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Akbar Novruz

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The confrontation between Armenia’s political leadership and the Armenian Apostolic Church has moved from quiet tension to open conflict at a highly sensitive moment. As elections approach, the dispute has taken on a political dimension that extends far beyond questions of religious reform. It now touches on state authority, national identity, and the limits of power in a system that is undergoing rapid transformation.

The government’s actions toward the church, the opposition, and key electoral mechanisms point to a broader attempt to redefine the rules of political competition. What is unfolding is not merely a conflict between personalities, but a contest over who controls the pillars of influence in Armenian society, the state, the church, and the electorate.

Two powerful camps are increasingly defining the battlefield: on one side, the architects of a so-called “new Armenia,” rallied around Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan; on the other, the traditional pillars of Armenian political life, where the church occupies a central, if increasingly contested, role. The confrontation between these forces is not incidental. It is structural, deliberate, and unfolding at a moment when institutional trust is already fragile.

Pashinyan’s strategy appears increasingly focused on pre-emptive control. His aim is not merely to win elections, but to enter them with as few unpredictable variables as possible. This logic explains his parallel moves against political opponents and institutional rivals. The Homeland Party and its leader, Artur Vanetsyan, remain a key concern in this context. By tightening pressure during local elections and keeping Vanetsyan under constant political and legal scrutiny, Pashinyan is effectively neutralizing a figure who could otherwise consolidate anti-government sentiment within the security-minded and pro-Russian segments of society.

The issue, however, goes beyond ordinary political rivalry. Allegations that investigations into electoral irregularities are being selectively funded or facilitated by the ruling camp raise uncomfortable questions about process integrity. Armenia has seen this pattern before: revelations of fraud, followed by promises of reform, followed by new investigations that conveniently reshape the political field ahead of major votes. Each cycle reinforces instability rather than resolving it.

Vanetsyan, for his part, has chosen a sharply ideological line of attack. He openly challenges Armenia’s growing alignment with the European Union, portraying it as a strategic illusion, while presenting Russia and the CSTO as Armenia’s only reliable security anchors. This narrative resonates with constituencies unsettled by regional uncertainty and skeptical of Western guarantees. Yet, its effectiveness depends heavily on whether these voices can organize in an environment where political space is narrowing.

The most explosive front, however, lies elsewhere, within the Armenian Apostolic Church. The government’s adoption of a declaration outlining a roadmap for church “reforms,” including the removal of Catholicos Karekin II, marks an unprecedented escalation. Formally, the document speaks the language of transparency, accountability, and institutional renewal. Politically, it signals the prime minister’s intention to resolve the church question before the elections, and at almost any cost.

Reports in Armenian media suggest that Pashinyan is prepared to apply administrative and security pressure to achieve this outcome swiftly. The involvement of bishops who oppose the Catholicos, the alleged monitoring of church services by security agencies, and instructions to exclude Karekin II’s name from liturgy all point to a direct state intrusion into ecclesiastical life. Critics argue this violates the constitutional separation of church and state; supporters counter that the church itself has long overstepped its moral and political boundaries.

Here lies the paradox. The church is not acting as a unified opposition force. Parts of it tacitly accommodate Pashinyan, while other segments maintain informal links with revanchist and separatist circles. This dual role is rooted in historical precedent. During the conflict over Garabagh, elements within the Armenian Apostolic Church were actively involved in nationalist mobilization, blessing armed detachments and legitimizing separatist claims. Such actions not only heightened the threat to Azerbaijan but also contributed to internal instability within Armenia itself, leaving a legacy of politicized faith that continues to shape today’s church–state tensions.

This role weakens its moral authority and turns it into a contested political instrument rather than a unifying institution. In this sense, the conflict is not simply about faith or tradition, is about control over narratives of identity, defeat, and future direction.

Crucially, this trajectory did not serve Armenia’s long-term interests. By embedding the church in a project of armed separatism, spiritual authority became tied to military outcomes. When those outcomes collapsed, so did much of the church’s moral standing. Today’s erosion of trust is therefore not accidental; it is the delayed cost of politicizing faith in the service of conflict.

Supporters of the prime minister insist that society stands firmly behind him, at least for now. They argue that Karekin II’s alleged misconduct has eroded his legitimacy beyond repair and that the public wants a “cleansing” of the Holy See. If this assessment holds, Pashinyan’s calculation is clear: breaking the church’s resistance now will deepen public apathy, demoralize the opposition, and lower the political cost of re-election.

Externally, this internal struggle intersects with Armenia’s geopolitical recalibration. The first half of 2026 is expected to bring intensified Armenia–EU contacts, with visa liberalization emerging as a key mobilizing promise ahead of the parliamentary elections. A symbolic or practical breakthrough with Brussels in late spring could provide Pashinyan with a powerful narrative of progress. At the same time, both Yerevan and Moscow appear inclined to keep relations on cautious autopilot until at least spring 2026, avoiding sharp escalations while the domestic picture settles.

Taken together, these dynamics reveal a familiar Armenian pattern: elections shaped less by policy debates than by controlled confrontations, managed crises, and institutional pressure. The church–state clash, the sidelining of opposition figures, and recurring investigations into electoral conduct all point to a system where political stability is pursued through dominance rather than consensus.

Whether this approach secures long-term legitimacy is another matter. What is clear is that Armenia is entering the next elections not merely divided between parties, but fractured between visions of identity, authority, and alignment. And in that fractured space, the altar and the ballot have become inseparably intertwined.