Ruben Vardanyan's Emotional Message to the World From Azerbaijani Captivity, With Courage and Sorrow
In the darkness of a Baku prison, where time stands still and walls confine more than just the body, Ruben Vardanyan’s voice is heard as a beacon of defiance and sorrow. The former Artsakh cabinet leader, once a free man among his people, now speaks from isolation. Yet his message is not one of defeat—it is a rallying cry, a testament of faith, and an unyielding plea for justice.
In an emotional audio message to his family, compatriots, and the world, Vardanyan declared his willingness to endure the harshest punishment if it could bring peace and stability. His words, filled with pain yet void of regret, resonate far beyond his prison cell. “I knew what I was getting into,” he says with unwavering certainty. “I am not a victim, and I do not want to be pitied. This was a conscious decision.”
March 5th marks a day of reflection for Vardanyan, a day he chose to speak not as a politician or a prisoner but as an Armenian, a man of the world, and a believer in God. His message is not just a personal confession; it is a declaration of a fate he willingly embraced.
“I apologize to my beloved wife, my family, and all those dear to me for the pain and worry my decision has caused,” he states, his voice carrying the weight of sorrow. “But each of us has our own unique path.” For Vardanyan, that path led him to Artsakh, a land where he found both purpose and peril.
His imprisonment, he insists, is not about his personal well-being. It is a protest—against a system that he believes is flawed, against a process that he deems unjust. “If you want to judge me, do so fairly, publicly, with international observers. Why have you singled me out? Why do you violate your own laws?”
Among the most painful confessions in his message is the burden of guilt he carries for the suffering of others. His voice breaks as he addresses Alvard, the wife of Davit Manukyan, who was detained alongside him. “If I had not been in your car, your husband would be with you now. Please forgive me. This is the heaviest punishment I bear.”
His sorrow extends beyond the prison walls, reaching the thousands of children who have lost their homeland. “I did not do enough to prevent this. I did what I felt I had the moral right to do. But I should have done more.”
Yet, midst of his regret, he clings to a sliver of solace. He speaks of moments of joy in Artsakh, of rebuilding the Hakobavank monastery, of breaking bread with his people, of restoring a mosque with a Muslim friend. These are the memories that sustain him.
Despite his dire circumstances, Vardanyan refuses to succumb to hatred. He acknowledges the humanity of those around him, including Azerbaijanis who, despite their beliefs, have shown him kindness. “Evil must never be answered with evil,” he warns. “That is a cycle with no end.”
His ultimate vision is one of peace—not a fragile, temporary truce but a lasting and dignified coexistence. “If we truly want this, we need real, stable, long-term peace, not just an agreement on paper,” he urges. “No one owes us anything. Strength and honor will shape our future.”
As his message draws to a close, Vardanyan leaves his people with one final lesson: never give in to despair. “I have realized that the worst of all sins is not pride or envy—it is despair. It is when the divine spark within you fades, when you stop believing, when you simply give up.”
From the darkness of his cell, he speaks words of light. He reassures his people that no matter the hardships ahead, they will persevere. “Everything will be alright,” he declares. “I love you, I respect you, and I stand with you, carrying the legacy of my ancestors.”
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