Pipelines, peace and power: The 2025 Armenia-Azerbaijan agreement in geopolitical perspective

The narrative that the August 8, 2025 agreement was nothing more than a codification of Armenian defeat oversimplifies reality and strips away the actual context in which the deal was signed. It paints Armenia as powerless, Pashinyan as opportunistic, and the United States as manipulative — while ignoring the basic fact that Armenia had limited, painful options, and that diplomacy is not about moral victories, but survival.

Critics argue that Yerevan exaggerated the risk of invasion to justify concessions. But look at the facts: Azerbaijan had already proven in 2020 and 2023 that it would use force, quickly and ruthlessly, when it believed it had an opening. Armenian villages had been shelled; blockades had starved Artsakh’s population; and in September 2023, over 120,000 Armenians were driven from their homes within days. When your adversary has already demonstrated both capability and intent, it is reckless to assume that “escalation was possible, but not assured.” For Armenia’s leadership, gambling that Aliyev would suddenly restrain himself — despite his constant rhetoric about “Western Azerbaijan” and “restoring historical lands” — would have been a dangerous fantasy.

The claim that Azerbaijan wouldn’t attack because of Europe’s energy dependence, Iran’s red lines, or CSTO obligations sounds comforting on paper, but it has no track record in reality.
• Russia and CSTO: Russia didn’t intervene in 2020, nor in 2023, even as Armenians were being displaced en masse. The CSTO’s credibility as a deterrent is nonexistent.
• Iran: Tehran talks about red lines, but when Azerbaijani forces moved in on Artsakh, Iran did nothing. Its posture is designed for deterrence in its own interests, not Armenian sovereignty.
• The EU and U.S.: Western powers issue statements, send envoys, and apply diplomatic pressure — but they do not commit military resources to Armenia. Betting Armenia’s future on hypothetical foreign intervention would have been suicidal.

The reality is clear: Armenia stood alone militarily. To dismiss Pashinyan’s warning of “capitulation or catastrophe” as political theatre is to ignore the scars of recent history.

Much has been made about the “secret” 17-point framework and the absence of diaspora engagement in Washington. But let’s be honest: no serious negotiation over borders, sovereignty, and peace terms can be conducted in public. The Oslo Accords, the Camp David Summit, the Iran Nuclear Deal — all were negotiated in private for the same reason: publicity fuels outrage, and outrage kills compromise.

Yes, it’s painful that Armenians were not fully informed before the deal. But secrecy in this case was not about hiding weakness — it was about creating space to prevent spoilers from derailing an agreement that, while imperfect, could forestall another devastating war.

Critics describe the TRIPP corridor as the “relinquishing of sovereignty.” But this language deliberately blurs the distinction between ownership and operational arrangements. Armenia did not cede the land — it remains Armenian territory. What the deal establishes is shared access, international development rights, and security arrangements meant to stabilize a vital transit route.

Is that ideal? Of course not. But equating it to “giving away Syunik” is misleading. Armenia is still in possession of its borders, still able to exercise domestic authority, and in exchange receives U.S. investment, infrastructure development, and an anchor of American strategic interest in Armenia’s survival. That last point matters — because unlike Russia, the U.S. does not want Armenia to collapse into Azerbaijan’s orbit.

One of the criticisms is that Aliyev arrived in Washington with fanfare, while Pashinyan slipped in quietly. But diplomacy isn’t judged by photo-ops; it’s judged by outcomes. Of course Azerbaijan came in with more leverage — they won militarily in 2020 and 2023. Pretending Armenia could negotiate from equal footing is delusional. Yet despite that imbalance, Armenia managed to secure U.S. guarantees of investment and a structured peace process rather than facing unrestrained Azerbaijani expansion. That is not “leverage transferred”; that is damage control, which in geopolitics is sometimes the best you can do.

It’s easy for critics to frame this as betrayal, but ordinary Armenians don’t need rhetoric — they need security, stability, and a future where their children are not sent to die in another war. Was every Armenian happy about the deal? No. But even some who are skeptical admit they would rather live with a flawed peace than another catastrophic war with a much stronger Azerbaijan. Critics rarely propose a realistic alternative beyond “resist” — but resistance without capability is not strategy, it is self-destruction.

The August 8 agreement is not the end of Armenian sovereignty. It is a pause — a chance to buy time, reorient alliances, and rebuild capacity. The deal ties the U.S. more closely to Armenia’s survival, opens pathways for Western investment, and keeps Armenia from being boxed in solely by Russia and Iran. That is not the “end of Armenia”; it is a recalibration. Nations survive by adapting to reality, not clinging to lost battles.

To dismiss the August 8 agreement as mere “codified defeat” is to ignore context, overstate Armenia’s options, and underestimate the cost of renewed war. Was it painful? Absolutely. Was it signed under pressure? Of course. But survival under pressure is not betrayal — it is the essence of statecraft. Armenia didn’t surrender; it chose the least-worst option available. And in international politics, that is often how nations endure.