There is a story of creation any visitor to the Republic of Georgia will hear the first time he is invited to an evening of toasting at the kitchen table. 'Do you know why the Georgians live in such a beautiful country?' the Tamada, or toastmaster, will inevitably ask. He will not sit down until the story is finished.
When the world was made God brought all the different peoples of the world together to divide the earth, the Tamada would begin. When the whole noisy affair was over, God expected calm in his halcyon realm. Instead, He heard the sounds of glass and laughter.
There, sitting around a big wooden table, were the Georgians feasting and drinking, oblivious to what they had missed. 'You fools,' He scolded, 'how could you forget to pick a homeland?' The Georgians abruptly realized the gravity of the situation and huddled to discuss their options. One emerged and said to God, 'Do not be angry with us Lord, we meant no disrespect. We were caught up toasting Your name and Your holy deeds.' God was so pleased by this response that He came very close to this Georgian and whispered in his ear, 'Don't worry about the homeland - you see, there's this beautiful little plot I set aside for myself...' And that is how, the Tamada will say as he takes his seat and finishes the toast, "we Georgians got such a rich homeland."
When I traveled in Abkhazia - an unrecognized nation that broke away from Georgia through a brutal war - I was told this same story by a storeowner over homemade vodka mixed with honey and grapes. Except in his version, it was the Abkhaz people who had missed the selection process because they were honoring God by attending to their guests. The Abkhaz, like all the ethnicities of the Caucasus, pride themselves on their hospitality. A guest is a gift from above, I was repeatedly told, and treating him well is a matter between the host and God. Hoping not to offend him as he poured another round, I timidly pointed out that the Georgians he fought have a similar story of their origins. "Well, sure they do," the Abkhazi grinned, "they were our guests."
Abkhazia is land of unsettling contradictions. I first encountered its mixture of pride and isolation when a twelve-year-old boy named Yura began to tell me about the war on my bumpy bus ride into Sukhumi, the capital. The first thing he mentioned was his older brother's fourteenth birthday present - a Kolashnikov. The brother did not live to see fifteen.
It took an hour of wild driving on dirt roads to get deep into the legendary Abkhaz mountains, where all manner of vegetation overgrew every trail. There, streams of various sizes cut up the land just as the jagged peaks partitioned the sky. Sukhumi itself spirals out from the black sea, with palm trees and broad boulevards parallel to the shore and green mountains surrounding the sprawling apartment buildings on the city's perimeter.
Yet, amidst Sukhumi's resort town atmosphere, it is rare to walk a block without seeing a burned out, bullet ridden building. Most of these homes and businesses belonged to the Georgians who made up almost half of Abkhazia's population before 1993 (the Abkhaz themselves made up around 20 percent). Now, some 250,000 Georgian refugees who fled during the war are rebuilding their lives throughout Georgia.
Most of the conversations I had with the locals eventually came back to the war. Everywhere were reminders of Georgian savageness: "here, in this lot, they smuggled drugs… and past the large rock, they opened fire on a boatful of fleeing tourists... over that hill, they fired rockets on a helicopter full of evacuating pregnant women...." These stories cannot be verified and there is no shortage of recriminations. In a war waged by Georgia's poorly trained army against Abkhaz militias, with a mess of mercenaries and paramilitary elements on both sides, the facts remain as muddled as the destruction is clear.
When we arrived in Sukhumi, Yura insisted on proudly showing off "our capital" as he pointed out all the modern buildings and new businesses. Next to a them would be artillery ravaged skeletons of buildings, but Yuri only acknowledged them by guessing what would be put up in their place.
During the daylight it is hard not to share his optimism. The city is still very sparsely populated, and while electricity was a daily question, it did not seem to matter to the Russian tourists or the restaurant owners that happily catered to them. When I took out my camera in front of a war-ravaged church, an elderly Abkhaz woman scolded Yura - "take your friend to the new bank; tell him to take pictures of that instead."
Abkhazia - as a country - exists in limbo. The Abkhaz won the war and pushed the Georgians out of their country, but only with crucial support from Russia. Whereas most Georgians immediately assume Russia provoked the war, its role remains the elephant in the living room of Abkhaz politics. Russia's influence is rarely acknowledged by the Abkhaz - at least in the presence of an American journalist.
Sergei Shamba, Abkhazia's de facto Foreign Minister, constantly referred to Georgia's "bloated military budget" and "aggressive, opportunist" policy. "Then what keeps them from invading again?" I had to ask. "It is fear… They know what happened last time..."
The Russian Peacekeeper bases that carve out this unrecognized nation were conspicuously missing from his long-winded answer.
It is certainly in Russia's interest to keep Georgia destabilized. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, Georgia leaned toward the West and NATO; this trend has only accelerated since the Rose Revolution. I asked Abkhazia's de facto President Bagapsh if he is nervous about Abkhazia being swallowed into the Russia Federation: "We are as afraid of Russia," he said, "as Georgia is afraid of America."
This political and economic isolation means crime and smuggling are constant problems. At night, the empty, unlit Sukhumi streets lay bare the dangers the Abkhaz face daily; every roofless building shell grows ominous as its shadows fade into darkness. There is a police force, but it is concentrated in the tourist areas.
The woman who rented me an apartment insisted I should not be out when the sun goes down. On my second night in Sukhumi, she told me I had missed two phone calls from women claiming they knew me. I asked her how this was possible, since I did not yet know my own number. She began to ask me about Yura: How did I know him? Was he acting suspicious? I tried to reassure her that he was harmless, but she explained, "it's not him I'm worried about. He could have told his friends or brothers. This is a small city and there are a lot of threats." I unplugged the phone and went to bed, afraid to close my eyes. I knew Yura meant no harm, but I wondered how often he goes to bed with his own fears?
Georgia's main demand is the return of the Georgian refugees who were chased out during the war. This would automatically make the Abkhaz a minority in their own country - not to mention the inevitable clashes between the bitter neighbors. When I told several men fishing in the idyllic Abkhaz mountains that I was going to interview their President the next day, one leaned in and said, "he is a politician, a good one, but he can't tell you the truth." "And what's that?" I asked. "He can't tell you that we hate them."
The Abkhaz have their own problematic demand: full recognition of their independence. To a Georgian, this is outrageous, since they consider the Abkhaz a violent minority that forced everyone else out with Russian guns. Furthermore, Georgia is dealing with a similar breakaway republic in its north and is unwilling to set a precedent for separatism in an already fractured region.
Complete commitment to peace must be the touchstone of any negotiations because threats and bluffs can easily spiral out of control. International pressure must focus above all on avoiding war. There is no compromise that will resolve the tension in one triumphant press conference, but time must have a chance to give this region a generation raised without war.
Caucasians are renown for their hospitality. The Georgians and the Abkhaz treated me with more warmth and friendliness than I could have ever hoped for. Yet, despite a relatively peaceful pre-war history, these neighbors cannot even visit one another - much less welcome the enemy as a guest. "We love to show our land to any guest," said de facto President Bagapsh, "provided they come as a guest."
More photos are available to view at:
http://www.photoblog.be/photoblog.php?nickname=Vladic&action=archives&category=163857
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