A European prescription for Yerevan When the constitution stands in the way of peace

Baku's demand that Yerevan amend its Constitution by removing the reference to Armenia's Declaration of Independence—which contains territorial claims against Azerbaijan—has been portrayed in Armenian discourse and by some Western commentators as something extraordinary, and at times even as a "humiliating diktat" imposed by the victor, allegedly beyond the bounds of acceptable diplomacy.

Meanwhile, it is enough to open the textbooks on modern history of several European countries to understand that there is nothing unusual in Baku’s demand. The annulment of constitutionally enshrined territorial claims as a condition for a peace settlement is a well-established international practice, one that has been employed by states with a far more solid democratic reputation than that of present-day Armenia. The Azerbaijani side is not inventing a precedent—it is following a path that Europe itself has already taken, and more than once.

The most illustrative example is Ireland. For decades, the Constitution of the Republic of Ireland contained, in Articles 2 and 3, explicit claims to the entire territory of the island, including Northern Ireland, which is part of the United Kingdom.

This formulation was not a mere declarative statement: it was relied upon by those who justified armed struggle for the island’s reunification. When the Belfast Agreement was concluded in 1998 after a protracted conflict, one of its central conditions was precisely the amendment of these articles. On May 22, 1998, a referendum was held in the Republic, in which more than 94% of voters approved the amendment, removing the claim to another state’s territory and replacing it with an aspiration for unification solely through peaceful means and only with the consent of a majority of the population of Northern Ireland. A consolidated European democracy—Ireland—did not consider it humiliating to amend its Basic Law in the name of peace.

A further telling case is North Macedonia, where the constitutional dilemma also became a question of the country’s very name. After declaring independence in 1991 under the name “Republic of Macedonia,” the country immediately entered into a prolonged dispute with Greece, which saw in this designation a veiled claim to the eponymous Greek region. As early as 1992, Skopje amended its constitution to explicitly affirm the absence of any territorial claims toward its neighbours. However, even that was not sufficient: in 2019, the country went further and officially renamed itself the Republic of North Macedonia, definitively addressing Greek concerns. The result was swift—Athens lifted its veto on the neighbour’s Euro-Atlantic integration, and in 2020 North Macedonia joined NATO. In this case, a constitutional concession translated into a direct strategic gain: the country exchanged a symbolic claim for tangible membership in an alliance. The lesson is clear—renouncing claims on paper can open doors that would otherwise remain closed.

The third precedent is reunified Germany, and it is particularly significant given that it concerns Europe’s largest economy. After reunification in 1990, the Basic Law of the Federal Republic of Germany was amended to remove earlier provisions that allowed for the accession of “other parts of Germany.” This step definitively closed the question of any future territorial claims by the German state and, crucially, entrenched recognition of existing borders—above all the Oder–Neisse line with Poland, a historically sensitive issue in German collective memory.

Germany, which could have been expected to harbour grievances over the post-war settlement, constitutionally enshrined its renunciation of any border revision. This became a cornerstone of its full reintegration into the European family of nations. The strongest state on the continent did not regard such constitutional self-restraint as weakness or humiliation, but rather as a prerequisite for building trust with its neighbours.

These three cases—Ireland, North Macedonia, and Germany—despite their differing circumstances, are united by a single logic. In all of them, a state that had previously included territorial claims or allowances for such claims in its Basic Law voluntarily removed them in order to normalise relations with its neighbours. In each case, this was done not under coercion, but through democratic procedures—whether referendums or parliamentary votes. And in all three, the renunciation of claims did not amount to defeat; rather, it produced tangible gains: it brought peace, removed political deadlocks, and opened the path to international institutions. In these instances, the constitution was understood in its proper sense—as a document reflecting a state’s real intentions, rather than a repository for deferred territorial aspirations. This is precisely what Azerbaijan is seeking from Armenia.

It is important to understand why Baku insists specifically on a constitutional guarantee rather than any other form of commitment. This is linked to the very nature of the entity with which peace is being concluded. Azerbaijan is not signing a peace agreement with Nikol Pashinyan as an individual, nor with his government as a temporary political configuration. It is signing it with the Republic of Armenia—a subject of international law that will outlast Pashinyan, his cabinet, and the current composition of parliament.

Personal promises and statements by a prime minister are reversible: another government may come to power, declare previous agreements a “betrayal of national interests,” and denounce them, relying precisely on the same constitutional provision that was never removed. The revanchist wing in Armenia has explicitly promised to do just that.

The only guarantee that cannot be undone by a change of government is a norm embedded in the Basic Law and adopted through a referendum.

For this reason, the demand to remove constitutional foundations for territorial claims is not a matter of nitpicking, but rather a basic element of foresight on the part of a state that seeks peace seriously and for the long term. Azerbaijan does not want to leave gaps or legal loopholes in the constitutional framework of the Armenian state that could be exploited by future revanchists against the peace process.

As long as the preamble of Armenia’s Constitution retains a reference to documents containing territorial claims against Azerbaijani lands, peace remains dependent on the goodwill of a particular government—a goodwill that, as experience shows, is inherently temporary. Removing this reference would shift peace from the realm of political declarations into the category of binding obligations that do not depend on who happens to be in power in Yerevan tomorrow.

By refusing to amend its Constitution, the Armenian side is effectively signalling that it is prepared to do less than Ireland, North Macedonia, and reunified Germany—states that did not hesitate to revise their basic laws in order to achieve peace and normalisation. It suggests that the attachment to territorial claims is considered more important than the peace and international reintegration that these countries secured through constitutional change.

Such a position appears contradictory for a state that formally declares its commitment to peace. Europe has long gone through this process and does not regard it as humiliating; on the contrary, the willingness to remove territorial claims from constitutional texts is seen there as a mark of political maturity and responsibility.

Azerbaijan is offering Armenia precisely this same path—tested, lawful, and leading to peace. Refusing it does not indicate pride, but rather suggests that the revanchist mindset in Yerevan has not yet been fully abandoned, and that this remains the underlying obstacle to a lasting settlement.