UNEASY GEORGIAN-ABKHAZ TRUCE HOLDS
Exactly a decade on from the start
of the war between Georgia and Abkhazia in August 1992, nothing has been
resolved, and the disputed Kodori Gorge could be a new flashpoint.
By Margarita Akhvlediani in Tbilisi
An armed clash broke out between Georgian and Abkhaz soldiers in the Kodori Gorge in the mountains of Abkhazia on August 13 - another low point in several months of wrangling over the territory.
The incident in the Marukhi Pass was also a reminder of the ever-present danger of a resumption of all-out war between the Georgians and Abkhaz, exactly ten years after fighting first broke out between them on August 14, 1992.
The conflict began when the Georgian National Guard, under its then commander Tengiz Kitovani, occupied the city of Sukhumi. Fighting lasted for more than a year, ending in September 1993, when the Abkhaz armed forces took control of the whole republic, driving out almost its entire Georgian population. Up to eight thousand people had been killed.
Since then, Tbilisi and Sukhumi have endured an uneasy peace, supervised by a Russian-led peacekeeping force and a UN monitoring mission.
The mountainous Kodori Gorge is a flashpoint because it is the only region of Abkhazia where Tbilisi still maintains a foothold. Dozens of men were killed in fighting there last October, and now the Abkhaz accuse the Georgians of keeping armed men there in contravention of agreements signed in 1994 - a charge Tbilisi denies.
The current state of play between the two sides has been called a "dynamic non-peace process." There has been no progress on the three main issues - the return of more than 200,000 Georgian refugees, the final status of Abkhazia and the economic future of the republic - and the whole issue is further complicated by the continuing quarrel between Tbilisi and Moscow.
For Georgians, the paramount issue is that of the refugees. Almost half of the pre-war population of Abkhazia - around 250,000 people - was ethnically Georgian. Only around 40,000 Georgians are living there now, all in the southern Gali region, where there are Russian peacekeepers and UN monitors. Opinion polls suggest that the rest do not believe they will see their homes any time soon.
"Every refugee has an unshakeable right, underpinned by international norms: the right to return home," Heidi Tagliavini, UN special envoy for the dispute, told IWPR. "But enforcing that right is a difficult process."
Tagliavini said that steps are being taken to ensure the security of those people wanting to return to the Gali region.
"The sides in the conflict made a joint proposal, and the UN responded," she said. "No later than the beginning of September, it will send a group of experts to the Gali region, who will assess the situation and devise a raft of measures needed to ensure the security of the returning Georgian population and the stabilisation of the situation in this part of Abkhazia."
In October, the leaders of the Caucasus Four - Armenia, Azerbaijan, Georgia and Russia - are due to discuss a series of practical proposals, including the possible reopening of the railway that links Moscow and the Caucasus through Abkhazia.
However, the Georgian side links the issue of the economic regeneration of Abkhazia to the return of refugees. Tbilisi has been at the forefront of efforts to blockade the rebel republic in order to force concessions from it.
"We fully agree that Abkhazia's inhabitants ought to receive more than humanitarian aid and that strengthening the economy is a required element of the peace process," Malkhaz Kakabadze, Georgia's minister for special assignments and main negotiator with Abkhazia, told IWPR.
"However, all this should be done within the framework of the special economic regime in force against Abkhazia, in accordance with the decision of the council of heads of state of the CIS on January 19, 1996."
This document states that any economic and political contacts with Abkhazia by any of the CIS countries should be agreed with Tbilisi. However, Russia is openly breaking this agreement: several Russian regions have signed economic and cultural agreements with Abkhazia, and Moscow's foreign ministry recently helped tens of thousands of Abkhaz obtain Russian passports.
For several years, the Abkhaz negotiated over various possible constitutional arrangements with Georgia, but they toughened their position in 1999 by holding a referendum in which they proclaimed their complete independence. The current leadership now insists this position is non-negotiable.
"Over the past ten years, our country has solved its political problems," Abkhazia's prime minister Anri Djergenia told IWPR by telephone. "There are still economic difficulties, but we are addressing them also."
Djergenia has further antagonised the Georgians by raising the issue of Abkhazia having what he calls "associated relations" with Russia.
Georgia continues to insist on its territorial integrity, a position affirmed by the outside world. However, more and more Georgians have conceded in recent years that the Abkhaz as an ethnic group have no other homeland and have the right to special territorial and political status guaranteeing their survival.
Georgian president Eduard Shevardnadze has spoken more than once of giving Abkhazia "exceptionally wide powers," within Georgia, although he has not specified what this might mean.
Analysts from Georgia's Republican Party have come up with another concept, which they call "asymmetrical regionalism." The idea is for a "United States of Georgia" consisting of the republics of Georgia and Abkhazia.
The Abkhaz diaspora in the USA has come up with a similar plan, under which Abkhazia would be part of a Georgian state but with its own political institutions and security forces. The president of Abkhazia would have power of veto over any acts of legislation passed in Tbilisi with regard to his republic.
Many Georgians evidently believe that while a solution is possible, interference by outside powers may be hindering progress.
A recent poll conducted by the Tbilisi International Centre for Conflicts and Negotiations found that 45 per cent of respondents believed international organisations played an important role in the peace process. However, 67 per cent said that the Georgians and Abkhaz would work much more successfully on resolving the conflict without any outside mediators.
Margarita Akhvlediani is IWPR's regional coordinator and Georgia editor. Thomas de Waal in London contributed to this report.
WAR VETERANS' PEACETIME STRUGGLE
Abkhazia's ex-soldiers find themselves unemployed, depressed and even suicidal.
By Inal Khashig in Sukhum
When a crisis threatens the republic of Abkhazia, the army calls on its "reservists" - veterans who fought in the war with Georgia of 1992-3.
These former soldiers were mobilised this week after a flare-up of tension in the Kodori Gorge region. In October 2001, they were the unrecognised republic's frontline defence and withstood a raid by Chechen guerrilla commander Ruslan Gelayev, assisted by the Georgian military, in the same region.
Exactly ten years on from the start of the war with Georgia, Abkhazia's 12,000 war veterans are honoured in public pronouncements and ceremonies. August 14, a day of mourning and commemoration throughout Abkhazia, is a very special date for them.
However, their private lives are very different, with many of them still plagued by traumatic memories, unemployment and feelings of hopelessness. A recent spate of suicides has highlighted the misery.
The issue of the veterans is high up on the public agenda and was talked up by all candidates in March's parliamentary elections. The Amtsakhara movement, largely comprised of participants in the war, made the rights of old soldiers a central plank in its programme and won a third of the seats in the assembly.
While former soldiers are eligible for some benefits such as pensions and free medical treatment, and can study at the university on favourable terms, the practical effect of all this on their lives is very small.
It is almost impossible to survive on a pension of ten dollars a month, while the quality of medical treatment leaves a lot to be desired. There is only one neurosurgeon in the republic who is qualified to perform the kind of work veterans need, and as a result, many are forced to borrow money and go to Russia for treatment.
Abkhaz president Vladislav Ardzinba created a new charitable fund named "Kyaraz," to help the war veterans and their families last year. However, the executive director of the fund, Gennady Margania, admitted that there is only enough money for one-off handouts and occasional support for disabled veterans in need of an expensive operation in Russia.
"The fund's charter envisages creating new jobs through the financing of various business projects," said Margania. "But where can we get the money? The only possibility is for the fund to be made into a state institution."
Perhaps the biggest problem is finding jobs for the former fighters. One factory director, who did not want to give his name but who fought in the war himself, admitted, "If I have two candidates for a vacancy that has cropped up, a good specialist and a war veteran, I will give preference to the specialist.
"I am not just talking about professional competence here. Simply, it is often hard for a veteran to get on with the collective. Most of them look at their colleagues through a prism of 'He fought, he didn't fight' and forge their relationships on those grounds."
Most state bosses ignore government instructions to give preferential treatment to veterans in the workplace. Most jobs in Abkhazia are still allocated by friends, relations and, occasionally, on professional grounds.
One rare exception is Abkhazia's customs service, which is dominated by men who fought in the war. "One in ten of my employees is a war invalid," says Aslan Kobakhia, chairman of the customs service, with a hint of pride.
"I could refuse to employ them on account of their physical condition, which is entirely inappropriate for a semi-military organisation such as customs. But if I did that, how could I look men in the eyes who went to fight for our country without a second thought at a difficult time and sacrificed their health for victory?"
"The lack of work for young men who experienced in wartime what it meant to take a decision on which the life of your friends depended, could turn them into social cripples."
Unemployment, untreated psychological traumas and neglect by society are leading to some tragic consequences.
On a hot summer day last month, a young man named Astamur waited for the rest of his household left to go about their daily duties and then hanged himself. He did not leave a suicide note, although his act of despair did not come as a surprise to those who knew him.
The psychological stress suffered by Astamur during the war had become an unbearable burden for him. When the fighting broke out on August 14 1992, he was a cameraman at Abkhazia's state television.
During the recapture of Gagra by Abkhazian forces, he shot some famous images, which travelled round the world and became both the high point and the end of his professional career.
When his colleague and friend Anzor Kvarchelia was killed, Astamur captured the event on camera. After that he didn't want to carry on filming, gave up work and soon afterwards went to fight himself.
When the conflict ended, he became tormented by his memories and found it impossible to return to normal life.
In the first two months of this summer alone, five veterans have committed suicide. For a small republic that has endured a bloody war and has an official population of just 320,000, every such death causes ripples in society.
Suicide has become a topic of discussion in the press, on television, in parliamentary debates and in the coffee houses on Sukhum's embankment. Even the theatre is showing Nikolai Erdman's play, The Suicide.
Most of those who have taken their own lives were 18 to 20 years old at the beginning of the war. Psychologist Arda Inal-ila told IWPR, "The men who went to war at a more mature age had a stable psychological base, founded in their families, strong relationships, jobs and social status.
"As a rule, they took the decision to take part in the war consciously. But the young men, with a fragile and undeveloped psychological base, were sucked into this process by an emotional whirlwind.
"These lads were torn out of their social context. Those years, during which in normal life, a person works for himself, for his future profession, on choosing his partner for life, were erased by the war and filled instead by a stressful situation," she added.
Inal-ila believes the veterans need more than psychological support; they need a thorough programme of social rehabilitation. However, with the economy in tatters and the danger of further conflict with Georgia still present, that may be impossible.
One ex-soldier, who wants to be known only as Adgur, is a reservist who has been unable to find work since the war ended. In that spare time, he has constructed a formula to define the relationship between the state and its veterans.
"The state's responsibility to veterans ought to be commensurate with my responsibility to the state," he said. "Then any kind of discussion about psychological or other kind of rehabilitation will drop away."
A father of two children, Adgur is constantly struggling to make ends meet and finds it hard not to be bitter at times. "I don't like the fact that the state remembers me only when it is threatened with danger," the reservist said on his return from his most recent tour of duty.
Inal Khashig is correspondent with the BBC Caucasus and Central Asia Service in Abkhazia
GEORGIAN REFUGEES: TEN YEARS FROM HOME
More than 200,000 Georgia refugees from Abkhazia remember a tragic past and anticipate an uncertain future.
By Salome Odisharia in Tbilisi
A decade ago, Marina Margvliani was a frightened seven-year-old Georgian girl who was hidden in the safety of a neighbour's cowshed after the northern resort town of Gagra fell to Abkhaz forces. Today, as a young adult, she tells the story of the most tragic moments of her life with astonishing calmness.
"It was very difficult to get out of Gagra," Marina told IWPR. "It was just after my mother had her breast removed because of cancer. Our Abkhaz neighbour took pity on us and somehow managed to get us to the border."
"I was only seven, but I well remember the cruel faces of the men. They wouldn't let us through and searched everyone, especially my mother."
"I remember how they shone a torch onto the scar which was left after the operation. They poked it with a stick to see if she had hidden gold there."
Border guards stripped the family of all their possessions, including medicine. Marina was orphaned soon after - her father had stayed behind alone in Gagra and died of worry, while her mother, weakened by stress and surgery, died three years later.
Marina now lives outside the Georgian capital in the Hotel Kartli, a once fashionable but now completely rundown and defaced building on the shore of the artificial lake known as the Sea of Tbilisi.
She shares this fate with more than 1500 families from the first wave of Georgian refugees - formally they are internally displaced persons or IDPs - from Abkhazia. And although the big hotel complex is only around ten kilometres from the city centre, it is as though these people are entirely cut off from the outside world.
The only state help the refugees receive is a benefit of 11 laris (around five US dollars) a month, while some get another 14 laris (seven dollars) as a pension for the loss of the main breadwinner.
In spite of the upheaval and hardship, Marina's 15-year-old friend, Salome Kvekveskiri, has faith in the future between Georgians and Abkhaz. "I know that our generation will solve this problem," she said confidently.
"The main thing is to meet, look one another in the eye and understand. No one needs war, we have already seen its horrors, and I don't think anyone wants to see it happen again."
With the defeat of their army in 1993, practically all Georgians in Abkhazia, comprising some 47 per cent of the total population of 500,000 people, fled. The bulk of this vast human tide poured into Georgia. Since then, a large refugee population has become a fact of Georgia's everyday political life.
Ordinary Georgians have a complex attitude towards the displaced people. On the one hand, they feel sympathy towards those who have lost both their past and their future. However, the refugees are also competitors for the few available jobs, in agricultural regions they lay claim to farmland and in the cities they move into empty buildings from where it is impossible to evict them.
Last spring, a group of refugees caused a furore when they forcibly occupied Tbilisi's Botanic Institute, which was partially shut down because of lack of funds. Shouting women with children took over the laboratories and offices and made space for their beds by smashing equipment and test-tubes, and throwing out scientific literature.
There are also complaints that the arrival of the refugees has caused the crime-rate to soar, although this is not confirmed by statistics. In the first half of 2002, only 0.2 per cent of crimes in Georgia were committed by IDPs.
For their part, the refugees complain that lack of work has forced professors, engineers and teachers to earn a living by working as porters hauling sacks at the bazaar.
After working for more than a quarter of a century as a doctor in Sukhumi's Railway Hospital, Juli Kvaratskhelia is humiliated that she has to support herself by selling sweets.
Malkhaz Sikharulidze, a professional ornithologist, was one of many who left Abkhazia on foot, escaping over the snowy Saken-Chubersky pass. He left his greatest treasure, his collection of 400 birds of various breeds, behind. He was able to take only three small songbirds with him.
"Isn't it a tragedy that our government has estimated the worth of almost 300,000 refugees at 14 laris each, as if they were railway station prostitutes?" he said.
After Tbilisi, the second highest concentration of refugees is in the Zugdidi region, just south of Abkhazia. In several villages there the number of refugees exceeds the number of local inhabitants.
The refugees from Gali who live in the Inguri Technical College are just a short distance, via the bridge across the Inguri River, from their former homes. Many of them continue to go back there despite the risks. Every day, the bridge is packed with Georgians, dragging trolleys or homemade carts, piled with assorted goods and food.
"The state is incapable of resolving the problems of the refugees," said Teimuraz Lomaya, Georgia's deputy minister for the employment and settlement of displaced persons. "It's beyond the capabilities of our budget to do even elementary repairs to inhabited houses, let alone think of building anything new."
"The only solution is to return the IDPs to their homes. We have to appeal to the countries of the CIS and ask for their help to begin this process soon. The social and psychological state of the refugees is such that we will soon have a sick generation on our hands."
Salome Odisharia is a freelance journalist based in Tbilisi
ABKHAZ CHILDREN LEARN OF PARENTS' WAR
Young people in Abkhazia are struggling to understand the conflict with Georgia.
By Indira Bartsits in Sukhum
In a small courtyard in Sukhum, a group of children is playing war games. One of them, evidently the leader, cries out, "Come on, let's make teams - we're Georgians and Abkhaz!" They proceed to act out a bloody war that began before many of them were born.
Adults know that the war between Georgia and Abkhazia began on August 14 1992, lasted 413 days and cost thousands of lives on both sides. What do the children of Sukhum, who have grown up since then, know about it now?
"I heard about the war from dad and grandma," says Anri, aged seven. "It was a war between Georgians and Abkhaz because the Georgians attacked us. Grandma said that the Abkhaz couldn't go to the town, because they could be killed. It was frightening living here in that year. Dad said that he was wounded in the leg."
After a short pause, the boy adds, "Maybe when I grow up I will be friends with Georgians."
Sergei is 13 years old but admits, "I don't remember anything about the war, although I was with mum in Sukhum in that year."
Karine is three years younger than her friend. She tells IWPR, "I can't say anything, but I heard that they took us away from Abkhazia because the war began here. When the Abkhaz won, we came back home."
"My dad and uncle were killed in the war," says Lana, also aged ten. "We keep dad's machine gun at home. I hate war because my dad died."
Most of the children seem to know about the war - or at least have heard of it - only if it touched their family directly. While less than half had been taught about the conflict through the tales of their parents or grandparents, it was not quite clear to them who fought and for what.
One of the boys begins by saying that, "one side attacked the other to take away its motherland and the other side tried to beat back the enemy and won."
A girl of 14 quietly says that she had a vague memory of how, at the age of four, she was put on a huge white ship. "There were a lot of people, everyone was shouting and pushing." In all probability she was talking about the time when people were hurriedly evacuated from the city after it was captured by armed men from the Georgian National Guardl.
Some children have not heard of the events of 1992-3 and are not at all interested in IWPR's questions. Their parents had not told them about it - not out of pacifism, but because they were frightened at the thought of their children becoming politicised at a young age.
The father of one of the girls explains, "I fought so that my daughter could live in a free and independent country. We've lived through ten years; somehow we'll carry on living. That's what we fought for, after all. My daughter will find out about the war later on."
The issue of what young people do or not do know about the war was discussed at a recent conference devoted to the tenth anniversary of the conflict and organised by Abkhazia's opposition movement, Aitaira, or Revival. The conference was attended by historians, deputies, writers and former combatants.
Revival leader Leonid Lakerbaia noted in his speech that many schoolchildren do not know the meaning of the date August 14. "I'm afraid that this day will only act as a memorial for those who took a direct part in the fighting of 1992-3," Lakerbaia said.
The conference delegates discussed the events leading up to the war, the main phases of the formation of Abkhazia's armed forces, the role of the Confederation of Peoples of the Caucasus and of volunteers in the Abkhaz victory.
Worries were expressed that the history of the war has not been written, that many people who know a great deal about it and who "made history" through their actions will soon no longer be alive to tell their stories.
A deeper worry is that the conflict remains unresolved and that the children, who innocently play street games about a war that they can barely comprehend, are reflecting the very real division that remains between Georgians and Abkhaz.
Indira Batsits is a journalist with Abkhaz Press news agency in Sukhum