Armenia is heading for a parliamentary election that could determine whether the country continues its drift towards the West or submits to the Kremlin's tightening hold. The vote, triggered by months of protests over a controversial peace deal with Azerbaijan, comes as Moscow deepens its influence through economic levers and military bases.
For ordinary Armenians, the political battle is a kitchen-table issue. The cost of bread has risen by 15% in the last year, and energy bills have soared as Russia, Armenia's main gas supplier, increases prices. The national currency, the dram, has weakened, squeezing household budgets. A schoolteacher in Yerevan told me: 'We hear talk of democracy and sovereignty, but we struggle to put food on the table. Who cares about geopolitics when you can't afford heating?'
Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan, who came to power on a wave of anti-corruption protests in 2018, now faces a resurgent opposition backed by Moscow. The pro-Russian bloc is gaining ground, promising lower gas prices and closer ties with the Eurasian Economic Union, Russia's trade bloc. But critics say that would mean accepting Russian military dominance and abandoning the dream of European integration.
The election is a test of whether Armenia's fragile democracy can survive Russian pressure. The Kremlin has already shown its hand: in February, it blocked Armenian exports to Russia, citing 'sanitary concerns', a move widely seen as political blackmail. Meanwhile, Russian peacekeepers remain stationed in Nagorno-Karabakh, a region at the heart of the conflict with Azerbaijan. For many Armenians, the choice is between a flawed independence and a return to a familiar, but constraining, embrace.
Labour unions, a traditional force in Armenian politics, are watching closely. They have backed Pashinyan in the past, but now worry about job losses as Russian sanctions on the West divert trade flows. 'We need jobs, not flags,' a union leader said. 'If Russia closes its markets, we starve. But if we bow to Moscow, we lose our soul.'
The economy, tied to Russia's by Soviet-era infrastructure, leaves Armenia vulnerable. Remittances from Armenians working in Russia account for 12% of GDP. Any sudden shift in relations could devastate families who depend on that money. Small business owners in Gyumri, a city near the Turkish border, fear the worst. 'I sell dried fruits to Russia. If they cut us off, my family is ruined. But I also want my children to choose their own future,' one trader said.
Regional inequality adds to the tension. Rural areas, where Russian language and culture remain strong, lean towards Moscow. The capital, Yerevan, is more Western-facing. The election map will reflect this divide, with urban votes likely to support Pashinyan and rural ones swinging towards the opposition. The outcome may hinge on the diaspora, which has bankrolled pro-Western causes but cannot vote.
International observers expect a tight race. Accusations of fraud are already flying, with both sides claiming foreign interference. The government has warned of Russian disinformation campaigns; the opposition accuses Pashinyan of using state resources to campaign. What is clear is that the result will resonate far beyond Armenia's borders. For the West, it is a test of whether democracy can survive in Russia's backyard. For the Kremlin, it is a chance to reassert control over a former Soviet republic.
As one Yerevan pensioner put it, 'We are pawns in a bigger game. But we are the ones who pay the price.' The election next month will show whether Armenians can chart their own course, or whether the weight of history and the reality of the gas bill will pull them back east.
