Displaced persons, refugees from Artsakh. The story of the forgotten. Not thinking about what is happening.

Alain Navarra-Navassartian, PhD in Sociology, PhD in Art History

The peace agreement signed on August 8, 2025 between Armenia and Azerbaijan, described by some as "legal peace" but which is above all a peace achieved through bargaining: compensation, concessions, package deals, etc. It removed the Armenian refugees and prisoners of war from Nagorno-Karabakh from the narrative space of the consequences of the war. All figures who break the rules of power and truth in order to achieve this signature. Disturbing figures in fictions centered around the idea of a homogeneous political, social, and economic meaning. Bertrand Badie, in his book on the art of peace, wonders whether any principle of peace can be reduced to a transaction that ultimately silences minorities. A truce rather than peace? A "power accommodation"? History detached from the experiences of those subjected to the injunction of an end presented as liberating and a sign of progress. From a critical perspective inspired by Walter Benjamin, we must question the linear and teleological conception of history based on the idea of progress.

The historical experience of the Armenian people of Nagorno-Karabakh is thus obscured by the imposition of a narrative in which "transactional peace" is presented as the expression of necessary and inevitable progress. This configuration reveals a sociological oversight: the narrowing of the scope for possible action through the imposition of an external historical rationality. History conceived as progress is constructed essentially from the point of view of the victors and dominant groups, leading to a form of symbolic hegemony. It produces social alienation in the sense that social actors cease to be the subjects of their own historical experience: they become objects instrumentalized by a meta-narrative that escapes them. From this perspective, individuals find themselves subject to a temporal structure that transcends them—that of homogeneous and empty time—where collective becoming is prescribed by a logic of domination embedded in institutions and social representations.

The refugees from Artsakh did not experience a straightforward and well-defined path to exile, a new beginning, a departure to a deliberately chosen destination. They are the result of ethnic cleansing, a population that the majority of international actors seem to have abandoned. A right of return that is hypothetical in many respects for individuals who are not "a residue of power," to paraphrase Foucault. Thus, in the humanitarian sphere, the figure of the Armenian victim remains, by definition, defeated in a state of eternal continuity, an image that is ultimately reassuring for most people. The victims of this ethnic cleansing, which the progressive conception of history tends to obscure, reappear as a "repressed" element within the social dynamics in Armenia and the diaspora. In reality, they constitute the condition of possibility for the social repeatability of the process of victimization. In other words, the structural oblivion of victims enshrined in progressive historicism feeds the reproduction of the logic of domination and suffering, but this is presented to us as an emancipatory end goal. Their erasure engenders an unconscious repetition of collective failures and suffering, producing a structural blockage of history. It functions as an abstract entity that applies its linear schema to the materiality of social experiences. This logic implies the abandonment of victims within the very structure of historical progress: they are excluded from the dominant narrative, which perpetuates their invisibility and reproduces a memorial and political alienation. Will the Azerbaijani government's hostile intentions stop there?

Refugees, displaced persons, war migrants, forced migrants, invisible migrants

The arrival of these refugees posed numerous problems for Armenia, primarily in terms of infrastructure, which was not adapted to this influx of people, as well as economic issues: how to integrate this population into a fairly limited job market, psychological issues: part of the population resented the Artsakhis for the aid they received, and finally political and geopolitical issues. The Armenians of Nagorno-Karabakh do have passports, but with the code 070, which emphasizes that they are not Armenian citizens. They must choose between Armenian citizenship and a special status. Since June 2024, they have been required to have Armenian citizenship in order to obtain housing assistance, for example. The dilemma is this: accept refugee status and maintain a last link with Artsakh in the hope of returning, or become an Armenian citizen, a more secure position but with other difficulties: finding a job, integrating into a sometimes hostile social fabric, overcoming the difficulties of administrative procedures that are sometimes absurd, prompting some to hire a lawyer, which is costly for many but allows them to overcome the simplistic directives of an administration that is often ignorant of the living conditions of refugees.

This influx of people could be an opportunity for the country in demographic terms: an aging population, declining birth rates, immigration, and the loss of 5,000 young men and boys, despite family policies implemented by the government such as family allowances and lowering the eligibility threshold for social benefits. It is also important to note the reduction in international funding, such as US aid through USAID in January 2025, which certainly did not help the Armenian government to implement sustainable solutions for refugees, especially as social tensions are hampering their settlement in Armenia: they are criticized for receiving aid but also for feeding the pro-Russian network, and women face gender discrimination and everyday sexism in a patriarchal society. It should be noted that many of the refugees were initially single women with children. There are relocation programs with purchase or construction certificates, but these are in the southern and eastern parts of the country, close to the conflict zones. It may seem reasonable at first glance to assume that refugees are mainly rural dwellers and will therefore find a favorable environment for a new start in these areas, but it is understandable that after losing everything, this population is reluctant to settle in these risky border areas. But how can they believe anyone? When their cultural heritage, their territory, their right to selfdetermination, and their very existence are without protection or defenders, and when their right of return seems to have been forgotten or left to the whims of an autocrat who has turned anti-Armenian sentiment into a tool of domestic politics, they are moving in a space where all traces of their existence are being erased. How could this forced departure be a symbol of possibility?

Just as defeat was presented as a positive tool for necessary change without any valid analysis of what defeat actually changes at the level of state structures and symbolic losses. Policies of silence force refugees to abandon their memory, which is nevertheless the hallmark and sole political objective of many Armenian communities. "A peace of law" in the eyes of some, unfortunately among the only voices heard and authorized in a community whose conceptual framework appears to be very impoverished. It is therefore the statement of facts as a totalitarian trial of the meaning of history. Let the refugees and other idealistic "eccentrics" to whom we belong not disturb this modernist and progressive concert. But should history not be understood as a process of social transformation in which the actors are not mere products of structures but subjects capable of self-learning and emancipatory praxis? Thinking of history solely as a mechanical unfolding leads to its alienated repetition: it reproduces the logic of domination in the form of illusory progress. Thus, any claim to a definitive historical truth or to the total realization of progress constitutes an ideological lie, a form of instrumental rationality that neutralizes critical praxis. On the contrary, history must be thought of as an open process, where structural blockages can be overcome by the collective capacity to produce mechanisms of resistance and response to social suffering. History only becomes praxis when victims cease to be repressed and when actors, through their reflexivity and collective action, reintroduce the memory of past suffering into the construction of the present. The history of refugees, such as that of the Armenian presence in Nagorno-Karabakh, must therefore become a history without witnesses so as not to disturb the order of concessions, compromises, or compromises made by actors in the face of power. All that remains is to propose the catch-all concept of resilience and to accept the gap between a universalist rhetoric of Western principles and the particularist pursuit of geopolitical, economic, and other interests. We are still a long way from the concept of "human peace." Peace is first and foremost a social relationship based on recognition, trust, and the regulation of interactions, before being institutionalized in the form of political mechanisms. In other words, it is first and foremost a product of the practices and dispositions of social actors, before becoming an object of state or diplomatic formalization.

But international bodies are not as generous as the grand principles they claim to embody. What long-term solidarity has been envisaged for this refugee population? Humanitarian aid cannot be reduced to its altruistic dimension: it has a hidden side that makes it a lever of influence, a diplomatic tool, and a financial issue. In the context of the peace agreement, the aid provided by Donald Trump illustrates this ambivalence: it functions simultaneously as a demonstration of power, a strategy for media visibility, an affirmation of economic interests, and a tool for geopolitical positioning. It would therefore be simplistic to blame the Armenian government alone for abandoning the refugees, whose presence is perceived as a social and political burden. This dynamic is part of a broader logic of international power relations, where humanitarian aid serves as a mediator between material interests and symbolic issues, as we saw once again with the suspension of US aid in January 2025.

Trump's policies, US diplomacy, and economic policy have not provoked any significant retaliation except from China, illustrating the asymmetrical restructuring of the international system. The effects of this policy must be analyzed not only in terms of their immediate repercussions (trade distortions, repositioning of economic actors, etc.), but also in terms of their systemic consequences: redefinition of international hierarchies, tensions in global economic governance, and the restructuring of financial interdependencies. Is Trump the best partner? Not all countries are like India, which at the time was able to skillfully receive funds from the USSR and the US while escaping the military and diplomatic conditions imposed by donors, despite its heavy dependence in the 1960s. Those were different times.

Coordination, aid effectiveness, and "impression management"

The example of the Artsakh refugees illustrates the negative effects that can result from the fragmentation of aid mechanisms—whether international, national, or diasporic—when they lack coordination. This disarticulation, accentuated by sectoral disparities, creates bottlenecks in the delivery and management of resources. In some cases, the establishment of coordinated mechanisms can partially compensate for the lack of political legitimacy following a military defeat, as well as the weakening of the moral credibility or administrative skills of the ruling class.

From this perspective, the management of solidarity is not only a moral imperative, but also a central issue in the development and structuring of the political space. However, the fate of Artsakh refugees does not fall within a deliberative public sphere where different points of view could be debated and shared definitions of the situation produced. On the contrary, it is situated within a "structure of constraints" that guides, channels, and prescribes the conduct of the various actors involved in the protection of refugees. Thus, humanitarian and diasporic aid is not limited to a function of material support: it acts as an instrument of social and political regulation, revealing the tensions between solidarity, legitimacy, and domination in a context of crisis.

Beyond the material issue of aid to refugees, the situation reveals a central domestic and foreign policy challenge for the Armenian government. The management of "impression" (in the Goffmanian sense of management of impression) appears here as a constitutive dimension of political action: a government must construct, through its discourse and staging, a credible representation of its role. However, the lack of any statement on August 8, 2025, regarding the fate of the refugees, as well as the absence of any prospects, even hypothetical ones, for a possible return, reflect a failure to narrate the situation.

Political discourse, strongly contextualized by the conditions under which the agreement was signed, cannot be reduced to a simple rhetorical tool: it is an instrument of social mediation, enabling the forging of symbolic links in a society fragmented by war. Because it is always historically and socially situated, it orders a vision of the world, establishes shared meanings, and defines the contours of a collective memory. In this context, it is not only abstract concepts, but the words themselves that act as operators of symbolic power, capable of shaping collective representations.

A "monolithic" discourse, which offers only one interpretative possibility with exclusively positive or negative connotations, is ill-suited to the current situation in Armenian society. The challenge lies in the ability of political elites to deploy a pluralistic and strategically adjusted discursive repertoire in order to rebuild weakened legitimacy and restore social cohesion shaken by the cataclysm of war. The environment for action (context, situation, circumstances, etc.) plays a decisive role in the analysis, but the situation of Armenian society and, by extension, the diaspora is just as important, because the aim is to avoid giving.

To think that this peace is nothing more than servitude is to overlook the social dimension of peace, which cannot be ignored. It is indeed a matter of preparing the people for peace. For widespread commodification does not make us forget certain statements made by Aliyev before the signing. Communication is not a miracle tool, but it must be freed from the sole issue of media coverage, because it is also a concept of political power acting on civil society. It is a matter of rediscovering the importance of the bond and the shared narrative that has been lost, in part, here and there. No one still doubts the socializing power of trade, which will guarantee Armenia's survival, but Aliyev has often pointed out that liberal economics, free trade, and globalization do not necessarily go hand in hand with peace or freedom.

Elites and national and diasporic leadership: choices for framing reality

Frames are what organize individuals' experiences and perceptions and guide their daily actions, their way of perceiving events in their environment, and the principles by which they understand and interpret the various situations they encounter in their daily lives, thereby enabling them to make sense of them. Framing plays an essential role in defining and disseminating meanings and thus influences the way individuals interpret reality.

The Western "peace factory," understood as a set of institutional, diplomatic, and discursive instruments aimed at normalizing conflict, cannot alone produce the conditions for pacification within a society historically marked by experiences of mass violence (the Hamidian massacres, the 1915 genocide, the pogroms in Baku and Sumgait). The case of the 1915 genocide illustrates how trivialization, social tolerance, and revisionism have become permanently embedded in the collective memory and symbolic structures of society. Here, we understand collective memory in the sense defined by Paul Ricoeur: "personal experience in its autonomy and the metapersonal dimension of collective experience with which it is closely linked" (Jeffrey Barash). The sacrifice of 5,000 men and the exodus of Armenians from Artsakh are thus social experiences of dispossession that limit the effectiveness of exogenous pacification, perceived as disconnected from lived history and accumulated suffering.

The responsibility of the Armenian elites does not lie in the continuity of the predatory practices of previous regimes, but rather in their inability to mobilize communicative competence (Habermas, 1981) that would enable them to break with the naturalization of systemic violence produced by the international order. The absence of an original political discourse capable of transcending the managerial logic of neoliberalism is evidence of a reproduction of symbolic domination (Bourdieu, 1994) in which the language of power merely perpetuates forms of cognitive and political dependence. But this is not only true of the Armenian political class; it would also be interesting to see how the diasporic elites do not offer more tools to break with historical and social determinism. The absence of a meaningful discourse—based on truthfulness, transparency, or the circulation of reliable information—leaves the Armenian population and part of the diaspora in a state of collective disarray.

The ascendancy of the diasporic elites lies in their ability to produce and impose a sociopolitical and cultural project that articulates inherited institutional mechanisms with traditional practices and functions as a matrix of legitimization and symbolic reproduction. Let us clarify what we mean by elite: in a narrow sense, the term "elite" refers to all social actors occupying dominant positions in the social sphere, and more specifically those who hold significant resources of power. These elites can be differentiated according to the fields in which they exercise their influence—political, economic, administrative, media, or intellectual. The notion of elite, while widely used in common parlance, oscillates between an apologetic valorization (a meritocratic vision of success and exemplarity) and a critical perspective (denunciation of the concentration of power and the reproduction of privileges).

These elites thus establish themselves as fundamental analytical units for understanding diasporic dynamics, insofar as they structure the conditions for collective action. However, the absence of democratic mechanisms and the monopolization of public discourse by a small group leads to a deficit of procedural legitimacy. The refusal, in many cases, to institutionalize spaces for pluralistic deliberation, where dissent could be expressed, creates a regime of forced identification. Certain segments of the French diaspora internalize a feeling of dispossession of their representativeness. Once again, this situation reflects a situation of symbolic domination that is increasingly unsuitable for a group of individuals in the diaspora, including the younger generations. The implicit delimitation of what can be said or left unsaid, and the monopolization of discursive and organizational resources by the factions with the most social and cultural capital, lead to a confiscation of public discourse. This in turn leads to a decline in collective mobilization and a reduction in the range of possibilities.

The community sphere, although undergoing transformations, remains structured by power relations that tend towards its monopolization. The reification of the group thus appears as the practical and cognitive horizon of Armenian ethnopolitical entrepreneurs, although this logic is not exclusive to the Armenian register. The consequences of the war, combined with certain inconsistencies on the part of state and diaspora actors, reveal the fictional nature of the post-defeat political narrative relayed by some of the diaspora elites. This narrative has encouraged the rigidification of intra-community categories, the recurrent activation of cultural references without much innovation, and the crystallization of cognitive patterns which, at the organizational level, translate into the routinization of practices and the naturalization of knowledge.

Conclusion

Following the sociological survey conducted in 2023, we repeatedly emphasized the danger of disaffiliation that could arise if the changes brought about by the war and its consequences were not taken into account. Disaffiliation, as applied to a diaspora community, can be understood as a process of gradual or sudden rupture of the social bond that connects an individual to their group of belonging. It refers to a dynamic of distancing oneself from the cultural or social norms and relational networks that ensure the cohesion of the diaspora. From this perspective, disaffiliation is not just an individual withdrawal: it reflects a weakening of the mechanisms of integration and recognition that form the basis of community belonging. It can manifest itself in a loss of participation in community institutions (associations, churches, activist networks), a disengagement from cultural practices, or even a symbolic erasure of the sense of shared identity. Disaffiliation thus becomes a sociological indicator of the weakening of diasporic cohesion and the redefinition of forms of collective belonging.

The construction of legitimacy, particularly the legitimacy of leadership in the diaspora, is based not only on formal institutions but also on symbolic capital. The war and its aftermath have revealed divisions and fault lines within the Armenian diasporas, but they have also revealed that diasporas now function as polycentric spaces, creating a mosaic rather than a single hierarchy, reflecting a transformation of legitimate capital and the evolution from a community-based logic to a networked, polycentric, and hybrid logic. It remains to be seen whether the processes that have been in place since 2020 will be heard, understood, and analyzed.

The notable absentees from the "peace of law" mentioned by a journalist of Armenian origin are the refugees, the forgotten victims of this peace, like the prisoners still held in Baku. Peace cannot be defined solely as the cessation of armed hostilities: it involves the construction and maintenance of social and political spaces open to criticism of those in power. Its consolidation requires the existence of mechanisms for collective reflexivity, legitimate protest, and public deliberation, capable of limiting forms of domination. In the absence of such mechanisms, peace is reduced to imposed pacification, that is, the silent reproduction of established power relations. This issue ties in with debates around geopolitics, a discipline widely used by the intellectual elites of the French diaspora. From this perspective, the challenge is no longer just to examine the distribution of territorial influence, but also to analyze flows—economic, migratory, cultural, informational—and the power relations they engender. Like all knowledge, geopolitics is historically situated: maps, representations of space, and the reasoning that derives from them are steeped in history and reflect the social structures that produce them. Far from being based on universal laws, the relationships between space and politics vary over time, depending on the transformations of the actors, their relationships, and the forms of domination they establish. From this perspective, the study of power rivalries over a territory and the capacity of a power to project itself beyond its borders is not solely a matter of strategic logic, but also of sociological analysis of international systems viewed as dynamic configurations, shaped by multiple actors, transnational flows, and unevenly distributed relations of domination. Geopolitics fully illustrates this process. Far from being an "objective" field of knowledge, it is an intellectual field marked by struggles for legitimacy, particularly between academic, political, and media elites. Appropriated by specific factions of the diaspora or the ruling classes, it operates as an instrument of symbolic power by defining what counts as a geopolitical problem, which actors are legitimate to intervene, and at at what levels rivalries should be analyzed. The case of the Artsakh refugees and, more broadly, of post-conflict Armenian society illustrates how peace and geopolitics are part of relations of symbolic domination. Humanitarian aid, whether it comes from international institutions, state actors, or diaspora networks, cannot be understood as a simple act of solidarity. It also functions as an instrument of political legitimization and geopolitical positioning, allowing certain actors to assert themselves as central players in defining priorities and legitimate representations of the situation. The silence surrounding refugees, the right of return, or prisoners of war and political prisoners is therefore not simply an oversight. It also reflects a hierarchy in the recognition of suffering: some populations gain visibility and the status of legitimate victims, while others are kept invisible. Silence is not just an omission: it is a form of violence. The silence surrounding the refugees of Artsakh cannot be reduced to a discursive gap: it is constitutive of the contemporary configuration of peace, marked by structural exclusions and intrinsic fragility.

The silence surrounding the refugees of Artsakh and their right to return is not an oversight. It is complicity. Silencing their voices legitimizes their exile. It turns their suffering into a non-event. We hear talk of peace and justice, but what kind of peace can arise from denial? A peace that forgets its victims is only a facade, an imposed peace, a peace against.