In a move that surprised precisely nobody who has ever glanced at a map, Russia has begun applying the diplomatic equivalent of a sleeper hold to Armenia, which has had the audacity to consider looking westward for friends. The Kremlin, clearly miffed that its former Soviet playmate might fancy a dance with NATO, has turned up the heat faster than a samovar in a sauna.
Armenia’s dalliance with the West, a tentative flirtation that has involved U.S. military exercises and talk of EU alignment, has sent Moscow into a paroxysm of pique. Cue the usual theatre: economic pressure, veiled threats, and the creaking deployment of hardware in the Caucasus. It is a script as tired as a Moscow bureaucrat’s trousers, but performed with the same grim earnestness.
Enter the UK, stage left, clutching a defence pact with Tbilisi. Yes, Georgia, the other Caucasus nation that knows a thing or two about Russian bear hugs. This pact is being touted as vital, a bulwark against creeping Kremlin influence. But let us be honest: it is a bit like bringing a water pistol to a nuclear arms race. Still, it is a gesture, a polite cough in the face of a tsunami.
The timing is exquisite. As Armenia’s Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan flirts with Brussels, Moscow’s response has been to crank up the rhetoric and the muscle. There are reports of Russian border guards tightening screws, and whispers of energy price hikes. It is the kind of pressure that makes a country reconsider whether that EU flag is worth the hassle.
Yet for all the sabre-rattling, there is a whiff of desperation in the Kremlin’s air. Russia’s clout is not what it was. The war in Ukraine has bled resources and attention. Meanwhile, the West, despite its schizophrenic foreign policy, continues to probe the edges of former Soviet space. The UK’s pact with Georgia is part of this probing, a small but meaningful signal.
But what does Tbilisi get out of it? A smile and a handshake from London? Some joint exercises and a pat on the head? It is better than a boot in the face, but not by much. Georgia is no stranger to Russian aggression; it has the scars to prove it. This pact might give it some comfort, but it will not stop Russian tanks if the order comes.
And Armenia? It is caught between the rock of Russian anger and the hard place of Western promises. The people of Yerevan dream of European integration, but the reality is that geography is a stubborn thing. Russia remains a neighbour, a bulky, unpredictable one with a long memory.
So here we are, watching the great game play out again, with the usual cast of characters. Putin plays the heavy, the West the spurned lover, and the Caucasus the hapless dupe. This is politics as usual, but with the added spice of a cocktail of gin-soaked cynicism. Cheers, everyone.
In the end, the UK’s pact with Georgia is a noble gesture, but it is a sticking plaster on a bullet wound. The only real solution is a strategy that acknowledges the limits of power and the stubbornness of reality. Until then, we shall watch, write, and occasionally weep into our gin.
