During the nine-month blockade of Artsakh, 23-year-old Shogher Sargsyan and Nina Shahverdyan became the unheard voice of their 120,000 compatriots through their Inadu podcast. These young ladies decided to tell about them and about Artsakh’s struggle, in spite of the world’s silence, the opponent’s cruelty, and life’s unfairness.
Shogher Sargsyan was born and raised in Stepanakert. She studied journalism, and in recent years worked in the Public Television Company of Artsakh. Shogher says that in her journalistic work, she never got carried away by politics or research, and was always interested in people living next door and their stories.
“I was conducting live television interviews with people that had different professions and hobbies. At the same time, I always considered my work in the State Drama Theater to be my primary occupation. I attended a theater studio since I was a child, but I treated it as a childhood hobby. I became employed full time in the theater only after the 44-day war, when I was invited to act in a play for children. I now understand that Artsakh decided many things for me, as if helping me to understand where I could be more useful. That is the reason why, perhaps unexpectedly, I always found myself in the right place at the right time,” Shogher says.
She fondly recalls her grandfather’s stories of their house in Stepanakert, building it with rock stones brought from the river, building and living a whole life there. Her grandparents’ home always had special importance for Shogher, and that is where the extended Sargsyan family happily lived.
“Before my grandfather passed away, 12 of us lived in that house. We had 15 cats, and in recent years also two dogs and three turtles, which we unfortunately had to leave behind during the forced exile. I had a very happy and joyful childhood, because we were the victory generation. There were many everyday difficulties, but it was all justifiable—we were in Artsakh, we were home,” Shogher recalls.
On 11 December 2022, one day before the blockade was imposed on Artsakh, Shogher traveled on a tour with her theatrical troupe. Upon her return, Shogher was forced to live in Yerevan for three months, away from her family and home, for the first time alone celebrating her favorite family holiday—the New Year’s. After months of persistent pleas, Shogher had finally succeeded in returning to Artsakh, with mediation by the International Committee of the Red Cross.
“To this day, I am convinced that it was the most correct decision of my life. Even after witnessing the tragedy that ensued, and experiencing all the difficulties, I never even remotely thought of staying in Yerevan. Even during the blockade, I never thought I would have to stay there; I was always convinced that I was in the right place. At that time, however, the situation was deteriorating by the day, and we were doing everything just to stay sane. But now, thinking back, I am confident that I and many of the people around me were ready to experience those deprivations for much longer, as long as we could keep Artsakh,” Shogher says.
She admits that when she last went back, she didn’t think that the hardships would last for months. She was sure that the road would soon be opened and everything would get back to normal. Shogher recalls that the daily problems had become so acute that it was no longer possible to think about the future, to create, or to dream, because one constantly had to think about basic needs, literally one’s daily bread.
In those days, the idea conceived by Nina Shahverdyan, Shogher’s friend, became a lifesaver.
“I had met Nina in high school. We were in the same class for half a year. I was very introverted: I had decided for myself that I need knowledge, rather than friends from the new school. And then suddenly one day, Nina came, sat by my side, and never went away. Our characters are very different: Nina is more daring and idea-generating, while I am calmer and risk-calculating. Nina focused on the idea, while I focus on its prospect. I think we balance each other very harmoniously, which gives birth to great ideas. I have learned a lot from Nina and I continue to learn. Above all, we share a common value system, at the heart of which is Artsakh,” Shogher says.
Nina had long cherished the idea of co-hosting a podcast, but she was unable to persuade Shogher. During the blockade, Nina regularly made social media posts on the situation, telling about the events unfolding in Artsakh. The followers’ reactions soon made it clear that the format was inadequate and something new had to be conceived.
“I, too, understood that I wasn’t doing enough to tell about the real situation, to get something to change, and Nina’s invitation to host a podcast came very handy. Nina was taking care of all technical and logistical issues. Either of us would be afraid of initiating something like that alone, but together, it all seemed easier. The name emerged quite randomly: we were once walking around Stepanakert, when Nina asked: “Shogh, why do you live in Artsakh?” I said: “To spite them… to spite the opponent, to spite myself, to spite everyone.” And we decided from the very beginning that our podcast would be recorded to spite the pain, to spite the loss, to spite the situation: with love, from Artsakh,” Shogher tells.
The podcast very quickly became popular in Armenia. Firsthand information was crucial for understanding the situation on the ground in Artsakh. After a short while, to the authors’ surprise, the podcast became popular in Artsakh, too.
“We realized there was a shortage of information from inside, and our fellow Armenians living in Armenia and the Diaspora were genuinely interested in our streams, but we also knew how difficult it would be to speak about pain to people that were feeling that very pain and sharing it with us. After a while, people started to recognize us in the streets, to come up and strike a conversation. They would not spill words of praise, of course, as the time and place were not right for praise, but we never got any criticism,” Shogher says.
She recalls that the hardest part was bidding farewell to her family home and the decision to exit Artsakh, which she had taken several times. The first time was when her father, a military man, returned from the combat positions: that was when Shogher realized that she no longer had anyone to defend her. The second time was when she bid farewell, in her mind, to her dear deceased, because the opponent had already established control over the city’s cemetery. And finally, she bid farewell to her home when she had to fit a whole life into her small bag, taking with her only her favorite toy—the teddy bear, several books gifted to her by her grandfather and parents, and a handful of soil from underneath the mulberry tree in their backyard, the tree that grew there back when her grandfather and parents were just building the house.
Hours before the deportation, the girls recorded their next episode, the hardest one, as it would be the last one made in Artsakh.
“I was walking towards Nina’s house and seeing people that were homeless, had lost their relatives, and no longer had hope. I saw people that were burning family photos to prevent their desecration. I saw piles over piles of military uniforms and realized I no longer recognized the city where I was born and raised. We did not know what to speak, but we had agreed we would not edit the conversation. It was hard, because I really had nothing to say, I was completely empty. All we had was pain, and we spoke about pain,” Shogher recalls.
The two friends try not to recall the final days of the deportation, their city that had changed in front of their eyes and become unrecognizable, instead trying to memorize a version of their homeland in which they were in the right place, they were home. To this day, they do not want to believe that they have left their homes for good. They now regret that they do not have a photo of the two of them together near the famous “We are our mountains” (“Tatik-Papik”) monument.
Today, Shogher and Nina continue to record their podcast, but now—in Yerevan. And in spite of all difficulties, they are convinced that even after losing Artsakh, the voice of Artsakh must be heard.