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Open Democracy, UK
Aug 23 2005
Abkhazian futures
by Andrew Mueller
A small, little-known corner of the southern Caucasus resists
Georgia, relies on Russia, and is resolute for independence. Andrew
Mueller reports from Abkhazia.
Sukhum's international airport must be the quietest such aviation hub
on earth. There are only a couple of passenger jets parked on the
runway, derelict Aeroflot planes that look like they haven't been
airborne since Leonid Brezhnev was in power. There are no customs
formalities, just a bored security guard waving the few arrivals
through, and outside there are no taxis, no buses, no uniformed
chauffeurs holding up the names of their passengers.
Also on Abkhazia and Georgia in openDemocracy's `Caucasian
fractures' debate:
George Hewitt, `Sakartvelo: roots of turmoil' (November 2003)
Nino Nanava, `Mikhail Saakashvili: new romantic or modern realist'
(December 2003)
Neal Ascherson, `Tbilisi, Georgia: the rose revolution's rocky road'
(July 2005)
Chris Smith, `Baku-Ceyhan, the politics of oil' (August 2005)
If you find this material valuable please consider supporting
openDemocracy by sending us a donation so that we can continue our
work and keep it free for all
The moribund status of Sukhum's international airport is a by-product
of the fact that nobody outside Sukhum (sometimes rendered as
`Sukhumi') considers it an international airport. Sukhum is the
nominal capital of Abkhazia, a region in the north-west of Georgia
which has been struggling for more than a decade to be recognised as
an independent, sovereign state. The cost, in money and human life,
has been incalculable: around 10,000 people are estimated to have
died in the little-reported 1992-93 war with Georgia, many of them
Abkhazians in a total Abkhaz population of only 90,000.
For most foreigners, coming here is possible only if they can gain
the necessary approval to travel on one of the United Nations's
sporadic helicopter flights from the Georgian military airbase near
Senaki. The lumbering Russian-built Mi-8s fly straight to the coast
and then miles out into the Black Sea before turning back around to
Sukhum; the careful arc an acknowledgment that in October 2001, a UN
helicopter was shot down over Abkhazia, killing all nine people
aboard.
A shadow state
Abkhazia is visibly determined - despite the overt hostility of
Georgia, and the indifference of the rest of the planet - to make its
own way in the world. The territory's public buildings, shops and
street stalls, fly Abkhazia's own flag, rich in symbolism: green and
white stripes (representing Abkhazia's mixed Christian and Islamic
heritage), a red panel emblazoned with an open palm (denoting
friendship), which appears to be juggling seven white stars
(representing Abkhazia's provinces).
The formalities of independent status are everywhere. Abkhazia has
its own government, which collects its own taxes, and includes its
own foreign ministry (even if, by definition, this seems a bit like
Switzerland having a navy minister or the Netherlands a mountain
rescue service); its own police, operating according to Abkhazia's
own laws; its own military, in which two years' service is compulsory
for young men; its own postage stamps (though opinion about the
chances of postcards sent with them ever being seen again is mixed).
At the same time, the realities of dependency abound. Abhkazia plans
to issue its own passports, though an agreement to give all
Abkhazians the right of Russian citizenship in 2002 seemed to
compromise the goal of statehood. Russian troops guarantee the
country's border with Georgia on the Inguri river to the east, and
are present in Sukhum itself - enviably billeted in tree-shrouded
dachas next to the beach in one of the old Soviet Union's premier
holiday resorts (which must beat serving in Chechnya).
Abkhazia may shun the Georgian currency (lari), but it uses the
Russian rouble rather than any currency of its own. Russian is also
the most commonly heard language, though in recent years there has
been a revival of interest in the northwest Caucasian language of
Abkhazian, another marker of distinction from south Caucasian
Georgian (kartvelebi) and Mingrelian (megruli) of Georgia.
Abkhazians are fond of pointing out that the country's modern
difficulties derive from a decree by a son of Georgia, Josef Stalin.
After the consolidation of Soviet power in 1921, Abkhazia enjoyed
(for want of a better term) the same constitutional status within the
Soviet Union as Georgia itself - that of an Autonomous Soviet
Socialist Republic.
Stalin's regular holidays in Abkhazia inspired no fondness for its
people (with his chief henchman, Lavrenti Beria - a Mingrelian - he
would destroy Nestor Lakoba and the rest of Abkhazia's political
leadership in the 1930s purges). In 1931, he decided to reduce its
status by incorporating it into Georgia. Georgian was made Abkhazia's
official language, and thousands of Georgians were encouraged to
settle there. By the time the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
stopped answering to its own name in 1991, only around 20% of
Abkhazia's population were ethnically Abkhazian.
War descended upon Abkhazia in August 1992. Post-Soviet Georgia had
lurched from the crazed misdirection of chauvinist zealot Zviad
Gamsakhurdia to the overlordship of ex-Soviet foreign minister Eduard
Shevardnadze, who - in face of Abkhazian moves to outright
independence - sanctioned a brutal invasion of the rebellious
province.
The thirteen-month war was largely ignored by a world then
preoccupied with the carnage in disintegrating ex-Yugoslavia. Yet
there are deep parallels between the conflicts - in the `ethnic
cleansing' of populations, the state- and media-orchestrated
nationalist intolerance, and the impulse to cultural annihilation as
well as military victory.
Just as the Bosnian Serbs attempted to extinguish proof of Bosnia's
national identity by destroying the national library in Sarajevo, so
Georgian bombs razed Abkhazia's Institute of Language, Literature and
History, and used Sukhum's monuments to local heroes as target
practice (the bulletholes are still visible in many cases, while the
statue of poet Dmitri Gulia has its head blown off).
It is hard to find a single Abkhazian who didn't lose friends or
family members in the conflict with Georgia. Eventually, Abkhazia's
hastily-convened irregular forces - abetted by various detachments of
Russians as well as Chechens and other `north Caucasians' - drove the
Georgian military from Abkhazian territory. Around 250,000 ethnically
Georgian refugees fled with them, many to a hellish long-term
existence in the ruins of Tbilisi's Hotel Iveria.
Abkhazia declared independence in 1994. It has been painfully
attempting to recover ever since. The territory still has no formal
transport links with the rest of Georgia, though discussions about
restoring the railway line have been held. Ships from Turkey call at
Sukhum, though they risk being impounded or fired on by Georgian
naval vessels. Increasing numbers of Russian tourists negotiate the
only open border crossing near Sochi to enjoy the beaches and hotels
of Gagra and Pitsunda, prestigious resorts during Soviet times.
No compromise
The potential wealth generated by tourism, against the backdrop of
one of the most fertile regions in the world, would certainly be
enough to sustain a workable Abkhazian economy. Yet in present
geopolitical circumstances it is difficult to see how Abkhazia's
dreams can possibly come true.
It is inconceivable that any Georgian government will offer it
independence - aside from giving up miles of potentially profitable
coastline, recognising Abkhazia could only encourage Georgia's other
restive regions (the Adzharian problem may have been solved, but
South Ossetia is beyond Tbilisi's control and there is growing
discontent among the Armenian minority in the south).
Moreover, the United States has no conceivable interest in Abkhazian
statehood. It is developing closer military and strategic ties with
Georgia, and its interest in Caspian oil supplies is reflected in its
support of the Baku-Ceyhan oil pipeline that runs through Georgia's
territory.
The US has consistently made clear its positive view of Georgia since
the `rose revolution' that brought its smart young president, Mikhail
Saakashvili, to power in late 2003 - even extending the honour of an
ecstatically-welcomed visit by George W Bush in May 2005.
Meanwhile, the present uncertainty over Abkhazia's status and future
suits Russia rather well. As Tbilisi strives to move closer to the
west, Moscow can loom menacingly in Georgia's wing-mirrors and
preserve its strategic options in the troubled region (fuelling more
febrile Georgians' fears that Abkhazians may one day be used - like
Sudetenland Germans in Czechoslovakia in the 1930s - as a pretext for
military intervention).
Despite this apparent absence of hope for a diplomatic breakthrough
in Abkhazia's recognition by the international community, there seems
no appetite - among Abkhazia's government or public alike - for any
sort of compromise. Indeed, in a government riven with personal
rivalries (something that became dangerously apparent during the
contested, divisive, and occasionally violent electoral process
between October 2004 and January 2005), this may be the only unifying
factor. When examples of a middle way are suggested, such as the
Basque country's autonomy inside Spain or Scotland's and Wales's
within the United Kingdom, they are swiftly dismissed.
`There are', the foreign minister Sergei Shamba declares, `no models
which could bring us together with the Georgian state. Due to
history, and due to public opinion, we stand by our right to
independence.'
`It's about us, now', confirms Vice-President Raul Khadjimba. `We
have to create the conditions for the world to hear about us. We have
to use television, newspapers, the internet, to tell people more
about Abkhazia. Maybe one day these issues will touch someone's
heart, and the world will give us a chance.'
Aug 23 2005
Abkhazian futures
by Andrew Mueller
A small, little-known corner of the southern Caucasus resists
Georgia, relies on Russia, and is resolute for independence. Andrew
Mueller reports from Abkhazia.
Sukhum's international airport must be the quietest such aviation hub
on earth. There are only a couple of passenger jets parked on the
runway, derelict Aeroflot planes that look like they haven't been
airborne since Leonid Brezhnev was in power. There are no customs
formalities, just a bored security guard waving the few arrivals
through, and outside there are no taxis, no buses, no uniformed
chauffeurs holding up the names of their passengers.
Also on Abkhazia and Georgia in openDemocracy's `Caucasian
fractures' debate:
George Hewitt, `Sakartvelo: roots of turmoil' (November 2003)
Nino Nanava, `Mikhail Saakashvili: new romantic or modern realist'
(December 2003)
Neal Ascherson, `Tbilisi, Georgia: the rose revolution's rocky road'
(July 2005)
Chris Smith, `Baku-Ceyhan, the politics of oil' (August 2005)
If you find this material valuable please consider supporting
openDemocracy by sending us a donation so that we can continue our
work and keep it free for all
The moribund status of Sukhum's international airport is a by-product
of the fact that nobody outside Sukhum (sometimes rendered as
`Sukhumi') considers it an international airport. Sukhum is the
nominal capital of Abkhazia, a region in the north-west of Georgia
which has been struggling for more than a decade to be recognised as
an independent, sovereign state. The cost, in money and human life,
has been incalculable: around 10,000 people are estimated to have
died in the little-reported 1992-93 war with Georgia, many of them
Abkhazians in a total Abkhaz population of only 90,000.
For most foreigners, coming here is possible only if they can gain
the necessary approval to travel on one of the United Nations's
sporadic helicopter flights from the Georgian military airbase near
Senaki. The lumbering Russian-built Mi-8s fly straight to the coast
and then miles out into the Black Sea before turning back around to
Sukhum; the careful arc an acknowledgment that in October 2001, a UN
helicopter was shot down over Abkhazia, killing all nine people
aboard.
A shadow state
Abkhazia is visibly determined - despite the overt hostility of
Georgia, and the indifference of the rest of the planet - to make its
own way in the world. The territory's public buildings, shops and
street stalls, fly Abkhazia's own flag, rich in symbolism: green and
white stripes (representing Abkhazia's mixed Christian and Islamic
heritage), a red panel emblazoned with an open palm (denoting
friendship), which appears to be juggling seven white stars
(representing Abkhazia's provinces).
The formalities of independent status are everywhere. Abkhazia has
its own government, which collects its own taxes, and includes its
own foreign ministry (even if, by definition, this seems a bit like
Switzerland having a navy minister or the Netherlands a mountain
rescue service); its own police, operating according to Abkhazia's
own laws; its own military, in which two years' service is compulsory
for young men; its own postage stamps (though opinion about the
chances of postcards sent with them ever being seen again is mixed).
At the same time, the realities of dependency abound. Abhkazia plans
to issue its own passports, though an agreement to give all
Abkhazians the right of Russian citizenship in 2002 seemed to
compromise the goal of statehood. Russian troops guarantee the
country's border with Georgia on the Inguri river to the east, and
are present in Sukhum itself - enviably billeted in tree-shrouded
dachas next to the beach in one of the old Soviet Union's premier
holiday resorts (which must beat serving in Chechnya).
Abkhazia may shun the Georgian currency (lari), but it uses the
Russian rouble rather than any currency of its own. Russian is also
the most commonly heard language, though in recent years there has
been a revival of interest in the northwest Caucasian language of
Abkhazian, another marker of distinction from south Caucasian
Georgian (kartvelebi) and Mingrelian (megruli) of Georgia.
Abkhazians are fond of pointing out that the country's modern
difficulties derive from a decree by a son of Georgia, Josef Stalin.
After the consolidation of Soviet power in 1921, Abkhazia enjoyed
(for want of a better term) the same constitutional status within the
Soviet Union as Georgia itself - that of an Autonomous Soviet
Socialist Republic.
Stalin's regular holidays in Abkhazia inspired no fondness for its
people (with his chief henchman, Lavrenti Beria - a Mingrelian - he
would destroy Nestor Lakoba and the rest of Abkhazia's political
leadership in the 1930s purges). In 1931, he decided to reduce its
status by incorporating it into Georgia. Georgian was made Abkhazia's
official language, and thousands of Georgians were encouraged to
settle there. By the time the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics
stopped answering to its own name in 1991, only around 20% of
Abkhazia's population were ethnically Abkhazian.
War descended upon Abkhazia in August 1992. Post-Soviet Georgia had
lurched from the crazed misdirection of chauvinist zealot Zviad
Gamsakhurdia to the overlordship of ex-Soviet foreign minister Eduard
Shevardnadze, who - in face of Abkhazian moves to outright
independence - sanctioned a brutal invasion of the rebellious
province.
The thirteen-month war was largely ignored by a world then
preoccupied with the carnage in disintegrating ex-Yugoslavia. Yet
there are deep parallels between the conflicts - in the `ethnic
cleansing' of populations, the state- and media-orchestrated
nationalist intolerance, and the impulse to cultural annihilation as
well as military victory.
Just as the Bosnian Serbs attempted to extinguish proof of Bosnia's
national identity by destroying the national library in Sarajevo, so
Georgian bombs razed Abkhazia's Institute of Language, Literature and
History, and used Sukhum's monuments to local heroes as target
practice (the bulletholes are still visible in many cases, while the
statue of poet Dmitri Gulia has its head blown off).
It is hard to find a single Abkhazian who didn't lose friends or
family members in the conflict with Georgia. Eventually, Abkhazia's
hastily-convened irregular forces - abetted by various detachments of
Russians as well as Chechens and other `north Caucasians' - drove the
Georgian military from Abkhazian territory. Around 250,000 ethnically
Georgian refugees fled with them, many to a hellish long-term
existence in the ruins of Tbilisi's Hotel Iveria.
Abkhazia declared independence in 1994. It has been painfully
attempting to recover ever since. The territory still has no formal
transport links with the rest of Georgia, though discussions about
restoring the railway line have been held. Ships from Turkey call at
Sukhum, though they risk being impounded or fired on by Georgian
naval vessels. Increasing numbers of Russian tourists negotiate the
only open border crossing near Sochi to enjoy the beaches and hotels
of Gagra and Pitsunda, prestigious resorts during Soviet times.
No compromise
The potential wealth generated by tourism, against the backdrop of
one of the most fertile regions in the world, would certainly be
enough to sustain a workable Abkhazian economy. Yet in present
geopolitical circumstances it is difficult to see how Abkhazia's
dreams can possibly come true.
It is inconceivable that any Georgian government will offer it
independence - aside from giving up miles of potentially profitable
coastline, recognising Abkhazia could only encourage Georgia's other
restive regions (the Adzharian problem may have been solved, but
South Ossetia is beyond Tbilisi's control and there is growing
discontent among the Armenian minority in the south).
Moreover, the United States has no conceivable interest in Abkhazian
statehood. It is developing closer military and strategic ties with
Georgia, and its interest in Caspian oil supplies is reflected in its
support of the Baku-Ceyhan oil pipeline that runs through Georgia's
territory.
The US has consistently made clear its positive view of Georgia since
the `rose revolution' that brought its smart young president, Mikhail
Saakashvili, to power in late 2003 - even extending the honour of an
ecstatically-welcomed visit by George W Bush in May 2005.
Meanwhile, the present uncertainty over Abkhazia's status and future
suits Russia rather well. As Tbilisi strives to move closer to the
west, Moscow can loom menacingly in Georgia's wing-mirrors and
preserve its strategic options in the troubled region (fuelling more
febrile Georgians' fears that Abkhazians may one day be used - like
Sudetenland Germans in Czechoslovakia in the 1930s - as a pretext for
military intervention).
Despite this apparent absence of hope for a diplomatic breakthrough
in Abkhazia's recognition by the international community, there seems
no appetite - among Abkhazia's government or public alike - for any
sort of compromise. Indeed, in a government riven with personal
rivalries (something that became dangerously apparent during the
contested, divisive, and occasionally violent electoral process
between October 2004 and January 2005), this may be the only unifying
factor. When examples of a middle way are suggested, such as the
Basque country's autonomy inside Spain or Scotland's and Wales's
within the United Kingdom, they are swiftly dismissed.
`There are', the foreign minister Sergei Shamba declares, `no models
which could bring us together with the Georgian state. Due to
history, and due to public opinion, we stand by our right to
independence.'
`It's about us, now', confirms Vice-President Raul Khadjimba. `We
have to create the conditions for the world to hear about us. We have
to use television, newspapers, the internet, to tell people more
about Abkhazia. Maybe one day these issues will touch someone's
heart, and the world will give us a chance.'