In my previous reflection, I shared the process of transforming my research into a visual story. Moving one step backwards through my Laidlaw journey takes me to the moment when that story had not yet become clear.
I began this project with a question: Why did movement towards peace between Armenia and Azerbaijan become possible at this particular moment?
To investigate this question, I initially turned to ripeness theory. The theory offered a compelling explanation for why parties involved in a prolonged conflict might become willing to negotiate. When both sides experience a mutually hurting stalemate and recognise the possibility of a Way Out, a conflict may become ripe for resolution.
At first, this appeared to offer exactly the analytical structure I needed. There had been decades of conflict, repeated negotiation failures, shifting regional dynamics, and increasing pressure to establish a new political framework. I expected to identify the conditions of ripeness, apply them to the case, and explain why the present moment had produced renewed diplomatic movement.
But the more deeply I examined the case, the less comfortable that explanation became.
The situation did not resemble a balanced stalemate in which both parties were experiencing comparable forms of pain. Armenia and Azerbaijan had entered the negotiations from profoundly unequal political, military, and strategic positions. Their reasons for supporting movement towards an agreement were not identical, and neither were the pressures influencing their decisions.
Armenia appeared to be pushed towards negotiation by vulnerability, loss, regional isolation, and the consequences of a deeply painful conflict. Azerbaijan, however, appeared to be pulled towards negotiation by military consolidation, diplomatic opportunity, and the possibility of transforming its position into longer term political and economic advantages.
This created a difficult question for me as a researcher. What should I do when the case did not behave as the theory expected?
The easiest response would have been to present the evidence selectively until it appeared to support the theoretical framework. Yet doing so would have weakened the honesty of the research. It would have meant allowing the theory to determine what I was permitted to see.
Instead, I began to recognise that the tension between the case and the theory was not an obstacle standing in the way of my argument. It was the beginning of the argument itself.
I came to understand the situation as a condition of asymmetrical ripeness. Both parties could support movement towards negotiation without experiencing the same circumstances or possessing equal power. One party could be pushed towards a settlement by vulnerability, while the other could be pulled towards it by opportunity. The political moment could therefore become ripe, but not through symmetry.
This insight changed the direction of my research.
It encouraged me to move beyond the question of whether the case perfectly satisfied the original expectations of ripeness theory. I began asking how the framework might be refined when power, pressure, and opportunity were distributed unequally between the parties.
However, identifying the opening for negotiation was still not enough. Even if asymmetrical ripeness explained why the door to settlement had opened, it could not fully explain what was being created beyond that door.
This led me towards a cultivation perspective inspired by John Paul Lederach’s approach to peacebuilding. Through this perspective, I began to examine peace not as a single political event, but as a process that must be developed across structural, relational, personal, and cultural dimensions.
The distinction became essential.
At the structural level, diplomatic frameworks, regional connectivity, economic cooperation, and institutional proposals could help support a political settlement. The Trump Route for International Peace and Prosperity appeared particularly significant as a possible Way Out supported through United States mediation.
Yet the relational, personal, cultural, and justice dimensions of peace remained much less developed. Political agreements could establish new arrangements between states, but they could not automatically address trauma, mistrust, displacement, memory, dignity, or the lived consequences of conflict.
Bringing ripeness and cultivation together allowed me to develop the central argument that later appeared on my poster:
Ripeness explains how the door to settlement opened, although asymmetrically. Cultivation explains what is being constructed beyond that door, although, so far, primarily at the structural level.
Reaching this argument was not a moment of sudden inspiration. It emerged through uncertainty, repeated revision, difficult reading, and conversations that challenged me to think more precisely.
Professor Roger Mac Ginty’s guidance was especially valuable during this stage. His feedback helped me understand that a theory should illuminate a case rather than confine it. Research does not become stronger by hiding the moments when reality resists our expectations. It becomes stronger when we investigate that resistance carefully and allow it to deepen our analysis.
This was also an important lesson in leadership.
Before this experience, I often associated academic confidence with having immediate answers. Laidlaw taught me that confidence can also mean remaining present when the answer is unclear. It can mean questioning your own assumptions, acknowledging the limitations of your framework, and having the intellectual courage to change direction when the evidence demands it.
I was not abandoning the theory. I was learning how to engage with it critically.
That distinction transformed my understanding of research. Theory was no longer a template that had to be placed over reality. It became a conversation between existing knowledge and a changing political situation. My responsibility was to participate in that conversation honestly.
Looking back, I now cherish the moment when the case refused to fit. It forced me to become more independent in my thinking. It taught me to tolerate uncertainty and to see intellectual difficulty as an invitation to look more closely.
It also reminded me why this topic mattered so deeply to me. Peace cannot be understood through elegant theoretical categories alone. Behind every concept are communities carrying memories, fears, hopes, and experiences that cannot always be made symmetrical.
The strongest part of my argument emerged precisely where the theory became uncomfortable.
As I continue moving backwards through my Laidlaw journey, my next reflection will return to another defining challenge: researching peace while history itself was still moving.