If Alfred Nobel could witness the modern world’s scramble for his Peace Prize, how would he react? Among the loudest claimants is Donald Trump, a man whose “art of the deal” has spilled far beyond real estate into geopolitics. “I ended seven wars,” the President told the United Nations General Assembly in September 2025, “and in all cases they were raging, with countless thousands of people being killed,” a claim not completely true, but repeatedly announced.
Trump has boasted that he “stopped the war between Azerbaijan and Armenia”, yet each time he attempted to recount this supposed diplomatic triumph, he struggled to correctly identify the countries involved. Once he referred to the conflict as a dispute between “Aberbaijan and Albania”, on another occasion “Cambodia and Armenia”, a blunder that perfectly encapsulates his brand of peacemaking: loud, self-congratulatory, and utterly detached from reality.
To better understand what “peace” he brought, let us first take a sober look at what existed before Trump’s administration swept in with bold declarations. If the President meant the Karabakh conflict, then the language used requires correction. It is imprecise to frame Armenia as a direct party to the war. The 2020 hostilities were fought between Azerbaijan and the unrecognised Republic of Artsakh (Nagorno-Karabakh). Armenia functioned as the security guarantor of the Armenian population in Artsakh.
During the 2020 war, neither Armenia nor Azerbaijan declared nationwide martial law; Armenia did not mobilise or deploy its army as a regular force into Karabakh. If one insists on framing it as a conflict “between Armenians and Azerbaijanis”, then that would be more defensible.
The war ended on 9 November 2020 with a Russian-brokered ceasefire, which halted hostilities but left some political questions unresolved. Then on 6 October 2022, the Prime Minister of Armenia publicly recognised Azerbaijan’s territorial integrity—Nagorno-Karabakh as part of it, while insisting that negotiations should occur between Azerbaijan and Karabakh’s leaderships. Within two months, Azerbaijan imposed a total blockade on Nagorno-Karabakh’s sole lifeline to Armenia, the Lachin Corridor. For over nine months, Karabakh was deprived of food, medicine, fuel, and humanitarian access, while the International Committee of the Red Cross and calls from global organisations were largely ignored. The International Association of Genocide Scholars described these measures as genocidal.
The blockade ended only on 30 September 2023, not through diplomacy but through the use of force. Azerbaijan launched a full-scale military offensive, committed mass atrocities, and compelled the entire Armenian population of Nagorno-Karabakh to flee their ancestral homeland. By the time the last families left Stepanakert, the conflict had “effectively” ended. Not by reconciliation, not by diplomacy, but by force and displacement. Where there had once been a disputed region, there was now a vacuum. There was no ongoing war, neither in 2024 nor in 2025.
Armenia and Azerbaijan were indeed engaged in peace negotiations, but not because a war was raging, or because Trump intervened. They were negotiating because one side had been emptied of its people, and the other saw an opportunity to crystallise its gains into legally binding terms. Washington simply entered the room after the smoke had cleared and declared itself the architect of peace.
The talks now concern Armenia and Azerbaijan directly, as these states attempt to define borders, establish diplomatic relations, and reopen regional communications. One of the main obstacles is Baku’s demand that Armenia amend its constitution, removing references to Nagorno-Karabakh—a clause Azerbaijan interprets as a territorial claim. Yerevan is drafting a new constitution, though whether Armenian voters will approve it remains uncertain, especially as anti-government voices grow louder and more defiant. At the same time, Azerbaijan continues to occupy portions of Armenia’s sovereign territory, President Aliyev openly and absurdly claims that Armenia is “Western Azerbaijan” and calls Armenians “guests” in the region. So one can ask how do they demand constitutional amendments if they themselves push territorial revisionism? What is equally baffling, however, is the Armenian government’s silence in the face of these claims. Is this restraint genuinely a commitment to the peace process or a naïve trust that silence will somehow prevent further aggression? But silence has a cost: it allows falsehoods to circulate freely and it sends the message that rewriting borders and inventing histories comes with no consequences. If peace means accepting narratives that undermine your own existence, then what exactly is being “negotiated”, and at what price?
Meanwhile, prisoners of war (POWs) are another open wound. Dozens of Karabakh Armenian political detainees remain in Baku, subjected to trials widely condemned as unfair and politically motivated. The release of POWs should be an important condition before any talk of “peace”.
Another contentious issue is the proposed “Zangezur Corridor”, a route intended to connect mainland Azerbaijan to its exclave Nakhichevan through Armenian territory. The corridor is far more than a transit route: it is a geopolitical fault line. For some actors, it represents economic opportunity and enhanced connectivity; for others, it is a direct threat to sovereignty and a potential ignition point for new conflict. The excitement around the corridor is not about peace, but about power and benefits.
For years, the United States’ influence in the South Caucasus had drifted, overshadowed by Russia’s historical role and the growing presence of Turkey. But the region’s geography retains an irresistible strategic logic. Bordering Iran, linking the Caspian basin to the Middle East, and sitting along emerging East-West trade routes, Armenia and Azerbaijan offer the United States a stage from which to pressure Tehran at a moment of heightened tensions and throw Russia away from there. Trump understood that mediating the talks and securing a role in the development of the corridor would give Washington a physical and political foothold in the region.
A pivotal moment came on 8 August 2025, when Armenian and Azerbaijani leaders met in Washington. A declaration was signed—not a peace treaty, but a stepping stone toward one. In that same framework, the US received a 99-year mandate to oversee the creation and management of the corridor in Armenia’s Syunik region. The project was branded Trump Route for International Peace and Prosperity. Once again, it is crucial to distinguish: a declaration exists; a peace treaty does not, it is still in limbo.
This corridor is a business opportunity wrapped in a diplomatic ribbon. Infrastructure, energy distribution, transit fees, logistics, telecom: each layer carries revenue potential. The moment the corridor was proposed, nine companies, three of them US-based, already signalled interest in operating, constructing, or servicing the route.
Then comes the third motive. Trump has made no secret of his desire for winning the Nobel Peace Prize. The South Caucasus presented a rare opportunity: a conflict that had effectively wound down, a diplomatic process already underway, and leaders willing—or pressured—to attach Washington’s name to the outcome.
In essence, Donald Trump did not stop a war. Washington’s sudden enthusiasm for mediation was neither altruistic nor urgent; it was opportunistic.
There is no signed treaty, no open borders, no mutual recognition, no restitution, no justice—only tens of thousands of forcibly displaced people, with no plans of letting them return to their homeland, lingering prisoners of war, systematic destruction of Armenian cultural heritage, still unresolved territorial disputes, and shattered lives. With both leaders now praising Trump’s “achievement” and suggesting his Nobel worthiness, we see that diplomacy has simply become a performance.
Having witnessed war firsthand, the author is not against peace; however, peace should never be confused with submission, pressure-driven concessions, or the unquestioned acceptance of the victor’s narrative.
Written by Sose Kharatyan, Edited by Yoana Kartova
Photo Credit: The White House (Uploaded August 8, 2025) on The White House
