Occupation of the mind — Ramis Yunus

The most dangerous occupation is the one people do not notice.

For decades, the South Caucasus lived in precisely this condition. There were no occupying armies, no military administrations and no formal lines of control, yet there was a far deeper form of dependence at the level of thought.

This was not merely propaganda, but a systematic replacement of meanings.

After the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, Azerbaijan found itself in a situation where everything had to be built: the state, institutions, the economy and, most importantly, public consciousness. It was precisely at this moment that foreign ideologies began to penetrate the country actively.

Russia pursued this through familiar channels: language, culture, media and “nostalgic” ties. It was a form of soft power that cultivated dependence over many years without requiring formal control.

Iran, however, went further and focused on what is hardest to recognise and most dangerous to lose: faith. Not religion as an individual’s personal choice, but religion as a channel of influence.

Under the guise of spirituality and through the rhetoric of “brotherhood” and “shared values”, Iran spent decades building an infrastructure of ideological presence in Azerbaijan. Religious networks, educational institutions and Azerbaijani-language media all served one purpose: to cultivate loyalty not to one’s own state, Azerbaijan, but to an external centre of power, Iran.

The television channel Səhər is just one example. There have been, and continue to be, many other such channels of influence. They do not merely provide information; they shape attitudes and replace established points of reference.

Here, it is important to call things by their proper names. This is not an “alternative point of view”, but interference in Azerbaijan’s internal affairs—interference aimed at undermining the internal stability of our state.

That makes it a matter of national security, not ideology, debate or freedom of speech.

A state that fails to control the narratives shaping its citizens’ consciousness will sooner or later lose control over the decisions those citizens make.

Iran’s position during the two Karabakh wars was particularly revealing. For decades, official Tehran spoke of “Muslim unity” between the peoples of Azerbaijan and Iran, yet in practice it acted in Armenia’s interests. Economic ties, logistics and a political line directed towards supporting Armenia’s occupation policy all contradicted its loud religious declarations.

This was not a contradiction, but a strategy. In this case, religion was used by Iran’s regime as an instrument rather than upheld as a value.

Russia acted differently from Iran, but with a similar result. Through media, cultural influence and political signals, a different type of dependence was cultivated—less emotional, but no less profound. This approach worked effectively for many years because, at the beginning of its independence, Azerbaijan was not prepared to respond to it at a systemic level.

The turning point did not come overnight, nor was it accidental.

After the First Karabakh War and the signing of the Bishkek Protocol in May 1994, Azerbaijan, unlike many post-Soviet states, managed to assess the reality pragmatically and develop a long-term strategy. In September 1994, the so-called “Contract of the Century” was signed, opening the country to large-scale foreign investment. This was not merely an economic decision, but a strategic choice.

First came investment, followed by stable financial flows. Years later, these resources enabled Azerbaijan to build a strong economy, modernise state institutions and, crucially, establish a powerful, modern army.

This was not luck, but a strategy designed to deliver results over many years. It ultimately laid the groundwork for the turning point that many later perceived as sudden.

The real turning point came when Azerbaijan began acting as an independent subject of international politics.

The 2020 Second Karabakh War was not merely a military victory; it dismantled the psychology of dependence. The successful one-day anti-terrorist operation in September 2023 reinforced this effect, and Azerbaijan fully restored its sovereignty and territorial integrity.

At the same time, Russia weakened its position by making a strategic mistake in February 2022, becoming embroiled in a protracted war against Ukraine that is now in its fifth year. Iran, too, is facing serious external and internal pressure. The 12-day war between the United States and Israel against Iran last summer was merely a prelude to the current war, which is striking at the foundations of the theocratic regime. No one in the world, including all Muslim countries in the region, has supported it—a fact that speaks to the regime in Tehran’s destructive policies towards its neighbours and beyond.

But this is where a dangerous illusion lies.

The weakening of external actors does not mean their influence has disappeared. Their influence recedes only when it is consciously and systematically restricted. This is where the most difficult part begins.

As soon as a state begins talking about controlling its information space, regulating the religious sphere and countering foreign propaganda, accusations immediately follow that such measures “restrict freedom”.

This is a convenient argument, but a false one. Freedom does not mean the right to be an object of manipulation; it means the ability to make an informed choice. Such a choice is impossible in an environment where foreign narratives are systematically introduced under the guise of an “alternative”.

A state that protects its information space does not restrict freedom; it protects it. Without a sovereign information environment, freedom becomes an illusion controlled from abroad. In the 21st century, this problem is becoming increasingly acute.

We live in an era in which technology enables influence over people’s consciousness faster, more precisely and more deeply than ever before. Social networks, algorithms, digital platforms and artificial intelligence have all become instruments of influence.

Today, propaganda is no longer limited to television. It is a personalised stream of information tailored to each individual. It is algorithms that amplify particular narratives. It is neural networks capable of generating persuasive content on an industrial scale.

Under these conditions, a state that fails to understand these risks and respond to them voluntarily surrenders its information space and, with it, part of its sovereignty.

This is therefore not merely a matter of policy, but of protecting the state in a new reality: recognising threats that do not look like threats and being prepared to act in advance rather than after the fact. Measures must be firm, systematic and carefully designed.

These measures should include oversight of external sources of influence, transparency in religious institutions, restrictions on organisations linked to foreign ideological centres, the development of domestic media and digital platforms and, above all, the formation of an independent system of narratives and values. A vacuum does not exist. If the state does not shape the agenda, someone else will shape it on its behalf.

Today, following its victory in the Second Karabakh War, Azerbaijan is in a position of strength for the first time in a long while. But strength is not just about the army and the economy; it is about controlling one’s own future. And that begins with how people think.

If this dimension is neglected, all other achievements will prove temporary, because losing the struggle for people’s consciousness can nullify victories on the ground.

This is no longer a question of choice; it is a question of the state’s responsibility for its future. If that responsibility is not recognised today, tomorrow there may be no room left for choice. As the Chinese strategist and thinker Sun Tzu said: “The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.”

Ramiz Yunus

Professor of Political Science

Khazar International University