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Akbar Novruz

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Former Armenian President Serzh Sargsyan has once again returned to the political stage with inflammatory remarks about the future of Armenia’s government. Speaking to supporters, he declared that “the issue of a change of government in Armenia has always been on our agenda,” openly suggesting impeachment of Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan while drawing a disturbing parallel to recent violent protests in Nepal. By contrasting the “Nepalese way” of removing governments, through bloodshed, with the “French way” of parliamentary procedure, Sargsyan implied that violence is also an option in Armenia’s political arena.

Such rhetoric is not new in Armenia’s turbulent political landscape. However, when voiced by a former head of state, it takes on a particularly troubling dimension, one that threatens to reignite old divisions and undermine fragile democratic progress. Sargsyan’s words seem calculated to stoke anxiety within the government, rally disenchanted supporters, and maintain his own relevance in the national conversation. But Armenians, having endured decades of political instability and the failures of previous regimes, show little enthusiasm for a return to violence or for leadership tainted by corruption and stagnation.

By invoking the “Nepalese way” of regime change, Serzh Sargsyan sent a reckless signal to Armenian society and its government: that violent upheaval is a possible path to power. Even if framed as a comparison, such rhetoric represents political blackmail rather than a constructive alternative. It is a deliberate attempt to sow instability, to exert psychological pressure on Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan, and to prepare the opposition base for renewed street protests.

Armenia’s political landscape, however, offers little space for such radicalism. Unlike Nepal, the conditions for violent overthrow do not exist. Armenia’s political processes remain largely parliamentary, and though street protests have erupted in the past, the prospect of them escalating into a coup d’état is highly unlikely. Sargsyan’s words therefore carry less the weight of strategy than of frustration. They are the words of a politician trying to claw back relevance in a country that has repeatedly rejected him.

The Ministry of Foreign Affairs’ recent reminder that stability remains a priority reflects this reality: inflammatory rhetoric undermines state institutions and risks further isolating Armenia on the international stage. Ironically, Sargsyan’s threats may end up strengthening Pashinyan’s hand abroad, reinforcing him as the lesser evil compared to an opposition that openly flirts with violent models of power change.

But if there is one thing Armenians know well, it is Sargsyan himself. They remember the spring of 2018, when his attempt to extend his rule by shifting into the prime minister’s chair ignited the “Velvet Revolution.” Tens of thousands of citizens filled Yerevan’s streets, joined by soldiers, officials, and even police. Portraits of Sargsyan were trampled underfoot, a vivid symbol of a people’s contempt for a leader they saw as corrupt, entrenched, and out of touch. Within weeks, he was forced to resign, admitting: “Nikol Pashinyan was right. I was wrong.”

That resignation was supposed to be the end. Yet like many from the old guard, Sargsyan harbored hopes of a comeback, especially after Armenia’s defeat in the 44-day war of 2020, when Pashinyan’s ratings took a sharp hit. But when snap elections came in 2021, the verdict was clear: Pashinyan’s Civil Contract won decisively, while Sargsyan’s Republican bloc barely scraped past 5%. The message was unambiguous, Armenians did not want to return to the past.

Since then, Sargsyan’s approval rating has sunk to a political footnote is at its direst point. His name evokes memories of corruption, cronyism, and stagnation, scars that have not healed. This is why his new talk of regime change does not resonate as a credible plan but as the rant of a man consigned to the margins, still trying to appear relevant by conjuring threats he cannot deliver on.

The real question today is not whether Serzh Sargsyan can engineer a “change of government.” That question has already been answered in the streets of Yerevan in 2018 and at the ballot box in 2021. The real question is whether he can remain out of prison and keep hold of his wealth. Everything else, his invocations of Nepal, his lectures on impeachment, his warnings of instability, is the hollow rhetoric of a man long dethroned, still haunted by the loss of power he once thought eternal.

For Armenia, the danger lies not in his capacity to act, but in his capacity to incite. Words, after all, once released, cannot be caught again.