Khasan Abazov: ‘30 September Is a Great Day We Share’

SUKHUM / AQW'A —  Victory in the 1992–1993 Patriotic War of the People of Abkhazia was secured not only on the battlefield, but also through difficult political struggles in which peace across the Caucasus hung in the balance. In an exclusive interview with Apsnypress, Khasan Abazov, a volunteer from Kabardino-Balkaria, recalls the dramatic opening days of the war and explains how, in his view, wise leadership spared his republic from becoming a “second Chechnya”.

A chance radio report and a stunned family

How did you learn that war had broken out in Abkhazia? How old were you, and how did you decide to go to the front?

It happened entirely by chance. One morning in August 1992, I was travelling from Kislovodsk to Nalchik on a scheduled bus, sitting at the front beside the driver. Suddenly, an urgent news bulletin came over the radio: “Units of the Georgian armed forces entered Sukhum this morning.” It hit me like an electric shock: “My brothers are in trouble!”

We were just approaching Pyatigorsk. I was supposed to continue to Nalchik, but I simply could not. I got off the bus there in Pyatigorsk, found the next service to Sukhum and set off for Abkhazia.

So you did not hesitate? What about your family? How did they react?

They were stunned, of course! But they only found out where I had gone four or five days later. By then, I was already in Abkhazia. I was 47, old enough to make my own decisions.

Ten lorries and a passage through the blockade

Your first spell at the front was brief. You were sent on another mission that was no less important, weren’t you?

Yes, I was here for only a short time on that first occasion. Kabardino-Balkaria had urgently put together its first humanitarian aid consignment for Abkhazia. Our fellow countryman Sultan Sosnaliyev, who later became the republic’s defence minister, was chief of staff in Gudauta. We already knew one another through our work in the Congress of the Kabardian People, a public organisation in Kabardino-Balkaria that opposed the authorities.

Sultan said: “Khasan, a large aid consignment is on its way. I don’t know exactly how much there is or what it contains. Would you be able to return to Kabarda and help bring it here to Abkhazia?”

The convoy was led by Kabardino-Balkaria’s minister of social welfare at the time, and a team from the republic’s traffic police escorted it to the border. I said, “Of course!” and went back.

We loaded ten KamAZ lorries in Kabardino-Balkaria. They carried nothing but food: flour, sugar and meat. But there was an enormous problem: how were we to get from Adler to Gudauta? Georgian units controlled the route from the Psou towards Gudauta. Ten KamAZ lorries make a huge convoy. It was hardly something we could hide. How could we cross territory controlled by Georgian forces? There was no chance of getting through safely. Even if we crossed the border at Adler, we would inevitably have had to surrender the entire consignment to the Georgians.

What solution did you find?

When Abkhazians and Kabardians put their heads together, they will think of something! Every seemingly hopeless situation has at least three ways out.

We came up with a plan, and the Abkhaz diaspora in Sochi made it possible. Their leading figure at the time was the director of the local brewery. Unfortunately, I cannot remember his surname.

Initially, we stopped with the convoy in Dagomys, unsure how to proceed. Going by land was out of the question: we would either have been shot or had the cargo seized. We could not transport so many tonnes by helicopter, and in any case there were no helicopters available. The only solution we could see was to go by sea.

There were still four or five pleasure boats in Gudauta. Three were brought to us at Vesyoloye, a village virtually on the border with Abkhazia, but on the Adler side. We drove the lorries there, quickly transferred all the food onto the boats and headed out into international waters in the Black Sea. From there, we sailed to Gudauta and unloaded.

Not a single kilogram was lost. Everything arrived safe and sound.

From surgeon to intelligence gathering: a Kuban Cossack cover story

You had successfully broken through the blockade. What happened next?

I am a surgeon by profession, so naturally, when I returned, I began doing medical work straight away. I joined Gudauta District Hospital. We operated on and treated not only our fighters, but also local civilians. The conditions were incredibly difficult.

For one thing, we lacked even the most basic supplies. I could also see that the local medical staff were very capable. Then another doctor from our republic arrived, Anzor Goov, who would later become Abkhazia’s health minister. Anatoly Matuyev was the third to come, bringing our number to three. At some point, I realised that my heart was pulling me towards the front.

I went to Sultan Sosnaliyev and said: “Sultan, I know I’m needed here, but I want to go to the front, to the front line!”

He tried to talk me out of it: “Khasan, for goodness’ sake, what are you saying? You’re a doctor. You’re saving lives!”

I replied: “Listen, we have no blood at all! Not a single bottle for transfusions, not a drop. The wounded arrive with blood pouring from their injuries. They need blood, and I have none to give them. In these conditions, I would be lucky to save one out of ten. I cannot work like this. It is tearing me apart.”

So you left for the front and took up arms?

Yes. I left the hospital and joined the Kabardian volunteers in Pitsunda, where my friend Ibrahim Yaganov commanded the unit. He was not particularly enthusiastic about my decision either. Nevertheless, on the second or third day, he gave me an assault rifle. I began accompanying a Kabardian sniper, Zaur Makhotlov, to a sniper position near the old poultry farm, providing cover with my rifle. Close friends of mine were fighting there too.

Zaur was a renowned Kabardian volunteer. He served as a sniper until the end of the war and was awarded the highest honour, Hero of Abkhazia, for his actions. He fought throughout the war and then returned to Kabarda.

His fate after the war was both tragic and mysterious. He had been home for less than a year when he disappeared without a trace. There was no word from him, nothing at all. However hard we and the official agencies searched, we never found any trace of him.

We have also heard about another aspect of your wartime work in Abkhazia. Can you now tell us something about it?

Let us put it this way: I would not use the grand title of “intelligence officer”. To do that work fully, you need to penetrate the enemy’s military structures. I was not sitting in their headquarters. More accurately, I was an informant.

Dressed in civilian clothes, I spent time in the part of Gagra controlled by Georgian formations. My task was to listen, observe and take note: how many of them there were, what their morale was like, where they were moving and what military equipment they had.

I committed it all to memory, then passed written reports to our side through agreed drop-off points near the old poultry farm. This was 1992, of course, and there were no mobile phones. I never saw who collected the information, nor did I need to.

Eventually, the command decided that I would be more useful staying there among them permanently. That meant I needed a convincing cover story in case I was discovered.

My story was that I was a Kuban Cossack from Krasnodar Territory. All my papers had supposedly been burnt and lost during a shelling attack, leaving me without identity documents. Without them, I could get neither to Gudauta nor to Russia.

Not once did a Georgian approach me with suspicions. I even sat at the same table with them, talking and drinking while gathering precious scraps of information.

Behind the scenes of victory: told to go home

What do you remember of the war’s final stages?

Once our troops had captured the key positions and the enemy’s western front had collapsed completely, it became clear to us that we had won. It was only a matter of time. Our greatest concern was how many more lads we might lose in those final days.

One day, Sultan called me in for a conversation. By then, things had become difficult at home. I was facing dismissal because I had been away from work for so long and could have lost my job for good. My poor wife was in tears, not knowing what to do.

Sultan looked at me and said: “Khasan, you have already done more than enough for us, for Abkhazia. You need to go home. Your family is waiting for you. We can manage from here.”

I thought about it for a long time, but eventually took his advice and returned to Nalchik.

My connection with Abkhazia did not end there. A period of complicated post-war political questions followed, including matters concerning relations between Abkhazia and Kabardino-Balkaria. I was deeply involved in those processes and, to be honest, I remain involved to this day.

The war was over, and the question was how to organise the peace. One condition of the peace agreement was that volunteer units should leave Abkhazia and that military vehicles, including tanks and armoured personnel carriers, should be withdrawn with their guns and machine guns removed.

According to the information I had, Georgia was taking its vehicles out fully armed. That meant that, if the situation deteriorated, this entire armoured force could cross the Ingur and enter Abkhazia again within a day or two. In response, the Abkhaz leadership decided to suspend the volunteers’ withdrawal.

For some reason, the Georgian side feared the volunteers. I do not know why. In the end, they had to comply and begin withdrawing their vehicles with the guns and machine guns removed. Only then was the issue of bringing our lads home effectively resolved.

Averting a “second Chechnya”

The return of hundreds of armed, battle-hardened men must have posed a considerable political risk for Kabardino-Balkaria itself?

An enormous one! At least 1,000 to 1,500 lads would be returning to Kabarda. If even a third had come back carrying weapons, the political situation would have changed.

There was a very strong opposition in the republic at the time, represented by the Congress of the Kabardian People and the Adyge Khase public movement. Had armed opposition supporters joined them, the political situation would have changed radically. In other words, we would have had a second Chechnya, this time in Kabarda.

We could not allow that to happen. With this in mind, I approached Kanshobi Azhakhov and Yuri Ketov, advisers to President Valery Mukhamedovich Kokov. I told them directly: “We need to organise the lads’ return ourselves. Please arrange a meeting with the president, if possible.”

They reported this to Kokov. The following day, they called: “Khasan, Valery Mukhamedovich fully supports the proposal. There is no need even for a personal meeting.”

Valery Kokov thought strategically. He understood which way the pendulum might swing. A state commission was formed, including myself, Musa Shanibov, Azhakhov and others. Its work resulted in a presidential decree which stipulated, among other things, that a delegation from Kabardino-Balkaria should meet the volunteers and accompany them home.

The journey home: how Kabarda welcomed its volunteers

How did the return to the North Caucasus unfold?

Our delegation, led by Kanshobi Azhakhov, met the lads in Maykop. They were travelling in a huge convoy of Ikarus buses alongside the Chechen volunteers. We had all stood shoulder to shoulder there: Adygeans, Kabardians, Chechens.

The route took us through Adygea and Cherkessia. In Adygea, people welcomed us in the square with a rally, embraces and traditional dancing. It was the same in Cherkessk. But Kabarda’s welcome was something quite extraordinary.

Valery Mukhamedovich Kokov organised everything brilliantly. Our convoy reached the border with Stavropol Territory, near a small restaurant by Lake Tambukan, shortly after midnight. The lads were told that we would continue into Kabarda at dawn.

It turned out that the president had instructed all four administrative districts along the route to Nalchik to arrange formal welcomes for the volunteers. And they did. The entire road from Tambukan to Nalchik was alive with celebration.

‘Let us call it Abkhazia Square’

And then you entered Nalchik. How did an overgrown patch of land become such a powerful symbol of brotherhood?

Nalchik… The whole city came out, just like an old-fashioned May Day celebration! People filled the streets, lining the route in unbroken crowds.

Lenin Avenue runs from the railway station to the House of Soviets. We walked along it together: Kabardians, Chechens, volunteers and the people who had come to welcome them, accompanied by constant applause.

We reached an enormous patch of vacant land, completely overgrown with weeds. Even then, I could see that one day it would become the very centre of Nalchik. A huge rally was held there, with a temporary platform erected for the occasion.

Approval to name the site Abkhazia Square had already been obtained. At that rally, my idea became a reality: the presenter announced that it would henceforth be known as Abkhazia Square.

The square is impressive today. How large is it?

Sometimes I tease your fellow countrymen affectionately: “Forgive me, but you do not have an Abkhazia Square in Abkhazia itself!” There is nowhere quite like it anywhere else. It is here in Nalchik alone.

Just imagine its scale. The central section covers one and a half hectares. Add another two hectares of surrounding grounds that form part of the square, and you have three and a half hectares! In the Soviet Union, it ranked third in size after Palace Square in St Petersburg and Red Square in Moscow. That is our Abkhazia Square!

Today, it is a beautiful centrepiece of Nalchik. Celebrations of republic-wide importance, exhibitions, weekly markets on Saturdays and Sundays, traditional Circassian gatherings with music and dancing, known as dzhegu, and other events all take place there.

Traders come from across the neighbouring regions, including Azerbaijan, Dagestan, Chechnya, Ingushetia, Ossetia, Stavropol Territory and Krasnodar Territory, bringing all kinds of goods. It has become a marketplace for the whole Caucasus.

The name “Abkhazia Square in Nalchik” stays with them. When they leave or speak to their friends, they naturally say: “We were trading at Abkhazia Square in Nalchik.” In that way, word of it spreads across the Caucasus.

A monument to the volunteers stands in the square. Three bronze figures, created by R. Tsrimov, stand with their arms firmly around one another, symbolising the unbreakable brotherhood between Abkhazians and Circassians.

Every time I pass it, I remember those weeds, those Ikarus buses, the dancing at dawn on the border and the profound sense of duty fulfilled that we brought home from the sacred soil of Abkhazia.

A shared day of Abkhaz–Circassian brotherhood

On the eve of Victory and Independence Day, what would you like to wish the republic?

With all my heart, I congratulate my Abkhazia and all its courageous people on the approaching holiday! But this celebration belongs to more than Abkhazia alone. I congratulate all our sister republics, and the Circassian people first and foremost.

We are brothers, and 30 September is a great day we share. It is a victory over violence for all Abkhazians and Circassians. It proved something fundamental: you cannot, and must not, impose your will through force. No issue in the world has ever been resolved by the fist, nor can it be. Dialogue brings mutual agreement. Only words, through negotiations and agreements committed to writing, can bring an armed confrontation between two sides to an end.

I arrived in Sukhum only yesterday. In the evenings, I walk along the seafront and marvel at how our city is changing, how it is flourishing.

I am absolutely certain, I know, that Abkhazia will be a free, developing and truly democratic country. It is already extraordinarily beautiful, and it will become more beautiful still! We are brothers, and 30 September is a great day we share.

Happy Victory and Independence Day, dear Abkhazia, our sister republic!

May the Almighty grant that we continue to celebrate this day together, alongside our friends!