Zatulin’s speech exposes Kremlin’s anxiety over post-Karabakh order [OPINION]

In the world of politics, much like on a chessboard, the pieces and the logic by which they operate vary widely. This is particularly evident among certain members of Russia’s State Duma who have gained notoriety for political rhetoric driven not by reasoned argument, but by ideological theses. One such figure is Konstantin Zatulin, who at times appears to be attempting to assume the role once played by Vladimir Zhirinovsky. Yet the absurdities he routinely utters end up damaging not only his own credibility, but also the public image of Russia’s political elite as a whole.

The recent speech by Mr Zatulin, a Russian politician and deputy in the State Duma, delivered at the Armenian Apostolic Church’s main cathedral in Moscow, deserves close attention. At first glance, one might dismiss his remarks as mere rhetoric. Yet those familiar with Russia’s political machinery know that figures like Zatulin often serve as unofficial mouthpieces for the Kremlin—saying aloud what Moscow itself prefers to keep between the lines. When convenient, the Russian state embraces their words; when not, it dismisses them as “personal opinions.” That is precisely why Zatulin’s speech should be read carefully, especially its subtext.

The message was clear: Russia does not want peace between Armenia and Azerbaijan. The Kremlin, bogged down in Ukraine, lacks the capacity to halt the peace process outright, but it hopes to reignite the long-buried Karabakh conflict. Its strategy hinges on the 2026 Armenian elections, where Moscow aims to restore the so-called “Karabakh clique” to power—at any cost. Zatulin’s attack on Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan was not accidental; it was part of a broader campaign to undermine him and reassert Russia’s grip on Yerevan.

I will honestly admit that Armenia's defeat in 2020 was more than a reality as it demonstrated Azerbaijan’s transformation into a modern military power. Technologically and tactically, Azerbaijan’s armed forces outmatched Armenia many times over, and in several areas rivalled larger regional actors, such as Iran, Turkiye, and even Russia.

However, being honest, I must say that Pashinyan was not the architect of Armenia’s defeat in the 44-day war. That responsibility lies squarely with the Karabakh clique, whose thirty-year rule crippled the Armenian state, hollowed out its economy, and isolated the country regionally. Their legacy includes corruption so brazen that even railway tracks and sleepers along the Araz River were dismantled and sold.

The reality today is stark: the Karabakh conflict is over, and new regional dynamics have emerged. Russia, however, refuses to accept them. Moscow fears that a peace treaty between Armenia and Azerbaijan would spell the end of its influence in the South Caucasus—and beyond.

In detail, Russia offers no real opportunities to countries in the region under its “sphere of influence,” only fear and coercion. History proves that those who defy this sphere of influence thrive. Thirty years ago, Azerbaijan showed Russia the door. Despite initial hardships, the Azerbaijani economy has since grown 140-fold, rebuilding its infrastructure to a standard that now surpasses Russia’s own. Similarly, Poland and the Baltic states enjoy a per capita income nearly double that of Russia. Conversely, nations that remain tethered to Moscow—like Armenia under the Karabakh clique—are left with nothing.

Zatulin cannot conceal the truth, though he works tirelessly to obscure it. He knows the realities all too well, yet cloaks them in diplomatic varnish. Russia’s failure to intervene during the 44-Day War was not simply a tactical calculation—it was an admission of weakness. With the Ukraine conflict draining its resources, Moscow recognized that it lacked the capacity to confront a state as militarily advanced as Azerbaijan.

In his speech, Zatulin repeatedly credited Turkiye for Azerbaijan’s battlefield success, portraying Russia’s passivity as a gesture of goodwill toward Ankara. This is a deliberate misdirection. The Kremlin’s silence was not about preserving ties with Turkey; it was about avoiding a direct clash with Azerbaijan’s modernised war machine. To acknowledge this would be to concede that Azerbaijan has become a model of defiance—proof that resistance to Moscow’s dominance is not only possible but effective. Zatulin’s rhetorical contortions are designed precisely to prevent such an admission, even as the facts speak for themselves.

True to tradition, Russia now resorts to threats. Zatulin warned that Armenians in Russia would be branded traitors if Pashinyan remains in power, and hinted that once the war in Ukraine ends, Moscow will “settle accounts” with its neighbours. This is intimidation, pure and simple.

The choice before Armenians is stark. In 2026, they can vote for progress, show resolve, and shut the door on Russia—or they can return the Karabakh clique to power and sink deeper into decline. Russia is not a rising star but a fading one, unable to help itself, let alone its neighbours. The only chains Armenians risk losing are those fastened by the Karabakh clique itself.