On August 8, when the White House organized the trilateral firm of a peace agreement between Armenia, Azerbaijan and the United States, I spoke with a group of Armenian high school students in Los Angeles. We stopped to see the press conference at a laptop at the corner of our room full of people. His faces, curious, cautious and skeptical, reflected a feeling through the Armenian diaspora: the tempered hope for doubt, pride shaded by distrust.
The roots of this conflict are deep. After the Soviet Union collapsed, Armenia and Azerbaijan fought against a brutal war on a region within the borders of Azerbaijan, but claimed by both nations. The Azerbaijanis call it Nagorno-Karabakh; The Armenians call it artsakh. A high fire remained for years, but the central disputes of the left unresolved: on the territory, government and the right of self -determination for the Armenian population of the region.
The war broke out again in 2020. Backed by Türkiye and armed with advanced weapons, Azerbaijan obtained control of much of the territory in dispute. The Trump administration did nothing to intervene significantly. For Armenians, it was a devastating loss: land, security, trust and cultural heritage. For Azerbaijan, it was a political and military victory that changed the balance of power.
In December 2022, Azerbaijan launched a blockade of the Lachin corridor, the only path that links Nagorno-Karabakh/Artsakh with Armenia, pressing its control over a region that already wobbles from the war. During the next 10 months, gas, electricity, the Internet, food and medicine were cut to 120,000 Armenians, many of them children and the elderly. Pan rationed families. The surgeries were postponed. Closed schools.
I visited the region during this time and stopped at the Armenian end of the corridor, where a silent convoy of trucks extended from the sight by the road, each loaded with food, medications and basic supplies, each driver knowing that they can never be allowed to deliver them. The air was heavy of frustration and helplessness. In the limited coverage of the siege, the isolated Armenians spoke in silent tones, their faces extracted from months of fear and deprivation. The International Court of Justice ordered Azerbaijan to reopen the corridor, but Baku ignored it.
I was proud when President Biden officially recognized the Armenian genocide, a moral milestone decades delayed. But his administration could not punish Azerbaijan during the blockade, and could not avoid what he came later: the large-scale military assault of Azerbaijan to Nagorno-Karabakh/Artsakh in September 2023. The attack lasted only 24 hours but forced more than 100,000 ethnic armenians, virtually the entire population of the regions, to their homes. The communities of centuries of antiquity were emptied almost overnight, and the families left homes, businesses and places of cult, uncertain if they would ever return.
I have felt conflict to see the peace efforts of the Trump administration between Armenia and Azerbaijan. On the one hand, I love seeing my country, the United States, being with Armenia and prioritizing Armenian problems on the world stage. On the other hand, this moment feels hollow. And for me, this reflects a deeper problem: American policy towards the South Caucasus has lacked for a long time of consistency, responsibility and the will to face the aggressors, regardless of what part is in power. And in Washington, the Armenians have few friends and weak representation.
This agreement, as a large part of the United States foreign policy in the current administration, is unequivocally transactional. Armenia obtains security guarantees from the United States and cooperation in artificial intelligence, including support for an emerging center, which is destined to anchor its western career. Azerbaijan moves away from de facto immunity instead of being responsible for his actions against the Armenians of Artsakh, as well as weapons sales and a transit corridor to Türkiye. The United States obtains a geopolitical trophy: Trump's name in the corridor to Türkiye, leverage in the region and an apparent diplomatic “gain” to market at home.
But this agreement is far from complete. Omits the right to return of the armenians displaced to Artsakh, ignores the destruction of the cities, homes and businesses of the Armenians, does not commit to preserving the cultural heritage of Artsakh and says nothing about the prisoners of war. For many in Armenia diaspora, these are obvious and unacceptable omissions.
On paper, the new Trump route for peace and international prosperity, the Link of Azerbaijan to Turkey, is announced as a neutral and cooperative route that the United States actually manages, raises serious questions about Armenian's sovereignty. The corridor will cross the province of Syunik in southern Armenia, its only direct land link with Iran, and could weaken Ereván's ability to completely control its own borders, regulate trade and guarantee access without obstacles to a southern life line.
In the best case, the August 8 agreement offers a scarce hope of a real resolution of conflicts in the region. If it is completely implemented, it could help build a more stable and prosperous armenia for future generations. The challenge is to ensure that this agreement produces an American investment in reconstruction, responsibility and lasting security, more than a photograph.
And even incomplete and defective agreements can create openings. The west pivot of Armenia, which underlines the agreement, entails risks, but also offers the possibility of stronger security associations, economic renewal and cultural preservation, if those benefits reach people who have endured war and blockade, not only the leaders signed by the documents. In recent years, Armenia has seen an amazing economic boom, driven by technological investment, tourism and a wave of talent for the diaspora that returns. This fragile impulse could be strengthened or wasted depending on what is coming later.
Respect for President Trump for seeking peace agreements: leaders from everywhere should make peace their greatest priority. The American Armenian students that I met on August 8, who carry the pain inherited from their parents and grandparents, deserve more than symbolic gestures or transactional agreements. They deserve justice and the freedom to imagine a better future for the homeland of their ancestors. Ultimately, that is the hope we all share.
Jirair Ratevosian served as a senior policy advisor for the State Department at the Biden Administration.
