Moscow trapped in the web of old patterns No room for managed chaos in the South Caucasus

The recent visit of Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov to Yerevan and the statements he made there at various events can be viewed in two ways. On one hand, it can be seen as a way to reaffirm Russia’s presence in Armenia and to remind that Yerevan will not be able to distance itself far from Moscow. On the other hand, Lavrov’s statements are clearly manipulative in nature, and the very need for such tactics indicates that things are not as smooth in Moscow-Yerevan relations as Russia would like to portray.

Lavrov’s confirmation that the capture of Azerbaijani territories in the 1990s was carried out with the help of Russian weapons probably contains more hidden pitfalls than it may seem at first glance. This statement evokes in the collective memory of Azerbaijanis and Armenians not only the use of Russian arms but also the involvement of Russian servicemen in combat operations against the Azerbaijani army, and even more – in the genocide of the peaceful population of Khojaly in 1992.

If you think about it, Lavrov’s statement is also a way to remind Armenians of the shared responsibility between Armenia and Russia for the occupation of Azerbaijani lands—meaning that they cannot simply “wash their hands” of the matter. On the other hand, by pointing to its involvement in the annexation of Karabakh, Moscow is hinting to the Armenians that, if desired, they can “do it again” together.

Following this logic, Moscow is likely to increasingly inject content into the Armenian information space in the near future, aimed at amplifying ressentiment within Armenian society. For instance, several Russian media outlets have been speculating on the revival of the Karabakh issue, as recently seen at the press centre of the “Izvestia” Media Information Centre, where former Armenian Defence Minister Arshak Karapetyan held a press conference. During the event, Izvestia journalist Igor Baldin openly demonstrated disrespect for Azerbaijan’s territorial integrity by referring to the Karabakh region as “Artsakh.”

In this same context, and in the event of Pashinyan’s intransigence, the opposition—led by the Karabakh clan—is likely to be actively encouraged (some signs of this are already visible). All these aspects taken together are intended to reinforce the idea within Armenian society that breaking away from the Russian proxy tether will be extremely difficult. Yet the question arises: how effective are these methods?

There is reason to believe that Russia’s strategy—based on manipulation, backed by military force, historical Armenian grievances, and support for discredited political elites—is now failing. Armenia, long viewed by Moscow as a tool for its regional ambitions, is increasingly slipping from its orbit of influence. For all the ambiguity in Pashinyan’s behaviour, it is important to understand that Armenia’s 2018 Velvet Revolution was also a reflection of a public demand for a shift in the national paradigm—an emancipation from stale dogmas of national exceptionalism and the toxic self-image of victimhood.

Yes, this aspiration has not been clearly articulated; it is, evidently, an intuitive impulse, and one that continues to wrestle within each individual Armenian with deeply ingrained layers of national complexes.

The 2020 war and the logical conclusion of the Karabakh conflict in 2023—despite the discomfort it caused to Armenian consciousness—are, in fact, helping it to more quickly shed the unbearable burden of expansionism. With the occupation of Karabakh now over, there is no longer a need to pretend to be something greater than one actually is. It is no surprise that only after shedding the Karabakh burden did Yerevan begin making clearer moves toward rethinking the country’s foreign policy orientation.

The reality is that Moscow’s influence in the South Caucasus is rapidly weakening. As mentioned above, Armenia is showing a readiness for political independence; Azerbaijan has long been confidently pursuing its own multi-vector foreign policy; and Georgia has recently demonstrated its ability to navigate between Scylla and Charybdis—between the hammer of the West and the anvil of Moscow—by choosing a course of equidistance and genuine sovereignty.

If we combine the vectors of all three South Caucasus countries, their sum has never been as close to forming a collective regional agency as it is today.

And this is making Moscow nervous—forcing it to urgently seek compensatory measures and… make mistakes.

The policy of the Russian Empire and later the Soviet Union towards the South Caucasus—ranging from the resettlement of Armenians to the lands of present-day Azerbaijan in the 19th century, to the involvement of Russian forces in the First Karabakh War in the 1990s, and arms deliveries in 2020—has always pursued the goal of maintaining control through the creation and perpetuation of managed conflicts.

Following this line, it would in fact be advantageous for Moscow to provoke another conflict between Armenia and Azerbaijan. However, all of its actions in this direction—from backing the widely despised Armenian figures Robert Kocharyan and Serzh Sargsyan, to appointing the Kremlin’s “efficient functionary” Sergey Kiriyenko as the overseer of Armenian affairs within the Russian Presidential Administration—have only deepened the distrust among broad segments of Armenian society.

This reveals Moscow’s complete inability to grasp the new reality and find appropriate tools for it. All of the above has become a symbol of Russia once again betting on control through outdated mechanisms—political intrigue, coercion, and revanchist rhetoric.

One may assume that the more frequently and aggressively Moscow pushes the narrative of revanchism, the more swiftly and widely the Armenian public will seek to rid itself of these ideas.

The Kremlin’s political tools have revealed their ineffectiveness: blackmail, information manipulation, and reliance on marginalised elites no longer work in a society demanding change. Moscow’s attempts to ignite a new round of conflict will not only fail to restore its lost positions but will also accelerate the erosion of its remaining influence.

Russia must rethink its foreign policy strategy toward the former Soviet republics. And first and foremost, it must stop thinking of them as “former.” The term “former” carries with it the hope of restoring a vertical, hierarchical relationship. By clinging to this outdated mindset, Moscow increasingly risks losing the present—a present that could still be preserved and built upon.