Peace Control: The Authoritarian Illusion of Stability in Azerbaijan

On August 8, 2025, the leaders of Armenia, Azerbaijan, and the United States initialed what many hailed as a historic peace deal, ending 35 years of bloodshed. The announcement dominated headlines; experts, politicians, and ordinary people all weighed in. For me, born after the conflict had already begun, it was an emotional moment as well. The war claimed too many lives and lingered far too long.

Interpretations of the deal diverged. Some framed it as a decolonial turn against Russian dominance in the region, particularly after the dissolution of the OSCE Minsk Group and the premature withdrawal of Russian peacekeepers from Nagorno-Karabakh. Tensions between Baku and Moscow, already heightened after a Russian missile brought down an Azerbaijani civilian plane early in 2025, killing 38 people, left little appetite for Russian involvement. Others warned the agreement marked a new Cold War front, granting Washington strategic influence over critical transit routes in the South Caucasus. For critics, the irony was striking: Ilham Aliyev, Nikol Pashinyan, and Donald Trump, hardly seen as role models of peacemaking, were suddenly being hailed as “peace presidents.” Yet for many, any peace still seemed better than more war.

The Architecture of Peace Control

What stands out to me as a scholar-practitioner is the consolidation of what I call “Peace Control.” This is the model of conflict resolution where elite-driven peacemaking dominates, grassroots peacebuilding is systematically erased, and authoritarian survival dictates the terms of peace. In Armenia-Azerbaijan negotiations, particularly after the 2020 war and the 2023 mass exodus of Armenians from Nagorno-Karabakh, elite diplomacy has prevailed almost entirely at the expense of societal reconciliation.

In more open contexts, tensions in peace processes often revolve around sequencing (“peace first, or democracy/justice first?”) (Touval, 1995; Hayner, 2018), or inclusion (“who gets a seat at the table?”) (Pring, 2017; Krause et al., 2018). In authoritarian settings, the contradiction runs deeper: genuine peacebuilding is incompatible with regime survival. Reconciliation, dialogue, and civic participation threaten centralized control, so they are preemptively shut out. This is not an oversight but a deliberate strategy.

To see how this logic developed, it helps to look back at the 1990s, after the first Nagorno-Karabakh war. During that period, public discourse in Azerbaijan often framed delays in democratization as necessary for national security, creating a narrative that justified authoritarian control. At the same time, the conflict itself became a convenient shield for both leaders and society. It allowed political elites to justify repression and consolidate power, while ordinary citizens could deflect criticism of personal or social shortcomings by pointing to the “larger national crisis.” Beyond politics, some institutions and actors benefited materially or strategically: military, security services, and businesses tied to reconstruction or resource control could expand influence under the guise of wartime necessity. 

In this way, the Karabakh issue was not just a geopolitical problem – it became a tool for sustaining hierarchies and maintaining advantages that depended on the conflict’s persistence. Media outlets, public opinion polls, politicians, and even some civil society actors adhered to the following logic: “Democratic shortcomings cannot be debated while security threats persist.” This blend of liberal and illiberal[1] logic shaped Azerbaijan’s institutions in the 1990s and continues to influence its approach to conflict resolution and governance today.

The Human Cost of Authoritarian Peace

The implications are striking. Peace Control reframes authoritarian peacemaking not as flawed, but as fundamentally incompatible with sustainable peace. It locks in negative peace (Galtung, 1969), the mere absence of fighting, while foreclosing the possibility of positive peace rooted in justice, participation, and human security.

In Azerbaijan, civil society actors are not accidentally excluded; they are deliberately erased. As Bayram, a young lawyer, told me, “Peace activists are accused of treason, not financial crimes. Treason means 20 years in prison.” Arzu, an exiled journalist, described how the repression shrank the circle of peacebuilders: “Over time, risks increased and people stopped. The work became smaller and smaller.” These testimonies reveal how peace work itself has been criminalized, exile becoming the only remaining space for dissent.

Following years of reciprocal human rights litigation at the ICJ and ECtHR, the new accord includes a “withdrawal provision” requiring Armenia and Azerbaijan to drop all current and future claims related to past issues. This effectively bargains away recognition and restitution for Armenian and Azerbaijani victims, cementing displacement and erasing accountability. As Antonyan (2025) notes, the legality of such clauses is highly questionable given that victims must rely on their own states to pursue justice – even when those same states may decide that war crimes are acceptable. Yet the provision has been praised abroad as a breakthrough, exposing both the crisis of the international human rights system and the persistence of a “peace at all costs” mentality.

This dynamic reinforces the earlier security narrative. By keeping the conflict alive or erasing its memory without justice, the state shapes public perception and behavior. Citizens learn that their voices and initiatives have little impact – through exclusion, repression, or the silencing of claims – cultivating learned helplessness. As Arzu put it, “International organizations kept inviting to their projects the same people representing GONGOs without vision.” Over time, this manufactured fatigue turns peace into what Bayram called “an economic deal, not a genuine process,” transforming conflict from a national trauma into a convenient instrument of control (Bloom & Farragher, 2010).

Now, with the military victory over Armenia, Aliyev faces an existential question: what justifies his monopoly on power when the “enemy” is gone? The logic of authoritarian rule, as Milan Svolik (2012) and Hannah Arendt (1951) remind us, requires constant motion –repression, propaganda, or the invention of new threats – to sustain itself. Once the machinery of fear slows, legitimacy begins to erode. In the absence of external conflict, the regime’s survival instinct turns inward. Starting around November 2023, authorities arrested at least 40 independent journalists and civil society activists.

The current agreement asks societies to move on without remembering, to reconcile without reckoning. Such peace may look orderly on paper, but in practice, it extends the life of authoritarian control and potentially the conflict by silencing public debate and moral accountability. This political cost of “victory” is not measured on the battlefield but in the shrinking space for dissent at home, where the regime must now maintain cohesion without the immediate threat of an external enemy.

Business First, Reconciliation Later

The symbolism could not be clearer – the first document initialed in Washington is not a peace accord but a business deal, prioritizing investment and infrastructure commitments rather than reconciliation. While the text of the long-awaited peace agreement between Armenia and Azerbaijan, years in the making since the 2020 war, was quietly published on state websites, the deal, known colloquially as “Trump Road,” was the one given ceremony, headlines, spotlight.

After years of EU mediation, Trump’s initiative stole the spotlight. This highlights a recurring pattern where economic and political leverage can overshadow reconciliation, with business and strategic interests prioritized over societal healing. For both states, economics now dictate the pace of peace. While Armenia’s recent GDP growth masks a fragile, remittance-driven economy inflated by Russian inflows and re-exports, Azerbaijan, although larger in nominal GDP and richer in resource endowment, knows its oil reserves will not last forever. Both sides want to stop fighting – maybe not necessarily out of trust or transformation, but perhaps because profit is indeed more persuasive than conflict.

Global actors exercise dominance differently: Washington and Moscow through military interventions, conditionality of aid or energy leverage; Brussels through legal harmonization (Strelkov, 2016); Beijing through long-term loans and infrastructure projects (Petry, 2023). Despite these differences, a shared structural logic emerges: asymmetrical power relations are maintained under the guise of partnership or enforced directly.

Azerbaijan’s experience reflects this logic as BP’s 1990s oil concessions demonstrated the value of strategically monetizing resources to strengthen state power. Today, with military leverage strengthened by interception systems purchased from Israel and Azerbaijan’s broader geopolitical bargaining power, Baku wields dominance regionally. Armenia, militarily weakened and lacking reliable alliances, has little room to resist.

The peace accord, then, is less about healing wounds or addressing colonial legacies than about consolidating wealth and influence for Aliyev. In a world where oligarchs and far-right governments worldwide are busy hoarding resources and rolling back human rights, it is hardly surprising that Trump, a businessman, rather than a peacemaker, has assumed center stage. 

Thirty years in power in Azerbaijan has allowed Aliyev’s family to master the art of strategic diplomacy, maneuvering among global and regional actors with a finesse that only decades of experience can produce. As British scholar Lawrence Broers observed at a conference in Germany this July, the South Caucasus is gradually emerging as its own node, no longer merely a subordinated periphery.

From Astana to Brussels

The Armenian-Azerbaijani peace deal is not alone in its authoritarian nature. The Astana Process on Syria in 2017, led by Russia, Turkey, and Iran, excluded civil society and prioritized territorial control over reconciliation (Tank, 2025; Talmon, 2017). Such authoritarian peace formats have proliferated as alternatives to UN- or EU-led tracks, offering efficiency and stability but stripping away legitimacy.

At the same time, the Brussels track between Armenia and Azerbaijan had already reproduced authoritarian dynamics. Like Astana, it privileged elite bargains, energy interests, and geopolitical calm over dialogue. While Brussels formally emphasizes civil society participation, in practice, this involvement was limited. Local civil society actors, independent journalists, and displaced community representatives had little real influence on the negotiation agenda. While formally included in EU-led Brussels consultations, their input was largely ignored. Azerbaijan benefited in particular, as the government could monopolize the peace narrative, marginalize civil society, and consolidate power while still presenting itself as a reliable partner.

For international mediators, this raises hard questions. William Zartman’s concept “mutually hurting stalemate” (2001) assumes leaders negotiate only when they realize they cannot win. But authoritarian leaders like Aliyev instrumentalize “peace” precisely as victory, projecting triumph domestically while gaining legitimacy abroad. Mediation theory has not yet fully caught up with this reality.

Therefore, it was very easy for Azerbaijan to sideline Brussels in 2024. Long before the prospect of a peace treaty, Baku pushed for direct bilateral negotiations under the guise of rejecting foreign interference. The message was clear: it would not sign any agreement unless Armenia amended its constitution. The peace accord was merely initialed in Washington and remains unsigned, a nuance that some media outlets overlooked, possibly due to confusion with other signed agreements like the “Trump Road” initiative. 

Though there have been no fatalities on the border since last year, and according to the EU Mission in Armenia, the number of incidents decreased, some cross-border gunfire is still being reported. Both sides have repeatedly denied allegations of ceasefire violations. And although Azerbaijan lifted cargo transit sanctions seemingly as a gesture of goodwill, it still demands that Armenia amend its constitution before ratifying the deal, while issues such as Armenian prisoners of war and a potential return of refugees from Nagorno-Karabakh remain unaddressed. 

When Leverage Trumps Legitimacy

The result is a fragile, asymmetric arrangement. Azerbaijan dictates terms; Armenia, lacking leverage, complies. Short-term calm is achieved, but reconciliation is absent. Compliance costs for Baku are minimal, while non-compliance carries almost no penalty. For Armenia, resistance would risk renewed war.

Western actors reinforce this imbalance. In my interviews with Azerbaijani human rights defenders, I repeatedly heard the same message they receive from EU institutions: “Political prisoners in Azerbaijan are not a priority; the peace agreement is.”

This exposes the sequencing dilemma again: peace or democracy first? In Azerbaijan’s case, authoritarian-led peacemaking is being rewarded as stability, even as repression intensifies. The EU’s reliance on Azerbaijani gas results in overlooking Azerbaijan’s political prisoners, torture, and silencing of dissent. While Azerbaijan may not supply the largest volume of Europe’s gas, its contribution is important in the context of the EU’s energy diversification strategy. 

The EU’s willingness to cooperate with Azerbaijan as well as other authoritarian regimes accentuates a broader pattern where energy security priorities often override commitments to democratic values, creating structured dependence even on states that are not the absolute largest suppliers. The case of peace activist Bahruz Samadov, sentenced to 15 years for his advocacy, illustrates the cost. Brussels’s lack of response to his imprisonment reveals the EU’s double standards: democracy is preached, but authoritarianism is tolerated when pipelines are at stake and strengthening economic stability and opportunities are on the horizon.

Another structural factor lies in the design of mediation itself. Normatively, mediation cannot be truly legitimate when led by actors with vested interests (Astor, 2007). The OSCE Minsk Group, co-chaired by France, Russia, and the U.S., lost credibility partly because it was widely seen by Baku and by local populations as favoring Armenian positions. The Azerbaijani perception of a “Christian world” bias, which some in Baku attribute to influence from Armenian political lobbies, complicated trust-building for decades. Azerbaijani officials have repeatedly accused the EU of “bias” and “double standards” in its resolutions and mediation efforts. Russia has been seen as an even more complicated mediator, with a history of selling arms to both sides. 

In contrast, recent negotiations conducted directly between Armenia and Azerbaijan with minimal third-party interference moved a little faster. A combination of facilitation and bilateral talks produced a draft accord within five years of the 2020 war and two years of the full establishment of control over Nagorno-Karabakh, far faster than the three decades following the 1994 ceasefire. Yet this efficiency reflects asymmetry, not balance: Azerbaijan, as the stronger military and economic power, dictated the terms, while Armenia, weakened by war, blockade, and isolation, had little choice but to concede.

Why “Peace Control” Matters

The 2017 Astana Process on Syria offers a vivid example of how “Peace Control” operates. Marketed as a pragmatic alternative to UN-led talks, it brought together authoritarian sponsors – Russia, Iran, and Turkey – who prioritized ceasefire management over justice or political transition. Civil society and opposition voices were excluded, and humanitarian law violations were quietly reframed as security issues. While the Astana Process initially established de-escalation zones and a temporary cease-fire that appeared to reduce violence, these gains proved fragile. Within a year, regime forces, backed by Russia and Iran, violated the agreements and recaptured most opposition-held areas, revealing that the process managed violence rather than resolving the conflict; ultimately, it cemented Assad’s rule and normalized impunity up until the fall of Assad’s regime in 2024. 

The Armenia-Azerbaijan peace process also demonstrates how authoritarian conflict management produces quick agreements but hollow outcomes. The “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” approach replaces open-ended conflict with the illusion of closure, another managed status quo that privileges control over justice. While such arrangements may seem preferable to war, they reproduce the same exclusions and grievances that fuel future instability. The real loss lies not in the absence of fighting, but in the silencing of those who could build a different kind of peace.

In Azerbaijan, much of the land in conflict-affected areas has been transformed over decades, mines scar the territory, homes have been destroyed, and tracts have been appropriated for Pasha Holding agrobusinesses belonging to the President Aliyev’s daughters and Arif Pashayev, the father of first lady Mehriban Aliyeva. Independent media are absent, leaving abuses underreported. In Armenia, despite the government’s granting of temporary protection to the 115,000 people displaced from Nagorno-Karabakh after the September 2023 escalation, many continue to struggle daily for survival amid housing shortages, unemployment, and psychological trauma. The key point is that ordinary citizens have little real voice under a deal shaped by elites. Notions of freedom and justice are subordinated to power, a reality that may matter little to those who are content under authoritarian rule, but is critical for those who value democracy.

What is celebrated as “historic peace” may in fact be the final stage for the consolidation of authoritarian power in Azerbaijan. In a nutshell, peace control ensures stability for regimes, but not for societies. It eliminates space for dissent, erases the memory of human rights abuses, and forecloses possibilities for reconciliation. By treating peace as a matter of geopolitical alignment and resource transit, rather than human dignity, the process risks sowing the seeds of future instability.

Conclusion: Justice, Memory, and Dissent Silenced

“Peace Control” ensures stability for regimes, not for societies. It may still the sound of gunfire, but it does so by silencing justice, memory, and dissent. True peace cannot emerge from agreements that exile civil society, erase accountability, and reward repression as stability.

To move beyond this illusion, peace processes must return to their moral core – human dignity. This means rejecting withdrawal clauses that legalize forgetting, centering victims’ rights to recognition and restitution, and ensuring that exiled and marginalized voices have a seat at the table. It also means treating transitional justice not as a luxury for later, but as the foundation of durable peace: truth-telling, reparations, and community dialogue are not add-ons; they are the process itself.

Azerbaijan’s case is a warning, but also a mirror. Across the world, authoritarian regimes have learned to weaponize “peace,” turning reconciliation into spectacle and silence into policy. If peace is allowed to mean only the absence of noise, it will keep serving those in power rather than those who suffered. Naming and resisting “Peace Control” is therefore not just an analytical act – it is an urgent political and moral necessity.

Literature

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Note from the author: This piece explores inclusion, legitimacy, sequencing, leverage, and ethics in mediation, applied to the recent Armenia–Azerbaijan peace process. It draws on insights from a PhD course on International Mediation at the Research School on Peace and Conflict, Oslo, in partnership with Notre Dame’s Kroc Institute. I am grateful to the Heinrich Böll Foundation Tbilisi Office – South Caucasus Region for supporting my participation, and to my lecturer Laurie Nathan for his inspiration and guidance, which have helped me grow as a more effective peacebuilder in today’s turbulent world.