The Adyghe (Circassian) Way of Raising Children, by Naima Neflyasheva

This article by Naima Neflyasheva, PhD, a Senior Research Fellow at the Institute of Oriental Studies of the Russian Academy of Sciences, addresses traditional child-rearing practices in Adyghe (Circassian) families. Originally published in Russian on the Sovetskaya Adygeya website on 25 June 2024, it explores the values, customs, and pedagogical principles that shape Adyghe attitudes toward children and family bonds. Previously, we published another translation of Neflyasheva’s work, titled Being a Man in the Circassian Way. This English version aims to broaden the readership for Neflyasheva's insights into the cultural heritage of the Adyghe people.

A terrible tragedy has recently struck [Republic of] Adygea: a three-year-old girl lost her life within her own family. Horror, shock, tears, numbness—no words can truly convey the feelings that overtook every decent and sensible person. I am confident that the investigation and legal system will punish those responsible and properly assess the situation—this is the civic and public expectation in Adygea. To avoid letting the horror of this incident cloud our judgement, I invite readers in this column to reflect on how the Adyghes (Circassians)  have traditionally valued children and established the boundaries of acceptable behaviour in adult-child relationships.

The Adyghe (Circassians) have always viewed childhood as a distinct culture, a living world brimming with improvisations, replete with its own traditions, language, structure, and functions. At the same time, each child’s childhood is a responsibility borne by adults, who fulfil their dreams through the lives of their children.

A Child is Always a Joy

The arrival of a child, especially a firstborn, is a great, joyous, and celebratory event for the family and the clan as a whole. The Adyghe would say, “КIалэ зэрымысым насып илъэп”—"Without a child, there is no happiness in the family."

Although parents generally hoped for a son, even a firstborn daughter was cherished, receiving all the tenderness and care of her family. It was believed that a firstborn daughter was sent by the Almighty as a symbol of happiness and good fortune; her arrival altered the family’s psychological atmosphere, softened dispositions, and even softened the tough warriors—dzhigits (intrepid horsemen), whose heroic deeds were sung by the jeguako (folk singers and storytellers known for heroic and lyrical improvisation —Ed.), who would melt with happiness as they gazed at the tiny bundle smiling at them from her cradle.

Upon the birth of a child, the Adyghe would immediately hang a white flag on the roof of the house or high above the estate gates—a symbol of this joyous occasion. It meant that every passerby could and was even obliged to enter the home and share in their happiness. In one story about the sage Zhabaghi Kazanoko (Circassian: Къэзэнокъуе Жэбагъы; 1685–1750, a Circassian philosopher, socio-political figure, educator, and poet —Ed.), he declined an invitation to visit a home where a boy had been born, explaining his refusal as follows: “I do not wish to be where there is someone ‘older than me.’” In this way, the infant symbolically became older than the adults in terms of the honour shown to him.

The first months of a child’s life were filled with various rituals aimed at protecting both the baby and the mother. The Adyghe placed tremendous importance on ensuring that children’s development was complete—physically, mentally, and psychologically. Healthy, well-cared-for, educated, intelligent, and content children were a testament to the psychological well-being of the family and clan. In this harmonious triangle of energies, the mother’s tenderness, the father’s strictness, and the trusting relationships with grandparents, Adyghe children grew up.

"At the heart of Adyghe (Circassian) folk pedagogy was an unconditional love for children. Much of the traditional system of upbringing was structured to instil a sense of dignity and self-respect in the child."

Children, especially girls, were carefully shielded from heavy physical labour, malnutrition, and sleep deprivation until they were about 18-20 years old. Adolescent boys who helped their fathers in the fields or on hunts, and girls who assisted their mothers with household duties, were only assigned tasks suited to their capabilities.

This attentive, respectful, and gentle treatment of children was evident even in small gestures. For instance, if water was brought to a gathering with children, the youngest were always offered a drink first, followed by everyone else. To this day, one may see an elderly grandfather proudly leading his 3-4-year-old grandson by the hand, giving the child the honoured place on his right.

The Adyghe culture had a subtle system of rewards that balanced beautifully with the custom of not openly praising one’s own children. For example, when a boy rode a horse for the first time, it was celebrated within the family as a joyous event. If children brought back firewood or a small pouch of forest berries, the mother would commend them and organise a small treat for the family. A boy’s first time in the fields with adult men during the spring ploughing was a major occasion, celebrated with the sacrifice of a lamb. A girl’s diligent efforts to embroider a pattern on velvet were also encouraged and rewarded.

Such encouragement of children is common among other Caucasian peoples as well. For instance, among the Chechens, it was customary to publicly praise a child for good behaviour or hard work. An uncle or close relative might reward a boy with a young horse, a dagger, a belt, or something of significance.

Much in the traditional system of upbringing was designed to foster a sense of dignity and self-respect in the child. Unconditional love for children was at the heart of Adyghe folk pedagogy. This love was shown in a way that left no doubt in the child’s mind that family was a steadfast refuge where they were loved, yet it also set boundaries to prevent children from manipulating adults to get their way.

The Responsibility of Family and Community

In traditional Adyghe society, a child’s upbringing was not solely the responsibility of the extended family; the community also played a role. Any adult considered it not only permissible but necessary to correct children or young people whose behaviour deviated from accepted norms.

In such cases, adults would typically ask which family the children belonged to and who their parents were. This simple question was usually enough to temper the behaviour of any unruly adolescent. If deemed appropriate, an adult would notify the child’s father, mother, or older sibling of any “warning signs,” subtly reminding them that responsibility for a child’s behaviour rested with the entire family, particularly its senior members.

Thirty to fifty years ago, this approach was not considered interference in family affairs. There was no question that adults had an obligation to observe children’s behaviour, providing timely guidance, redirection, or caution as needed. Such practices today would be difficult to imagine. An unrelated adult would likely face resistance from the child’s parents, who would quickly assert the importance of personal boundaries and distance. It’s also now rare to see adolescents who will patiently and respectfully listen to the comments of an unfamiliar elder without retorting.

“A Reasonable Person Does Not Raise a Hand Against a Child”

"Children, both male and female, regardless of their age, are entirely dependent on their parents, on both father and mother. They must obey them with humility and the deepest respect in every aspect, accept every command from them, comply without complaint, and endure any punishment from their parents without resistance," wrote F[yodor] Leontovich about the Adyghe in his famous book Adats [Customs] of the Caucasian Highlanders.

Let us try to understand what “punishing a child” meant to the Adyghe.

First and foremost, children’s misdeeds, whether minor or severe, were considered a source of shame not only for the family but for the entire clan. Parents bore great moral responsibility for their children’s misbehaviour because people retained memories of these misdeeds for years. Such behaviour was often brought up in conversation, and mothers and grandmothers might be reminded of or even reproached for these incidents at women’s gatherings. Nicknames and labels attached to a person could follow them for decades. This was common across the North Caucasus.

Children’s missteps were remembered and cited as lessons for other children. Ethnographer M[aysarat] Musaeva recounts a parable from the Andalal society in Dagestan: “A father, whose son was quite ‘difficult,’ would drive a nail into a post each time his son committed a serious misdeed. As the boy matured, he outgrew his troublesome phase, rethought his life, and began performing good deeds. After each good act, the father would pull out a nail. By the time the boy reached adulthood, all the nails had been removed. However, the marks left by the nails remained on the post forever. In the same way, bad reputations linger in people’s memories for a long time.”

The Adyghe encouraged a natural, unobtrusive form of supervision, and remarks were made in a delicate, sometimes playful manner so that children perceived them as expressions of care, love, and attention. Anything that could harm a child’s dignity or self-esteem, such as physical punishment, harshness, scolding, or shouting, especially in the presence of others, was considered a sign of weakness in the parents or elders and was viewed as entirely improper. Polish colonel Teofil Lapinski, who lived among the Circassians for an extended period in the 1850s, wrote, “Children are raised with great reasonableness. A child is never beaten, nor even scolded.”

Circassians from the Baksan region, mid-19th century. Photograph by D.A. Nikitin.

B[arasbi] Bgazhnokov (1947-2020), a renowned scholar who introduced the subtleties of Adyghe (Circassian) etiquette to the academic world in the 1970s, noted, “Adyghe folk pedagogy favours gentle punishments that involve suggestion, analysis, and explanation of the reasons for and ethical shortcomings of the action. Furthermore, to avoid discouraging children from engaging in any beneficial work, adults tactfully refrained from punishing poorly performed tasks, more often addressing bad behaviour instead.”

Typically, punishment for a child involved withholding certain privileges, such as riding a horse, playing with friends, visiting others, or buying a new item.

Violence against children was categorically prohibited. The Adyghe found it unacceptable to hit children, lock them in dark rooms, make them stand in the corner, call them names, deprive them of food, or force them to perform physically demanding tasks beyond their ability.

An interesting question arises: when should a child’s upbringing begin? Folk wisdom suggests that even from 40 days old, an infant begins to perceive tones of approval or disapproval in the mother’s voice and responds to them. More serious, instructive conversations started around the ages of 5-7, usually not directly but through stories about past events or instances from the lives of acquaintances and personal stories.

In cases where a child had already done something wrong, they would be spoken to by almost everyone in the family, from parents to uncles and grandparents, each taking a turn. These conversations were often accompanied by instructive proverbs and folktales, a role grandparents usually excelled in. A child was considered well-raised if a single look or gesture from an adult was enough for them to understand their behaviour was out of line.

Physical punishment was rare: at most, a boy might receive a light tap on the back of the head or a couple of mild slaps, but under no circumstances would a child be beaten.

Older children (around 12-15 years old) might sometimes be “punished” for inappropriate behaviour in a playful manner, but always with care to avoid any harshness that could harm the child’s psyche.

Punishments were expected to be fair, another core principle of traditional pedagogy.

Yusuf Kadyrovich Namitokov, a pioneer in Adyghe ethnopedagogy, summarised the folk approach to upbringing in his writings from the 1960s, condemning any harsh or, worse still, unjust treatment of children by parents. He noted that the greatest harm punishments inflict on children and adolescents lies in the fact that any form of punishment can offend a child’s dignity.

All of this underscores the humanistic foundations of Adyghe folk pedagogy, which embodies a gentle and careful approach to young children. It was for these small, weak, and defenceless ones that parents became a reliable source of support as they grew. The culture encouraged parents’ reasonable willingness to sacrifice their time, health, and resources to ensure their child stood strong, received a good upbringing and education, and became self-sufficient. Compassion, empathy, care, and understanding were naturally expected of adults towards children.

What happened to the little girl in [the city of] Adygeysk is an alarming signal that raises countless questions. What does it signify? The actions of parents who have lost all semblance of humanity? Or does it reflect a crisis in the traditional Adyghe institutions and the community engagement systems within which such a tragedy would have been inconceivable? Was it the criminal indifference of child protection agencies that casually returned a girl to a family who didn’t want her from the very moment of her birth?

We all must find answers to these questions…

Naima Neflyasheva, Candidate of Historical Sciences, Senior Research Fellow, Centre for Civilisational and Regional Studies, Institute for African Studies, Russian Academy of Sciences.