A few weeks ago, the governments of Armenia and Azerbaijan announced they had finalized the text of a long-anticipated peace treaty, ostensibly ending decades of conflict. But while the announcement was quickly welcomed by international observers and widely reported as a breakthrough, a closer look reveals a more complicated — and troubling — picture.
There is no signed treaty. No joint declaration. No public release of the full text. And in the weeks since the March 13 announcement, rhetoric from Baku has remained hostile, with continued accusations against Armenia and no move to reduce military pressure. The question many in the region are now asking is not whether peace is imminent but whether it was ever intended at all.
To understand the fragility of this moment, one must look beyond the headlines and into the structure of the negotiations. Rather than a single process leading to a durable peace, talks between the two countries have been divided into three separate tracks — each of which remains fraught with unresolved tensions and contradictions.
The first track, which received the most attention, involves the core treaty text. After more than a year of negotiations, Armenia and Azerbaijan agreed to 17 articles, finalizing the last two only in March 2025. Those final clauses — which require Armenia to withdraw legal cases from international courts and remove EU monitors from the border — were accepted by Yerevan essentially under the threat of a renewed Azerbaijani attack. Extracting concessions under duress raises doubts about the durability and justice of any deal.
Simultaneously, a second negotiation track has been unfolding over the so-called “Zangezur Corridor.” Azerbaijan demands free access to a corridor across southern Armenia, linking its main territory with the Nakhchivan exclave, which borders Turkey—thus providing an important link to its larger patron and trading partner. But it seeks this route on terms that amount to sovereign control — no Armenian customs or passport checks, no interference. Armenia has offered this in exchange for reciprocal access through Azerbaijan in return, but Baku has rejected symmetry. In essence, Azerbaijan is using its battlefield advantage to demand territorial rights inside Armenia itself — a red line that can be pushed too far.
The third track — border delimitation and demarcation — is also complex. Only 13 kilometers of the 1,040-kilometer border have been fully demarcated. Experts say the rest could take decades. But with every inch of land tied to historical grievances and military calculations, and with the inability to assume good faith on the part of the despotic regime in Baku, this seemingly technical process carries immense political risk.
As if these hurdles weren’t enough, Azerbaijan has added another condition: a constitutional change in Armenia. Baku wants Armenia to remove a reference in its constitution’s preamble to the 1989 unification of Karabakh with Soviet Armenia. But Armenian law prohibits amending the preamble directly. To satisfy this demand, the country would need an entirely new constitution adopted by national referendum.
That will take time. Realistically, mid-to-late 2026 is the earliest it could happen. And even then, there’s no guarantee the public will approve it or that Azerbaijan won’t come back with new demands. Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan seems likely to frame the next election as a de facto referendum on constitutional change, and that approach carries serious risks. A defeat could collapse the entire peace process — and open the door to turmoil.
Meanwhile, the signals from Baku do little to inspire confidence. State-affiliated media continue to accuse Armenia of military provocations. Azerbaijan has refused to participate in any mechanisms for investigating ceasefire violations. These are not the actions of a government preparing to reconcile. They are the signals of a country keeping its options open — including the option of renewed aggression.
Critically, the treaty itself ignores core justice issues. There are no provisions for the release of Armenian political prisoners currently on trial in Baku. There is no mention of restitution or return for the tens of thousands displaced from Artsakh. There are no independent monitoring mechanisms. And if EU observers are removed — as Azerbaijan demands — there will be no means to verify compliance.
What emerges is not a peace deal in any meaningful sense. It is a list of partial steps, extracted through pressure, with key issues left unresolved or ignored entirely.
The world should not be lulled into complacency by declarations of peace. At stake is not just the fate of Armenia and Azerbaijan, but the broader principles of international order. The South Caucasus is more than a remote corner of Eurasia. It is a test case for whether the post-Soviet world resolves its conflicts through diplomacy or coercion.
The implications stretch far beyond Yerevan and Baku. If Azerbaijan is allowed to extract significant concessions through the threat of force, it will set a precedent that echoes across the region — from Moldova and Georgia to Ukraine. Other revanchist actors will take note.
Economics further raises the stakes, as Azerbaijan is an energy supplier to Europe, and the region hosts crucial east-west transit routes linking Central Asia to Europe. Instability in the area threatens these.
Even more concerning is the message this sends about the international community’s willingness to stand up for justice. The failure to address political prisoners, displaced persons, and past war crimes does more than harm Armenian interests. It undermines the credibility of global human rights mechanisms and erodes the moral authority of democracies. And in a region where Russia, China, the U.S., and Europe are all active players, a fragile peace can easily become a pawn in great-power rivalry.
In this landscape, Armenia’s strategy is notable. It has made real — even painful — efforts to move toward peace. It has engaged in the process despite internal opposition and political risk. That commitment deserves recognition. But peace must be mutual, just, and enforceable. Without safeguards, without symmetry, and without transparency, what has been presented as a treaty may turn out to be only a pause en route to the next war.
Ultimately, the March 2025 announcement was not the beginning of peace. It was, at best, a moment of potential calm before the storm. At worst, it was a calculated move by Azerbaijan to freeze the conflict on its own terms — while laying the groundwork for the next round of demands. A stable peace requires trust — and trust cannot grow in the shadow of coercion.
