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.