For decades, peace between Azerbaijan and Armenia seemed like an impossible dream. The two countries were locked in a cycle of hostility, mistrust, and violence, their societies trapped by outdated nationalist myths and mutual suspicion. But recent developments suggest that this dream may finally be within reach — and, surprisingly, the key to progress lies in Yerevan.
At the end of August, the OSCE unanimously decided to dissolve the Minsk Group, the very body once tasked with mediating the Karabakh conflict. This decision was more than just a bureaucratic formality. It was a clear acknowledgment by the international community of the outcomes of the Second Karabakh War and the new geopolitical realities on the ground. For Azerbaijan, it was a major diplomatic triumph, a symbolic closing of a painful chapter in its history.
And yet, despite this victory, one final barrier still blocks the path to a lasting peace: Armenia’s own Constitution. As long as the Armenian Basic Law continues to reference its Declaration of Independence — a document that openly lays claim to sovereign Azerbaijani territories — signing a peace treaty will remain impossible. This is not a matter of semantics. It is a question of whether Armenia is prepared to finally let go of revanchist ambitions and accept the realities of a new era.
For years, the Armenian public was overwhelmingly opposed to such a step. To change the Constitution was seen as nothing less than surrender to Baku’s demands. For nationalist and separatist ideologues, this constitutional provision was their last line of defense — a tool to stall the peace process and keep alive hopes of some future geopolitical shift in their favor. Without it, these revanchist forces would lose not only their ideological foundation but also their grip on Armenia’s political landscape.
But here is where the story begins to change. Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan, often underestimated by his critics, has slowly and carefully chipped away at this toxic narrative. Through his policies and rhetoric, he has begun to erode the old myths that once seemed unshakable. And Armenian society, weary after decades of war and isolation, is starting to respond.
A recent survey by the Armenian office of GALLUP International Association offered a fascinating glimpse into this shift. Conducted among 1,100 citizens, the poll asked about constitutional changes and the controversial Zangezur Corridor.
The numbers were striking. A majority — 58% — still opposed amending the Constitution under Azerbaijan’s demand, insisting it was a matter of internal sovereignty. Another 25.1% viewed the issue as a political trap, believing that Baku would refuse to sign a peace treaty regardless of constitutional changes. Yet, crucially, 12.2% expressed readiness to support amendments if they could bring genuine, lasting peace. Just a year ago, opposition to such changes stood at a staggering 80.3%. That’s a nearly 23-point drop in resistance in a single year — a remarkable sign of evolving public consciousness.
This shift did not happen by chance. In July, during celebrations marking the 30th anniversary of Armenia’s Constitution, Pashinyan declared that the Basic Law must reflect present-day realities and called for a completely new Constitution. He had made similar statements before, emphasizing that Armenia’s survival depends on shedding the dangerous language of the past — specifically, provisions that threaten renewed war with neighbors.
Predictably, each bold statement was followed by a tactical retreat, as Pashinyan sought to manage the backlash from nationalist groups and the church. But even these temporary steps backward cannot hide the fact that seeds of doubt have been planted in Armenian society. Those seeds are now beginning to grow. The latest survey proves it: the public is slowly, cautiously, starting to question the ideology that has led their country into repeated disaster.
This is not an easy transformation. Armenia’s revanchist factions remain vocal and well-organized. For them, constitutional change represents political extinction. But Pashinyan has demonstrated resilience and skill. When he first came to power, many predicted he would not last six months. Today, despite relentless propaganda and attempts to undermine him, he remains firmly in control — and, most importantly, trusted by a significant portion of the population.
Why? Because Armenians are tired. Tired of conflict. Tired of unfulfilled promises. Tired of isolation.
The first Karabakh war brought Armenia no glory, only condemnation and economic stagnation. As an occupying state with closed borders, Armenia sank deeper into poverty and dependency. Independence never translated into true sovereignty. Pashinyan, unconnected to the corrupt Karabakh clan, has positioned himself as the leader of a new Armenia — one that is real, pragmatic, and capable of thriving through peace, not myth.
The stakes could not be higher. Azerbaijan has made its position absolutely clear: if Armenia’s Constitution continues to threaten peaceful coexistence, there will be no treaty, no open borders, no restored communications. For Baku, this is non-negotiable. And while Azerbaijan can afford to wait, Armenia cannot. Continued isolation would be catastrophic, leaving Armenia permanently on the sidelines of regional development.
Pashinyan understands this. The question now is whether he can bring the Armenian public fully along with him before it’s too late. If the current trend continues, by the time a referendum is held after the next parliamentary elections, support for constitutional reform may be strong enough to secure a decisive victory.
For the first time in decades, there is genuine hope. Peace is no longer a distant fantasy. It is within reach — fragile, imperfect, but real. Pashinyan’s challenge is monumental, but so is the opportunity.
If Armenia dares to let go of the past, it could finally step out of the shadow of conflict and into a future of cooperation and prosperity. The world is watching, and history is waiting for Armenia to decide which path it will take.
Tural Heybatov
