From Margara To Zangezur: Armenia’s Winding Roads To Regional Reintegration

In the shifting geopolitical landscape of the South Caucasus, Armenia finds itself at a decisive juncture. After decades of isolation, Yerevan is exploring ways to break free from its blockade, open its borders, and reconnect to regional trade and transport networks. Yet the sequencing of these moves, whether to normalise ties with Turkiye first or conclude peace with Azerbaijan, remains fraught with uncertainty, political risk, and financial constraints.

Even Armenia’s border crossings are in a state of neglect, which slows down the country’s rapid integration process. For over thirty years, the Margara crossing point on the Armenian–Turkish border has stood idle, a rusting monument to hostility born of war and geopolitics. The closure of the border in the early 1990s, triggered by Armenia’s conflict with Azerbaijan, has left the country landlocked, with trade and transport funnelling almost exclusively through Georgia and, until recently, Russia.

The Armenian government, led by Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan, now signals a desire to open Margara and restore at least partial economic connectivity with Turkiye. Ankara, for its part, has cautiously hinted at readiness, but with one clear condition: the normalisation track cannot bypass the core issue of peace with Azerbaijan. Turkiye and Azerbaijan coordinate closely, and few in Brussels or Washington expect Ankara to break ranks.

But Yerevan faces a very serious question mark: Is there money for all this, even if things go well? It’s not that daunting, though. Even if Ankara and Yerevan could reach an agreement, Armenia faces another fundamental problem: money. Infrastructure on both sides of the border has deteriorated. Roads and checkpoints require modernisation, while the railway link is virtually defunct. The same applies to the Zangezur Corridor, officially branded by some as the Trump Route for International Peace and Prosperity (TRIPP), which promises to link Azerbaijan with its exclave of Nakhchivan through modern Armenia.

Yet Yerevan has not allocated meaningful budgetary resources to upgrade its section of the route. With public finances already under strain, Armenia is in no position to shoulder the costs of rail reconstruction, customs infrastructure, and road improvements without external financing. The EU could, in theory, step in, but its appetite for funding large-scale projects in Armenia remains limited, especially while the geopolitical picture is unclear.

But this does not mean that Yerevan should be imagined in such a pitiful state. After the war (Second Garabagh War – 2020), even before the start of peace negotiations, Armenia was eager to spend a huge amount of money from the state budget to purchase the most expensive artillery and assault weapons. This enthusiasm created such a feeling that Yerevan was even ready to gamble all its national income on a military arsenal. However, over time, seeing itself disconnected from the economic chain in the South Caucasus, Armenia decided to suddenly change the helm of the ship sailing towards nowhere. Although it took a step back, it did not feel confident in itself. Part of the hesitation stems from scepticism within the Armenian political class. Many still view the Zangezur Corridor as a threat to sovereignty rather than an opportunity for integration. Yerevan has not held substantive joint discussions with Baku on the corridor’s future, even as Azerbaijan has completed significant sections of its own infrastructure. To some in Armenia, the corridor symbolises vulnerability, a channel through which Baku could project influence.

This mindset, however, risks leaving Armenia further behind. If Azerbaijan and Turkiye push ahead with alternative routes, Yerevan could find itself bypassed altogether, cementing rather than alleviating its isolation.

Let’s not exclude Russia’s lingering shadow, which cannot take its eyes off the Caucasus.

Indeed, adding complexity to the picture is the Kremlin. Although Armenia has distanced itself from Moscow since the 2020 war and the 2023 withdrawal of Russian peacekeepers from Garabagh, the Kremlin still retains considerable leverage. Russia has traditionally opposed Western-backed connectivity projects that bypass its territory.

For Moscow, the Zangezur Corridor is a double-edged sword: it could facilitate trade with Turkiye and the Middle East, but only if Russia remains embedded in the process. Without Russian guarantees, Armenia faces the spectre of economic or political retaliation. Paşinyan’s government, aware of this, treads cautiously.

This is also true economically. Armenia, which has been unable to leave the Eurasian Trade Organization for many years, had a trade income from the organization of $12 billion in 2024. Despite this, Yerevan is doing its best to integrate into Europe, but the fact that its trade income from the EU is six times lower puts an end to all arguments.

In this case, can Brussels help Armenia escape Moscow’s shadow? The EU has deepened its monitoring presence in Armenia and expanded political dialogue, but hard commitments to protect Yerevan from Russian pressure are still absent. European leaders talk of supporting Armenia’s sovereignty and independence, yet shy away from promises that might draw them into direct confrontation with Moscow.

For Armenia, this creates a credibility gap. Without firm EU guarantees, Paşinyan risks overplaying his hand, antagonising Russia while not securing enough Western support to withstand the blowback.

For this reason, the Armenian Prime Minister considers neighboring Turkiye to be the most profitable alternative for his country and knows that the most optimal option to reduce the country’s dependence on the North-South corridor, that also crosses Russia, is the road passing through Ankara.

Now, a core question remains: can Yerevan open its border with Turkiye before sealing peace with Azerbaijan? The short answer is: unlikely. Turkiye has consistently tied normalisation with Armenia to progress on the Armenian–Azerbaijani peace track. Ankara might permit some confidence-building measures, such as opening Margara for limited trade or humanitarian use, but full restoration of relations without Baku’s blessing is improbable.

From Ankara’s perspective, the sequencing is clear: no bypassing Baku. For Yerevan, the risk of miscalculation is high. Attempting to cut a deal with Turkiye alone could trigger harsher positions from Azerbaijan, undermining the already fragile peace talks.

Ultimately, the fate of Armenia’s connectivity depends on a comprehensive peace agreement with Azerbaijan. Such a deal would necessarily include provisions for the Zangezur Corridor/Trump Route, clarifying legal frameworks, security arrangements, and sovereignty concerns. Only then could Armenia realistically attract international financing and private investment to modernise its transport infrastructure.

If successful, the outcome would be transformative. An open border with Turkiye, functioning east–west transit routes, and participation in regional supply chains could help Armenia break out of decades of isolation. It would also reduce dependence on Russia and expand the country’s economic horizons toward Europe, the Middle East, and Central Asia.

Yet this future is not guaranteed. Armenia’s fiscal limitations, political hesitations, and geopolitical vulnerability combine to create significant risks. Without bold decisions, the opportunity to integrate into regional trade networks could slip away. Conversely, if Yerevan aligns peace with Azerbaijan, normalisation with Turkiye, and infrastructural investment, the South Caucasus could witness a new era of cooperation rather than conflict.

For now, the spark of possibility glimmers faintly. Armenia’s challenge is to fan it into flame before scepticism, external pressure, or inertia snuff it out.