2025 clarified what 2024 tried to hide.
After the ethnic cleansing of Artsakh, Armenia moved through 2024 in shock. The government called it a “new reality.” People felt it as loss, humiliation, and exhaustion. Quiet did not mean stable. Quiet meant the country had less strength to resist while decisions about its future were made above its head.
In 2025, the consequences became visible.
Civil Contract kept the same method: concession abroad, control at home. It called concession “peace.” It called control “reform.” It called foreign supervision “resilience.” The labels changed. The direction stayed the same.
The clearest example is TRIPP.
They sold it as an infrastructure project. It functions as a political instrument. A corridor is leverage. It decides who moves, who blocks, who writes the rules, and who collects the profit. When Syunik becomes a “route” instead of strategic terrain, sovereignty becomes a negotiating position. It becomes something to be managed, priced, and leased.
They say “integration.” It means dependency.
They say “opening routes.” It means pressure on Syunik.
They say “peace established.” It means Armenia pays first and asks questions later.
The prisoners held in Baku show the same pattern in human form. A government that treats captives as a national priority turns the issue into constant pressure. It ties every diplomatic track to that demand. It creates costs for the other side. Civil Contract performs concern and produces no result. It offers statements and ceremonies while families live inside waiting rooms. (That is not a technical error. It is a political choice.)
Then the domestic line hardened.
Civil Contract entered the road to the 2026 elections with weak legitimacy and rising anger. A party in that position does not loosen its grip. It tightens it. It stops persuading and starts classifying. It stops arguing and starts policing.
This is where the crackdown story matters—and why Karapetyan matters.
In June, Reuters reported that Russian-Armenian billionaire Samvel Karapetyan was detained on allegations tied to promoting regime change, and his detention was widely viewed in opposition circles as part of a broader crackdown on dissent. Whether one likes Karapetyan or not is beside the point. The point is the message. When the state needs to warn the public, it picks a high-profile target. It makes the charge political. It makes the lesson visible.
The same month, Archbishop Bagrat Galstanyan was arrested on allegations tied to an alleged coup plot, and the government framed it as a fight against a “criminal-oligarchic clergy.” Later in 2025, Archbishop Mikael Ajapahyan was sentenced to prison on charges linked to public calls to overthrow the constitutional order. Raids and further actions against church structures followed, and civic groups publicly condemned what they described as a widening crackdown.
Civil Contract did not stop at individual arrests. It moved toward the Church’s center. The government escalated its campaign against His Holiness Karekin II, turning the Catholicos into a political target and treating the Mother See as an obstacle to be subdued rather than a national institution to be respected. It spoke about “law” and “order,” but the aim was obvious: isolate the Catholicos, intimidate the clergy, and warn every Armenian institution that independence will be punished. When a state starts treating the spiritual head of the nation like an enemy, it is not defending democracy. It is defending a regime.
They say “coup plot.” It means remove the protest leadership.
They say “oligarchic clergy.” It means merge church dissent into a criminal category.
They say “rule of law.” It means the state picks enemies and writes the story afterward.
Civil Contract also wrapped the entire election season in the language of “hybrid threats.” That language does two things at once. It invites foreign actors deeper into the country’s political life, and it turns domestic opposition into a security problem in advance. 2025 made that move normal.
So the year reads as one connected story, not separate scandals.
Concession abroad weakens the state. A weaker state needs more control. More control produces more anger. More anger justifies more control. That cycle feeds itself. Civil Contract did not stumble into it. It built it.
We will state the conclusion plainly: 2025 did not bring Armenia peace. It brought a new stage of the same war, fought with different tools—corridor politics dressed as development, captives left behind in the name of “process,” and a government preparing for elections by expanding coercion and criminalizing pillars of national life.
2026 will test whether Armenia accepts that direction.
