Azerbaijan, Two Unfortunate "Souls"

Dear Readers:

16 years have passed. In 2006, I served as the General Manager of a Sugar Factory in Azerbaijan for 8 months. After leaving the company, I never looked back. Today, my memories of those days suddenly came alive, and I decided to put them into writing. My aim is to offer you a glimpse into both my own life and the difficult years of the Republic of Azerbaijan. Since I have detailed my writing in the sense of "making a note for history," a long, perhaps even boring, article awaits you. I apologize. There's nothing I can do!

INTRODUCTION

The Republic of Azerbaijan entered a challenging period starting in 1989. Ebulfez Elçibey established the Azerbaijan Popular Front in 1989. It was a time when the Soviet Union was on the verge of collapse... On January 20, 1990, the Soviet Army entered Baku and carried out a massacre. On one side, the Karabakh War, on the other, a power struggle in Baku... A military coup occurred. Ultimately, Heydar Aliyev, who came from Nakhchivan, seized power. He became President on October 3, 1993.

Azerbaijan's experiences in 1990 are reminiscent of the Republic of Turkey's experiences in 1920. Ebulfez Elçibey was committed to the idea of Turanism. He believed that the Republic of Turkey and the Republic of Azerbaijan should unite to form a single state, and that the official language should be Istanbul Turkish. He saw this unification as the first step towards the idea of Turanism. For this purpose, he had "Turkish" written into the Constitution as the official language.

Heydar Aliyev was a more realistic and rational statesman. After all, he had held important high-level positions during the Soviet era. He possessed extensive state experience. While Azerbaijan was grappling with a myriad of problems, he was not willing to pursue "dreams." He changed the country's official language in the Constitution to "Azerbaijani Language." In short; Ebulfez Elçibey was "Enver Pasha"; Heydar Aliyev was "Mustafa Kemal Atatürk."

Heydar Aliyev faced many problems. Nearly 1 million Azerbaijani refugees, fleeing the Karabakh massacre and Armenia, were living in dire conditions along the borders. The Sovkhoz (state agricultural enterprises) and Kolhoz (collective farming) systems inherited from the Soviets had collapsed, and the economy was in ruins. The country's greatest wealth, its oil wells, were inoperable.

After the collapse of the Soviet Union, mafia organizations in all newly established republics, including Russia, competed to seize control of the economy. Every sector was in the hands of a mafia group. Even oil was sold by the mafia, who pocketed the money. Thanks to Heydar Aliyev's management discipline, Azerbaijan was perhaps the country least infiltrated by the mafia. In this sense, Azerbaijan was fortunate.

Heydar Aliyev paved the way for private entrepreneurship and foreign capital. He invited foreign entrepreneurs to the country. The first investor to come to Baku was Baran Goozal, whom he knew from his Nakhchivan years.

Heydar Aliyev asked Baran Goozal to revive the country's economy and offered unconditional support. When Heydar Aliyev passed away in 2003, his son Ilham Aliyev became President. He followed in his father's footsteps, continuing his support for Baran Goozal. Soon, Baran Goozal emerged as the biggest businessman in the Caucasus, achieving the impossible by putting the country's economy back on track, and in a sense, leaving his mark on the course of the Azerbaijani economy. I must confess that Mr. Baran played a very significant role in the Azerbaijani economy acquiring a modern essence.

MY ANKARA DAYS

It was March 2006. I had voluntarily left the think tank called the Eurasian Center for Strategic Studies (ASAM) and started working as an English translator and editor at a company called TEBA (Turkish Economic Bulletin Agency). My life at TEBA was continuing normally.

I knew that my brother, Selahattin Hun, was working for a company in Azerbaijan, but I didn't know the details. One day he invited me to Baku:

"If you want, come for a week! You'll get to know the company. If you like it, we can find you a job here and work together."

I was living a quiet life in Ankara with my mother and two cats. I was not willing to leave them alone. I often took my mother to the thermal hotels in Afyon and Kızılcahamam, which she loved very much, and we had a pleasant time together. Moreover, my divorce papers from America had not yet been approved by the Turkish courts. I needed to follow up on the process. On the other hand, I was curious about Baku. I took leave from work and flew to Baku.

It was my first trip to Baku. One of the company's employees met me at the airport. I had come with a carry-on bag since I was staying for a week. The car took me to the AZERSUN company headquarters.

I didn't know much about the company. My brother, Selahattin, was serving as Vice President. There was a big preparation at the company. On March 21 (2006), Novruz Day, the Imishli Sugar Factory (Zavodu) was to be opened with the participation of President Ilham Aliyev. My brother and his team were working feverishly.

The founder and president of AZERSUN Company, Abdolbari Goozal, is originally a businessman from Doğubayazıt. His name is sometimes mentioned in the media as Abdolbari Goozal. Kurdish employees refer to him as "Baran" among themselves.

The next day, while my brother went to the company, I decided to tour the city of Baku. Baku is the largest city in the Caucasus. It stretches dazzlingly along the western shore of the Caspian Sea with its magnificent stone buildings. Although the majority of the city's inhabitants are Azeri, I kept hearing Russian conversations everywhere. In 2006, the city of Baku was like a construction site. Roads and bridges were being built, and new business centers were being put into service.

When I go to a city, I first become interested in its language, culture, daily life, and people. I bought a stack of newspapers from a newsstand, a few different English-Azerbaijani dictionaries, and settled down in a cafe to drink tea and read them at my leisure. Azerbaijani began to be written in the Latin alphabet from 1991 onwards, and the alphabet reached its final form in 1992. The newspapers were in Latin script. Although, since I knew Russian, Azerbaijani written in the Cyrillic alphabet would not have been a problem for me either.

OPENING OF THE IMISHLI SUGAR FACTORY

On the morning of March 20, we left Baku and set off for the city of Imishli. After a 5-6 hour journey, we arrived at the Sugar Factory. In one corner of a large area surrounded by walls was the sugar factory, and in a distant corner were the lodgings. Mr. Baran wanted everything to be complete and perfect, so he was reviewing the details of the opening ceremony, which was to take place the next day, with his staff until late at night. I was also walking around the field, watching the preparations with interest.

On the morning of March 21, the company employees were in a great hurry. Soon, a large crowd gathered in front of the factory where the speech was to be given. I think people were more curious about President Ilham Aliyev, who was going to make the opening, than about the factory itself. With my video camera in hand, I occasionally took footage and watched what was happening from a distance. What struck me was that President Aliyev received no applause when he gave his speech and when he finished it. I was not in a position to interpret this situation at that moment.

The hustle and bustle continued all day. My brother looked tired when he came to the apartment late. He lay down on his bed with the relief of having shed a great deal of stress.

I returned to Ankara a few days later without having the chance to meet Mr. Baran. I continued my job at TEBA. However, I was in doubt: Ankara or Azerbaijan?

To be honest, Ankara and Turkey were becoming exhausting for me. Azerbaijan was not far from Ankara. Moreover, when my two sisters in Germany said they would take turns coming to Ankara to look after my mother, I resigned from TEBA and flew to Baku.

Mr. Baran was out of Baku. I toured the city for a few days. It was my sixth day, but I still hadn't had the chance to meet Mr. Baran face-to-face. It was late afternoon. My brother took me with him, and we went to Mr. Baran's office.

Mr. Baran was buried under papers on his desk. The intensity of his work was evident from his tense facial features. It was clear that he wanted to keep our meeting short. He turned to my brother:

"What should we do for Mr. Mücahit? What do you think is appropriate?"

"I don't know! It's up to you, Mr. Baran!"

Mr. Baran made a suggestion without much thought:

"He should meet with our Hassan (Goozal). He's in the oil business. They could work together."

Hassan Goozal was Mr. Baran's brother's son and also his son-in-law. We had a brief meeting with Mr. Hassan. He wasn't enthusiastic. To be honest, I wasn't enthusiastic either. I later learned that the relationship between the son-in-law and father-in-law (or nephew and uncle) was not going well. The classic internal problem and jealousy of family businesses were also present here.

(Note: Hassan Goozal, a Bilkent graduate and well-known businessman, currently serves as the president of a company called DAAX. Undoubtedly, if Mr. Baran's vision and work discipline had not been an example before him, Hassan Goozal would not be in his current position.)

We met with Mr. Baran again. Mr. Baran made a suggestion.

"I need help in the office. Could you do that?"

I was not willing to be a "köməkçi," meaning "assistant."

I took matters into my own hands. I interjected:

"I want to take over the management of the Imishli Sugar Factory."

Mr. Baran and my brother simultaneously looked surprised. My brother acted cautiously:

"It's up to you, Mr. Baran!"

"Go to Imishli with Mr. Mücahit tomorrow. Let him learn the ropes for a few weeks. He can take over the position in May."

I would soon learn the reason for their surprise.

THE SYMBOLIC FIGURE OF ENTREPRENEURIAL SPIRIT: ABDOLBARI GOOZAL (BARAN BEY)

Mr. Baran was born on August 23, 1949, in Maku, Iran. His father, Rıza Bey, was from Doğubayazıt and a member of the Celali tribe. He spent his childhood years in Muş with his grandmother. He completed primary school in Muş between 1956-61; and secondary school in Iran between 1962-65.

He entered business life at an early age. He engaged in wholesale food trade with his father. He traded animals through the Doğubayazıt gate. By the age of 25, the number of animals he shipped from Turkey to Iran exceeded 250,000. In a short time, he accumulated significant capital.

In the years following the Iranian Revolution, in 1981, he settled in Ankara. At the suggestion of Turgut Özal, he established a company called ETSUN in Ankara. He entered the import-export business. By 1992, he had opened branches in countries such as the United Arab Emirates, Iraq, Iran, Syria, and Jordan. To consolidate these companies under one roof, he launched a holding company named INTERSUN in Dubai in 1994.

From 1992 onwards, Mr. Baran exported food to Azerbaijan and Georgia. He opened branches in both countries.

Mr. Baran's greatest talent should be sought in his ability to establish strong relationships with politicians. While he formed close ties with Turgut Özal in Turkey, in Azerbaijan, he developed high-level friendly relations first with Heydar Aliyev and then with his son Ilham Aliyev, earning their trust.

Mr. Baran launched the AZERSUN company in Baku in 1997. Heydar Aliyev was the President. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, the Azerbaijani economy had plunged into great chaos. He sought salvation in the implementation of an economic model consistent with free market rules. Mr. Baran took on this task. He took over factories that were idle (not working) or operating at low capacity, and dismantled outdated Soviet technology.

Mr. Baran made an agreement with the global giant British company Unilever, equipping all factories with the latest technology. He indisputably took the lead in the Azerbaijani market in sectors such as tea, oil, olives, paper, food packaging, canned goods, etc.

Mr. Baran's most prominent feature is his extreme emphasis on quality. He discards defective products without batting an eye. Thus, he quickly forced his competitors to give up. He even invested in tea plantations in Sri Lanka to produce high-quality tea. I must confess, I have never tasted Azersun's "Meryem" tea anywhere else.

A FEW IMPORTANT NOTES

Pan-Turkist circles in Turkey and Azerbaijan write articles claiming that Mr. Baran supports the PKK. Of course, I am not the lawyer for Mr. Baran and his family. However, I would be doing an injustice if I did not state my personal opinion.

Mr. Baran is intelligent enough not to make such a mistake as a "first-class" businessman. Most of the Turkish citizens working at both the Baku headquarters and the Imishli Sugar Factory are of Turkish origin. My Logistics, Human Resources, Accounting, Material Warehouse, and Laboratory Managers were Turkish citizens of Turkish origin. Of course, there were also Kurds. However, they did not have any special privileges. For example, the cafeteria manager was both of Kurdish origin and belonged to the same tribe as me, meaning he was my relative. However, I terminated his employment because he did not follow the rules and ignored my warnings. In the factory and other affiliated units, what was important was to perform the assigned task properly and adhere to company discipline.

Mr. Baran's weakest point was giving importance to the words of some "sycophantic" Turkish citizens of Kurdish origin from Doğubayazıt and succumbing to their suggestions. I could never understand whether Mr. Baran used these "sycophantic" types according to his own wishes, or whether the "sycophantic" types used Mr. Baran according to their own wishes. In the conditions of Azerbaijan, such "weakness" was, of course, an excusable situation.

Mr. Baran's other weakness was giving a secret (!) "blue bead" to everyone he met. There were quite a lot of "blue-beaded" people. These people considered themselves untouchable and posed a major obstacle to the company's institutionalization. Each "blue-beaded" person consolidated their authority in their own area, and when confronted, they would retort with a threat like, "You can't touch me! Mr. Baran can't do without me! You'll get yourselves into trouble!"

One of Mr. Baran's mistakes was giving jobs in other Azersun factories to employees whose employment had been terminated by factory managers (and by me as General Manager) on the grounds of "a significant fault," thereby encouraging them. He thought he was binding them more closely to himself by playing the role of "The General Manager treated you unfairly, I'm protecting you," but this was a misconception.

Another method he used was, just as in Turkey there is an understanding of "the governor was reassigned to the center," Mr. Baran would remove senior executives he disliked from their positions and assign them to passive roles at the headquarters. In this way, he tried to prove his authority over them. In my opinion, these were not approaches consistent with the understanding of a corporate company. Of course, the company was his; he could do whatever he wanted.

IMISHLI SUGAR FACTORY (ZAVODU)

The founding story of the Imishli Sugar Factory, the largest factory in the South Caucasus, is interesting:

In the early 2000s, when the European Union set sugar quotas for member countries, many sugar factories in Germany became idle.

Mr. Baran did not miss the opportunity. He bought the factory equipment. He assigned Ukrainian and Turkish engineers with significant experience in the sugar industry, dismantled the factory, and had it transported by ship from Germany to Azerbaijan. My brother took on the role of Vice President during this process.

Factory construction began in 2003. The factory, built on a 70-hectare plot, cost, if I remember correctly, 80 million dollars. Construction lasted 27 months.

Between 2003 and 2006, I was in Ankara. The factory was rebuilt step by step according to the original project. Mr. Baran had promised Ilham Aliyev to open the factory on March 21 (Novruz) 2006. For this reason, he constantly supervised and pressured the engineers and employees, and when they were stuck, he used his superior intelligence to find solutions.

During the three-year construction period of the factory, engineers and skilled workers from five different countries took part:

1. German engineers (assigned for a short period to detail the original factory project)
2. Polish engineers (assigned for a short period)
3. Ukrainian engineers (a considerable group of engineers took part in the project as Ukraine is an advanced country in the sugar industry)
4. Turkish managers, engineers, and skilled workers
5. Azerbaijani engineers and workers (since neither sugar beet was grown nor a sugar factory existed in Azerbaijan before, these two groups took part to gain experience and to assist with Russian-Turkish translations)

The city of Imishli is the administrative center of the rayon, or province, named "Imishli." It is 220 km from Baku. In 2006, due to the very poor condition of the roads, this distance could only be covered in 5-6 hours. The city's population, I believe, was around 30,000.

There were four main reasons for establishing the Sugar Factory in Imishli (my personal assessment):

1. Water was very important for sugar factories. The Aras River, after passing the city of Parsabad in Iran, enters Azerbaijani territory, curving south of Imishli city and extending to the Caspian Sea. In this sense, Imishli city had a suitable location.
2. The Imishli Rayon and surrounding areas (Aran Region), being close to the Aras River, were suitable for agriculture, meaning they were suitable for sugar beet cultivation.
3. The Imishli Rayon and surrounding areas were considered the poorest region of Azerbaijan. A factory established here could be a solution to the unemployment problem.
4. (Political) The Imishli Rayon and surrounding areas were known as supporters of Ebulfez Elçibey or the opposition. Ilham Aliyev wanted to attract these voters to himself.

AŞİB is the abbreviation for "Azərbaycan Şəkər İstehsalat Birliyi" (Azerbaijan Sugar Production Union). From May 1, 2006, I took on the role of General Director of AŞİB. The factory had just opened and was facing thousands of problems. The most important was the rivalry between managers and engineers. The two main groups were as follows:

1. Ukrainian and Azerbaijani engineers acted together, reinforcing their friendship by speaking Russian among themselves due to a cultural closeness inherited from the former Soviet Union.
2. Managers, engineers, and skilled workers from Turkey

There was a problem: all the Ukrainians were engineers. There were no skilled workers among them. Among the Azerbaijanis, there was neither a good engineer nor a skilled worker.

I had to make my choice. If I alienated the Ukrainians, the factory could become inoperable, as they had played a primary role in its establishment.

One day, when İsmail Bey, an Iranian Azeri who had managed sugar factories in Urmia and Mahabad in Iran, came for an interview for the factory manager position, we toured the factory together. He had a pleasant and constructive character. He was self-confident. Soon after, he started his job as Factory Manager.

This situation caused discomfort among the Ukrainians and a handful of Azeri engineers who acted with them. When they behaved arrogantly towards me, I terminated their employment. Thus, the multi-headedness in the factory ended, and a disciplined and harmonious working environment emerged.

İsmail Bey brought a few assistants from Iranian Azerbaijan. Thus, Iranian Azeri engineers also joined the group. The main burden was on the skilled workers from Turkey.

SUGAR CANE (RAW SUGAR) FROM BRAZIL

The factory was set up to operate 24 hours a day, all year round. Of course, in countries like Turkey that use sugar beet as raw material, factories do not operate all year. Factories would open during the sugar beet season and close after 3-4 months. The Imishli Sugar Factory stored semi-processed cane sugar brought by ships from Brazil and produced crystal sugar from raw sugar throughout the year. Analyses carried out in the factory laboratory, by authorized Azerbaijani state bodies, and on samples sent abroad showed that the quality of the produced crystal sugar was of a high standard.

When I started my job, the number of employees was over 2000. Apart from the 100-150 people who had gained expertise from working in sugar factories in Turkey for many years, the rest were amateur workers from the Imishli region who knew nothing.

In my time, the factory had a capacity to produce 1000 tons of crystal sugar per day. For this, the factory processed 1800 tons of raw sugar daily. The goal was to encourage sugar beet production as soon as possible, to process 5000 tons of çuğundur (sugar beet) per day during the season, and to continue production with raw sugar cane when sugar beet was not available.

LIME KILN IN QAZAX RAYON

Limestone is one of the important auxiliary materials in the sugar production process. Milk of lime is used in the purification of raw syrup. Milk of lime is prepared by slaking quicklime (CaO) obtained from limestone, and raw syrup is purified with milk of lime in the purification station.

The lime kiln was in the Qazax Rayon, in the northwest of Azerbaijan, on the border with Armenia.

Both the limestone from Qazax Rayon and the raw sugar (sugar cane) arriving at the Georgian port by ship were transported to the factory by rail. For this purpose, there was a special railway line entering the factory area.

PROBLEMS… PROBLEMS…

The biggest problems were "gossip," "slander," and "espionage." Theft and abuse of power were also prominent issues. As if these weren't enough, the Azerbaijani Intelligence Organization frequently visited me, making unreasonable demands. Although its real name was "Milli Təhlükəsizlik Nazirliyi (MTN)," it was popularly known as "Azerbaijani KGB" or simply "KGB."

On such days, my secretary would open the door and whisper to me:

"Mr. Manager, a group from the KGB has arrived. They want to meet with you."

Their demands were endless. At first, I would politely see them off. Their expectation was "extortion," but I was ignoring it.

One day, an incident occurred that caused a rift between us.

KGB members surrounded the table. The chairman spoke:

"Mr. Manager, that lady working in the laboratory is originally Armenian and a Russian agent. Terminate her employment!"

They gave the order and left.

We had an employee named Hacı, a Turkish citizen of Turkish origin, who was responsible for the laboratory. He was honest and extremely outspoken. I called Hacı to my office. I asked for information about the female employee who was accused of being an agent. Hacı spoke clearly:

"I cannot accuse anyone without proof. I have not seen any fault in the lady. She is someone who does her job properly. The decision is yours, Manager!"

A few days later, the KGB returned:

"You haven't dismissed the lady. This is not right!"

This time I spoke differently:

"If you have evidence, take it to court. I cannot act on your request. Please do not enter the factory building again."

Not content with this, I called factory security and asked them to remove the KGB members from the factory premises and not to allow them in again without my permission.

A few weeks passed. A young employee working at the telephone exchange entered my office, saying he wanted to speak with me privately. He told me that his colleague, with whom he worked, was a KGB agent, that he was listening to my phone calls, and that he had placed recording devices in hidden compartments of the factory to listen to conversations in the corridors when Mr. Baran visited. I took my assistant and checked the compartments where the recording devices were hidden. The young man was right. I was astonished to see the professionally placed devices. I called the employee who was acting as a KGB agent in the factory to my office and treated him harshly:

"I am terminating your employment because you are acting as a KGB agent."

He made no sound. He offered no defense. He did not deny it. I asked the security unit to immediately remove this person from the factory premises.

SEXUAL HARASSMENT BY THE MATERIAL WAREHOUSE MANAGER

The factory had a huge material warehouse. The person in charge was a Turkish citizen of Turkish origin who had been working for the company for 3 years. Whenever I went to inspect the warehouse, he would be uncomfortable with my presence and adopt an arrogant attitude, as if to say, "I am responsible here! It doesn't concern you!" After all, he was one of Mr. Baran's "blue-beaded" favorites.

One day, two young new hires entered my office. They stood silently. I wanted to know what the problem was. The young men looked at each other. Clearly, they didn't dare to speak. I repeated:

"What's the problem? Don't be afraid, I'll help you."

"Mr. Manager! The warehouse manager is sexually harassing us. He says, 'Either you give in, or I'll terminate your employment.'"

I was stunned. The warehouse manager was married. His wife was in Turkey.

"Leave your phone number with me! Go home! I will call you later."

It was such a topic that, amidst all this work, dealing with a "sexual harassment" issue between men was not something I wanted or expected at all. Of course, I was not concerned with people's "sexual preferences." However, abusing his authority and pressuring young people who were trying to earn a living in this way was unacceptable.

I took what was said seriously. My thorough investigations over several weeks confirmed the allegations. I terminated the warehouse manager's employment. He was shouting and yelling: "No one can terminate my employment. I am Mr. Baran's favorite employee. You'll see, Mr. Baran will send me back to my job! This will be your end!"

The security unit grabbed the warehouse manager by the arm and threw him out of the factory.

THE MAKU INFORMER

There was a strange man in the factory, originally from Maku, Iran. It was said that the gentleman from Maku had been a family friend or relative of Mr. Baran for years. He was uneducated but arrogant. According to what was said, Mr. Baran had given him a special task, asking him to immediately report everything that happened in the factory. Since he was under Mr. Baran's special protection, no one dared to confront him out of fear. And he became more and more spoiled.

One day, I was in a meeting with my managers. Somehow, while the meeting was ongoing, I opened the door to ask my secretary for something. I found the Maku informer in front of me. He was pressing his ear to the door, listening to what was being discussed inside. When he saw me, he grinned nastily and left. Who knows, maybe he thought I was having a sex party inside? I was uncomfortable with this situation. I snapped at my secretary:

"Why do you allow this?"

"He is Mr. Goozal's man. We can't say anything out of fear."

Two or three weeks passed. From my office window, I witnessed a strange situation. The trucks of the sugar distribution company were moving extremely slowly on the asphalt road in the factory area. I called the responsible manager and asked for an explanation:

"The gentleman from Maku had speed bumps installed on the roads. The bumps are so high that even empty trucks hit their undersides."

I went to the asphalt road and examined the situation on site. The Maku informer, with an air of "I decide everything here," had arbitrarily installed a series of bumps of illegal height without anyone's permission.

I called him to my office. Without much talk, I terminated his employment. He didn't care:

"You can't do this! Who do you think you are? I'm going to call Mr. Baran now."

"Of course, you can! Mr. Baran will either choose you or me!"

Towards evening, I had his belongings loaded onto a truck and removed him from the factory premises. The factory employees, who were fed up with the Maku informer, were very happy with this news.

HUMAN RESOURCES MANAGER

The human resources manager was Azerbaijani. He had been managing affairs for the past three years, since 2003. He was experienced.

One day, two young men wanted to meet with me. Since my door was open to everyone, I accepted. One of the young men spoke:

"We applied for a job. The human resources manager is asking for bribes. He hires those who have money. He didn't hire us because we don't have money."

I was very disturbed. I took the phone numbers of the two young men and told them to go home. About two weeks passed. This time, three young men came to my office and made the same complaint. I took their phone numbers and asked them to go home as well.

I obtained a list of recently hired employees from the human resources manager. I admitted each worker on the list to my office one by one and asked the same question:

"Were you asked for a bribe when you started your job?"

"Yes! I gave a bribe equal to six months' salary."

When every young person I called said the same thing, I called the human resources manager to my office and terminated his employment. He turned red. He made no sound. Without even allowing him to go to his office, I had him escorted out of the factory premises under security control.

Terminating people's employment is certainly not an easy decision. I remember feeling crushed under a moral responsibility every time. However, I had to do it for corporate management. I had only one goal: to create a harmonious working environment, to focus on the job, to ensure the company made a profit, and most importantly, to contribute to the economic development of Imishli and the surrounding region.

NEW HUMAN RESOURCES MANAGER

Under normal and healthy conditions, I should have selected the new human resources manager through face-to-face interviews. That didn't happen. They sent someone from Baku. He was originally from Adana. He had no interest in work discipline or responsibility. I would later understand that he had only one task: to report what was happening to one of Mr. Baran's "sycophants" as an agent or man of that "sycophant." Not only did he never submit a single report related to his job, but he also preferred to remain silent during the daily morning meetings I held with my managers. I was quite uncomfortable with this situation. He deliberately withheld important information about what was happening in the factory, hoping that I would drown in problems.

I sensed that he was playing some games against me, but since he had just gotten married for the second time, I didn't want to terminate his employment. He was responsible for human resources, but he neither opened the door to this office nor supervised the employees. Yet, theft incidents were frequent in the factory. I tried to identify and punish them as much as I could.

One day, two employees from Imishli working in the human resources department collaborated and disappeared with a large sum of money. I was sure that both the KGB and the new human resources manager had a hand in planning this trap, but I had no proof. Coincidentally, not long ago, I had a disagreement with the "sycophant" in the Baku headquarters who had installed the new human resources manager as an "agent" in the factory, and we had a harsh phone conversation. He wanted to take his revenge. The conditions were in his favor. He seized the opportunity well. It is not my style to insist when words fail. I returned to Turkey.

While I was struggling with similar problems, two consecutive events deeply affected me:

THE FIRST "UNFORTUNATE" SOUL

We had an infirmary and an intern doctor within the factory. He provided medication for illnesses such as flu or headaches. He was a polite and respectful person.

One day, I was sitting in front of my computer, writing an important report. My phone rang. The doctor informed me:

"An accident just happened. One of the workers' feet got caught under the rails. They took him to the hospital. There's nothing to worry about!"

When I evaluated his tone of voice, it gave the impression that it was an ordinary event. In a factory with over 2000 amateur workers, minor incidents occurred every day. I took even the smallest incident seriously and tried to do my part. I asked my private driver to take me to the hospital.

As I climbed the stairs, I heard crying and shouting. When I entered the room, I was startled by what I saw. The injured worker was lying semi-conscious in his clothes. His right leg was bleeding from the knee, and he was groaning in pain. His family, children, and relatives filled the room, crying vaguely.

"Did anyone see what happened?" I shouted.

One of the workers approached:

"The train slowly entered the factory area. My friend, for no reason, made a move and grabbed the wagon's handle, at that moment his foot slipped, and he fell in front of the rails. I shouted 'Stop!' with all my might, but my friend's right leg was dragged for a while in front of the train wheel. His leg wasn't completely severed, but his bones were crushed."

"Where is the doctor?"

"No doctor! Friends went to get him. He'll be here shortly."

It was impossible to call this place a hospital. It was full of junk. The walls were faded, and the beds and chairs were broken. The nurses were acting indifferently, shouting around as if to say, "Where did this trouble come from?"

The doctor arrived. He was a tall man. He must have been 65-70 years old. We went to the patient together. He stated his opinion without needing any examination:

"His leg needs to be amputated. Otherwise, it will become gangrenous."

As he spoke, the smell of alcohol filled my nose. It was clear that they had brought the doctor from a drinking party. The doctor shouted at the nurse:

"Bring the saw!"

The doctor prepared himself for the leg amputation operation with a saw, in front of the patient's family and children. While swaying, he reluctantly put on his white coat. Realizing that this operation would have dangerous consequences, I informed Mr. Baran by phone. There was no ambulance in Imishli. I asked for an ambulance to be sent.

I returned to the room. The doctor had clearly taken a saw and began to cut the patient's right leg just above the knee, as if cutting wood, without needing local or general anesthesia. The patient was screaming. This time I shouted:

"Is there no anesthesia, Doctor Bey!"

"No! We ran out of anesthetic medicine."

"No painkiller either?"

"We gave an aspirin."

The doctor asked me to hold the patient's leg. At that moment, our doctor from the factory infirmary entered. I wanted to give him the task, but our doctor went out in fear.

As I moved to grab the patient's leg, blood suddenly spurted all over me. The doctor, in his drunken state, swayed from side to side, cut off the patient's leg, and threw it away. He called out to the nurses:

"I'll have some tea. You stop the bleeding!"

The patient was going to die from blood loss. This was obvious. I was impatient for the ambulance to arrive as soon as possible. Would the patient survive until it arrived after a 4-5 hour journey?

After drinking his tea, the doctor returned to the room.

"I should have cut a little higher! This didn't work!"

Oh my God! It was unbelievable! There was no ambulance or anesthetic in the city. The only doctor was drunk.

Realizing that I couldn't bear the heartbreaking cries and shouts of the patient and his relatives for a second time, I went out into the hospital garden. After the doctor performed his second operation, he changed his clothes and went home. The indifferent nurses were walking slowly, doing something in their own way.

Towards morning, the ambulance arrived. The patient was unconscious, or rather, half-dead.

As the ambulance set off, I asked the responsible parties to keep me informed of developments. Psychological exhaustion had nullified my mind. I couldn't think. I went to my apartment, changed my bloody shirts, took a shower, and went to my office.

When the phone rang, I answered it curiously. The voice on the other end said, "The patient has passed away. May God have mercy on him!" The patient had passed away before the ambulance had even covered half the distance to Baku.

Everything I witnessed had caused an indescribable accumulation of anger and resentment within me. I spent that day without eating or drinking.

The first thing I did the next day was to go to the Governor (İcra Başçısı) of Imishli Rayon.

"I want to build an intensive care unit and an operating room equipped with state-of-the-art devices next to the hospital. I kindly ask you to show me a location. We will also have an ambulance."

I assured them that I would cover the expenses on behalf of AŞİB. Furthermore, I ensured that the family of the deceased worker would be insured for life. When I informed Mr. Baran of these developments, I understood from his tone of voice that he was not pleased. To be honest, I didn't care! I was the one carrying the worker's blood on my shirt. I was also the one who witnessed all this pain and misery. Moreover, the deceased worker had died due to an accident that occurred on the factory premises. As a company, we had legal and moral responsibilities! Of course, the money for the ambulance and the hospital would not come out of my pocket, but as a general manager, I was not a "puppet" either. I was aware of my social responsibilities.

I also spent my own money many times. I would choose someone as "Worker of the Week," and in the meeting room, amidst applause, I would hand the worker $300 from my own account in an envelope. My aim was to contribute to the development of positive competition among the workers.

Soon, we had an ambulance at the service of the factory's Health Center. When I left my position, the construction of the additional hospital was continuing at full speed.

THE SECOND "UNFORTUNATE" SOUL

Our lime (əhəng daşı) kiln was in Qazax Rayon. Qazax Rayon is a mountainous region in the northwest corner of the Republic of Azerbaijan, on the border with Armenia. The limestone extracted from here was transported to the factory by train wagons.

When I think of Qazax Rayon, two names come to mind: Eliağa Şıxlinski and Samed Vurgun. Since I knew that Hüsnü Bingöl's family was also from Qazax, the Qazax region interested me as a researcher and writer.

I visited the lime kiln 4-5 times and closely observed the work. Since dynamite blasting was used, I made it mandatory to take measures to ensure life safety. Our manager responsible for the kiln enjoyed his job. Every time I went, I saw that a more professional working method was being implemented, and I encouraged them for better by providing the necessary financial assistance.

It was one evening. I received a call from our responsible person in Qazax Rayon. There was a fault in the electrical lines going to the lime kiln, and the responsible friend had found an electrician and asked him to repair the broken wires.

The electrician climbed the pole, acted carelessly, and while connecting the wires with bare hands, he was electrocuted and died on the spot.

I immediately set off for the scene of the incident. By the time we found the village of the deceased, it was well past midnight.

It was a village house. When I entered, strangely, the deceased's body was laid on the floor, face uncovered. Women surrounded him, crying and wailing. I passed through the women to the room where the men were. There was a deep silence inside. When I asked how the incident happened, I received an interesting answer from his friend who had gone to the pole with the deceased:

"We called the power plant and asked for the power to the line to be cut. When the deceased climbed the pole, the power was off. He started to repair it with bare hands, thinking it would be quick. At that moment, for a reason we don't know, the power was turned on. My friend fell from the pole to the ground. He passed away."

I questioned myself, who was to blame? Through the open door, I could see the women's section and the deceased's pale face lying on the floor. He was not an AŞİB employee. Despite this, I wondered if it would be possible to insure his family for life. When I returned to Imishli, I realized that this would not be possible. I delivered a sum of money, whose amount I no longer remember, to his family. My conscience was gnawing at me, but there was nothing I could do.

On December 10, 2006, as I permanently left my job and returned to Ankara, I looked out of the airplane window into the distance. Neither Azersun nor the sugar factory was on my mind. Only and only the remorse for the two poor Azerbaijani "SOULS" whose deaths I had witnessed gnawed at me. May God have mercy on both of them!