An Omission of Freedom: Armenia and Azerbaijan's Peace Agreement
"It is a peace reliant on social cryptomnesia, and codified into law that then frames conflict as territorial integrity whilst disguising ethnic cleansings"
Written by Ayat Majid BA Politics and Japanese
Finalised under American imprimatur in August of last year, the wildly heralded ‘historic’ peace agreement between Armenia and Azerbaijan reflects not reconciliation, but the diplomatic formalisation of outcomes already imposed by force. The settlement is painfully devoid of public mandate, whereby it seems to confuse endorsement with consent. The long-awaited, long-debated draft Agreement on Peace and the Establishment of Interstate Relations was finalised (in principle) by Armenia’s Prime Minister Pashinyan and Azerbaijan’s President Aliyev and yet, stops short of legal finality. Quintessential to the dispute is the mountainous enclave of Nagorno-Karabakh, where Armenian identity and Azerbaijani sovereignty intersect, and geography has crystallised the right to self-determination into narratives of conquest. Framed as a diplomatic breakthrough, the agreement risks being a performance of closure that neglects history rather than confronting it, leaving unanswered what, if anything, this agreement is meant to resolve.
The agreement reflects the newly defined balance of power, following Azerbaijan's military victories in 2020 and 2023 that decisively dismantled the de facto Armenian administration in Nagorno-Karabakh. Azerbaijan entered these talks with an undisputable strategic advantage, due to it not only being backed by sustained military investment, but also finding itself strengthened by Turkish and European courtship due to its indispensability as an energy supplier. In contrast, Armenia, hemmed in by its Turkish neighbour, thus further reinforcing its regional vulnerability, is left negotiating from a position of weakness and dependent on fragile corridors through Georgia and Iran. This asymmetry permeates the text; as decades of diplomatic stalemate have been decisively closed by the finality of artillery, diplomacy has served not to mediate, but to notarise the spoils.
More prominent, however, is what this ‘peace’ deliberately omits; no practical mechanism for displaced Armenians to return safely, no protection for churches severed from their communities and of course, no framework for historical grievances. It is a peace reliant on social cryptomnesia, and codified into law that then frames conflict as territorial integrity, whilst disguising ethnic cleansings.
Silence is no oversight; it is the ugly feature of agreements brokered within geopolitical landscapes that prioritise stability over justice. For Europe, Azerbaijan is an indispensable partner when desperate to replace Russian gas. For Turkey, a stronger Baku is a stronger extension of its influence in the Caucasus. To the displaced, bereaved and erased, they're rewarded with the absence of gunfire; supposedly, a sufficient peace.
As well, both sides have to contend with their own domestic political realities, casting more doubt towards the already fragile architecture, and adding more weight to an overburdened bridge. Pashinyan, already deeply unpopular at home with approval ratings languishing in the teens, has to face accusations of betraying national interests as he courts Washington. Regarded as a “traitor” of his home, he governs with little domestic mandate. The newfound infatuation with American favour will do little for the hundred thousand displaced Armenians; nor will it suffice for the quarter of Armenians living below the poverty line. His opposition Aliyev, conversely, governs not by a mandate, but by force; force that eliminates journalists, tortures dissidents and ensures enrichment of his clan, while the self-serving West grace him with diplomatic embrace. Between a leader without a mandate, and another who needs none, the notion of peace appears to be one not built to serve, but to endure; ensuring this bridge, if it exists at all, remains.
No matter how many treaties are signed by smiling politicians, or how many armies are carefully tucked away from view, reconciliation remains elusive without confronting the wounds of past decades. Rituals of diplomacy fail to undo decades of loss and displacement, nor can grief be sanitised for press release. Mothers who have buried their children cannot see the peace in signatures or handshakes, and until this ugly reality is confronted, ‘peace’ in the South Caucasus will remain performative. Normalisation can be flaunted for cameras, negotiated for leverage and, lived very differently by those left behind.
Peace cannot be decreed over an open wound.
