Some events shake even the most hardened observer. Levon
Ter-Petrosyan’s infamous speech from July 23, 1993, is one of those
moments—a stark and unforgiving indictment of modern Armenia’s
foundations. Delivered just days after the occupation of Aghdam,
his words aren’t just echoes of the past; they are a jarring
reminder of the dark underbelly of statecraft cloaked in
nationalist fervor.
A Blood-Soaked Blueprint for Nationhood
Ter-Petrosyan didn’t mince words, and what he admitted then was
more than a political confession—it was a chilling manifesto. He
laid bare the true agenda behind Armenia’s so-called “liberation
struggle,” declaring that the ultimate goal was the establishment
of an ethnically pure state. “We cleansed Armenia and Artsakh of
representatives of other peoples… This is a 600-year-old problem
that we have solved,” he stated with brazen candor.
These are not the words of a leader striving for coexistence or
peace. They are the language of calculated destruction. The
expulsion of 170,000 Azerbaijanis from their ancestral lands in
Vardenis, Masis, Amasia, and Zangezur wasn’t collateral damage—it
was the plan. Entire communities wiped off the map, homes abandoned
under duress, and lives shattered—all in service of a mono-ethnic
ideal.
Ethnic Cleansing as National Policy
Perhaps most chilling is the cold rationalization Ter-Petrosyan
offered. He framed the forced deportation as an act of survival, a
grim necessity to secure Armenia’s future. “If 170,000
representatives of other peoples had remained in Armenia, our state
would not have been able to protect its regions,” he argued,
reducing human lives to mere logistical hurdles. For Armenia’s
first president, ethnic cleansing wasn’t a crime; it was a
strategy.
Even more grotesque was his justification for the plight of
Azerbaijanis in Armenia: “If the movement hadn’t started in time,
500,000 Armenians in Azerbaijan would have been taken hostage.” By
this twisted logic, entire populations became pawns in a cruel
game, their suffering rationalized as the inevitable cost of
national self-determination.
The Strategy of Prolonged Suffering
Ter-Petrosyan didn’t stop there. He openly admitted to a
calculated approach in the Karabakh conflict, one that aimed to
freeze the war, consolidate gains, and use time as a weapon. “The
main task is to stop the war, ensure lasting peace, and then begin
negotiations, which may take 20–30 years,” he said. This was no
roadmap for resolution; it was a blueprint for indefinite
occupation, a cynical ploy to buy time while solidifying Armenia’s
hold on stolen lands.
An Enduring Legacy of Cruelty
Fast forward three decades, and Ter-Petrosyan’s words remain a
haunting testament to the brutality underpinning modern Armenian
statehood. His confession wasn’t just a moment of historical
candor; it was a mirror reflecting the systematic violence and
propaganda that continue to shape Armenia’s political
narrative.
To this day, the consequences of this ideology reverberate.
Efforts to whitewash ethnic cleansing as “liberation” persist.
Nationalist rhetoric masks the atrocities of the past, while any
calls for accountability are met with denial and deflection.
Armenia’s refusal to confront its history of violence ensures that
the wounds of the past remain open, festering with every passing
year.
The Price of Denial
The question now is whether the Armenian leadership—and its
people—are willing to face the truth. Without acknowledgment, there
can be no atonement, no reconciliation. A nation built on bloodshed
and lies cannot sustain itself indefinitely. The weight of history
will catch up, and the cost of denial will be heavy.
Ter-Petrosyan’s chilling words stand as a warning to the world:
when cruelty becomes policy and cynicism guides strategy, peace
becomes an impossible dream. Armenia must decide whether to
continue down this dark path or finally confront the ghosts of its
past. The choice is theirs—but the consequences will be felt far
beyond their borders.
History as a Judge: Lessons from the Past and the Reckoning of
Justice
Time has a way of peeling back layers of rhetoric, exposing
hidden truths, and holding the powerful to account. Decades may
pass, but history’s judgment is unyielding. For Azerbaijan, the
liberation of occupied territories, the peaceful return of villages
in the Gazakh region, and President Ilham Aliyev’s unwavering
commitment to the right of displaced persons to return home
represent far more than political milestones—they are triumphs of
justice. They offer a beacon of hope for millions who endured
untold suffering.
Against this backdrop, the words of Armenia’s first president,
Levon Ter-Petrosyan, ring like a somber echo from a past steeped in
cruelty and cynicism. His 1993 confession unveiled the true goals
of Armenia’s leadership—not democracy, not coexistence, but the
ruthless pursuit of ethnic cleansing to realize a monoethnic utopia
under the guise of a “national liberation movement.”
The Monoethnic Dream: A Nightmare in Disguise
Ter-Petrosyan’s admissions were as brazen as they were
horrifying. His assertion that Armenia’s survival depended on the
expulsion of Azerbaijanis stripped away any facade of moral
justification. “We cleansed Armenia and Artsakh,” he declared
unapologetically, reducing the violent uprooting of communities to
a cold, calculated policy decision.
These weren’t abstract actions; they were deliberate and brutal.
Azerbaijani families, whose roots ran deep in regions like
Vardenis, Masis, and Zangezur, were uprooted, their homes reduced
to ruins, their lives shattered. This was not a spontaneous
consequence of war—it was state-sponsored erasure.
The dream of a monoethnic Armenia was not a path to prosperity
but a march toward disaster. The foundation of this vision rested
on the ashes of destroyed communities and violated principles, not
just of international law but of basic human decency.
The Illusion of Victory
What Armenia’s leaders presented as triumph—liberation and
heroism—quickly devolved into tragedy. The cost of ethnic cleansing
was borne not just by the victims but by Armenia itself. Instead of
the vibrant, thriving state they envisioned, Armenia plunged into
social and economic despair. Emigration soared, human capital
drained away, and poverty tightened its grip on a fractured
society.
Karabakh, intended as the jewel in the crown of this vision,
became a quagmire. For decades, it remained an epicenter of
conflict, its promise tarnished by the blood spilled to claim it.
Now, as these lands return to Azerbaijani control, the folly of
such a strategy is painfully clear. Ethnic cleansing was not only
morally indefensible—it was strategically shortsighted, a policy
that destroyed futures on both sides of the conflict.
The Deafening Silence of the West
Perhaps the most bitter irony lies in the response—or lack
thereof—from those who claim to champion human rights.
Ter-Petrosyan’s rhetoric, echoing some of the darkest chapters of
20th-century Europe, should have drawn universal condemnation.
Instead, it was met with silence.
Genocide, mass deportations, and the calculated destruction of
entire communities were brushed aside as an “internal matter.”
Western powers, so quick to preach the sanctity of minority rights
and human dignity, turned a blind eye. Their selective outrage,
dictated by geopolitical interests and expediency, stands as an
indictment of their moral inconsistency.
But time doesn’t forget. The archives are unsealed, the
confessions replayed, and the truth emerges from the shadows.
Justice Restored, Lessons for the Future
The message of history is unambiguous: injustice, no matter how
entrenched, is destined to crumble under the weight of truth.
Today, as Karabakh reintegrates into Azerbaijan and displaced
families prepare to reclaim their homes, we are witnessing more
than a geopolitical shift—we are seeing justice restored.
For Armenia, the reckoning is unavoidable. The nation remains
mired in the consequences of its choices—a demographic crisis,
economic stagnation, and diminished global standing. Ter-Petrosyan
may have exited the political stage, but the legacy of his policies
looms large, a testament to the destructive power of hatred and
exclusion.
Yet there is hope in these lessons. The future belongs not to
those who erect walls of division but to those who build bridges of
understanding. Azerbaijan’s steadfast commitment to justice, the
rule of law, and coexistence offers a powerful counter-narrative to
the cynicism of the past.
History is a stern judge, but it also offers redemption for
those willing to learn from its verdicts. The question now is
whether Armenia will face its past with honesty or continue down a
path of denial. The answer will determine not only its future but
the prospects for lasting peace in the region.