The decision to host the eighth summit of the European Political Community in Yerevan was never merely about protocol. For two days in early May, the Armenian capital became the stage for a carefully choreographed demonstration of geopolitical realignment, as some fifty European leaders—joined by Canada’s prime minister—convened in a city that has long looked eastward for security. The presence of Volodymyr Zelensky and Emmanuel Macron, alongside the EU’s top officials, sent an unambiguous signal: Brussels is prepared to embrace a South Caucasus state that has openly chosen the European path, even as it remains entangled in the wreckage of its Soviet-era alliance with Russia.

Yet the summit’s symbolic weight was contested from its very doorstep. Hours before the opening session, thousands of opposition demonstrators marched through Yerevan to the sports complex hosting the event, their central message directed not at the Armenian government but at the assembled European leaders: negotiate with us, not with Nikol Pashinyan. The protest reflected a deep ideological schism within Armenian society, where many view the prime minister’s overtures to the West as a betrayal of historic ties to Moscow and a reckless gamble on security guarantees that have yet to materialise. For a correspondent who walked among the marchers, the dissonance was stark—their grievances, rooted in a worldview shaped by decades of Russian patronage, collided with the reality of a government betting on European integration as the only viable escape from regional isolation.

France, which had long positioned itself as Armenia’s principal Western interlocutor, capitalised on the summit to solidify that role. Macron and Pashinyan signed a strategic partnership covering defence, energy, and trade—a deal that deepens Paris’s commitment to a country of three million that hosts the largest Armenian diaspora in Europe, some four hundred thousand strong. The French president brushed aside accusations of interference in Armenian affairs, drawing a sharp distinction between covert manipulation and his avowed, transparent support for a partner he has backed for eight years. That defence, however, does little to assuage concerns in Baku and Moscow, where the agreement is seen as another step in the gradual erosion of Russia’s influence on its southern flank.

Armenian officials, for their part, are keen to avoid framing the pivot as a rupture. The speaker of parliament, Alen Simonyan, insisted to journalists that Yerevan was not taking steps against Russia, but merely ensuring its own security based on national interests. He pointed to Moscow’s past arms sales to Azerbaijan during active hostilities as evidence that the relationship had long been asymmetrical. This argument—that Armenia is simply responding to a partner that no longer prioritises its security—resonates in Brussels, where analysts view the summit as a triumph of values-based diplomacy. But viewed from the Kremlin, the gathering looks like an ungrateful provocation, especially coming only a month after Pashinyan’s visit to Moscow and weeks before snap parliamentary elections in June.

The summit ended with a joint declaration reaffirming the “strategic importance” of the EU-Armenia partnership and a call for European companies to invest in the country. For Pashinyan, who has staked his political survival on this geographic reorientation, the optics were impeccable. Yet the underlying contradictions remain sharp: Armenia still depends on Russia for energy and trade routes, its border with Turkey is sealed, and the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict has left deep scars. The balancing act ahead will require Yerevan to manage expectations from all sides—convincing Europe of its commitment while reassuring a wary Russia that the door has not been slammed shut. The summit may have brought Europe to Yerevan, but the real test lies in whether Armenia can sustain its westward course without capsizing.