When the Lie Is Called Wisdom: Serzh Sargsyan’s “Confession” as an Act of Political Cynicism
Serzh Sargsyan has once again mocked common sense. He has chosen to test the public’s patience, memory, and basic ability to distinguish truth from cynical political falsehoods yet again. If Armenia’s third president addresses the public eight years after his resignation in the language of cheap self-justification — attempting to present himself simultaneously as victim, prophet, and savior — the Public Tribunal will respond accordingly, without undue delicacy toward those who no longer respect the truth.
Serzh Sargsyan’s statement was not a political position, but outright mockery.
It was a mockery of the memory of the fallen, of the thousands of families who lost their sons in the 44-day war, of Armenians displaced from Artsakh, and ultimately of the very notions of honor and dignity.
When the individual who personally constructed the political system that led Armenia to national catastrophe claims he was “right,” this is not mere hypocrisy, but the highest degree of cynicism.
Sargsyan states:
“I was wrong to think we could explain to our people…”
By his own words, the problem was that he “failed to explain to the people” why he needed to break his promise and remain in power. What a regret.
According to this logic, the problem was not that he deceived the public in 2014 by promising not to run for prime minister after the constitutional reform; not that he decided to run for prime minister in April 2018, triggering a mass political crisis; not his political adventurism that resulted in a revolutionary change of power. The problem, instead, was the people who “would not listen.” How convenient.
In his statements, Sargsyan employed a formulation remarkable in its audacity:
“I was wrong while being right.”
Apparently, this is a new philosophy of political irresponsibility, in which a politician undermines trust in state institutions, provokes a large-scale power crisis, and hands the country over to forces he himself considers destructive — only to later claim he was right, merely misunderstood.
By this logic, Armenia’s recent catastrophe becomes nothing more than the tragedy of a misunderstood genius. Perhaps the Republican Party, which voted for Nikol Pashinyan in May 2018, was also “right,” and those same Republicans who warned that Artsakh would be lost and then transferred power to Pashinyan might also be portrayed as heroes of unrecognized wisdom.
Yet the real truth is far simpler and far more troubling.
It was Serzh Sargsyan who initiated the 2015 constitutional reform, shifting the country to a parliamentary system. It was Serzh Sargsyan who publicly promised not to seek the post of prime minister afterward — only to break that promise and retain power in April 2018. His decision to assume the premiership activated the mechanism of the “velvet revolution.” It was Serzh Sargsyan’s Republican Party that ensured Nikol Pashinyan’s election as prime minister in May 2018.
This was not a sequence of accidental decisions, but the consistent implementation of a deliberate course.
Now he attempts to present himself as an outside observer who merely sought to save Armenia.
If that were the case, why did he relinquish power without resistance? Why did the Republican Party — whose members warned in parliament on May 1, 2018, that Pashinyan would lead the country to disaster — ensure his election just days later?
Arman Saghatelyan openly warned of an anti-Armenian scenario. Eduard Sharmazanov stated he did not view Pashinyan as a Supreme Commander-in-Chief. Armen Ashotyan declared that Pashinyan’s rise would mark “the beginning of Armenia’s end.”
If all this was understood from the outset, why did Serzh Sargsyan’s party vote in favor of Pashinyan? What, then, is the purpose of today’s lamentations over Artsakh?
Today, Sargsyan attempts to convince the public that the tragedy occurred because “the negotiator was changed.” He claims that there would have been neither war nor defeat had he remained in power. This assertion does not withstand scrutiny.
If Serzh Sargsyan believed that Pashinyan’s rise would endanger Artsakh, then his decision to transfer power was either a grave act of irresponsibility or a deliberate move. Either he failed to understand the consequences — indicating incompetence — or he knowingly facilitated them.
Now he seeks to deny both. He wishes to be seen as wise, farsighted, correct, and blameless all at once. This is untenable.
It is also noteworthy that after the “revolution,” key positions in Pashinyan’s government were held by figures from the previous administration.
Artur Davtyan remained Prosecutor General; David Tonoyan was appointed Minister of Defense; Artur Vanetsyan headed the National Security Service; Valery Osipyan led the Police; Zohrab Mnatsakanyan became Foreign Minister. What a remarkable revolution: calls for regime change in the streets, yet representatives of the former system in the cabinet. And afterward, Sargsyan claims he “left to fulfill the people’s will”?
No, Mr. Sargsyan. You did not leave; you orchestrated a transfer of power, retaining leverage while avoiding personal responsibility. It is for this reason that your current statements provoke only a bitter smile.
You speak of conscience. Yet conscience does not permit breaking promises, provoking crises, relinquishing power, and then observing the resulting catastrophe — only to declare years later that everything was done correctly.
You speak of a “quiet conscience,” but such a conscience cannot be built upon a chain of convenient coincidences.
You say:
“We address the people fairfaced and with quiet conscience.”
This rings hollow in light of the bloodshed that followed your “correct decisions,” the loss of Artsakh after your “difficult decisions,” and the devastation induced by your “wise strategy.”
You call for “awakening,” yet it is you who must awaken — from illusions about your role in the events of 2018, from the myth that Armenia’s catastrophe was imposed solely from outside, and from the fiction that those who led the country to the brink were merely helpless observers.
You were not an observer; you were one of the architects.
Thus, your current address is not a confession, but an attempt to rewrite history.
But history has already been written.
And within it, you have secured the image of a figure who brought Nikol Pashinyan to power, enabled the subsequent course of events, and now seeks to justify those actions by calling them “wisdom.”
Therefore, the conclusion is one: sooner or later, Serzh Sargsyan must face a public tribunal.
