As Armenia moves toward the 2026 parliamentary elections, the language of politics is sharpening noticeably. The ruling party's central propaganda message has become increasingly explicit in recent days: "If the opposition wins and, as it has promised, reopens for renegotiation the agreements that have secured the current peaceful environment, war will be inevitable." This "war" warning has moved beyond simple electoral propaganda, acquiring the capacity to overshadow all economic and social debate in the country in a single stroke.
The geopolitical threshold at which Armenia currently finds itself — the regional uncertainty created by the ongoing war in Iran, a new field of vulnerability stretching from energy corridors to border security — makes such an argument both plausible and effective. It would be easy, but incomplete, to dismiss the use of "fear" — the most primal, most destabilizing and electorally fastest-acting emotion upon which politics can be built — as nothing more than a self-preservation tactic.
In terms of political realities, the government's claim contains a substantial and legitimate kernel of truth. In recent years, Armenia's government entered a painful yet real process of normalization with Azerbaijan and Turkey, signed off on border delimitation efforts, and attempted to build a new status quo around Western-backed visions such as the "Peace Crossroads" and/or TRIPP (Trump Route for International Peace and Prosperity). All these processes may be incomplete, contested, or uncomfortable for many. But the question the government poses: what happens if the status quo is dismantled? The answer to that question is clearly not merely diplomatic tension, but a direct security risk.
The reversal of international agreements, the non-recognition of border accords, or the re-introduction of maximalist demands can be assessed as steps capable of producing military consequences within the existing balance of power. The government's claim that "demands to revise the agreements would trigger war" is therefore not entirely without foundation. Of course, it is possible to argue that the current peace line concedes too much, to insist that the process lacks transparency, or to claim that national interests have not been adequately protected. The warning of war may even be politically instrumentalized — but it is not a fear manufactured from nothing. Yet the question that follows these criticisms, whose answer remains unclear: what, then, is the alternative?
Opposition blocs representing the old regime and traditional nationalist codes in particular argue that this "war" threat is being wielded as a tool of blackmail to conceal the government's domestic failures, corruption, and weaknesses in foreign policy — and they openly declare that, upon coming to power, they will roll back these concessions, demand revisions to the agreements reached, and refuse to recognize the border accords.
Can the opposition elites, who claim to possess statecraft, truly fail to foresee that tearing up existing agreements upon taking power would likely lead to war? One must assume that Armenia's opposition is well aware that a reversal of current gains would unleash a storm in the Caucasus and that a potential war could threaten the very existence of the state. Yet, much like many populist oppositions around the world that collide with the bare realities of governance upon reaching power, it is far more likely they would declare: "We inherited the state in this condition; continuity in international agreements is paramount; we have no choice but to stay the course" and end up defending the very peace environment and normalization currently pursued by Pashinyan.
If they would sustain this peace process upon coming to power, why do they not — or cannot they — honestly admit this to voters and offer a more reasonable alternative? Because they are held hostage by their own base's rage. The sole fuel keeping the traditional opposition alive today is the illusion of "revenge and honor" forged from the trauma, anger, and nationalist nostalgia born of the defeat in Karabakh. That is why they are compelled to say "we will cancel the agreements" even knowing it to be impossible. The political cost of honesty, otherwise, is high enough to eliminate their very reason for existence.
As was evident in the analyses we published in recent weeks, the determining factor in Armenian elections is not party vote shares alone. More decisive is the degree of trust voters place in the political system and how that trust translates at the ballot box. The high proportion of undecided voters, the size of the electorate saying, "I trust no politician" and the uncertainty around turnout all emerge as factors capable of directly shaping the election outcome. It is precisely at this point that the war in Iran can produce a powerful psychological multiplier effect before the elections. A conflict continuing just across the border can dramatically alter risk perceptions and entirely suppress voters' appetite for risk. Under normal circumstances, economic hardship, inflation, or governance failures might shape electoral behavior but in an environment where the possibility of war is felt, these concerns can recede to the background, and the voter's priority may shift from better governance to survival.
Today in Armenia, the election has therefore evolved from a question of political change into a massive exercise in risk assessment, and voters will choose not between alternatives but between probabilities. In this context, the ruling party's security-based discourse becomes not merely a campaign strategy but a frame that speaks directly to the current psychology of the electorate.
The opposition's most fundamental problem is not its inability to refute the ruling party's language of "fear" but its failure to construct a more credible security narrative to replace it. As long as it cannot offer or provide a convincing answer to voters a "warless, bloodless, and honest alternative", it may be able to grow its vote share, but winning the election looks difficult.
One thing is worth remembering: elections run on anger — but fear tends to decide outcomes. Unless something larger reshapes the landscape before June 2026, the result will ultimately be determined by which of these two emotions carries more weight.
