic; it will be over soon...."
And it was over soon. However, the faces of those students who had come down from the fifth floor were pale. The tremors had been stronger up there. Some dust had fallen from the ceilings of some of the classrooms. At that moment we couldn't begin to fathom how close the epicenter had been. At that time we could not begin to imagine that hundreds of schoolchildren had tried to run out of dozens of schools and in some places their teachers had calmed them down by saying, "Do not panic; it will be over soon." They had remained under ruined concrete. Eternally. And that dark moment will remain in our history forever: 07.12.1988, 11:41am....
Meanwhile, the school bus is roaring along monotonously, moving toward the student dorms in the second block of Nor-Nork. It was about 2 P.M. Nothing had been announced yet. However, there was confusion on the faces of many. Lilit and Karineh, who were my classmates and my neighbors on the same floor at the dorm, were also confused and even in a panic. They were from Kirovakan (Vanadzor). They had tried to call home, but had been unable to get through. Everybody was worried, but they were even more worried.
Rumors fly
After a few hours we began hearing horrifying rumors from different places saying, "Spitak has been destroyed"; "They say Leninakan has been destroyed. Have you heard?" "Have you heard that Kirovakan has been destroyed?" "They say..., have you heard that...?" "Have you heard that...?" We were confused. We were avoiding eye contact. "People, gather around here," someone said. Responding to that disturbing voice all of us gathered around the television in the common room. The scenes being broadcast were simply horrifying: ruins and death. Destroyed buildings and helpless people with contorted faces; ruins, wrecked buildings, houses, entire cities, and villages decimated.
John, who was the oldest in our class, said that rescue groups of students were being organized in front of the university. They were drawing up lists. Naturally, in less than half an hour all the boys had gathered. They said that they were registering only those who were over 18, had served in the military, or had experience in construction work. The buses were being filled with quickly forming groups and were departing one after the other. They did not take me, as I was to turn 18 in 10 days. "How big a deal is 10 days," I thought, somewhat insulted, but I already knew what I was going to do.
On December 8, at midday, together with several boys and girls my age, I was trying to get on one of the buses leaving for Kirovakan or Gyumri from the central bus station in Yerevan. We were unsuccessful. First of all, the bus station was packed. Secondly, we had to give way to those who were trying to get to their houses, or whatever remained of their houses, as soon as possible. However, just standing there was not a solution.
Commandeering a bus
We quickly decided to seize the first bus in sight, which we did, like terrorists. We entered the bus and held on to the driver, not letting him leave the vehicle. We told him that we would not let him move if he did not promise to drive to Leninakan (Gyumri). It turned out that there was a man amongst us from Gyumri, whose head was bandaged. This added resoluteness to the situation. (It turned out that they had pulled him out from the ruins and sent him to Yerevan on the first available helicopter. However, when it had become evident that his injuries were not very serious, he had left the hospital and was trying to return home as soon as possible.)
