Never Again Means Never Again for Everybody

Is “voluntary emigration” really voluntary?

Perhaps the most disturbing development in the current Israeli political debate is the renewed discussion about the future of Gaza in terms of Palestinian departure.

In September, far-right Israeli ministers again promoted plans for what they call “voluntary emigration” of Palestinians from Gaza. At the same time, Israeli Foreign Minister Gideon Sa’ar said on September 9 that the government has no plans to deport Palestinians from Gaza. The distinction is important. It would be inaccurate to describe mass deportation as an established Israeli government policy. But it would be equally misleading to dismiss the political significance of senior government ministers openly advocating mass emigration.

The central question is simple: how voluntary is departure when the conditions for remaining have become unbearable?

This is where the Armenian experience becomes relevant.

Karabakh: the warning before the catastrophe

Nagorno-Karabakh did not empty in a single day.

For months, the Armenian population lived under increasingly severe restrictions and humanitarian deprivation. The Lachin Corridor was blocked for nine months. Food, medicine and other essential supplies became scarce. International institutions issued warnings, while human rights organizations documented the deterioration.

In February 2023, the International Court of Justice ordered Azerbaijan to take all measures at its disposal to ensure unimpeded movement of persons, vehicles and cargo through the Lachin Corridor in both directions.

And Armenian experts were warning even more explicitly about the danger. On January 10, 2023, Dr. Hayk Kotanjian and I published an appeal in the Armenian Mirror-Spectator warning that the Armenians of Karabakh were facing a direct threat of genocide. The article warned about the humanitarian consequences of the Lachin Corridor blockade and called for urgent international action based on human rights and international law.

The argument was not that the international community should wait until a catastrophe occurred and then condemn it. It was precisely the opposite: preventive action was necessary before the situation became irreversible.

The warning was there. The humanitarian evidence was there. The international mechanisms were there. But prevention failed.

After Azerbaijan’s September 2023 military operation, more than 100,000 ethnic Armenians crossed into Armenia within days. UN agencies subsequently documented more than 115,000 refugees from Karabakh arriving in Armenia. And Armenian officials from Karabakh remain imprisoned in Baku. In February 2026, Amnesty International described the trials of 16 ethnic Armenian defendants as a “travesty” and said that their prosecution before a military court raised serious concerns and was incompatible with fair-trial guarantees. Amnesty International’s assessment therefore reinforces concerns about whether these proceedings can provide genuinely fair and impartial justice.

Assessing the consequences of Azerbaijan’s blockade and military intervention in Karabakh, former International Criminal Court Prosecutor Luis Moreno Ocampo warned in August 2023 that there was a reasonable basis to believe that genocide was being committed against the Armenians of Nagorno-Karabakh. He argued that the deliberate deprivation of food, medicine and other essential goods could constitute genocide under Article II(c) of the Genocide Convention and warned that, without immediate action, the Armenian population could be destroyed within weeks. Ocampo’s August 2023 expert opinion was therefore not simply a retrospective assessment: it was an explicit warning intended to trigger prevention. Yet the warning did not produce sufficiently effective international action. Instead, Armenia was increasingly left in what might be described as the position of a “lonely state” – expected to accommodate the demands of the victor and adjust to the new geopolitical reality, rather than seeing the rights and security of Armenians treated as a matter requiring effective international protection.

Gaza is not “another Karabakh.” The historical, political, military and legal circumstances are different and should be carefully distinguished rather than superficially equated.

The more important lesson is something else: Karabakh was a test of whether the international community could recognize a danger before it became a catastrophe.

It was also a missed opportunity to demonstrate that early warnings, preventive diplomacy and international pressure can actually protect a population before displacement becomes irreversible.

Armenia, Israel and an uncomfortable history

This question also has a particular resonance for Armenia because of the complicated history of Armenian-Israeli and Armenian-Azerbaijani relations.

Israel was a major supplier of arms to Azerbaijan before and during the 2020 Nagorno-Karabakh war. According to the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI), Israel accounted for 27 percent of Azerbaijan’s imports of major arms in 2011–2020 and 69 percent in 2016–2020. Israeli-supplied loitering munitions, unmanned aerial vehicles and other systems were used during the 2020 war.

This does not establish a direct causal link between Israeli arms transfers to Azerbaijan and the later humanitarian crisis in Gaza. But it does raise a broader question about international responsibility: when states transfer military capabilities into conflict zones, how seriously are the foreseeable consequences for civilians and regional stability taken into account?

This is also why Armenia’s position on Palestine is relevant. Armenia formally recognized the State of Palestine on June 21, 2024, and established diplomatic relations with Palestine on September 27, 2024, well before the cruel events unfolding today, when Spain, Ireland, Norway and Slovenia had only recently taken the same step. The Armenian Foreign Ministry explicitly linked this position to international law, the principle of equality of states and support for a two-state solution.

For Armenia, this should not be merely a symbolic foreign-policy gesture. It can be part of a consistent position.

What does “Never Again” require?

“Never Again” should not be understood as a privilege belonging to the victims of one particular genocide. If it has a universal meaning, then the identity of the victims cannot determine whether their suffering matters.

Jewish organizations and activists have made precisely this argument. Jewish Voice for Peace, for example, has used the formulation “Never Again for Anybody” in its discussion of Gaza.

This is not an attempt to diminish Jewish historical suffering. Quite the opposite. It is to universalize its moral lesson.

There is also a deeper connection to the history of the very concept of genocide. Raphael Lemkin, the Polish-Jewish jurist who coined the term “genocide,” was deeply influenced by his early exposure to reports of the destruction of Armenians in the Ottoman Empire. His experience contributed to his conviction that international law needed to protect national, ethnic and religious groups from destruction. He later made it his life’s mission to establish genocide as an international crime, helping pave the way for the UN Genocide Convention of 1948.

This history matters. The Armenian demand for recognition of the 1915 Genocide is not simply about preserving Armenian memory. At its strongest, it is also a demand that the lessons of mass atrocity be transformed into international mechanisms capable of preventing future atrocities.

That is why recognition of the Armenian Genocide should not be understood only as an Armenian historical demand. It can also be understood as part of a universal commitment to prevention.

And this principle should also apply when the victims are Palestinians.

It is possible to condemn Hamas’s killing of Israeli civilians and hostage-taking, to recognize Israel’s responsibility to protect its population, and at the same time to insist that these concerns do not erase the obligation to protect Palestinian civilians under international humanitarian law.

One does not have to choose between the humanity of Israeli victims and the humanity of Palestinian victims. That is precisely what “Never Again” should mean.

The Karabakh case should remain part of Armenian public and political memory, both in Armenia and in the Diaspora, while the situation in Gaza demands international attention. The two cases of Gaza, and Karabakh should not be equated. But both demonstrate the dangers of allowing prolonged insecurity, deprivation and displacement to continue after serious warnings have already been issued.

Recognition of a historical genocide should not remain only an act of historical remembrance. If “Never Again” is a genuine principle, recognition of past genocide should strengthen a commitment to preventing mass violence in the present and future.

Armenia cannot determine the future of Gaza. Nor should Armenian foreign policy be reduced to choosing one geopolitical camp against another. But Armenia does have an experience that gives it a particular reason to speak about prevention.

Its position should therefore be grounded in several principles: support for Palestinian self-determination and a viable political settlement; protection of civilians and humanitarian access; respect for international law; and a willingness to remind the international community of what happened in Karabakh – not to equate the two cases, but to demonstrate the consequences of ignoring early warnings.

The world had an opportunity in Karabakh to demonstrate that early warnings matter. It did not use that opportunity effectively. Gaza presents another test of whether the international community has learned to act while there is still time.

(Arthur Atanesyan is a professor at Yerevan State University.)