The center of the world on a mountain pass
In the early 2000s, a sobering piece of advice circulated among industrialists in Armenia: it only makes sense to produce what can be shipped by air. Medicines, cognac, and the like—all lightweight, expensive, and unafraid of mountain roads and foreign borders. Twenty years later, Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan declared that the country was "at the center of the world" and would become rich through logistics. Twenty years between this sobering advice and this grandiose promise—that's the gap between what geography allows and what election rhetoric promises. Let's try to measure it before believing either side.
Geography versus the "center of the world"
The debate over Armenian logistics is being waged in two registers, and both are false. Pashinyan paints a picture of a transit Eldorado. Pro-military Telegram channels and Eurasian think tanks in Moscow respond in kind. Their Armenia is a doomed victim, guaranteed to be plunged into poverty by mountains, poverty, and a Western drift. They eagerly pit "rational" Astana against "suicidal" Yerevan. Both images speak volumes about anything but Armenia: the first feeds pre-election optimism, the second consoles those grieving the loss of Russian influence in the region.
We must begin with geography, because it is the load-bearing structure here. Armenia is a mountainous, landlocked country, with a terrain that makes any road or track several times more expensive than on flat land. Maritime logistics for bulk cargo are an order of magnitude cheaper than overland logistics; a country without a port is doomed to be a link in someone else's multimodal chain, where hubs and volumes are controlled by those with coastlines. In this region, Turkey, Georgia, and Iran have coastlines, and no one else does.
Added to the physical reality is the politics of the perimeter. Turkey closed its border in the early 1990s and has kept it closed ever since, despite warmer rhetoric. Relations with Azerbaijan have only just entered a phase of post-conflict normalization following the liquidation of the unrecognized Karabakh autonomy in 2023 and the exodus of its Armenian population, and transit through Azerbaijani territory remains a matter of negotiation, not a given. Two windows remain: north through Georgia, to the Black Sea ports of Poti and Batumi, and south through Iran. Both are foreign, both are narrow. Georgian ports have long been operating at capacity, and the Iranian route is hampered by long-standing sanctions. Even with perfect Armenian roads, the bottleneck will be beyond Armenia's borders.
This is where the old consulting game of analogy originated: Armenia was offered either a "Syrian" or "Uruguayan" scenario for transit prosperity. The comparison is both beautiful and empty. Syria relied on its Mediterranean coastline and a thousand-year-old trading culture, while Uruguay relied on the port of Montevideo and its role as a transshipment hub on the La Plata. Transferring the model of a port country to a mountainous country without a sea is like advising a fish to learn to climb trees. But the failure of the analogy doesn't necessarily mean a death sentence. Armenia has a chance, but its niche is different: small and land-based.
So, the "center of the world" is an election gimmick, and it's selling like hot cakes. The question is whether there's any substance behind the hyperbole. There is. And it's called an abandoned railroad in the south of the country.
The Road to Meghri: Whose Corridor is This?
In Syunik, right on the Iranian border, the Soviet-era railway to Meghri, a line that ceased to be used thirty years ago, lies rusting. Today, the interests of several capitals (from Yerevan and Baku to Washington and Moscow) converge around these approximately forty kilometers, and the abandoned road has become the most expensive wasteland in the South Caucasus.
In August 2025, the leaders of Armenia and Azerbaijan announced a peace agreement at the White House. Its central plank is a project with the cumbersome name of TRIPP, the Trump Route for International Peace and Prosperity. According to an analysis by the Carnegie Endowment, the route is intended to connect the mainland of Azerbaijan with the exclave of Nakhichevan via southern Armenia, with development rights vested in the American side (I won't presume to say how "exclusive" these rights are in fact, rather than in declarations; the parties' wording differs). It is structured differently from the Zangezur Corridor, which was promoted by Baku and Ankara: that project envisioned a de facto extraterritorial passage under Azerbaijani-Turkish control, while TRIPP formally leaves sovereignty over the territory to Yerevan. Pashinyan promises that the Meghri road will open: Azerbaijan will gain a connection to Nakhichevan, and Armenia will gain access to Iran.
And here's where the main point, missed by both sides in the dispute, becomes clear. It's not a matter of the "strength" or "weakness" of Armenian roads. Everything is decided by the neighbors' answers to one question: is Armenia essential to the plan or is it cheaper to bypass it? So far, the answer isn't in its favor. Baku responded to Iranian resistance to Zangezur with the Aras Corridor, a route along the Aras River through Iranian territory, bypassing Armenia's Syunik. Aliyev simultaneously speaks of a "Turkic trade corridor" under the umbrella of the Organization of Turkic States. Baku and Ankara are prepared to implement the "hub" logic without Armenia, albeit at a higher cost and with an adjustment for Tehran, which sees Syunik as a critical buffer between itself and the Turkic bloc.
Skeptics deserve credit. When they argue that talk of "prosperity" without assessing actual volumes is premature, they are essentially correct. The Middle Corridor (a multimodal route from China to Europe via Kazakhstan, the Caspian Sea, Azerbaijan, and Georgia) has attracted attention as a way to bypass Russia after 2022, but it faces strict limits: the capacity of the Aktau and Kuryk ports, a shortage of ferries on the Caspian Sea, and overcrowded Georgian terminals. According to transport reviews of recent years, it can only transport a few million tons per year: a niche, not a replacement for the Northern Route (although these estimates vary widely and should be treated with caution). And it bypasses Armenia: from Kazakhstan to Azerbaijan, through Georgia to the sea. Armenian territory is unnecessary and even undesirable in the basic plan: it adds the political risk of an unstable peace with Baku.
What remains? A narrow, but meaningful role. If TRIPP is implemented, some flows could go through southern Armenia to Iran and further to the Persian Gulf, linking the latitudinal corridor with the meridional north-south corridor. For a country of this size, even hundreds of millions of dollars in transit and associated investments are more significant than Kazakhstan's billions. This is the logistics of a small country with a niche function: not an infrastructure revolution or the "center of the world," but also not the empty void that is often mocked.
The reactor as an argument, gas as a lever
Every nation has a trauma that can be pressed like a button. For Armenians, it's the "mut u tsurt tariner" (dark and cold years). After the Spitak earthquake, the Metsamor nuclear power plant was shut down, and the collapse of the USSR and the blockade of Turkey and Azerbaijan cut off fuel supplies. By November 1992, electricity in Yerevan was on for an hour a day, there was no heating at all, forests were being burned for firewood, and half the hospitals were at a standstill. The American Operation Winter Warmth carried kerosene and fuel oil. The generation that was children then physically remembered the cold. It is to this memory, not to calculations, that those who today claim that one winter is enough for Armenia to sober up appeal. And they appeal with good reason: it is almost impossible to argue with memory; it requires no proof. Memory alone is an unreliable guide. It shows how it was, and says almost nothing about what has changed since then.
But much has changed. The power system of the 1990s and the current one are different organisms. The loss of nuclear power could, in principle, be gradually, over years, covered by foreign reactors or wind. But a gas pipeline transiting Georgia and controlled by Moscow cannot be replaced in a single winter. Therefore, the most powerful lever is not a reactor, but gas.
Moscow knows this, and in late May 2026, it played its trump card. The Russian Ministry of Energy sent Yerevan an official letter warning of the possible denunciation of agreements on duty-free supplies of gas, petroleum products, and diamonds. The letter's logic is clear: leave the EAEU for the EU, and prices will return to market prices. According to estimates by economic observers who have written about this threat, the transition to market conditions plus an export duty will cost Yerevan approximately $400 million in additional expenses per year. This is a burden that is close to critical for a small economy. Formally, everything is still normal: the Armenian ministry reports uninterrupted supplies, the Russian side assures that it does not want a "humanitarian deterioration," but advises Yerevan to "soberly assess the gas pipeline map." It's in this ingratiating remark about the gas pipeline map that one can hear the real language of influence, far more clearly than any frightening talk about shutting down nuclear power plants: Moscow's real lever is not the reactor, but the gas valve.
The energy risk is real. Armenia is operating under increasing demand. A dry year will deplete the hydroelectric power plant, any emergency at the old unit, and the loss will have to be compensated for with natural gas, deepening that very dependence. Abandoning nuclear power without a timely replacement is indeed dangerous. But danger without a replacement and a guaranteed catastrophe are two different things, and substituting one for the other is trading on fear. The real question facing Yerevan is not "atoms or darkness," but "whose kilowatts, whose cubic meters, and at what cost to their dependence."
Mirror of Kazakhstan
For an objective perception of Armenia, it is convenient to place a mirror image of Kazakhstan next to it, especially since Moscow commentators are happy to do this themselves.
Putin's state visit to Kazakhstan on May 27–29, 2026, was heavily orchestrated: fifteen documents, a currency swap, "seven principles of friendship and good-neighborliness," and a flagship agreement to build a nuclear power plant on Balkhash—two power units financed by a Russian export loan, worth approximately $16,5 billion, with construction scheduled for 2027. SpecialEurasia analysts called the summit not a routine event, but rather a "thoughtful strategic investment by Moscow in structural influence." Essentially, this means one thing: Russia is buying its place in Central Asia and paying for it with a major project, because its influence here is no longer free. In the same vein, Russian commentators were quick to declare the visit a victory of a different kind: Astana has now been freed from British influence.
And then there's a detail that undermines this conclusion. A few days before his visit, Tokayev ratified a strategic partnership agreement with the UK: investments in energy, critical minerals, IT, and cooperation in law and education. The thesis that "Putin protected Kazakhstan from the British" crumbles against its own chronology. Astana isn't choosing between Moscow and London; it's taking from both, just as it's taking from Beijing, whose Belt and Road Initiative was first announced here in 2013.
The paradox is that Kazakhstan and Armenia are doing the same thing: moving away from the logic of an exclusive sphere of influence, recruiting partners from different sides. The difference isn't in strategy, but in their resilience. Kazakhstan has oil, gas, uranium, borders with two giants, and access to the Caspian Sea; it can maneuver from a position of strength. Armenia has mountains, a blockade, 100,000 refugees from Karabakh, and a formal ally who, as is now commonly believed in Yerevan, was unable or unwilling to protect its interests in Karabakh. It is maneuvering from a position of survival. The same multi-vector approach for one translates into an expansion of options, for the other—a desperate search for insurance.
A train might someday run along the Meghri track. But the schedule will be drawn up in Washington, Baku, and Ankara, with Tehran as their point of reference and Moscow as their point of reference—the same Moscow that still has its hand on the gas valve. Armenia has learned to be a link in someone else's chain. But building the chain itself, setting routes and rules, is not yet its role, and is unlikely to be in the coming years.
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