What and Why Do Georgians Think about Abkhazians, by Katie Kantaria
This article, written by Georgian (Mingrelian) journalist Katie Kantaria and originally published on 'Netgazeti' on 5 May 2016, offers a reflective and nuanced exploration of the complex relations between Georgians and Abkhazians. The piece delves into historical grievances, present-day tensions, and the contrasting perceptions within Georgian society regarding the Abkhazian people. Kantaria highlights the challenges of overcoming deep seated narratives, shaped by decades of conflict, while pointing to moments of potential reconciliation. Translated from Georgian, the article provides an insight into the evolving discourse on the Georgian-Abkhazian conflict.
What and Why Do Georgians Think about Abkhazians
I am well aware that there are no absolute analogies around us, especially when it comes to the world’s ongoing or dormant conflicts. But recently, I listened to a friendly debate between Adam Michnik and a Ukrainian writer and concluded that, eventually, all conflicts, all forms of hostility, grow old, and sometimes completely opposing attitudes emerge in their place. Poland lost one of its most enchanting regions, which is now considered part of Ukraine, and conversely, what Ukrainians once viewed as part of western Ukraine now belongs to Poland. Michnik and the writer never ran out of topics to argue about, but these were more ethical matters than territorial ones. These two peoples, whose shared past is far from friendly, have found a new framework for their relationship. Among other things, this framework includes Europe, a shared sense of region or home, common friends, and a collective vision for the future.
A couple of weeks ago, Netgazeti published an interesting piece. The post was written in Abkhazia. Eight young Abkhazians talked about the potential future relationships between us. In recent months, such materials have accumulated: a few months ago, Sputnik Abkhazia published the impressions of a young Abkhazian man and a journalist girl following their visit to the Enguri [Ingur –Ed.] Hydro Power Plant. It is clear that the other side is also facing problems, and I think these issues are becoming tiresome for them, not just for us. But let's start by looking at ourselves. We can begin here. We might need a psychologist’s help to understand not why, but how we interpret things, why we get so heated, what exactly our expectations are, and why we remain stuck in one place as Georgian citizens. What’s even more frustrating, far more frustrating than hearing about Abkhazian problems, is how diligently most of our citizens try not to see the root causes of the conflict, or to learn anything new, anything different from the narrative we inherited from our comrade Beria's well-established system.
However, what seems to be an even more troubling issue is the consciousness problem – the confusion between love and hate, knowledge and ignorance, virtue and immorality in our attitude towards the people on the other side of the conflict. I believe we are dealing with a pathology here. On the one hand, we offer free medical treatment to the Abkhazians, yet on the other hand, we scheme against them. One day, we declare the Abkhazians to be the most precious people for the Georgian nation, and the next, we claim that “these” Abkhazians are not the “real” Abkhazians. Numerous such examples can be cited. It also seems like a pattern that intelligent and well-meaning people tend to distance themselves from engaging with the Abkhazians (I am referring to social networks now), while those infected with this split mentality are incredibly active.
A few years ago, I was surprised to discover that psychologists had also been involved in our work on conflicts. Over time, I began to understand why this might be a very sound approach. But now I have another question, where are these psychologists?
If I have even a basic understanding of psychology, regardless of the type of conflict, psychologists would probably first recommend that we try to put ourselves in the shoes of the other side, or at least one another's. One can only imagine how difficult this would be for the side that shows no signs of such duplicity. This side knows exactly what it wants, and while its situation may not be enviable, it still knows, quite clearly, that being in a precarious position is better than relying on an unreliable, split side like ours.
+ Exposing Ignorance: Navigating the Sea of Deceptions
+ Ivanishvili's Apology and Militaristic Heroism, by Giorgi Khasaia
+ "The Key to the Future" | Georgian-Abkhazian Conflict
+ It's necessary to find a way out! (Letter of 37 | 1997)
+ I am an Abkhaz, by Irakli Kakabadze
I believe two things throw Georgian citizens off balance: the other side’s clear, unwavering certainty, and their mistrust, or if you prefer, we can call it hatred, because, in our framework, this mistrust looks like hatred in response to our internal contradictions. Georgians find it difficult to maintain their composure whenever they are confronted with every expression of this “hatred.”
For these reasons, we end up with a strange picture, where the most unimaginable dialogues become possible. The quintessence of such dialogue might look like this: Explanation – At one point, the Russian Empire uprooted the Abkhazians from their own land, deported them to Turkey, or created the conditions for their expulsion. In their place, along with others, Georgians were settled. Then came Beria’s policies—prohibiting the Abkhaz language, initiating a new wave of Georgian settlers. This was followed by decades in which members of the newly settled ethnic group would convince the local indigenous population that they were the "intruders," mere "guests sheltered by Georgian soil" (here, we should pay special attention to the psychologist’s advice and project the described situation onto our own ethnophobia, for example, how Armenophobia manifests, to imagine what feelings this narrative might evoke in the local population). Lastly, there was the war, foolishly initiated, which claimed the lives of every tenth or twelfth Abkhazian. Now we have a generation for whom the rampages of the State Council, or rather Georgian formations, through the towns and villages of Abkhazia are the nightmares of their childhood. Those who do not remember these events have grown up hearing about them. Response 1. But weren’t they at fault too? 2. But where does this awful hatred come from? You can add a third, more indifferent version: "But those aren’t the same Abkhazians," or "I understand all that, but are the Russians really better?" At moments like these, it becomes clear that the word "I understand" doesn’t actually mean anything has been understood. It’s a cliché that helps us deflect information, a springboard to move into attack mode.
We might reassure ourselves: the Russians also get their fair share of "hatred," and it's not impossible for the "hatred" towards the Georgian side to subside. Perhaps "de-clichéing" the word "I understand" and using it in its true sense might actually lead to something positive.
A few months ago, an Abkhazian MP, Almaskhan Dzhopua, brought to light a concealed bill related to the sale of real estate to foreigners, which had been kept from public discussion. In April, a detonator was found in his car. Almaskhan Jopua narrowly survived. A few days ago, someone named Vitaly Belsky in the Russian media deflected the incident, pointing fingers at neighbouring countries' secret services. Surprisingly (perhaps due to a thaw in relations), Georgia was not mentioned on the list. Belsky is an important figure at the Eurasian Economic Union Institute. The Abkhazians discussed this event heatedly on social networks. Regarding one of the questions—the one concerning "Russia’s love"—from my observations, the most intense and direct comments came from a particular group. This group, unlike the typical Georgian interlocutors, is made up of sincere Abkhaz nationalists. Unlike their Georgian counterparts, these individuals are not just patriots in words. Whenever Russian interests clash with the core interests of the Abkhazian state, they choose not to “go along” with them, despite often adding a comment about how there are no anti-Russian forces in Abkhazia, nor will there ever be. Abkhazia is indeed considered a pro-Russian enclave and, for now, will continue to be regarded as such. However, there are interesting layers to its "pro-Russian" stance, and each of these layers is filled with dry, pragmatic considerations. I haven’t come across anyone here who mirrors the Georgian propagandist type, the so-called patriot who emphasises “shared faith” and spiritual closeness. I repeat, this is the group that criticises the Georgian side most sharply. There are nationalists of such a degree that their counterparts in the Georgian environment would likely label them “fascists.” In the 2014 elections, this segment of the electorate supported the current government, but when they realised that the source of evil was not the "pro-Georgian" Ankvab (as per their version) and that this role is essentially interchangeable, they immediately distanced themselves.
At one point, I seriously contemplated the theme of Caucasian enmity and reconciliation. Some things were characteristic of our region and seemed mutually exclusive. I wonder, which idea is correct in this region, where the tradition of blood revenge hasn’t yet been fully lost, where past traumas aren’t easily forgiven, and hostility is passed down through generations? Or is it the opposite? Among people who have emerged from a warrior-feudal system, for whom such ethics are not foreign and for whom war is a regular affair, forgiveness through grand gestures happens when both sides give each other the opportunity to do so. It seemed to me that there are signs of this here. In a patriarchal society, there is a certain reverence for strength or power, even among the most "warlike" peoples, such as the Chechens. Since the Russian state is sufficiently powerful, a Chechen would never address a Russian in the same way an Abkhaz addresses a Georgian in the internet space, let alone an Abkhaz to a Russian, which I won’t even comment on. For rare individuals, the "return of Crimea" creates the illusion of their own victory. Russians even have a saying, "We ploughed together", this is one such case. It’s another small brick in the deconstruction of the Caucasian patriarchy. However, the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict is far more severe and uncompromising than ours, where any talk of "easing" the situation seems almost impossible.
The Georgian-Abkhazian conflict sits somewhere in the middle. If part of the Abkhaz population behaves as if they are waving their fists after the peasant rebellion, then Georgian naïve attempts at appeasement seem even worse. The Georgian side has not retained a warrior culture, but rather the ethics of a minor nobleman, unprepared for noble gestures (both materially and otherwise), yet eager to appear graceful. But the problem isn’t just that they only have one boot and are waiting for the other one to arrive to show off their artistic-aristocratic persona and convince the world of their unique charm. When given the opportunity, they build a "polished" city with borrowed money, a city of skyscrapers for the other side to admire, though there is no room for the one-booted character in it, and Russian tourists come flooding in.
Naturally, this article was prompted by the reaction of Georgian readers to comments made by Abkhazians. However, what has stayed with me the most is not a grand issue, but a small detail. It may seem insignificant, hardly worth mentioning, and some local sceptics might even find it laughable that I’m focusing on it—the free provision of plant treatment chemicals to the Zugdidi municipality. At the time, it struck me, as if I could feel that perhaps the Abkhaz side enjoys acting in this way, projecting a desired future onto the present. It seems to me that many Abkhazians envision real independence like this—without war, without threats. Georgia is seen as a friendly state, perhaps the only state. Its people might be the only people on the face of the earth who know and understand Abkhazia and the Abkhazians as they once did. It's as if we’re in the same boat, and these small gestures of attention give hope that this boat can steer out of murky waters, towards a shared framework—one similar to what Ukraine and Poland found. More than that, we have an even narrower, more familiar framework—this is our home, our region, called the Caucasus.