ARMENIA'S PLAYING WITH FIRE

From the nominal border between Azerbaijan and Armenia, where it has been relatively calm for several months, alarming news is once again emerging. For several days—and sometimes multiple times a day—the Armenian armed forces have violated the ceasefire regime, shelling Azerbaijani positions with various types of weaponry. So far, this amounts to little more than "disturbing fire," with no casualties reported. Yet this is no reason to dismiss the situation under the principle of "let bygones be bygones," particularly against the backdrop of recent political developments.

Agreement finalised, but...

Just before this series of incidents, the Ministries of Foreign Affairs of Azerbaijan and Armenia officially shared sensational news: Baku and Yerevan had agreed on the text of a future peace treaty. The parties had even resolved the final two sticking points. All that remained was to settle on a time and place for the signing.

However, it soon became clear that the treaty would not be signed "next week." Firstly, Baku insists on amendments to the Armenian Constitution to remove claims to Garabagh. Secondly, it demands that Yerevan support Azerbaijan's initiative to dissolve the OSCE Minsk Group.

Let us reiterate: as long as the Armenian Constitution includes territorial claims to Azerbaijani Garabagh, no peace agreement will be signed. The reason is straightforward. So long as the Basic Law retains a loophole for revanchism, any peace treaty with Armenia is meaningless.

It is true that Yerevan appears to have initiated constitutional reform. Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan has formally proposed amendments and is even consulting with his Civil Contract allies and other political factions. But constitutional changes take time—and require a referendum. Realistically, as many in Armenia openly admit, a new constitution will not materialise before 2027. Much can change in the region, or within Armenia itself, by then. This brings to mind the parable of Molla Nasreddin, who promised to teach the Shah's donkey to read and write within twenty years. When questioned, he retorted that in two decades, either the Shah or the donkey would be dead.

Pashinyan's political standing is not as secure as he might wish. Though his term has years remaining, experts caution him to recall how Armenia's first president, Levon Ter-Petrosian, was ousted prematurely—precisely for advocating peace with Azerbaijan. There is also no guarantee that constitutional revisions will fully excise claims to Garabagh. Worse, the amendments could fail at referendum, allowing Yerevan to hide behind the "will of the people."

Similarly opaque is Yerevan's stance on disbanding the OSCE Minsk Group. Verbally, Armenia seems amenable—yet in OSCE forums, it remains conspicuously silent. This duality is hardly new for Armenian diplomacy. Official Yerevan routinely maintains multiple positions on pivotal issues: one for domestic consumption, another for allies, and yet another for external audiences.

Diplomatic manoeuvres or "room for revenge"?

Yerevan's equivocations force us to ask, yet again: how closely linked are Armenia's ambiguous stance on the OSCE Minsk Group and its latent revanchist ambitions?

While Baku maintains that the Garabagh conflict is resolved and urges a forward-looking peace, Yerevan labours to keep the issue "active." The Armenian diaspora's efforts abroad further fuel suspicions. They relentlessly push "forums" and "conferences" on Garabagh, the "safe return of Armenians," and similar narratives—all thinly veiled attempts to frame the conflict as unresolved and sustain international attention. The preservation of the OSCE Minsk Group and protracted constitutional reforms align perfectly with this agenda.

Baku has consistently argued that direct bilateral negotiations suffice, without mediators. Yerevan, however, clings to the hope of leveraging external actors to impose terms favourable to Armenia—a delusion, given its two wartime defeats. Yet the double game continues: Yerevan oscillates between fealty to Russia, embraces with the EU and US, flirtations with France, and sudden rapprochements with Moscow.

But the most unambiguous—and alarming—evidence of Armenia's revanchist designs lies in its military preparations.

"Peace" on paper, war in mind

Experts estimate Armenia's 2025 military budget at $1.7 billion—roughly 30% of state expenditures and 6% of GDP. While this pales next to Azerbaijan's $5 billion defence outlay, Armenia leads the South Caucasus in military spending as a share of its budget.

Some explanations exist. After its defeat in Garabagh, Armenia must replenish lost weaponry and re-establish defensive lines. During the 44-day war, Azerbaijan destroyed and took $5 billion worth of weapons and military equipment as trophies. In addition, Armenia needs to establish military positions on its new borders. Yet it predominantly seeks offensive arms, like French Caesar howitzers, and constructs forward positions of an unmistakably offensive nature. Baku notes with concern that structures of the toppled Garabagh occupation regime still operate within Armenia.

Analysts stress that Armenia has form in talking peace while preparing for war. Against this backdrop, as foreign governments cheer the "agreed" treaty, sudden border shootings raise urgent questions: what is really happening?

Political optimism under fire

Border skirmishes can, of course, stem from accidents—especially amid high tensions. A shadow, a movement—a trigger pulled. But deliberate, sustained shelling of Azerbaijani positions, occurring daily for weeks, cannot be dismissed as random.

One might blame rogue groups like Yerkrapah, which stoked February's border tensions. Yet it is Yerevan's duty to enforce calm and control armed elements on its soil. Moreover, the scale and frequency of these incidents suggest state involvement.

What is Yerevan's aim? Though its press releases are silent, the motives are discernible.

Despite diplomatic fanfare about a "finalised" peace deal, Nikol Pashinyan is in no rush to sign. Losing Garabagh was a political disaster; formally renouncing "Artsakh" could be unforgivable for the "kebab prime minister," particularly among those who cheered his "Garabagh is Armenia, full stop!" rhetoric, Araik Harutyunyan's "inauguration" in Shusha, and his drunken jig on Cıdır Düzü. Provoking border clashes is a reliable way to derail the treaty.

Border delimitation also terrifies Yerevan. Under Russian mediation post-war, Armenia ceded strategic heights, a highway section, and four villages in the Gazakh district to Azerbaijan. Both sides know the scale of Soviet-era land grabs and occupation-era border violations. As delimitation proceeds, Armenia will lose illegally held territories—and with them, the myth of Azerbaijani "incursions" it peddles abroad. Against talks of an imminent peace deal, Yerevan resorts to a tried-and-tested tactic: armed border incidents.

Only, it seems to have forgotten how the skirmishes of 2021–2022 ended for Armenia.