What is it like to come of age under constant threat of war? Director Sareen Hairabedian’s poignant documentary “My Sweet Land” follows an ethnic Armenian youngster named Vrej Khatchatryan from the small village of Tsaghkashen in the Martakert region of the disputed enclave of Nagorno-Karabakh. Conflict, displacement and exile color everything in his and his extended family’s lives. Vrej and his peers are raised in a martial atmosphere, from their lessons at school and military camps, to the games they play, the clothes they wear and the songs they sing. Artfully combining lyrical images that she shot with news footage, Hairabedian (herself of mixed Armenian-Palestinian-Jordanian heritage) captures an indoctrination that, sadly, seems destined to keep the situation intractable from generation to generation.
With the international news filled with the bloodshed in the Middle East and the Ukraine-Russia conflict, comparatively little time has been spent on what’s happening in the semi-autonomous region of Nagorno-Karabakh, and its unresolved territorial issues. Hairabedian provides onscreen text at the beginning to offer context. We learn that the mountainous enclave between Armenia and Azerbaijan has long been home to ethnic Armenians who formed a majority of the population. After the collapse of the Soviet Union in late 1991, the Armenian population there declared independence — a status not recognized by the rest of the world — leading to continuing wars with Azerbaijan, which seeks sovereignty over the territory. The ethnic Armenians living there, devoted to their homeland, call it Artsakh.
When we first see Vrej in 2020, he’s 11, living in a place so small — just 150 people — that he jokes he is related to half of them. He’s the oldest of three kids, born to a couple whose participation in a mass wedding in 2008, opens the film. The priest who officiates the wedding declares that the offspring of the 700 couples he has blessed will repopulate the area and fight to maintain the homeland. A smart, sensitive, questioning lad, Vrej is born into a heavy destiny.
Vrej’s school, where the walls are full of photographs of fallen soldiers, also inculcates blind love for the homeland. The kids learn that the maps of their part of the world are subject to frequent change and war could break out at any moment. A military officer, who comes to the school to teach the children about fighting, notes that it is essentially a kindergarten for soldiers. The pupils accept that by living in Artsakh, they are all considered soldiers because that’s what the situation demands. Nowhere do you hear discussion of any other solution to the territorial disputes apart from fighting.
Over the course of the three years that Hairabedian follows the Khatchatryan family, they are displaced from their land twice. In 2020, Vrej’s father, Artak, who like most of the men in the village wears military fatigues, stays behind to fight. Meanwhile, life goes on as usual for the rest of the Khatchatryan clan, in a home some eight hours away from Tsaghkashen. As the women cook and clean, the kids play war games with improvised guns. When Vrej’s maternal grandmother Angela celebrates her 57th birthday, he steps into a patriarchal role, proposing a toast and assuring the others that Artsakh will prevail and lost lands will be recovered.
By the time Vrej reaches 13, he holds fewer certainties. He’s learned from military camp that fighting isn’t fun. There, Hairabedian captures a heartbreaking scene of the male campers herded to a lake and allowed a brief moment in the water. Vrej, enraptured, is splashing happily like the kid he is, but never totally allowed to be, only to be rudely directed to get out by one of the soldiers.
In the film’s closing conversation, Hairabedian finds the perfect ending as Vrej asks her, “What’s going to happen to the hero of the film at the end?” It’s a question to which only time can tell, but given his education and socialization, the answer seems bleak.
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