The Other Side of the Border

Almost every month now, there are reports of inspections at the border crossing points, of new meetings and positive statements. Expectations that the border between Armenia and Turkey will finally open are still carefully managed. Yet the possibility no longer feels abstract.

When the gate opens, it will alter more than freight traffic. It will change the texture of daily life along a frontier where people have spent decades looking at one another without meeting.

Close Enough to Hear

Hundreds of thousands live along this border. Many have grown up watching the other side from their rooftops, their fields, their house windows. They know every element of the landscape intimately: the hills, the river, the lights at night. What they do not know are the people who live on the other side.

In Margara, the small Armenian village where the main border crossing stands, I once met a woman named Sveta. She has lived there for more than thirty years. Her house sits right next to the border. Sometimes, she told me, she climbs onto her roof to watch women working the fields across the river. On clear days, she can hear them talking, even singing.

Back then, Sveta struggled to imagine the day when the border would open and those distant figures would become neighbors in the most ordinary sense – people to greet in passing, bargain with over tomatoes, or complain about when a cow strayed into the garden. Familiar shapes will have to get names.

On the Turkish side I encountered a different version of the same hesitation. A young male waiter in a small restaurant near the border served a group of Armenian pilgrims visiting nearby churches and historical sites. He spoke a little English, but it was enough to confess that he was nervous. It was the first time he had ever served Armenians.

“I hope you will like the bread from my hands,” he told me, smiling cautiously. The bread tasted exactly like the bread baked in Armenian villages just across the river.

Such small moments of curiosity and goodwill matter. Once the border opens and travel becomes possible, economic activity in the frontier region will inevitably grow – from trade and insurance services to car repairs, restaurants, guesthouses, storage facilities. Currency exchange desks will appear. New taxi routes will form. One need only look at the Armenian-Georgian border crossings to imagine how quickly commerce can take root and how swiftly daily habits adapt to new flows of movement.

But commerce will not be the only result. Contact will also deepen. Some may venture into partnerships, perhaps organizing joint tourist services. And along increased movement, with it will come the inevitable ordinary problems of everyday life, which are best addressed together rather than across a closed gate.

After the Wall

History suggests that reopening a border after decades of closure is rarely seamless. Even in peaceful circumstances contact requires practice. Rebuilding communication is rarely simple. It requires learning how to interact, how to negotiate misunderstandings, and ultimately how to trust each other.

More than 35 years after the fall of the Berlin Wall, the German capital still carries the imprint of division. Although the city was not split along ethnic lines, social disparities remain visible to this day. Opportunities diverge. Architectural contrasts endure. Even patterns of transport and public administration reflect the legacy of separation. Entire neighborhoods still feel shaped by the systems that governed them for decades.

The Armenian-Turkish case is, of course, profoundly different. But adjustment will come here as well. Diplomats and officials have already shown that cooperation is possible. In recent years, even sensitive matters, such as extraditing criminal suspects, have been managed pragmatically. These steps suggest that institutional barriers are going to be less of a problem.

What does not yet exist are the habits of local cooperation: direct ties between municipalities, police departments, healthcare administrators, agricultural inspectors. The people who manage daily life have never had to manage it together. They have no shared procedures, no established lines of communication, no routine exchanges.

When the border opens, misunderstandings will be inevitable. Not necessarily because of ill will, but because the past of separation magnifies small incidents. An impatient driver, an accident in a field, a dispute over livestock – all are examples of ordinary rural conflicts. Yet in a newly reopened space, they can quickly acquire symbolic weight. What would once have been a local irritation may be interpreted through the lens of history.

For decades, border residents have learned details about each other’s nations mostly through television screens. The ones alternated between cautious diplomatic statements and images of armed confrontation. Direct experience will need time to replace inherited impressions.

That is why the opening of the border should not be treated as a single political event, but as the beginning of a social process. Local administrations could establish direct channels before traffic becomes routine. Trade fairs and exchange of public events could make first encounters less tentative. Farmers could meet to share experiences. Schools could organize supervised trips. Such steps are often easier to arrange than grand diplomatic breakthroughs, and they create familiarity before friction emerges.

Human contact requires less negotiation than treaties. But it benefits from preparation.

If done deliberately, the process could feel gradual rather than jarring. People like Sveta from Margara might one day meet the women she has listened to for years and find the meeting unsurprising. Families might explore small business partnerships without sensing that they are stepping into something historically charged.

The border may open very soon. The only real question is whether it is possible to make its opening more natural for the people who have lived for decades in the shadow of that line. Thoughtful preparation in support of the border communities could make the difference.

Olesya Vartanyan is a conflict analyst with over 15 years of experience in the South Caucasus, specializing in security, peace processes, and foreign policy. She has collaborated with leading international organizations, including the International Crisis Group, OSCE, and Freedom House, where she led research on conflict zones like Abkhazia, Nagorno-Karabakh, and South Ossetia, while contributing to public policy and confidential peace processes. Previously, she worked as a journalist, reporting on security and conflict issues, including groundbreaking coverage for The New York Times during the 2008 Russia-Georgia war. Olesya has received numerous accolades, including the International Young Women’s Peace Award and the EU’s Peace Journalism Prize. She holds master’s degrees from King’s College London and the Georgian Institute of Public Affairs.

This column was originally published in Vartanyan’s insightful Beyond Borders series for EVN Report.