By Azerbaijan.US Editorial Board
Hatred in the South Caucasus did not emerge spontaneously. It was cultivated over decades – through silent agreements, selective memory, and deliberate omissions. Official rhetoric framed it as “national security,” while the media dressed it up as “historical justice.” Over time, society absorbed it as instinct: unquestioned, without alternatives, almost untouchable.
The war of the 1990s and nearly thirty years of frozen conflict became the permanent backdrop for this mechanism. The image of the enemy ceased to be a political tool and settled into the collective consciousness as a fixed component.
The phrase “Nə oldu, Paşinyan?” during the 2020 war marked the culmination of this long process. It was not merely a victorious remark, but an open mockery embedded in the region’s political language. Victory spoke loudly; defeat was forced into silence. Loudness itself became a legitimate form of discourse – and for a long time, it worked.
But politics has a short memory. Those who shouted from podiums yesterday are capable of speaking in whispers at negotiation tables today.
The peace agreement signed in Washington on August 8, 2025, was less a legal document than an admission of a psychological shift in the region. The tone changed. The vocabulary softened. What was once labeled “capitulation” began to be called “pragmatism.” For the first time, the region lowered its voice and started listening to itself.
This was not a moral awakening. It was a collision with reality. The war is over, and its outcomes are irreversible. For Armenia, a new military scenario is not just dangerous – it is unviable. For Azerbaijan, however, living solely within a victory narrative is strategically limiting. Winning is not enough. Victory must be managed, embedded into a regional framework, and converted into geopolitical dividends.
At this stage, regional integration is not idealism but rational necessity. Economics has little patience for romance. The transit of Azerbaijani energy resources through Armenia within the Middle Corridor and TRIPP frameworks signals the formal collapse of three decades of blockade politics. What was once called betrayal is now labeled regional cooperation.
Despite the lingering reflexes of Russia and Iran, the activation of these routes shows that the South Caucasus is finally beginning to write its own agenda. Closed-border politics is giving way to open routes, and the language of fear is gradually losing to the language of calculation.
The quietest yet most durable element of this transformation is parallel diplomacy. States sign documents, but societies must be conditioned to accept them. The growing role of Track-1 and Track-1.5 diplomacy at the NGO level steadily erodes the myth of the “eternal enemy.” Academic dialogue, expert forums, and civil society initiatives are building not an official peace, but its social infrastructure. Peace is now being rehearsed not in cabinets, but in seminar rooms and informal meetings.
For Armenia, this process is especially critical. There, hatred was not only emotional but institutional – reproduced from schools to media, from politics to the streets. NGOs do not dismantle this system overnight, but they offer an alternative life scenario: one without war, without blockades, with a future. Hatred no longer delivers votes, bread, or prospects.
The central question remains unchanged: which path will Pashinyan choose? For him, peace is not a foreign-policy gesture but a project of domestic legitimacy. Either he packages peace together with economic welfare, open borders, and regional cooperation and takes it to the electorate – or he risks being crushed by revanchist rhetoric.
Armenian society is tired of war. Hatred has stopped functioning as a political currency.
This is where irony enters the picture. The hearts, positive symbols, and “warm” visuals appearing on Pashinyan’s Instagram in recent months are not romantic confessions. But in politics, symbols are never accidental. Perhaps this is his first message to his own electorate: “Do not be afraid – the era of hatred is ending.” Perhaps it is also the most sincere signal ever sent to Azerbaijan – not in plain text, but in the language of emojis.
An admission of a desire to live not by conflict, but by relations.
There is no love in politics. There is only rapprochement disguised as interest. Both sides understand this. The difference is that one has already accepted reality, while the other is still learning how to live with it.
If this trajectory holds, the South Caucasus may, for the first time in its history, evolve from a conflict zone into a platform of trade and connectivity. Azerbaijan is consolidating its position as an energy and logistics hub. Armenia, meanwhile, faces a choice: remain in love with the past, or begin a relationship with the future.
Yesterday’s curses turning into today’s hearts may look strange. But politics is not a romance. It speaks the language of interests.
The question is no longer “who is right?” The question is who accepts reality – and who is still living off nostalgia for hatred.
If this “warm pause” replaces the machinery of hatred with mechanisms of prosperity, it should be observed not with sarcasm, but with sobriety. History’s most significant shifts often begin this way – quietly, ironically, and unexpectedly.
