Edgar Khachatryan, founder of Peace Dialogue NGO and a human rights advocate, was in the middle of facilitating an international peace meeting when shouting from the audience interrupted him. He turned to see his Armenian colleagues, calling him a traitor and a ‘Western puppet’.

It was not the first time that he had experienced this. As a peacebuilder working across the Armenia–Azerbaijan divide, he is often met with anger and suspicion not only from ‘the other side’ but also from his own community.

The conflict between Armenia and Azerbaijan has shaped generations. For nearly three and half decades the two nations have been locked in cycles of violence, interrupted by intermittent ceasefires, over Nagorno-Karabakh, a mountainous region long populated and governed by ethnic Armenians, but internationally recognised as part of Azerbaijan. The most recent large-scale war in 2020 left thousands dead and tens of thousands displaced Armenians.

But the toll of the conflict is not only physical. In Armenia, psychological trauma runs deep. The pain of loss, humiliation, and historical injustice have been passed down, becoming part of the national identity.

While the conflict continues, peacebuilding initiatives have been working to address this pain by creating spaces for dialogue, inclusion, and reimagining peace.

Trauma and identity

Sona Manusyan, assistant professor in personality psychology at Yerevan State University, explains that collective trauma is not only a memory; it becomes a part of how a nation defines itself. After a devastating event, when a community’s sense of safety and future is shattered, people are forced to reinterpret their place in the world. That reinterpretation often becomes the foundation of a new identity.

“This is why societies cling to the memory of their past… It’s not because they refuse to move forward but because the trauma has become part of how they make sense of their existence.”

Edgar Khachatryan explains that it is extremely difficult to find trustworthy partners in Azerbaijan, given the repression against civil society. Put bluntly, “You realise they are entirely under the control of special services, and before saying anything, you have to think a thousand times.”

Motivations and peacebuilding amidst resistance

Edgar, speaking about his motivation for getting involved in peacebuilding efforts, noted that even during the first Nagorno-Karabakh conflict, he understood how every step forward for the country - in human rights or democracy - would hit the same wall: the unresolved conflict. That lingering issue, he said, has slowed the country’s development and shaped his own life. He explained that his perspectives have often diverged from the prevailing focus on national issues, a difference that has frequently sparked debates within his circle. Navigating those conversations has always been a challenge.

Lida Minasyan, co-founder of Women’s Agenda (WA), remembers how back in 2020 she felt a surge of anger and a conviction that the cycle of conflict had to end. Young people, she noted, wanted to make plans and trust that the state would help realise them, yet war made that kind of stable future almost impossible. She observed that negotiations had been overwhelmingly male-dominated, and she felt a strong need to ensure women had a seat at the table.

This is how WA came to being in Yerevan. The goal was not just to raise awareness in society at large, but to work with expert women who already have an audience and influence. Lida says she wants them not only to share knowledge but also to have the courage to step into negotiations, including within civil society. WA’s work focuses on strengthening such women’s skills and deepening their understanding of the history of Nagorno Karabakh, the thirty years of negotiations, the mistakes made, and the scenarios that lie ahead.

“Our team is often criticised for raising deeply painful topics. After hearing the same narrative for thirty years, participants can react with resentment when confronted with a different perspective, sending a wave of resistance our way,” Lida noted.

From a psychological perspective, peacebuilding efforts are legitimate, yet the public’s resistance is also understandable. “When peacebuilders try to bring new narratives, they face strong backlash. People think: Why talk about peace now, when the threat is still here? Can I trust you at all? That doubt is natural - we still have missing people, prisoners of war, unresolved issues and continuing threats. The word ‘betrayer’ is often just the only label people have for their emotion. It’s not that the emotion is wrong, it’s that [some] conversations are premature,” Manusyan explained.

Traumatic experiences leave lasting emotional and psychological scars. Collective trauma, transmitted culturally, profoundly affects a society’s cultural and social DNA. Therefore, narratives are only surface reflections of a far deeper and more complex reality.

Overcoming trauma requires time and patience, as well as deliberate and collective work within a sphere of safety to process and heal. Until then, the wounds remain open, shaping narratives, emotions, and how people respond to any mention of reconciliation.

While collective trauma remains a major obstacle to peace, the absence of meaningful institutional healing initiatives leaves a dangerous vacuum. Peacebuilders, psychologists, and NGOs continue to try and fill this gap, but with little public trust.

Beyond theory, initiatives such as those by WA and by Peace Dialogue are, with practical methods, trying to help people process trauma and rebuild trust. Small dialogue groups organised by WA allow participants to speak openly about loss and fear, sometimes for the first time. NGOs and psychologists, through community workshops, combine psychosocial support with creative activities—for instance, art and memory-sharing - to help participants reframe painful experiences in a safer environment. Psychologists and peacebuilders note that even these modest spaces can have an impact: people become more connected, and less alone in their grief.

WA’s activities - women’s academies, mentorship, and dialogue sessions—help build confidence and open new paths for involvement in peacebuilding. “Our achievement is a group of women who through our academies gained a clearer understanding of the past decades, stepped beyond misleading narratives and found confidence to act in this field,” Lida said.

Edgar, speaking about his achievements, said, “When someone who once doubted peace and even criticised me, joins our work, it proves we have changed their view. That’s real impact and it gives me hope.”

Lida believes that women’s involvement can be transformative, bringing diverse perspectives, distinct personalities, and a deeper awareness of society’s problems to the negotiating table. “We need to rethink what it means to be Armenian. Enriching our national identity with joyful elements will take patience, vision, and sustained effort.”

Peacebuilding needs resilience

Yet, the dilemma of peace, as both a necessity and a taboo, creates a paradox where people long for a swift solution but the weight of unresolved grief traps them.

“Peace cannot be rushed. If a person is not healed, they cannot move towards peace. Peacebuilding is about forgiveness, but forgiveness requires resilience. And resilience needs psychological, cultural, social resources that many people simply don’t have yet,” explains psychologist Sona Manusyan.

The peacebuilders’ journey goes on amidst challenges. They firmly believe that one day peace will cease to be a distant dream, but a reality to live in. They persistently create spaces for dialogue and, in doing so, they offer a reminder: the possibility of peace remains alive for those willing to nurture it.

“We continue our work,” says Lida, “So that society can find the strength to accept living alongside a neighbour long seen as an enemy - rebuilding trust one step at a time. That ability grows from healing.”