Parade of defeats

It is Independence Day in Yerevan. It is a perfect Caucasian day. Half the heat is the sun, beating down through a cloudless sky. The rest rises from the ambling crowds making their way down to Republic Square — along with the smell of sweat and ultra-slim Russian cigarettes. Chinese backpackers take a moment in the shade by the fountains, alongside sun-damaged locals selling dates and apricots from clear plastic bags. Fathers sit their children, in miniature combat fatigues, on their shoulders to peer over the crowds.

The square is blocked off for detachments of the different branches of the Armenian military. Occasionally, a soldier will pass out. The dignitaries are gathered on a blue rostrum, shaped to look like Mount Ararat and the other peaks of the Armenian Highlands. Its sides are ribboned with the blue, orange and red of the Armenian flag: the real thing rises, in Turkey, behind.

The parade is the usual hodgepodge of late Soviet fighting vehicles and Russian trucks that you would find in most former Soviet Republics, but there are new vehicles too: the French CAESAR self-propelled 155MM guns, Iranian air defence systems atop Italian-made Ivecos, Indian Pinaka rocket launcher batteries. On stationary flatbeds by the side of the square sit three new Chinese CH-4 drones, almost identical to the American Reaper. The day before, two of our party were prevented by police from taking photos. Today, they are there to be seen. 

In the last ten years the Armenian military has fought three conflicts, all against neighbouring Azerbaijan, all over the contested Nagorno-Karabakh region, all of which it lost. In many former Soviet Socialist Republics — particularly Russia — these parades are an opportunity for chest-beating. Yet here, it speaks more to the stinging pride of a nation that is grappling with the consequences of those defeats.

The prime minister, Nikol Pashinyan, gives a 20-minute speech during proceedings. He is running for a third term, with Armenia’s nearly 2.4 million eligible voters going to the polls this Sunday. Armenia is not yet “a coherent or consolidated democracy”, in the words of Dr Arsen Gasparyan, a former Senior Adviser to Pashinyan, now of the Genesis Armenia think-tank, and the campaign is taking place in a society “polarised after the wars, and the deportations.”

Following Azerbaijan’s lightning offensive and capture of Nagorno-Karabakh on 19 September 2023, the ethnic Armenian enclave was formally dissolved on 1 January 2024. Faced with the prospect of Azerbaijani rule, more than 100,000 people — almost the entire population of Nagorno-Karabakh — fled, or were expelled, to Armenia within a week.

In March 2025, the governments of Armenia and Azerbaijan announced that they were ready to bring the nearly forty-year conflict to an end. After months of deadlock, the Trump administration hosted the leaders of both countries at the White House on 8 August, where they unveiled a peace agreement. The deal included a joint declaration of peace and a provision granting the United States exclusive development rights over a transit corridor linking the Azerbaijani exclave of Nakhchivan with Azerbaijan proper via southern Armenia — a route branded the “Trump Route for International Peace and Prosperity” (TRIPP).

Territorial concessions are not the only reason Armenians are finding the conditions of peace difficult to stomach. There is now a period of what the international relations theorist Robert Gilpin called “political expansion”: Turkey, which has joined Azerbaijan in an ongoing transport and economic embargo against Armenia, is demanding Armenia removes Mount Ararat from the Armenian coat of arms — as a pre-condition for diplomatic engagement, whilst Azerbaijan are demanding the cessations of all claims — including a change to Armenia’s constitution, to remove references to Nagorno-Karabakh.

The political fallout of the defeat has been immense, and not merely limited to electoral politics, but go to the very soul of the nation

The political fallout of the defeat has been immense, and not merely limited to electoral politics, but go to the very soul of the nation. After the devastating defeat in November 2020, public anger reached unprecedented levels, with protests and outbreaks of violence erupting across Armenia. The leader of the Armenian Apostolic Church, His Holiness Catholicos Karekin II, initially called for calm: but in December, based on Paahinyan’s handling of the peace process — in particular his failing to secure the right of return for the people of Artsakh or address the issue of political prisoners during peace negotiations, while also agreeing to hand over four Armenian border villages claimed by Azerbaijan — he made what he called “a fatherly behest” to Pashinyan to resign, “in order to prevent shocks, possible clashes, and tragic consequences”. It was the first intervention by a Catholicos in politics since Armenia’s modern inception.

This caused a rupture between the executive and spiritual branches of Armenia, a relationship that was already under strain after Pashinyan’s government signalled its intention to introduce measures that would challenge the Armenian Church’s long-standing privileges within a year of taking office. These included plans to end its tax-exempt status, impose levies on church revenues, and withdraw two security officers traditionally assigned to protect the Catholicos during his visits to dioceses across Armenia.

In the following years since the Catholicos’ behest, members of the clergy have spearheaded a wave of protests, presenting themselves as shepherds defending their flock. The government, however, accused these clergymen of acting on the orders of His Holiness to foment a coup by mobilising and coercing demonstrators, thereby posing a threat to national security.

The stakes were raised when prime minister Pashinyan publicly demanded the resignation of Karekin II in June 2025, alleging corruption and misconduct within the Church hierarchy. For the first time since the medieval period, an Armenian government openly sought to force the Catholicos from office. Pashinyan has utilised the arms of the state: Tatevik Soghoyan, of the Armenian Centre for Political Rights, told me that there is “clear political persecution of the clergy”, including widespread surveillance, wiretapping, fabricated evidence, and the jailing of senior Bishops.

The Catholicos, despite the persecutions, still asserts the Church’s rights: “when matters arise in the matter of our nation, the church expresses her attitude. This is not interference or involvement in politics. Such persecutions happened under Stalin, but we are convinced through the faith of our people, and the vigilant actions of the clergy we will be able to overcome the challenges. It is around the throne of the Catholicos that the nation is embraced.”

This split over religion has motivated political opposition. The largest donor to the Church is the tycoon Samvel Karapetyan, who has been under house arrest since telling a reporter attacks on the Church “will be dealt with our way” if political leaders failed. Karapetyan has since gone on to found Strong Armenia, currently polling second behind Pashinyan’s Civil Contract party, which the latest polls suggest could win over 30 per cent of decided voters.

The election has seen widespread crackdowns on opposition by the government, including the detention of political opponents. Karapetyan told me that “arrests are Pashinyan’s only option, to create an atmosphere of intimidation and fear. They arrest key activists, the ones that are respected in society, and the ones that are capable of changing, of fortifying public opinion. Another party leader was arrested on trumped-up charges two days ago, claiming they are a spy Russia. Pashinyan has nothing to show the Armenias but this show.” 

Reuters alleges that there are plans for Russia to pay and bus in eligible voters currently living in Russia, something both Moscow and the opposition deny. Moscow has, however, imposed temporary bans on important Armenian exports before the vote, and has threatened to reinstate tariffs on oil and gas shipments. Most ominously, Putin has suggested that Armenia could share Ukraine’s fate if it continues to pivot westwards. Last month, the Russian president issued a barely disguised warning against deeper integration with the European Union, asking: “Where did it all begin? With Ukraine’s accession, or attempted accession, to the EU.”

In the absence of a great power patron, Armenia is trying desperately to triangulate between the West, Russia, Turkey and Azerbaijan

Whilst Karapetyan’s candidacy may have been spurred by the conflict between church and state, it is Armenia’s international alignment that defines the election. In the absence of a great power patron, Armenia is trying desperately to triangulate between the West, Russia, Turkey and Azerbaijan. Perhaps scarred by the failure of Russia peacekeepers to prevent Azerbaijan forces breaking the 2020 ceasefire and seizing Nagorno-Karabakh, Pashinyan is gambling on a westward turn: his government has actively pursued closer integration with Europe and has passed legislation initiating the process of EU accession, (although it is yet to submit a formal application for membership), whilst also distancing itself from Moscow and the Collective Security Treaty Organization (CSTO), a Russian-led military alliance overseen by the Kremlin. So far, Pashinyan been rewarded — internationally, at least. Thanks to closer relations following the TRIPP agreement, Trump has endorsed the prime minister, calling him “a great friend and leader”. 

Karapatyan — along with the majority of the opposition — is sceptical of the realism of this path. “The EU believe Armenia is a democratic country that is prioritised towards the EU. Pashinyan has made statements in this direction for 5 years, and has failed to take a single step. All that Pashinyan has left is to sell the Europeans is anti-Russianness, which the Europeans want to buy, but is not good for Armenia or Europe.” 

Gasparyan believes that Armenia “has no chance to become a member of the European Union”. It is an unenviable choice: Russia is the superpower at Armenia’s back gate, whilst the West has played a key role in bringing to an end 40 years of conflict with Azerbaijan by attempting to rewire the region through the TRIPP — which, it is hoped, will see offers of Russian and Chinese infrastructure investment seem much less enticing. 

In the gardens of the Mother See of Holy Etchmiadzin, there rest two khachkars, traditional Armenian carved Stone slabs bearing the cross. Around the edges are elaborate patterns, much like the interlaces of medieval European art. Carved in 1283, they were removed from a monastery in Nagorno-Karabakh for protection. Azerbaijan armed forces have been engaged in a mass programme of deliberate destruction: attempting to reinterpret the captured area as “caucasian-Albanian” in origin, the khachkars’ Armenian inscriptions are an all-too visual and tangible reminder of the region’s actual heritage. Between 5-7,000 were lost nearby, despite a 2000 UNESCO order demanding their protection. It has been termed “the worst cultural genocide of the twenty-first century.” 

During the Soviet era, 40 per cent of the population nearby were Armenian. Now, it is 0 per cent. For Armenia, maintaining its independence carries a heavy cost.