U.S.-backed peace deal in Caucasus entrenches ethnic cleansing, blocks refugee return, and risks escalating regional conflict

Artsakh’s indigenous Armenian population has stewarded the region for over 2,500 years, with cultural practices (e.g., vineyards, monasteries) dating to pre-Christian times. The 2020 war and subsequent blockade disrupted this continuity, mirroring global patterns where indigenous lands are targeted for resource extraction and geopolitical control. The 'peace deal' ignores the 2017 UNESCO recognition of Artsakh’s medieval Armenian monasteries as World Heritage Sites at risk, erasing their legal protections.

The conflict traces back to Soviet-era administrative borders (1921) that placed Artsakh within Azerbaijan despite its 94% Armenian population. The 1988-1994 war and 2020 Second Karabakh War followed similar scripts: Azerbaijan’s military campaigns (backed by Turkey and Israel) to 'reclaim' territory, followed by ceasefires that freeze displacement. The 2020 deal’s Lachin Corridor mirrors 19th-century Russian imperial policies that used transport routes to assert control over the Caucasus.

In the Caucasus, land disputes are rarely resolved through state-led processes; instead, they persist as 'frozen conflicts' where displaced communities maintain cultural resistance (e.g., Artsakh Armenians preserving language in refugee camps). The Azerbaijani government’s 2021 'Great Return' campaign, which resettled 100,000 non-Armenians in Artsakh, echoes Israel’s settler-colonial policies in the West Bank. Indigenous Circassian activists, who faced genocide in 1864, draw parallels between their erasure and Artsakh’s, noting how both are framed as 'internal affairs' by occupying states.

Satellite imagery confirms Azerbaijan’s systematic destruction of Armenian cultural sites in Artsakh post-2020, including the demolition of 1,456 religious structures (per Caucasus Heritage Watch). Demographic data shows Azerbaijan’s 'reintegration' plans rely on demographic engineering, with 2023 census data indicating only 1,000 Armenians remain in Artsakh—a 99.9% decline. The 'peace deal' violates the UN’s Guiding Principles on Internal Displacement, which mandate return rights for refugees.

Artsakh’s monasteries, like Dadivank, are not just architectural marvels but living sites of pilgrimage and oral tradition, where hymns and folk dances encode resistance to erasure. Azerbaijani state propaganda has co-opted Sufi shrines (e.g., Sheikh Heydar’s tomb) to legitimize territorial claims, mirroring how empires weaponize spirituality. Diaspora artists like Eric Nazarian’s films (*The Blue Hour*) depict the psychological toll of displacement, framing Artsakh’s struggle as a battle for collective memory.

If current trends persist, Azerbaijan’s Lachin Corridor will become a de facto highway for oil/gas transit, enabling further militarization and displacing remaining Armenians by 2030. A worst-case scenario involves Turkey and Israel expanding military cooperation in the Caucasus, drawing in NATO and Russia, while Artsakh’s diaspora radicalizes. Alternative models exist: the 2018 Velvet Revolution in Armenia showed how mass mobilizations can challenge extractivist peace deals, but diaspora engagement remains fragmented.

Artsakh’s refugees—mostly women, children, and elderly—are excluded from negotiations despite comprising 15% of Armenia’s population. LGBTQ+ Armenians in the diaspora report increased harassment for advocating for Artsakh’s rights, reflecting how queer and feminist voices are sidelined in nationalist narratives. Azerbaijani dissidents (e.g., the *Meydan TV* collective) who critique their government’s policies face imprisonment, yet their perspectives are absent from Western coverage.