We got married in the fall of 1980. I proposed, we got engaged, and then came the memorable wedding. At its very start, Victor, my already tipsy brother-in-law, opened a bottle of rosé champagne and spilled it all over the bride, from head to toe. Bella was upset, and I got pretty angry. The only way to save the wedding and Victor was to party all night.
We lived at my place first with my mother and Valera's family. Then Valera, who worked at the Soviet Karabakh newspaper, received an apartment and they moved out. Our older son, Sedrak, was born in 1981. Our daughter, Gayane, and our son, Levon, were born at two-year intervals.
Bella turned out to have an exceptionally strong character. She never complained and went through the toughest of times silently. Sincere and affectionate, my wife always made an effort to help others. She knew how to build relationships and ensure a peaceful atmosphere at home.
I have always had a happy family life. Why? I never asked myself that question. I believe that there is no point in scrutinizing relationships or analyzing them. If you're comfortable, if you don't look for reasons to come home late, if you're ready to dedicate your Sundays to the family and don't consider it a great sacrifice, then continue living your life as you are, without overthinking what's good and bad about it. Take it as it is; otherwise, you will imagine problems that don't really exist.
Komsomol[6]
It was 1980. I got a job as an engineering technologist at the electrotechnical plant (during Soviet times, we had this type of a plant that produced lighting equipment). But I didn't get to work there for too long less than six months. One day, I got a phone call from the director's assistant, who said, "You have been requested at the Komsomol city committee. The first secretary wishes to see Kocharyan urgently." "Me? He wants to see me? Why? How does he even know about me?" I asked. It turned out that the Komsomol city committee was looking for new cadres, and the plant recommended me.
I had nothing to do with Komsomol, really. Of course, I was a member of Komsomol, but so was everyone! I was never civically engaged. Moreover, I never liked Komsomol's leaders, as I considered them careerists. I always had a strained relationship with the leaders of the Komsomol organizations. I even had a conflict with one of them at the Yerevan Polytechnic Institute. Once, he and his entourage entered my dorm room without knocking. It was some sort of an inspection. I was sitting on my bed reading and, apparently, gave him an unfriendly look as I didn't appreciate the intrusion. The Komsomol leader noticed it and barked in a commanding tone: "You need to get up when your superiors enter the room!" I ignited instantly, "Listen, chief, didn't they teach you to knock first? It's not going to end well if I get up!" One of his men whispered something in his ear. He threatened to summon me in front of the committee to discuss my unbecoming behavior and left. Of course, he didn't do it; the guys told me that the discussion was deemed unnecessary. The Komsomol bosses behaved overly politely around me after the incident.
Interestingly, despite my bluntness and negativity toward the Komsomol bosses, they didn't express any resentment toward me. On the contrary, they always tried to get me involved in civic activity, saying, "You are a straight-A student. Students respect you and listen to you. You could be a good Komsomol leader!" True, I always excelled at my studies. I enjoyed math, analytical mechanics, and physics. I solved all the problems in the textbook with ease. Other students asked me for help, and I always helped them. Besides, I had a good company of friends at the dorm. We combined hard studying with active free time. We poked fun at each other and made our lives enjoyable. I could sense that my classmates respected me for my knowledge, actions, and character. But civic activity? Why do they always try to get me involved? I didn't want it at all! I never liked public visibility. Even as a child, I was shy, never took part in any school plays, and avoided loud gatherings. I would rather spend time hiking in the mountains or walking around in the woods with a rifle, alone or with very close friends.
In summary, I had never been attracted to Komsomol work, and yet, suddenly, I was being invited to the city committee. I had to go.
I went to the office of Komsomol's First Secretary Victor Kocharyan, and he offered me a job. He told me that they were looking for cadres, I was recommended, they saw a fit, and there was an urgent vacancy for a Komsomol secretary at one of the local enterprises. I declined categorically. "No way," I said. "I am an engineer by training, I've never done any Komsomol work, I have no idea what it is, and I don't want it it's not for me!" He replied, "Well, think about it. It's a good career opportunity. Don't rush to say no. Think about it and tell me in a couple of days"
Of course, I thought about the proposition. I understood that it was not only a new path for me, but also a good opportunity for career growth. My work was calm and boring; it wasn't straining or exciting. What does a technologist usually do? He spends several hours on the production floor, ensuring technological compliance. I tried to diversify my work, to think about production changes and improvements. I wanted to do a bit more than what was required of me.
Within a month of our conversation, Victor Kocharyan, with whom I shared a last name and who had offered me a job at the Komsomol city committee, secured a position at the KGB and eventually became the head of the Nagorno-Karabakh Republic's Special Services. Later in life, we became family he married my sister-in-law. But none of this had happened yet, as we had only just met for the first time. I didn't know him and couldn't imagine that destiny had brought us together for a long time.
Since I didn't show up, I received another phone call from the Komsomol city committee a few days later, asking, "So, what have you decided?" I grunted something along the lines that I hadn't decided anything, that I didn't know. But I thought to myself, "Darn, what if this is something that I really need?" I didn't believe in all that ideology by that time, but I didn't have any skills for working with people. This was an excellent opportunity to acquire them and learn something new something that I had never tried before and had avoided all my life. Suddenly, I saw a challenge for myself. It attracted me and wound me up.
The next day, I called the city committee and said, "You know, let's try it," and ended up in a Komsomol job. All my friends were shocked. They knew me very well, and they couldn't imagine that I would agree to it. I remember that it bothered me. I had always resented Komsomol bosses, and yet, had I suddenly decided to become one myself? But it was a conscientious decision, free of any ideological considerations. That decision turned out to be a pivotal point in my life.
I was appointed as the head of the most stagnant and confusingly structured Komsomol organization in town. It was at an enterprise with a cryptic name Consumer Services Complex (CSC). No one wanted the job, and the position had gone vacant for two years. It was considered a failure. All of my predecessors were censured and fired soon after their appointment. It was indeed a difficult job. The CSC consisted of many different ateliers, cafeterias, and laundromats scattered around town. A team spirit naturally comes about at any factory or plant, where workers come to work together at the same location. My Komsomol members worked at different locations, did not know each other, and never saw each other. It appeared that no Komsomol work had been done for a long time at the CSC.
I didn't expect this at all. I thought, "Damn it, what do I do with all of this? What does 'Komsomol work' even mean, and how do I do it?" I started from scratch: I simply got to know people. This was a great opportunity to build communications skills. I would go to a workplace, greet everyone, and introduce myself, "I'm the new head of the Komsomol organization, Robert Kocharyan. Where is so-and-so? Not at his workplace? Where can I find him?" As it turned out, it wasn't very hard. I simply had to smile more and be prepared to talk to everyone, not just those I liked. I quickly managed to put together a pretty dynamic team of Komsomol members.
As my first task, I decided to have everyone meet each other. So, I told my guys, "Why don't we get everyone together for a relaxing evening? They have never seen each other!" We soon found a meeting place all the banquet halls in town belonged to our complex. Moreover, our people serviced and maintained all these venues, so we didn't have difficulty organizing the meeting, either. So, we all got together and spent an evening with each other everyone loved it. And that's how it all started.
I soon discovered certain skills that I never knew I had. First as a child, then in school, later in the army, and finally in college, I intuitively sensed that people listened to me, that I could influence them, captivate, and unify them around me. But now, it became my main goal, and it came to me naturally, without any effort. After a while, the organization actually began to work! And it happened without any ideology, as I never made any pompous speeches.
My efforts brought good results, and in eight months or so, I was offered a promotion and became an instructor in the Organizational Department (Orgotdel) of the Komsomol City Party Committee (Gorkom). This was a different type of work, primarily administrative. I spent most of my time on the phone, talking to countless local committees. As a result, I got to know many new people and our town very well.
But changes kept coming: in about a year, I was promoted to second secretary of the Komsomol city committee (a chain of promotions took place: the second secretary became first secretary, and the previous secretary was promoted to the regional committee). I had significantly greater responsibilities in the new position. I was responsible for youth sports in the city, tourism, and military-patriotic education. Sports competitions, youth summer camps, Zarnitsa and Orlyonok children's war games the list of events was impressive, and my schedule was full. In reality, Komsomol work is not about sitting around in an office and issuing endless resolutions at all.
I was busy working with real people from early in the morning until late at night. By then, I was starting to like it. Komsomol turned out to be a great training ground. It provided a truly dynamic work environment, genuinely developed leadership skills, valued initiative, and constantly made me search for new ideas. Of course, I needed energy to be able to implement my new ideas, but I always had an abundance of energy.
I also had more formal responsibilities: I regularly chaired plenary sessions and meetings of the Komsomol Bureau. As part of the necessary routine, we approached them responsibly but without enthusiasm. It was the 80s; no one in the USSR believed in a bright communist future, and the lines for butter, meat, and toilet paper were no inspiration for heroic deeds. At Soyuzpechat's state-owned newspaper stands, Communist Party publications like the Communist and the Agitator were sold with the popular Soviet Screen magazine as a mandatory side-purchase. At the Komsomol city committee, all party functionaries, with rare exceptions, viewed ideology in very practical terms like you would treat the user manual for a washing machine. Nowhere in our town did people tell more Brezhnev jokes than in our office building. And the best impersonation of Leonid Brezhnev was done by the head of the Organizational Department of the City Communist Party Committee.
The communist ideology that served as the foundation and binding agent for the entire country was decomposing everywhere, while the aging leadership of the party was unable to offer anything new and appealing.
At the time, the position of the first secretary of our city's Communist Party Committee was occupied by Zaven Movsesian a good and kind man who climbed the career ladder from factory worker to party leader. We all respected him very much. Once, after a plenary session, he invited me to his office. He said, "I see you work very well, with enthusiasm you have a lot of energy. But you don't cite resolutions of the Central Committee, nor do you quote Brezhnev." I got a little tense indeed, I avoided the phrase "as Leonid Ilyich said" and confessed, "I can't bring myself to say it." Movsesian sighed, stared at me, and very softly, in a father-like manner, said, "Do you think I like it? But you have to say it at least once We are supposed to do it." This man worked honestly, trying to be as useful as he could be in his position.
I spent two years in the position of second secretary of the Komsomol, then joined the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU) and was promoted to the position of instructor of the party's city committee. From there, I was sent to the silk factory as secretary of its Communist Party Committee. The silk factory was the largest production facility in the region as they said at the time, the "flagship of our industry." This position reminded me of my first Komsomol job everyone who was sent there in recent years was "rewarded" with party censures at the end.
At the factory, I was met with a massive workforce good but complex. They were highly qualified professionals who knew the value of their work. Some of my weavers were recipients of the Hero of Socialist Labor title and many other government orders and medals. One of them was a member of the Regional Committee of the Communist Party, and another was a deputy of the Supreme Council of the USSR. Our engineering staff was so strong that our specialists were invited to other facilities in Azerbaijan when local engineers had difficulty installing new machinery or tuning high-tech equipment. And here I came along the new young party organizer, sent from the city committee. At first, people were cautious: "What is he going to do? Will he act like a big boss? Will he become one of us?"
I had a good advantage, though I worked at the factory for two years as an electrician. I knew many of the employees, understood the specificity of their work and knew the technological cycle. You can't earn the loyalty of your employees without a thorough understanding of the production process, no matter which management position you hold. On the other hand, it is absolutely unacceptable to get too chummy with workers. I think this became the biggest problem for my predecessor.
A solid engineering education combined with production experience helped me become part of the team and establish a good collaborative relationship with the workers and engineering personnel.
In short, I liked my job.
I gained new knowledge and skills that would become very helpful in the future. I learned how to understand the collective psychology of people, especially of people from an unfamiliar social setting. I learned how to interact with them properly. In contrast to the Consumer Services Complex, where I started my Komsomol career, there was a strong sense of comradeship at the silk factory. Every morning, everyone entered through the same door; they all knew each other and cared strongly about reaching their collective production goals.