The debate that has intensified in recent years around Armenia–Russia relations—“province or sovereign state?”—however politicized it may be, in fact precisely captures the deepest dilemma of Armenian statehood since independence. The issue extends beyond foreign policy orientation to a more fundamental question: does Armenia exist as an independent political actor capable of shaping its own strategy, or does it continue to operate within a framework in which decisions are made under the influence of an external center and, often, within constraints shaped by that center’s interests?
This model is not abstract. It has taken shape through concrete precedents of pressure, where security concerns have been used as a tool to compel the adoption of political and economic decisions unfavorable to the Armenian side. A typical example is Armenia’s accession to the Eurasian Economic Union, framed within the logic of “security in exchange for loyalty.”
However, the events of 2020, 2022, and 2023 demonstrated that these concessions were not backed by real security guarantees. On the contrary, they not only reinforced new forms of dependency but also, by weakening Armenia, created a self-reinforcing vicious cycle: the growth of dependence rendered further concessions more “rational” and “inevitable.” In this context, the discussion of sovereignty ceases to be theoretical and becomes a matter of the state’s strategic effectiveness and survival.
This dilemma is not unique to Armenia. It should be viewed within the broader context of the transformation of Russia’s policy in the post-Soviet space since the early 2000s. In particular, following the Rose Revolution, the Orange Revolution, and the Euromaidan, Moscow has consistently hardened its approach—shifting from instruments of political and economic influence (such as increases in gas prices or bans on the import of Georgian or Moldovan wine) toward increasingly radical methods aimed at maintaining control over the post-Soviet space.
As this trajectory evolved, the thesis of the primacy of Russian interests in the region and the limited nature of the sovereignty of neighboring states has become increasingly explicit. While earlier stages were dominated by mechanisms of pressure and engagement, from 2008 onward the strategy took on overt military forms—from the war with Georgia to subsequent actions in Ukraine (the annexation of Crimea, the war in Donbas in 2014–2015, and the full-scale invasion in 2022). It is noteworthy that within this same discourse, Armenia’s 2018 revolution has been consistently equated with Ukraine’s Euromaidan movement.
This position has also been articulated in Russian intellectual discourse. Thus, in the works of Alexander Dugin, the idea is consistently advanced that the full sovereignty of post-Soviet states is impossible outside Russia’s geopolitical orbit: “All those territories that we do not bring under our control… will become footholds for other centers… Therefore, one cannot accept the existence of a sovereign Armenia or a sovereign Georgia…”
Thus, the issue at stake is not one of tactical policy choices or isolated actions, but of a principled approach—namely, the rejection of the full agency of post-Soviet states.
Such a perception is rooted not only in current policy but also in a long-standing tradition of shaping historical narratives. In Russian—and earlier, Soviet—historiography, a consistent image of the past has been constructed in which Russia is assigned a central role in the formation and “salvation” of various nations’ statehood. Just as today the sovereignty of these states is portrayed as untenable outside Russia’s sphere of influence, their emergence in the past has likewise been depicted as impossible without Russian support.
At the same time, this line of reasoning presents itself as neutral and “objective” historical analysis, framing the issue as one beyond the realm of politics. In reality, however, the evidentiary base on which such conclusions rest is the product of long-term processes of selection and interpretation—often implicitly embedded in both Soviet and Russian texts, and, to some extent, in Armenian historiography as well. An additional factor reinforcing the persistence of these perceptions is the more acute nature of conflicts with Turkey and Azerbaijan. It is precisely this intensity that shifts the focus of analysis, allowing a number of important arguments concerning Russia’s role in the region to be overlooked or underestimated.
For Armenian audiences, these narratives are further reinforced by the traditionally anti-Turkish emphasis characteristic of Russian historiography, including the highlighting of perceived threats associated with pan-Turkism and related ideologies. At the same time, these approaches also serve domestic purposes within Russia, particularly in limiting the political mobilization of Turkic-speaking groups.
The relative resonance of the thesis regarding the “artificiality” of post-Soviet states among Armenian audiences is also explained by the fact that, within this framework, the foundations of Azerbaijani statehood are implicitly delegitimized. One of the most widespread narratives concerns demography and the origins of Armenian statehood. The notion that Armenia was depopulated following the deportations under Shah Abbas I and subsequently “recreated” by Russia is not supported by historical sources; nevertheless, it remains prevalent in Russian historiography, in the discourse of neighboring countries such as Georgia and Azerbaijan, and to some extent within Armenia itself, where it serves to underscore the supposedly “positive” historical role of the Russian Empire.
As a result, since the emergence of a new wave of critical attitudes toward Russia—particularly after 2022—such critiques are often dismissed as politicized and one-sided. This, in turn, has generated a speculative tendency to seek more “objective” and balanced assessments, which, in reality, do not necessarily correspond to the historical record.
Ottoman tax registers (defters) from 1727–1728 record a dense and widespread Armenian population across the mountainous and foothill regions of present-day Armenia, as well as in Nakhichevan and the Lesser Caucasus. Moreover, the disappearance of hundreds of Armenian villages dates to the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries—that is, to a period directly associated with Russia’s advance into the region.
This reverses the conventional causal narrative: depopulation was not mitigated by Russia, but rather significantly intensified under the conditions created by its expansion. The identification of Armenians and Georgians with Russia led to increased pressure from Muslim rulers, effectively turning Christian populations into targets.
A particularly illustrative case is Nagorno-Karabakh. In the eighteenth century, within the Persian Empire—and even under the framework of the Karabakh Khanate—Armenian meliks (local hereditary Armenian noble rulers) maintained a degree of political autonomy, while the Armenian population of the region was both substantial and institutionally organized. Yet even 20–25 years prior to the Russian conquest, their position had begun to deteriorate, largely due to contacts with Russia, which aroused suspicion and persecution on the part of Ibrahim Khan. As a result, from the 1780s onward, the Armenian melikdoms were dismantled, and a significant portion of the population left Nagorno-Karabakh, resettling in neighboring khanates (Shaki, Shamakhi, Ganja), as well as in Lori, Tavush, Georgia, the North Caucasus, and even within the Ottoman Empire.
However, following its full conquest of the region, the Russian Empire not only failed to restore the former status of the Armenian meliks, but also consolidated the consequences of their decline: the strengthened position of Muslim nobility and the erosion of Armenian political autonomy became institutionalized. In other words, having contributed to the weakening of the Armenian element and having acted as an indirect factor in the pressures exerted upon it, Russia, upon establishing control over the region, entrenched precisely this already weakened condition.
This directly points to the nature of imperial policy. The Armenian population was treated as an instrument of colonization: it was resettled across various regions—not only in historically Armenian territories or within the Armenian Oblast (Russian imperial administrative unit), but also in Akhaltsikhe and Akhalkalaki, areas that were consistently regarded in contemporary Russian sources as part of historical Georgia—thus forming a belt of loyal yet politically dependent populations along the empire’s frontiers.
A similar logic was applied to other groups as well. A notable example is the resettlement of Greeks in the Tsalka region, despite the absence of any project for the restoration of Greek statehood in the area. At the same time, in precisely those regions where Armenians had enjoyed the highest degree of political agency prior to the Russian conquest—such as Nagorno-Karabakh—their position was not restored but instead fixed in an already weakened form.
At the same time, it should be noted that empires, by their very nature, offer certain ethnic groups greater opportunities for individual social mobility in the military, scientific, administrative, and economic spheres than nation-states typically do. The real and significant success of Armenians within the Russian Empire is often used as an argument in favor of the imperial model; however, it simultaneously serves as a tool for delegitimizing Armenian statehood by portraying it as a less effective and less viable form of political organization.
This logic largely reproduces the Byzantine model: the integration and advancement of elites alongside the denial of political agency. In this sense, contemporary Russia assumes a role familiar from Armenian historical experience, reminiscent of Byzantium’s function, which provided Armenian elites with broad opportunities for advancement within hierarchical structures while simultaneously weakening and absorbing Armenian political units, including the Kingdom of Ani.
The conflicts with Turkey and Azerbaijan undoubtedly had deep-rooted causes. However, in a number of key episodes, the Russian factor not only accompanied these processes but also
intensified their development and persistence. This applies to the position of the Russian Empire during the Hamidian massacres of 1894–1896, the Armenian–Tatar clashes of 1905–1907, the policies of the Russian military command during the Armenian Genocide (including the dissolution of the Van autonomy, restrictions on the return of refugees, and colonization programs in occupied territories), as well as Bolshevik Russia’s support for the Kemalist movement in 1920.
At the same time, the escalation of conflicts was also reinforced by prevailing patterns of perception. In both the eighteenth century and later periods, Armenian populations were often viewed by Ottoman and Azerbaijani elites not as an independent people, but as allies of Russia—identified with a far more powerful external force, despite the lack of substantial basis for such an assumption. This perception contributed to the evolution of conflicts into more acute and antagonistic forms.
As a result of these factors, a stable yet evolving model of dependency emerges, grounded in the perception of Armenia as a subject incapable of existing outside the Russian framework. Whereas in the past this logic was justified through the need for a military-political “security umbrella,” today it is increasingly reformulated in economic terms: dependence on Russia is presented as inevitable, and choosing Russia as the primary economic partner is portrayed as the only viable option. Thus, the former “security” model is transformed into an “economic necessity” model, while preserving its essential substance, which can be defined as the rejection of the full agency of the Armenian state.
Samvel Meliksetyan
