From 1992 to 2022, the OSCE Minsk Group, established under the guise of resolving the former Garabagh conflict, became a textbook example of three decades of inactivity. To speak of the “importance” of this body is to credit an invisible virtue that never truly existed, neither in terms of national interests nor historical justice.
After the Bishkek Protocol of May 1994, signed at the end of the First Garabagh War, the Minsk Group’s first so-called success was to help secure a ceasefire, but only with Russia’s mediation. This appeared significant on the surface, yet a closer look at the battlefield dynamics reveals otherwise. By early 1994, Azerbaijan’s military operation towards Horadiz was already turning the tide. Signals were even being sent to Yerevan, and thence to the Kremlin, that withdrawal from the occupied territories might be unavoidable. Alarmed, Russia intervened immediately, ensuring that by May the OSCE Minsk Group was pressing for a ceasefire. In other words, it froze the conflict precisely at the moment when Azerbaijan was poised to reclaim its lands.
In 1997, the United States, and most importantly, Russia and France were appointed as the group’s permanent co-chairs, a composition that remained unchanged until its collapse. Considering France’s openly partisan support for Armenia, the arrangement resembled “one lamb and two wolves”. Over the years, the Group shifted from any meaningful mediation to a deliberate strategy of prolongation. From the 2000s onwards, it offered no workable peace plan but instead sought to lock the conflict into indefinite stalemate, subtly encouraging Azerbaijan to accept the loss of its occupied lands.
These manipulative tactics were reinforced through endless shuttle diplomacy, where empty visits were designed to drag out the process or turn solvable issues into unsolvable ones.
In 2016, during the April clashes, the Minsk Group indirectly once again played the same role it had in 1994, attempting, under Moscow’s pressure, to halt Azerbaijan’s successful counter-offensive. By then, the organisation had already been stripped of credibility, acting in practice as a shield for the aggressor. If one were to speak with biting irony, one might call its performance “effective”, but only in serving Armenia’s interests.
By 2022, the Minsk Group was dead in all but name. With Russia embroiled in its war against Ukraine, its role as a co-chair evaporated, rendering the group redundant not only for Azerbaijan but eventually for Armenia as well. The direct negotiations launched between Baku and Yerevan in 2024, followed by the successful meetings in Abu Dhabi and Washington in 2025, hammered the final nail into its coffin.
However, still, some voices continue to protest. The Armenian National Committee of America (ANCA) lobby and a handful of opposition factions in Yerevan bewail the demise of the Minsk Group as a “threat”. They appear to believe that artificial resuscitation of this defunct body could somehow work miracles for them. Yet the Minsk Group, a hollow template incapable of standing upright, exerts no influence in life and none in death. It is nothing more than a withered thornbush obstructing peace between the two countries.
The Group was ostensibly created in 1992 to stop the war fairly and chart a settlement. In reality, its record shows the opposite: it became a heavy stone blocking the path to peace.
Tellingly, Armenia’s current administration, mindful of survival and future development, quietly supports the Group’s dissolution. The opposition, however, clings to it, showing enmity not only towards Azerbaijan but towards Armenian society itself. Hatred, revanchism, and the politics of resentment cannot lead a nation to success, but only to stagnation and decline.
The only conceivable purpose of keeping the Minsk Group alive would be to draw in outside powers into a fabricated “conflict”, sustaining a climate of hostility in the region. This reflects the mindset of factions addicted to living under foreign patronage rather than standing on their own feet.
Regrettably, too few in Armenia recognise that in a fast-moving world, missing the tide of progress is fatal. After thirty wasted years, the country faces an even starker choice today. Those still sheltering behind discredited structures like the Minsk Group betray not only peace but their own people.
Even Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan and members of his cabinet, despite occasionally voicing agreement with Baku on constitutional reform and peace, face fierce domestic backlash. The lynching of former Speaker (and now Foreign Minister) Ararat Mirzoyan after the 2020 capitulation illustrates the climate of fear within Armenia’s ruling elite. Pashinyan himself has since swerved repeatedly in public statements to shield himself from popular anger, leaving the world bewildered.
This explains why in the past five years, Armenia has managed only tentative steps: minor progress on communications, border delimitation, and the constitutional issue; who knows, perhaps these have been dragged out by nationalist ambitions. But Yerevan must realise that Baku’s patience is not infinite. If peace is not grasped today, tomorrow may be too late.
