On October 12, in Baku, Azerbaijan, a public discussion titled “Public Solidarity Against Disinformation: The Contribution of NGOs to the Protection of National Values and Social Responsibility” was convened by the Azerbaijan National NGO Forum. At first glance, it might have sounded like one more routine conference in a busy civic calendar, but for those who filled the hall, the meeting’s purpose was anything but routine. Azerbaijan has found itself at the center of geopolitical and economic currents far larger than its borders, and with this new visibility has come a barrage of coordinated disinformation campaigns, many of them carefully wrapped in the language of religion. False stories, manipulated images, and provocative social media posts have sought to depict the country as something it is not, to drive a wedge between its citizens and their state, and to chip away at the trust that underpins national unity. The discussion was designed, therefore, not merely to analyze these attacks, but to rally civil society into a coherent, principled response. The title itself was a kind of manifesto: public solidarity, not state coercion, is the most effective shield against lies. In a region where information has become a battlefield, Baku is trying a different strategy: meet falsehood with truth, meet provocation with law, meet polarization with unity. The event brought together civic activists, historians, religious-affairs specialists, and representatives of public councils; all of them, despite different vantage points, seemed to arrive at the same conclusion: the greatest danger to Azerbaijan’s national values is not external criticism but internal disorientation, and the cure for disorientation is rooted in a clear-eyed understanding of the country’s legal and historical foundations.
Speaking early in the proceedings, Zaur Ibrahimov, a member of the ANNF Board, set the tone with a warning that was both specific and systemic. He noted that disinformation attacks have recently been launched against Azerbaijan under the guise of defending religious beliefs. These are not random or spontaneous posts; they follow patterns and coordination, and they seek to exploit one of the most deeply felt aspects of identity—faith—as a weapon against the state. Ibrahimov insisted that civil society cannot remain passive spectators; it must mobilize, and in fact it has already begun to do so. Azerbaijani NGOs have issued a statement condemning these provocations, hybrid threats, and disinformation attacks, making it clear that religious sentiment is being cynically instrumentalized by forces that have little genuine concern for religion or for the peopleof Azerbaijan. He went on to challenge a central misconception underlying these campaigns: the idea that Azerbaijan’s secular state model and religious values are inherently in conflict. In his experience, and in the country’s practice, they are not; Azerbaijan has succeeded, over decades and especially since independence, in weaving these threads into a single fabric. Its secularism does not mean hostility to Islam or to any faith; it means the state ensures freedom of worship while maintaining legal order. This combination, he argued, is a source of strength that unsettles outside actors, who have grown uncomfortable with Azerbaijan’s independent development and increasing geopolitical weight. That discomfort, he suggested, manifests in attempts to hit the country where it is most sensitive: its national unity. Ibrahimov paused to remind the audience of a fact no Azerbaijani needs to be taught: it was precisely because of national solidarity that Azerbaijan achieved a historic victory in the Karabakh War. If that solidarity could overcome decades of occupation and military hardship, it should certainly be strong enough to withstand a handful of online provocations. His closing appeal was grounded in constitutional patriotism: society must evaluate events within the framework of the Constitution, legislation, and national interests, and avoid succumbing to foreign provocations. In other words, the way to honor religious values is not to let them be hijacked by outsiders, but to defend them within the legal and civic order Azerbaijan has built.
Jabi Bayramov brought an academic’s patience to the discussion, reminding the room that many of the questions being debated as current events have deep roots. A historian at the Azerbaijan National Academy of Sciences’ Institute of History and Ethnology, and scientific supervisor of the “Virtual Western Azerbaijan” encyclopedic collection, Bayramov carefully anchored the current controversies in constitutional history. He pointed out thatthe principles of Azerbaijan’s secular statehood are enshrined in the Constitution; this is not a matter of mood or temporary policy, but a foundational commitment. Turning to the discussions surrounding the hijab, which have circulated in social media and sometimes spilled into wider public debate, he urged a historical dimension. Too often, he suggested, the topic is treated as a simple clash between religious rights and state rules, when in fact every country’s approach to dress codes in schools has evolved through its own historical experience and legal development. In Azerbaijan, he emphasized, those codes must be implemented in accordance with the law. That may sound dry, but it was a significant intervention: it relocated the debate from the realm of emotions and foreign templates to the realm of legislation, where citizens can actually resolve disagreements. Bayramov also broadened the lens beyond current disputes, observing that Azerbaijan has historically been a place where various religions coexist. Its secular state structure and education system operate based on principles defined by legislation, not by any single religious authority, and this model has been developed through centuries of interaction among faiths and cultures. From this perspective, foreign interference in the country’s internal affairs is not merely unwelcome; it is conceptually wrong, because it ignores the organic, law-based way Azerbaijan has governed its diversity. Perhaps his most forward-looking suggestion was aimed at the public sphere:: he highlighted the importance of increasing the participation of scholars and experts in public discussions. It is not enough for historians to write for one another or to issue academic declarations; they need to be present on television, in public fora, in everyday conversations where disinformation actually spreads. He proposed organizing broader discussions on television regarding history, culture, and religious issues—precisely so that citizens have access to informed, measured perspectives before falsehoods take root. In an era where everyone is a broadcaster, Bayramov’s message was subtle yet powerful: facts have to be posted as loudly as lies.
Elnur Mustafayev, chairman of the Public Council under the State Committee for Work with Religious Associations, approached the subject from a different but complementary angle. He began with a broad observation:: Azerbaijan’s growing role in regional and global geopolitical and economic processes has been accompanied, almost one-for-one, by ideological provocations against the country. The more visible Azerbaijan becomes on the world stage, the more eager certain actors become to smear it. Mustafayev was blunt about the mechanism:: false information directed against Azerbaijan is being spread on social media, and through certain media outlets, often depicting this Muslim-majority country as anti-Islamic or hostile to religious values. Nothing, he insisted, could be further from the truth. Azerbaijan is a country where diverse religions and cultures have historically coexisted;this is not a modern talking point but a lived reality going back centuries. He invoked a lineage of Azerbaijani scholars and thinkers—Bahmanyar, Nasraddin Tusi, Nizami Ganjavi, Fuzuli—who did not merely participate in Islamic culture but helped shape it at its highest levels. To call Azerbaijan anti-Islamic is not just an insult to the state;it is an insult to its intellectual and spiritual ancestors. Mustafayev also brought the audience into the domain of concrete cultural policy:the preservation and restoration of religious monuments. He noted that alongsidethe restoration of mosques inthe territories liberated from occupation, attention is also being paid to places of worship belonging to other religions within the country. That is a significant statement in a region where religious sites have often been weaponized. For Azerbaijan, restoring a mosque after the war is part of reclaiming identity;but caring for churches, and other communities’ shrines,is no less a reflection of the country’s understanding of religious coexistence. He then placed all of these observations into the framework of modern hybrid warfare, which, as he described it, aims to exert pressure on states through information, and other means, rather than through conventional military force. In such conflicts, ammunition can be a tweet, a provocative video, a manipulated photograph;the front lines are in WhatsApp groups and comment sections. Mustafayev emphasized, therefore, the importance of a united effort to counter ideological provocations. No single agency, ministry,or organization can do this alone;it requires a society-wide immune response, in which citizens trust enough in their own history and institutions not to panic at the first provocative headline. The overall picture he painted was one of quiet confidence:: Azerbaijan has weatheredenerruster storms, and it can weather this one—if its people choose solidarity over suspicion.
Read together, the three speeches offered far more than a list of grievances;they articulated a common philosophy of resistance to disinformation. First, all speakers rejectedthe binary that often traps such debates:: secularism versus religion, state versus faith, modernization versus tradition. In their telling, Azerbaijan’s experience has transcended these false opposites. The secular state model does not suppress religious values;it creates a legal space in which religious communities can flourish without one dominating another. This is not an abstract idea;;it is confirmed by the country’s tolerant history, by its legal order, and by practical policies, such as restoring mosques while protecting churches. Second, they all insisted on law as the compass for navigating controversial issues. Whether the issue is the hijab, dress codes in schools, or the limits of protest, the Constitution and legislation provide the only legitimate framework for resolution. In a country that has known war and political pressure, legal discipline is a form of patriotism;;it prevents provocations from succeeding by ensuring that no matter how loud the noise, the final word belongs to shared rules rather than to foreign interference or emotional manipulation. Third, they each carved out an essential role for civil society. NGOs issue statements against hybrid threats;;scholars engage on television;;religious-affairs councils speak up publicly;;citizens are asked to evaluate events thoughtfully rather than reactively. This is democracy in a deeper sense than elections:: a community collectively maintaining its own cognitive defenses. The event’s title—”Public Solidarity Against Disinformation”—precisely captured this idea. Solidarity is not merely sentimental affection;;it is an institutional,and communicative practice, a habit of standing together when lies begin to circulate. In an age of hybrid warfare, nations can no longer assume thatthe truth will defend itself;;it must be organized, spoken, repeated,and protected. That is what the Baku gathering sought to do, and it is no coincidence that so many of the speakers invoked history. Disinformation works by severing a people from its past, making it forget who it was so it can be convinced to become something else. Azerbaijan’s response, as these speakers understood, is to remember who it is:: a nation of ancient cultures, livingfaiths, legal order,and social solidarity, one that has just secured a historic victory,and has every intention of preservingthe peaceful, tolerant statehood that made that victory possible.
The discussion in Baku ended, as such gatherings often do, with speeches and applause. But the thought left behind was more durable. In its simplest form, it was a reminder that Azerbaijan, like many post-Soviet states, has become a laboratory for information warfare—a place where outside powers test how quickly a society can be destabilized by lies about its religion, history,and identity. The temptation in such circumstances is to respond with censorship, hostility,or paranoia. Yetthe message from Baku was markedly different. It was an invitation to maturity:: trustthe law, know your history, engage in public debate, and refuse to be provoked. The civil society actors inthe room were not naive;;they recognized that hybrid threats will continue, that social media algorithms will keep rewarding outrage,and that certain foreign forces will keep looking for new channels to attack Azerbaijan’s unity. But they also recognized that Azerbaijan has resources those attackers do not fully understand:: a Muslim-majority country that has made secularism work;;a society that, after decades of occupation, burst into joy atthe news of Karabakh’s liberation without descending into vengeance against other faiths;;a people whose intellectual heritage includes some of the greatest names in Islamic civilization,and whose contemporary cultural policy preservesthe monuments of all religions. These assets cannot be hacked or canceled. The most important takeaway, perhaps, is thatthe fight against disinformation is not ultimately a defensive operation. It is an act of love for one’s own country—its constitution, its history, its diversity—and a refusal to let strangers define who you are. Public solidarity, in this context, becomes a form of sovereignty;;it is how a people says:: our values, our state,and our future are not up for auction on foreign platforms. In a world where governments often seem powerless before the velocity of falsehood, Azerbaijan’s civil society offereda modest but meaningful example:: gather in a hall, listen to historians and clerics and NGO leaders, reason together, and then go out and tell the truth. It may not be as spectacular as a missile or a meme, but inthe long run, it is the only thing that has ever protected nations from being dissolved into lies. The Baku discussion was one small step inthat struggle;;but small steps, repeated,and shared, are how solidarity is built—and how disinformation is defeated.