The Illusion of Support: Armenia and the Limits of Alliance
Protesters gather in Yerevan’s Republic Square after renewed clashes in Nagorno-Karabakh. Photo courtesy of Wikipedia Commons.
In September 2023, Azerbaijan’s assault on the Republic of Artsakh forced more than 100,000 Armenians to flee their homes. Villages emptied in days, leaving behind churches, schools, and centuries of history. It was the second time in a generation that Armenians witnessed the world's complete indifference to their displacement.
Three years earlier, on a cool evening in Yerevan, Armenia, the lights of the Republic Square flickered over a restless crowd. The demonstrations followed Armenia’s defeat to Azerbaijan in the 2020 war over Nagorno-Karabakh, a disputed Armenian-populated region. They were further fueled by growing frustration with the Collective Security Treaty Organization (CSTO), a Russian-led military alliance that failed to intervene despite its mutual defence commitments. During a wave of demonstrations in 2022, crowds held signs saying CSTO Failed Us and Armenia Stands Alone, while chants echoed through the stone corridors of the city. The war had ended with another loss, and Russian peacekeepers, once considered protectors, had stepped aside.
In that moment, Armenia’s long-held illusion of security was shattered. For decades, the country trusted its alliance with Moscow, believing that shared history and mutual defense treaties meant protection. Their relationship was formed through decades of Russian arms supplies and military cooperation following Armenia’s independence from the Soviet Union. However, when Azerbaijan advanced, Russia watched. In the months that followed, Armenian Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan spoke openly about the need to “diversify” Armenia’s foreign relations, hinting at a pivot towards the West. For many Armenians, it was a painful but necessary awakening.
Armenia’s fractured alliance with Russia and its cautious outreach to the West reveal a deeper reality about global politics: small states are rarely treated as allies, but as instruments of power. They are drawn into strategic orbits, valued for their geography or symbolism, then abandoned once their usefulness fades. For Armenia, what is different now is the scale of risk.
Armenia’s story is not unique. It reflects the broader dilemma faced by many small states bound to powerful patrons. Though often dismissed as passive or dependent, they are far from it. Yemen, for instance, has long operated within Saudi Arabia’s sphere of influence not simply out of economic dependence, but because regional power dynamics leave few viable alternatives. States like Yemen reveal how survival often depends less on strength than on strategy, as sovereignty becomes a matter of endurance between competing empires.
In international politics, “small” usually implies “weak.” Analysts use the term to describe states with limited populations, militaries, or economies. However, small states possess something that larger powers lack: agility. Armenia cannot afford to take sides carelessly, so it remains adaptable. It sends humanitarian aid to Ukraine while keeping trade ties with Russia. It negotiates with Iran for access to ports while courting the European Union for energy and security assistance. Each move is a calculation, not a contradiction.
However, Armenia’s diplomacy also exposes the limits of international support. Western democracies often speak of solidarity but stop short of intervention. The European Union deployed an observer mission after the 2020 war in Armenia, but it carried no mandate to defend Armenian civilians. The United States issued statements of concern, not protection. Russia, bound by treaty, did even less. What was left was the illusion of support: the appearance of alliance without any substance.
The irony is that the international system depends on small states like Armenia. Because they lack the power to enforce security guarantees themselves, small states become the testing ground for alliance commitments and international institutions. When major powers compete, small states reveal what balance looks like in practice: loyalty is expected even when protection is uncertain. Armenia, for example, is not just balancing Russia and the West, but responding to a system that has repeatedly withdrawn support.
The pattern repeats across regions. Finland perfected neutrality during the Cold War, walking the tightrope between NATO and the Soviet Union. Jordan, surrounded by stronger neighbors, survived by aligning selectively with Western powers while mediating in Arab conflicts. Singapore, a city-state without natural resources, built a model of pragmatic diplomacy and internal strength. Each of these examples proves that significance in the international system is determined by strategy rather than scale.
However, survival has a cost, and for Armenia, the price has been trust. Russia’s neglect has forced a painful redefinition of an alliance. The bond that once tied Yerevan to Moscow has frayed, replaced by a quieter realism. The pivot to Europe is cautious because Armenians know promises can be temporary. The European Parliament can debate resolutions, but soldiers on the ground make the difference. After nearly a year in which Azerbaijan blockaded Artsakh, it launched a new offensive in September 2023. Russian peacekeepers, who were once seen as guarantors of stability, failed to intervene as tens of thousands of Armenians fled their homes. Russian silence confirmed how little remained of the alliance’s substance.
Still, something profound is happening beneath the surface. By necessity, Armenia has learned to exercise agency in a system that rarely grants it. It is using the tools available: soft diplomacy through its diaspora, advocacy in Western legislatures, community-based humanitarian support, appeals to human rights institutions, partnerships in education, and trade with unlikely partners. These strategies may not seem powerful, but they are the foundation of resilience.
In this way, Armenia captures the essence of small state diplomacy in the twenty-first century. Its diplomacy is not a choice but a condition, shaped by the pressure to survive rather than the freedom to lead. The great powers still measure strength by armies and markets. Armenia, on the other hand, measures strength in its ability to remain politically visible and diplomatically relevant in conversations where others hold the power to decide its fate.
Armenia’s experience exposes how international institutions fail the states that rely on them most, suggesting that the country’s long-term stability will rely on building networks not dependent on a single supporter. As Armenians fled the region, UN officials only arrived after the exodus had ended and acknowledged their limited presence. The United Nations and international organizations like it were built for an era when great powers decided what peace looked like. International monitors stood by as Armenia faced displacement and defeat, revealing how global institutions retreat when less influential states need them the most.
For Armenians, this role as a “middle ground” carries both pain and pride. Geography will always make the country vulnerable, yet its diplomacy continues to show something larger about human endurance. Nations like Armenia do not merely adapt to the world order, but they reveal its imperfections and quietly redefine it.
The next time headlines celebrate a great power summit, it is worth remembering that diplomacy’s most revealing experiments happen elsewhere. In Armenia’s case, Russia tested how far it could withdraw from its security role without losing influence, while Western powers tested whether monitoring missions and diplomatic pressure could substitute for material protection. These experiments left Armenia exposed and ultimately coincided with the fall of Artsakh and the displacement of its Armenian population. In countries where survival is uncertain, every alliance is both a risk and a necessity. Armenia stands at the crossroads of old alliances and untested partnerships, reminding the world that in an age of shifting loyalties, the smallest states often understand best what it means to endure.
Ellen Hovhannisyan (Columbia College ‘29) is a staff writer at the Columbia Political Review studying political science and economics. She can be reached at egh2147@columbia.edu.