Showing posts with label Florian Mühlfried. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Florian Mühlfried. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 12, 2018
PUBLIC LECTURE: Heinrich Boell Foundation South Caucasus regional office presents: Florian Mühlfried's "Moments of mistrust in South Caucasus". via @Boell_SC
On December 7, 2018, Heinrich Boell Foundation's South Caucasus organized a public lecture with social anthropologist Florian Muehlfried.
Moments of mistrust in South Caucasus is his article, published at Heinrich Boell Foundation's website. You can read the article here: Moments of Mistrust in the South Caucasus [ge.boell.org]
Facebook: facebook.com/hbf.caucasus
Twitter: twitter.com/Boell_SC
Website: ge.boell.org
Monday, December 03, 2018
EXCERPT: Moments of Mistrust in the South Caucasus. By Florian Muehlfried via ge.boell.org @Boell_SC
On Friday, December 7, at 4:00 pm, Heinrich-Böll-Stiftung South Caucasus
invites you to Florian Muehlfried’s public lecture "Moments of Mistrust
in South Caucasus. click here to read more: Lecture: Moments of Mistrust in South Caucasus at the book house "Ligamus".
Florian Muehlfried’s lecture is largely based on ethnographic
vignettes of mistrust, with the material mainly stemming from Abkhazia, a
breakaway self-declared republic in the Caucasus. The largely absent
international recognition of Abkhazia makes mistrust almost endemic and a
crucial part of daily life. Mistrust materializes in the assumption
that something is hidden behind the surface, e.g. a hidden agenda. This
assumption paves the way for conspiracy theories, but also allows to get
along with distrusted others who cannot be avoided. Contrasting
vignettes from Georgia show that mistrust towards facades may also
entail the opposite assumption: that there is nothing behind.
Florian Muehlfried is a social anthropologist working on the Caucasus, particularly on Georgia, for more than twenty years. His academic publications include the monographs Schemes of Mistrust: A Global Approach (forthcoming), Being a State and States of Being in Highland Georgia (2014) and Post-Soviet Feasting: The Georgian Banquet in Transition (2006, in German) as well as the edited volumes Mistrust: Ethnographic Approximations (2018), Sacred Places, Emerging Spaces: Religious Pluralism in the Post-Soviet Caucasus (2018, coedited with Tsyplylma Darieva and Kevin Tuite) and Soviet Era Anthropology in the Caucasus and Central Asia (2012, coedited with Sergey Sokolovskiy).
Address: ილიაუნის წიგნის სახლი "ლიგამუსი" / Book House "Ligamus", 32 Chavchavadze Ave., Tbilisi
[ge.boell.org] Even time cannot be trusted in Abkhazia. On mobile phones and computers that receive data from the Internet, it is one hour earlier than on mechanical watches. The Internet forces the Abkhazians into a time zone that for them has expired: the time zone of Georgia. Abkhazia is not recognised under international law, thus Abkhazian time is not accepted in virtual space. Abkhazia has fallen out of time.
© Florian Muehlfried 2019: Schemes of Mistrust: A Global Perspective. Basingstoke: Palgrave Pivot (Chapter 5). This draft has not been copy edited yet and thus will differ from the book Version.
Walking down the street, we meet a man of about fifty years in a black suit with a badge depicting a faded image of his mother, who had died a few years ago, on his shirt; he immediately starts talking about god, that he seeks Him, that people need Him, that he hopes to find Him, that he has to talk to us ... I first believe to have a Jehovah's Witness in front of me, but then he seems like too many questions and too few certainties. Later we learn that he lives alone in a village after his mother had passed away. And that, during the war, one of his ears was cut off as he was presumed dead; ears were cut off for trophies.
This note is included in my diary for August 2017 when I visited a town whose name is being disputed.[1] Some call it Gal and see it as the westernmost city of Abkhazia. Others call it Gali and thus perceive it as a Georgian city, because the “i” is the nominative ending of Georgian nouns. Its population was displaced by Abkhazian troops after they had won a war against Georgia in the autumn of 1993. Violence came suddenly, unexpectedly and massively, people had to flee overnight.[2]
The expulsion was based on Abkhazian troops’ and leaders’ distrust of the loyalty of the population of Gal/i that almost completely consisted (and now again consists) of Megrelians. They speak a language related to Georgian, and most of them live on Georgian territory across the border. As a second language, almost all Megrelians speak Georgian, the “language of the enemy”. In the second half of the 1990s, shortly after their cleansing, a large number of Megrelians were able to return to their destroyed homes. The distrust of the Abkhazians towards the Megrelians, however, remains lively still today. Abkhazian police patrol the streets, Megrelians are not recruited. Megrelians are denied Abkhazian passports – unless they profess to have been originally Abkhazian and megrelianised later on. In 2014, Megrelians residing in Abkhazia were deprived of the right to vote. The Georgian government speaks of apartheid. And in 2015, the Georgian language was banned from usage in the schools of Gal/i. Despite their poor command, Megrelian children thus have to study school subjects in the Russian language.
Georgians, too, distrust Megrelians because their group provides numerous features that could justify national independence: a separate language, a fairly clearly demarcated settlement area, periods of political sovereignty (see Broers 2001). For this reason, Georgian scholars attach great importance to concepts: whereas the Georgians are considered an ethnic group, the Megrelians are labelled as a sub-ethnic, ethnographic or ethno-territorial group (e.g. by Chitaia 1997-2001 who prefers the notion of sub-ethnicity). Beyond academic concerns, the crucial issue here is that ethnic groups may become a nation and claim sovereignty according to international law, whereas groups allocated below the threshold of ethnic identify may not, because they already belong to a (at least potential) nation. As ethnic groups with their own languages, some may fear, Megrelians may well claim sovereignty outside of the confines of the Georgian state, and this claim would be difficult to dismiss on scholarly grounds. The background to these concerns is separatism that has lead to the de facto statehood of Abkhazia and, to a lesser extent, of South Ossetia. It is these concerns that have motivated some Georgian scholars to state that Megrelians speak a dialect of Georgian, not a language (e.g. Gogebashvili 1991), although the vast majority of linguists worldwide disagree (e.g. Harris 1991).
In the district of Gal/i, mistrust is omnipresent, mutual and reciprocal. The reciprocity of mistrust perpetuates the latter and creates spirals of suspicion that are almost impossible to escape. When mistrust encounters itself, it tends to intensify and solidify, like aggression aggravates in situations of war. Yet, the citizens of Gal/i have to find ways to get along with the presence of others they distrust and that distrust them. One coping strategy is to allocate the core of mistrust beyond subjective accountability. Instead of blaming the people in one’s surrounding personally for the unbearable situation, one may assume that there is something else behind the surface, an unknown essence that drives it all and that causes mistrust to spread.
Conspiracy Theories
Visiting a Megrelian family in Gal/i. Giorgi, a Megrelian nationalist, is seated next to me. For him, the first kingdom of the Megrelians, Colchis, represents the origin of Georgian statehood. Only the Megrelians and the “hill tribes” [so-called sub-ethnic groups of Georgian highlanders such as Tushetians, Svans, or Khevsurs] are true Georgians, he postulates, the others are a mixture of Georgians, Armenians and Azerbaijanis. He has learned Abkhazian as a child and has Abkhazian friends. In front of me are two Abkhazians who speak Abkhazian among themselves and Russian with the others. In order to explain how the war between Georgia and Abkhazia came about, Giorgi tells a story he attributes to the Georgian erudite nobleman Sulchan-Saba Orbeliani:
‘A pig lives with its piglets at the foot of a tree on which an eagle nests. Comes a fox and says to the pig: Do not leave the tree [to fetch food]; the eagle is just waiting to kill your piglets. Then he goes to the eagle and says: Do not fly away [to provide food for the chicks]; the pigs are just waiting to gnaw the root of the tree until it falls over. The pig and the eagle no longer leave the tree. The first piglet dies and is fetched by the fox, the first chick dies and is fetched by the fox. At the end, everyone is dead and the fox has filled its stomach.’
Giorgi explains: A third force is at work here, which whispers, incites and only pursues its own interests. This force was behind the war in Abkhazia, this force is behind everything: Jews, Freemasons.
Such narratives allow living with those who distrust you because they are not held responsible for this distrust. And one can agree with them about invisible enemies who are to be blamed for it all. Later on, I note: “Many conspiracy theories. Armenians, Jews, freemasons are guilty of everything, but one cannot see them and there is no evidence (a hidden power that, like god, works in secret).” As much as these conspiracy theories are based on demonising groups as Freemasons, Jews or Armenians – with potentially most harmful consequences such as pogroms, ethnic cleansing, shootings, incarceration, gasification etc., they are not least ways of getting along with the “own” others, who are apparently, so it seems, not responsible, just like oneself. Thus, conspiracy theories may open up a shared space; a space that potentially nurtures conviviality, if only in its most basic form.[3] It is the “comfort of commonly perceived enemies” (Asmussen 2011: 127) that conspiracy theories provide. The secret others become scapegoats, and their joint blaming creates commonality (see Girard 2005).
A bit earlier, I had already pencilled down: “A lot of talk about god here, the quest for god, the only one who provides meaning to life.” This entry was not merely about the man in black we met on the street, but also about Davit, our host.
Looking Behind Things
Davit had fled to Georgia during the Abkhaz war, spent several years there and intended to stay. In 2001, however, he returned to Gal/i because his father had passed away and Davit had to take over the position of head of the household: “God had other plans for me.” Professionally, he works as a bank accountant. Davit is unmarried and possesses a key to the church. When taking me along, he points to an icon of St. George in a corner of the church and explains:
In the right top corner there is God, whose light falls on George. George is a saint who guides the people, symbolised by the horse he rides on. People are both good and evil, so they need divine guidance. The dragon that George kills creeping at his feet is just evil. On this icon, the flakes of the dragon are painted in bright colours. Did you notice that Georg wears the same colours in his robe? This is because he has to know evil in order to defeat it.
The latter reference emphasises the lifeworldly importance of practical knowledge, which is not acquired by observation from a distance, but by taking part. Such knowledge requires the engagement with a world that cannot be trusted. For Davit, this “dirty” knowledge is more profound than secular knowledge derived from a safe distance. At the same time, he pays close attention to natural phenomena such as the position of the sun or its rays. He has stored several photographs of the sun on his phone, even more of stones from a nearby forest. There is a place, explains Davit, where two rivers come together, a place he usually visits with his confessor. The water has a very special composition and is not drinkable. No frogs live in the water, there is no living being around, all is quiet. This is where Davit detects stones consisting of a cosmic material and marked by signs: some looking like a star chart, others like faces. Davit is fascinated by the regularity and symmetry of these signs, which to him indicate that these stones were inscribed by humans and derive from prehistoric times (“when the dinosaurs were still alive”).
For him, these artefacts are facts he can stick to, which at the same time testify to a higher power, an ancient lost knowledge, and cosmic energies (or substances). On one of the many photographs he took of the stones, a small folding rule is placed next to the object; on others he holds a square angle to the stone in order to illustrate its perfect proportions. On a portrait depicting him with a stone in his hand, an inexplicable light appears on his back. Davit has tried to find archaeologists to study these stones, their effect and location, but in vain. For him, the messages are evident, but for others they are hidden. Perhaps they can only be seen by those who have learned to look behind things. Religions are cults of mistrust as they do not accept things or people for what they seem to be. In this sense, conspiracy theories can be construed as religious, as they too represent powers as concealed. Places like Gal/i, where insecurity is endemic, such concealed powers are everywhere, and they haunt.
Even time cannot be trusted in Abkhazia. On mobile phones and computers that receive data from the Internet, it is one hour earlier than on mechanical watches. The Internet forces the Abkhazians into a time zone that for them has expired: the time zone of Georgia. Abkhazia is not recognised under international law, thus Abkhazian time is not accepted in virtual space. Abkhazia has fallen out of time.
Facade Politics
There is also the suspicious assumption that there is no nothing behind observable reality. Everything is just a facade. By means of such facades, revolutionary projects occasionally indicate the beginning of a new era. One such project was the peaceful Rose Revolution in Georgia in November 2003. With the overthrow of the then president Shevardnadze, the post-Soviet period was declared to have come to an end. A society would emerge that freed itself from the shackles of the past. It would go from darkness to light quite literally: In the more than twenty years since independence, the frequent power cuts turned the lights off; now Georgia would shine.
The remodelling of Georgia started with fountains being dressed in pastel colours. Then the TV tower in the Georgian capital Tbilisi glittered like a Christmas tree. With the arrival of the former US President George W. Bush for a state visit in 2005, the apartment buildings adjacent to the airport were freshly painted. Blue and red rays of light illuminated the facades of old city houses along the city walls at night. After the advent of light and colours, it was the time of balconies and cobblestones. The popular old town of Tbilisi, depicted in numerous novels and repeatedly painted or photographed, became the role model. From now on, every Georgian town would need a historic centre with balconies and cobblestones. A large sum of money was invested in the development of Sighnaghi, a fortress town built on a mountainside overlooking the Caucasian mountain ridge. After cobblestonisation and balconisation, this small town developed into the most popular tourist destination in the Georgian countryside. For Georgians, Sighnaghi now symbolises regional development in the form of musealisation; for tourists, it is a symbol of Georgian authenticity.
In 2007, I visited a winemaker who works in a wine cellar in the neighbouring town of Telavi. Telavi, too, has undergone a renovation of its ancient centre. Traditionally, there were no balconies in the centre at all, but now they are attached to many facades. Asphalt roads have been torn up and then paved. Shops, cafes, guesthouses and a centre for tourist information have opened. Nevertheless, there were hardly any visitors. Telavi at that moment was a ghost town. Perhaps spirits can work miracles and convey a sense of presence where before there was nothing, I was speculating. The winemaker waved this off. Against the polished facades of the renovated centre, it would become even more apparent how poorly people live. No state funds had reached them. “It's like in the Soviet Union – just a show.”
The comparison with the Soviet Union makes the post-Soviet economy of Georgia look like a planned economy. What matters is what is in the plan, what can be sold to the media and celebrated on public events. In this vein, the Tbilisi airport was built at record-breaking speed, but once opened, its roofs began to leak. And 100 hospitals were officially inaugurated within three years (2007 – 2010), but their equipment was driven from here to there depending on the schedule of press conferences organised to document the opening of a hospital (Frederiksen and Gotfredsen 2017: 113ff.).
In the Soviet Union, the realisation of plans had also been detached from reality, dramatically so and with substantial consequences. Those who, like the economist Alexander Chayanov, held on to the power of the factual and empirically-based analyses for the development of economy, had to reckon with exile and death during the early Soviet Union years (Nikulin 2011). This procedure was successful to the extent that, during the late Soviet Union years, facts and empiricism became largely irrelevant. There was no longer anything below the surface; instead, the surface was employed as a material that could be manipulated and ironised (Yurchak 2006).
In post-Soviet Georgia, too, there is nothing behind the facades – so, at least, many Georgians assume. The role model for the faking of reality is not so much the Soviet Union, however, but rather imperial Russia with its impression policy. The painted apartment blocks close to the airport, the facades of cracking old Tbilisi houses bathed in flashy colours, hospitals with no equipment, all this rather evokes the image of Potemkin villages. These fake villages, allegedly (for it may be a rumour) built by Grigory Potemkin for Catherine the Great in 1787, represent grandezza without substance, serving to hide an undesirable presence.[4] And it is this kind of impression management which became paradigmatic under the label of “Potemkin villages” that is at stake in post-Soviet Georgia as well. Mistrust here asks for substance.
Ruins
In Abkhazia as well, there is nothing behind some facades, but for another reasons: many building have been destroyed during the war with Georgia and not been renovated yet (or only poorly so). Doric columns that have nothing to support, windows through which one can see the sky from the street, bullet holes in the walls. In several cases, the facades are deliberately left standing. The twelve-story former government seat that had caught fire due to army shelling, for example, remains as a ruin in the centre of the Abkhazian capital; in front of it an empty pedestal on which Lenin once stood. Places like these are embodiments of horror that work as a reminder to the Abkhaz citizenry of a past that is yet a presence. In most other cases, however, the reason for the existence of ruins or seriously dilapidated building is much more straightforward: lack of financial means to do something with the facades. Obviously, there is nothing behind them: no intention, no excuse, no deception. No mistrust is required to observe this. Railway stations, built as palaces for the travellers, fall into disrepair, as do factory buildings, mining shafts and conveyor belts. Mining towns have turned into ghost towns. As their architecture is pompous, the effects of decay are even stronger. These sights, however, attract tourists from Western Europe to Abkhazia and serve to illustrate their travelogues on the Internet.
On Georgian facades with nothing behind, the future should shine – a colourful, happy, somewhat loony future. They are inscribed with a fictional temporal dimension. On Abkhazian facades, likewise with nothing behind, there is no discernible future, only a past as war or a present as absence. If statehood is built on citizens’ confidence in the future, then this confidence is shaken here – and thus statehood subverted on a most basic level. This lack of faith in the capacity of the state to shape the future is not limited to Abkhazia or other post-Soviet societies, of course, it is also a symptom of the West, at least since the proclaimed end of history after the collapse of the Soviet Union (Fukuyama 1992). With no future ahead, the future now takes place in the past, captured in out-dated utopias such as those of state socialism. This is one of the reasons why places like Abkhazia are so attractive to Western visitors: it is here they can encounter a past future. It radiates from the Soviet mosaics and conjures up the departure into space or utopia on earth. If there wasn’t the suspicion that this future has expired, one would want to join these travels, too.
NGO Politics
Business or betrayal? Such is the question asked by Timur Kodori in an entry on Facebook dated 24 July 2017.[5] The author is concerned about the involvement of his Abkhaz compatriots in an international project to preserve the Abkhaz language. The project is coordinated by the Georgian-based Centre for Civil Integration and Interethnic Relations and funded by the United States Development Assistance (USAID). The participating linguists hail from the University of Frankfurt; their local partner is the “Association of Businesswomen of Abkhazia.” In his post, Kodori mentions the names of the participants as well as the amount of money they received. He then raises the question whether the Abkhazians involved in this project had been bribed by the opponents of Abkhazia. “How soon will Abkhazia lose its independence as a result of such an approach and [...] again become an appendix of Georgia?”
Another indicator of betrayal is, according to Kodori, the fact that the Abkhaz participants have accepted to be photographed in front of a logo showing Abkhazia within the confines of Georgia. This logo is part of the corporate design of the Georgian NGO responsible for the project. The homepage of this NGO does not mention this project, however, not even in their Annual Reports produced during the project term 2015-2016. And maybe it is no coincidence that the “current projects” section of the NGO’s homepage was adjusted on 25 July 2017 – one day after Kodori’s post. On the websites of those involved in Frankfurt and Abkhazia, too, not a single word can be found about this project. Only the donor has published the following description:
The aim of the project is to support the interpersonal reconciliation between Georgians and Abkhazians by protecting and promoting the endangered Abkhaz language. This goal will be achieved by: (1) mobilizing the Georgian and Abkhazian representatives of science and civil society through the common interest in treasuring and revitalising the Abkhazian language, (2) bringing together young people, the potential leaders of Abkhazia and Georgia, to represent and promote universal human values as well as encouraging mutual respect, tolerance and a peaceful neighbourhood and (3) to facilitate a meaningful dialogue between various social groups regarding issues of common interest, e.g., education, science and the promotion of joint cooperation.[6]
In addition to the promotion of cooperation, this project concerns the creation of an Abkhaz language corpus and the development of software for the linguistic processing of the Abkhaz language. The required material is provided by Abkhazians (among them writers), the scientific expertise by the specialists from Frankfurt. Abkhazian linguists are not part of this cooperation, although they too are working on the documentation of the Abkhazian language and on concepts for its promotion. A linguist and teacher of Abkhaz based in the Abkhazian capital who authored one of the few textbooks available has never heard of the project. A linguist from the Abkhaz Academy of Sciences heard of this project from his dentist. The form of collaboration this project promotes is thus asymmetric: one party delivers, the other one understands.
This colonial form of knowledge production confirms the mistrust of those who feel that Abkhazia is not taken seriously. In this way, mistrust perpetuates and intensifies the rejection to work with colleagues from abroad, as cooperation is never assumed to take place among equals. A great deal of energy is needed for mistrustful engagements with external actors, energy many Abkhazians lack after decades of isolation, stagnation and depression. Better not having anything to do with something one cannot trust and that can be avoided. Given the clouds under which the project is shrouded, another mistrust finds substantiation: one should not see what it is all really about.
Once again, mistrust is ignited by surfaces. Instead of assuming that all there are facades, with no substance behind, the suspicious assumption here is that there is something hidden behind the facade, namely a political agenda based on hostile intentions. On the surface, one can see NGO-driven civic engagements, presumably without a political purpose and directed towards a universal good (in this case, the preservation, documentation and promotion of the Abkhaz language). Underneath the surface, however, a doubtful observer such as Timur Kodori identifies a dark force, here incorporated by the Georgian state and its allies. In order for this force to work, so Kodori implies, it has to come in disguise. This disguise is provided by the NGOs involved in this project, which are essentially machinations of masquerade.
For Kodori, the research project is just a cover-up of political infiltration and indoctrination. In the Russian-speaking world (that includes Abkhazia), such activity is covered by the word pokazukha, which “refers to putting on a false show to cover up the actual state of affairs“ (Sántha and Safonova 2011: 75).[7] The aim of this show is to represent a presence that isn’t real, and a reality that is not meant to be present. Trusting the visible would mean to be trapped in illusion and to fall victim to deceit. The distrust that Kodori articulates is meant to make the show fall apart.
Distrusting Facades
In many of the cases portrayed above, facades have aroused suspicion. In the case of Georgian facade politics, the suspicion is that there is nothing behind, that the surface is all there is. This absence of substance comes in stark contrast to the message that is conveyed with these facades: that of a presence, of a thriving life, of a future and a succeeding present. In the case of Abkhazians facades (that are often those of ruins), the absence of something behind at the same time denotes an absence of the future. This absence of the future is, in a way, the essence of Abkhaz ruins. Whereas in the Georgian case, the Potemkin facades denote an attempt to manipulate public perception, in the Abkhaz case, they denote a void.
Facades may also serve to hide a secret agenda. In this vein, Timur Kodori assumes that NGOs occasionally provide the facade behind which a secret political agenda unfolds. He sees the NGOs that he is targeting as Trojan horses that allow the enemy to penetrate ones own space. What he discerns is a contradiction between visible surfaces and that what is underneath. Such kind of contradiction may be explained with the help of conspiracy theories.
Doing so also allows alleviating tensions with one’s neighbours who do not need to be held accountable for past atrocities, because another clandestine power can be blamed instead. In the context of Abkhazia, this discursive strategy fosters conviviality with those that cannot be trusted. The tension that distrust creates is distracted by conjuring up joint enemies, even if fictional ones.
Bibliography
Asmussen, Jan. 2011. Conspiracy Theories and Cypriot History: The Comfort of Commonly Perceived Enemies. Cyprus Review 23 (2): 127-145.
Broers, Laurence. 2001. Who are the Mingrelians? Language, Identity and Politics in Western Georgia. Sixth Annual Convention of the Association for the Study of Nationalities 2001. Panel: Minority Identity in Georgia (unpublished paper).
Frederiksen, Martin Demant und Katrine Bendtsen Gotfredsen. 2017. Georgian Portraits: Essays on the Afterlives of a Revolution. Winchester/Washington: Zero Books.
Fukuyama, Francis. 1992. The End of History and the Last Man. New York: The Free Press.
Girard, Réne. 2005. Violence and the Sacred. New York: Continuum.
Gogebashvili, Iakob.1990 [1902]. borot’i c’adili samegrelos shesaxeb [An Evil Intention
vis-à-vis Mingrelia]. In: rcheuli txzulebani xut t’omad [Collected Works in Five Volumes]
Vol. 2. Tbilisi: ganatleba.
Harris, Alice C. 1991. Mingrelian. In: A.C. Harris (ed.): The Indigenous Languages of the Caucasus 1: The Kartvelian Languages. Delmar NY: Caravan Books: 313–394.
Nikulin, Alexander. 2011. Tragedy of a Soviet Faust: Chaianov in Central Asia. In Exploring the Edge of Empire: Soviet Era Anthropology in the Caucasus and Central Asia, ed. by F. Mühlfried and S. Sokolovskiy. Münster: LIT Verlag: 275-293.
Sántha, István and Tatiana Safonova. 2011. Pokazukha in the House of Culture: The Pattern of Behavior in Kurumkan, Eastern Buriatiia. In: Donahoe, Brian and Joachim Otto Habeck (eds.): Reconstructing the House of Culture: Community, Self, and the Making of Culture in Russia and Beyond. New York: Berghahn: 75-96.
West, Harry G., and Todd Sanders (eds.). 2003. Transparency and Conspiracy: Ethnographies of Suspicion in the New World Order. Durham, London: Duke.
Yurchak, Alexei. 2006. Everything Was Forever, Until It Was No More: The Last Soviet Generation. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Florian Mühlfried 2019: Schemes of Mistrust: A Global Perspective. Basingstoke: Polgrave Pivot (chapter 5)
[1] This essay is largely identical with chapter five of my book on „Schemes of Mistrust: A Global Perspective” to be published with Palgrave Pivot in spring 2019. I thank the publisher and in particular my editor Mary Al-Sayed for the permission to republish my chapter in this format.
[2] In accordance with the policy of the media portal OC Media that reports on the entire Caucasus region, I do not use qualifiers such as ‘de facto’, ‘unrecognised’, or ‘partially recognised’ when discussing institutions within Abkhazia for reasons of readability. In the same vein, the simoultanous usage of the designations Abkhazia and Georgia does not imply a position on the political status of Abkhazia, but rather follows the pragmatic goal of being able to contrast situations and developments in Abkhazia and (the rest of) Georgia without straining readability with inserted brackets.
[3] See West and Sanders 2003 for the social workings of conspiracy theories.
[4] Many thanks to Sascha Roth for raising this argument.
[5] Timur Kodori is probably a pseudonym.
[6] Source: https://www.usaid.gov/georgia/working-crises-and-conflict; later on, however, this entry also disappeared.
[7] Again, my gratitude goes to Sascha Roth for bringing this to my attention.
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Published by Boell Foundation, 3. December 2018,
Click on logo to read the article by Florian Muehlfried
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Florian Muehlfried is a social anthropologist working on the Caucasus, particularly on Georgia, for more than twenty years. His academic publications include the monographs Schemes of Mistrust: A Global Approach (forthcoming), Being a State and States of Being in Highland Georgia (2014) and Post-Soviet Feasting: The Georgian Banquet in Transition (2006, in German) as well as the edited volumes Mistrust: Ethnographic Approximations (2018), Sacred Places, Emerging Spaces: Religious Pluralism in the Post-Soviet Caucasus (2018, coedited with Tsyplylma Darieva and Kevin Tuite) and Soviet Era Anthropology in the Caucasus and Central Asia (2012, coedited with Sergey Sokolovskiy).
Address: ილიაუნის წიგნის სახლი "ლიგამუსი" / Book House "Ligamus", 32 Chavchavadze Ave., Tbilisi
[ge.boell.org] Even time cannot be trusted in Abkhazia. On mobile phones and computers that receive data from the Internet, it is one hour earlier than on mechanical watches. The Internet forces the Abkhazians into a time zone that for them has expired: the time zone of Georgia. Abkhazia is not recognised under international law, thus Abkhazian time is not accepted in virtual space. Abkhazia has fallen out of time.
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Sukhum/i, July 2015 – Creator: Anna Dziapshipa. All rights reserved.
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Walking down the street, we meet a man of about fifty years in a black suit with a badge depicting a faded image of his mother, who had died a few years ago, on his shirt; he immediately starts talking about god, that he seeks Him, that people need Him, that he hopes to find Him, that he has to talk to us ... I first believe to have a Jehovah's Witness in front of me, but then he seems like too many questions and too few certainties. Later we learn that he lives alone in a village after his mother had passed away. And that, during the war, one of his ears was cut off as he was presumed dead; ears were cut off for trophies.
This note is included in my diary for August 2017 when I visited a town whose name is being disputed.[1] Some call it Gal and see it as the westernmost city of Abkhazia. Others call it Gali and thus perceive it as a Georgian city, because the “i” is the nominative ending of Georgian nouns. Its population was displaced by Abkhazian troops after they had won a war against Georgia in the autumn of 1993. Violence came suddenly, unexpectedly and massively, people had to flee overnight.[2]
The expulsion was based on Abkhazian troops’ and leaders’ distrust of the loyalty of the population of Gal/i that almost completely consisted (and now again consists) of Megrelians. They speak a language related to Georgian, and most of them live on Georgian territory across the border. As a second language, almost all Megrelians speak Georgian, the “language of the enemy”. In the second half of the 1990s, shortly after their cleansing, a large number of Megrelians were able to return to their destroyed homes. The distrust of the Abkhazians towards the Megrelians, however, remains lively still today. Abkhazian police patrol the streets, Megrelians are not recruited. Megrelians are denied Abkhazian passports – unless they profess to have been originally Abkhazian and megrelianised later on. In 2014, Megrelians residing in Abkhazia were deprived of the right to vote. The Georgian government speaks of apartheid. And in 2015, the Georgian language was banned from usage in the schools of Gal/i. Despite their poor command, Megrelian children thus have to study school subjects in the Russian language.
Georgians, too, distrust Megrelians because their group provides numerous features that could justify national independence: a separate language, a fairly clearly demarcated settlement area, periods of political sovereignty (see Broers 2001). For this reason, Georgian scholars attach great importance to concepts: whereas the Georgians are considered an ethnic group, the Megrelians are labelled as a sub-ethnic, ethnographic or ethno-territorial group (e.g. by Chitaia 1997-2001 who prefers the notion of sub-ethnicity). Beyond academic concerns, the crucial issue here is that ethnic groups may become a nation and claim sovereignty according to international law, whereas groups allocated below the threshold of ethnic identify may not, because they already belong to a (at least potential) nation. As ethnic groups with their own languages, some may fear, Megrelians may well claim sovereignty outside of the confines of the Georgian state, and this claim would be difficult to dismiss on scholarly grounds. The background to these concerns is separatism that has lead to the de facto statehood of Abkhazia and, to a lesser extent, of South Ossetia. It is these concerns that have motivated some Georgian scholars to state that Megrelians speak a dialect of Georgian, not a language (e.g. Gogebashvili 1991), although the vast majority of linguists worldwide disagree (e.g. Harris 1991).
In the district of Gal/i, mistrust is omnipresent, mutual and reciprocal. The reciprocity of mistrust perpetuates the latter and creates spirals of suspicion that are almost impossible to escape. When mistrust encounters itself, it tends to intensify and solidify, like aggression aggravates in situations of war. Yet, the citizens of Gal/i have to find ways to get along with the presence of others they distrust and that distrust them. One coping strategy is to allocate the core of mistrust beyond subjective accountability. Instead of blaming the people in one’s surrounding personally for the unbearable situation, one may assume that there is something else behind the surface, an unknown essence that drives it all and that causes mistrust to spread.
Conspiracy Theories
Visiting a Megrelian family in Gal/i. Giorgi, a Megrelian nationalist, is seated next to me. For him, the first kingdom of the Megrelians, Colchis, represents the origin of Georgian statehood. Only the Megrelians and the “hill tribes” [so-called sub-ethnic groups of Georgian highlanders such as Tushetians, Svans, or Khevsurs] are true Georgians, he postulates, the others are a mixture of Georgians, Armenians and Azerbaijanis. He has learned Abkhazian as a child and has Abkhazian friends. In front of me are two Abkhazians who speak Abkhazian among themselves and Russian with the others. In order to explain how the war between Georgia and Abkhazia came about, Giorgi tells a story he attributes to the Georgian erudite nobleman Sulchan-Saba Orbeliani:
‘A pig lives with its piglets at the foot of a tree on which an eagle nests. Comes a fox and says to the pig: Do not leave the tree [to fetch food]; the eagle is just waiting to kill your piglets. Then he goes to the eagle and says: Do not fly away [to provide food for the chicks]; the pigs are just waiting to gnaw the root of the tree until it falls over. The pig and the eagle no longer leave the tree. The first piglet dies and is fetched by the fox, the first chick dies and is fetched by the fox. At the end, everyone is dead and the fox has filled its stomach.’
Giorgi explains: A third force is at work here, which whispers, incites and only pursues its own interests. This force was behind the war in Abkhazia, this force is behind everything: Jews, Freemasons.
Such narratives allow living with those who distrust you because they are not held responsible for this distrust. And one can agree with them about invisible enemies who are to be blamed for it all. Later on, I note: “Many conspiracy theories. Armenians, Jews, freemasons are guilty of everything, but one cannot see them and there is no evidence (a hidden power that, like god, works in secret).” As much as these conspiracy theories are based on demonising groups as Freemasons, Jews or Armenians – with potentially most harmful consequences such as pogroms, ethnic cleansing, shootings, incarceration, gasification etc., they are not least ways of getting along with the “own” others, who are apparently, so it seems, not responsible, just like oneself. Thus, conspiracy theories may open up a shared space; a space that potentially nurtures conviviality, if only in its most basic form.[3] It is the “comfort of commonly perceived enemies” (Asmussen 2011: 127) that conspiracy theories provide. The secret others become scapegoats, and their joint blaming creates commonality (see Girard 2005).
A bit earlier, I had already pencilled down: “A lot of talk about god here, the quest for god, the only one who provides meaning to life.” This entry was not merely about the man in black we met on the street, but also about Davit, our host.
Looking Behind Things
Davit had fled to Georgia during the Abkhaz war, spent several years there and intended to stay. In 2001, however, he returned to Gal/i because his father had passed away and Davit had to take over the position of head of the household: “God had other plans for me.” Professionally, he works as a bank accountant. Davit is unmarried and possesses a key to the church. When taking me along, he points to an icon of St. George in a corner of the church and explains:
In the right top corner there is God, whose light falls on George. George is a saint who guides the people, symbolised by the horse he rides on. People are both good and evil, so they need divine guidance. The dragon that George kills creeping at his feet is just evil. On this icon, the flakes of the dragon are painted in bright colours. Did you notice that Georg wears the same colours in his robe? This is because he has to know evil in order to defeat it.
The latter reference emphasises the lifeworldly importance of practical knowledge, which is not acquired by observation from a distance, but by taking part. Such knowledge requires the engagement with a world that cannot be trusted. For Davit, this “dirty” knowledge is more profound than secular knowledge derived from a safe distance. At the same time, he pays close attention to natural phenomena such as the position of the sun or its rays. He has stored several photographs of the sun on his phone, even more of stones from a nearby forest. There is a place, explains Davit, where two rivers come together, a place he usually visits with his confessor. The water has a very special composition and is not drinkable. No frogs live in the water, there is no living being around, all is quiet. This is where Davit detects stones consisting of a cosmic material and marked by signs: some looking like a star chart, others like faces. Davit is fascinated by the regularity and symmetry of these signs, which to him indicate that these stones were inscribed by humans and derive from prehistoric times (“when the dinosaurs were still alive”).
For him, these artefacts are facts he can stick to, which at the same time testify to a higher power, an ancient lost knowledge, and cosmic energies (or substances). On one of the many photographs he took of the stones, a small folding rule is placed next to the object; on others he holds a square angle to the stone in order to illustrate its perfect proportions. On a portrait depicting him with a stone in his hand, an inexplicable light appears on his back. Davit has tried to find archaeologists to study these stones, their effect and location, but in vain. For him, the messages are evident, but for others they are hidden. Perhaps they can only be seen by those who have learned to look behind things. Religions are cults of mistrust as they do not accept things or people for what they seem to be. In this sense, conspiracy theories can be construed as religious, as they too represent powers as concealed. Places like Gal/i, where insecurity is endemic, such concealed powers are everywhere, and they haunt.
Even time cannot be trusted in Abkhazia. On mobile phones and computers that receive data from the Internet, it is one hour earlier than on mechanical watches. The Internet forces the Abkhazians into a time zone that for them has expired: the time zone of Georgia. Abkhazia is not recognised under international law, thus Abkhazian time is not accepted in virtual space. Abkhazia has fallen out of time.
Facade Politics
There is also the suspicious assumption that there is no nothing behind observable reality. Everything is just a facade. By means of such facades, revolutionary projects occasionally indicate the beginning of a new era. One such project was the peaceful Rose Revolution in Georgia in November 2003. With the overthrow of the then president Shevardnadze, the post-Soviet period was declared to have come to an end. A society would emerge that freed itself from the shackles of the past. It would go from darkness to light quite literally: In the more than twenty years since independence, the frequent power cuts turned the lights off; now Georgia would shine.
The remodelling of Georgia started with fountains being dressed in pastel colours. Then the TV tower in the Georgian capital Tbilisi glittered like a Christmas tree. With the arrival of the former US President George W. Bush for a state visit in 2005, the apartment buildings adjacent to the airport were freshly painted. Blue and red rays of light illuminated the facades of old city houses along the city walls at night. After the advent of light and colours, it was the time of balconies and cobblestones. The popular old town of Tbilisi, depicted in numerous novels and repeatedly painted or photographed, became the role model. From now on, every Georgian town would need a historic centre with balconies and cobblestones. A large sum of money was invested in the development of Sighnaghi, a fortress town built on a mountainside overlooking the Caucasian mountain ridge. After cobblestonisation and balconisation, this small town developed into the most popular tourist destination in the Georgian countryside. For Georgians, Sighnaghi now symbolises regional development in the form of musealisation; for tourists, it is a symbol of Georgian authenticity.
In 2007, I visited a winemaker who works in a wine cellar in the neighbouring town of Telavi. Telavi, too, has undergone a renovation of its ancient centre. Traditionally, there were no balconies in the centre at all, but now they are attached to many facades. Asphalt roads have been torn up and then paved. Shops, cafes, guesthouses and a centre for tourist information have opened. Nevertheless, there were hardly any visitors. Telavi at that moment was a ghost town. Perhaps spirits can work miracles and convey a sense of presence where before there was nothing, I was speculating. The winemaker waved this off. Against the polished facades of the renovated centre, it would become even more apparent how poorly people live. No state funds had reached them. “It's like in the Soviet Union – just a show.”
The comparison with the Soviet Union makes the post-Soviet economy of Georgia look like a planned economy. What matters is what is in the plan, what can be sold to the media and celebrated on public events. In this vein, the Tbilisi airport was built at record-breaking speed, but once opened, its roofs began to leak. And 100 hospitals were officially inaugurated within three years (2007 – 2010), but their equipment was driven from here to there depending on the schedule of press conferences organised to document the opening of a hospital (Frederiksen and Gotfredsen 2017: 113ff.).
In the Soviet Union, the realisation of plans had also been detached from reality, dramatically so and with substantial consequences. Those who, like the economist Alexander Chayanov, held on to the power of the factual and empirically-based analyses for the development of economy, had to reckon with exile and death during the early Soviet Union years (Nikulin 2011). This procedure was successful to the extent that, during the late Soviet Union years, facts and empiricism became largely irrelevant. There was no longer anything below the surface; instead, the surface was employed as a material that could be manipulated and ironised (Yurchak 2006).
In post-Soviet Georgia, too, there is nothing behind the facades – so, at least, many Georgians assume. The role model for the faking of reality is not so much the Soviet Union, however, but rather imperial Russia with its impression policy. The painted apartment blocks close to the airport, the facades of cracking old Tbilisi houses bathed in flashy colours, hospitals with no equipment, all this rather evokes the image of Potemkin villages. These fake villages, allegedly (for it may be a rumour) built by Grigory Potemkin for Catherine the Great in 1787, represent grandezza without substance, serving to hide an undesirable presence.[4] And it is this kind of impression management which became paradigmatic under the label of “Potemkin villages” that is at stake in post-Soviet Georgia as well. Mistrust here asks for substance.
Ruins
In Abkhazia as well, there is nothing behind some facades, but for another reasons: many building have been destroyed during the war with Georgia and not been renovated yet (or only poorly so). Doric columns that have nothing to support, windows through which one can see the sky from the street, bullet holes in the walls. In several cases, the facades are deliberately left standing. The twelve-story former government seat that had caught fire due to army shelling, for example, remains as a ruin in the centre of the Abkhazian capital; in front of it an empty pedestal on which Lenin once stood. Places like these are embodiments of horror that work as a reminder to the Abkhaz citizenry of a past that is yet a presence. In most other cases, however, the reason for the existence of ruins or seriously dilapidated building is much more straightforward: lack of financial means to do something with the facades. Obviously, there is nothing behind them: no intention, no excuse, no deception. No mistrust is required to observe this. Railway stations, built as palaces for the travellers, fall into disrepair, as do factory buildings, mining shafts and conveyor belts. Mining towns have turned into ghost towns. As their architecture is pompous, the effects of decay are even stronger. These sights, however, attract tourists from Western Europe to Abkhazia and serve to illustrate their travelogues on the Internet.
On Georgian facades with nothing behind, the future should shine – a colourful, happy, somewhat loony future. They are inscribed with a fictional temporal dimension. On Abkhazian facades, likewise with nothing behind, there is no discernible future, only a past as war or a present as absence. If statehood is built on citizens’ confidence in the future, then this confidence is shaken here – and thus statehood subverted on a most basic level. This lack of faith in the capacity of the state to shape the future is not limited to Abkhazia or other post-Soviet societies, of course, it is also a symptom of the West, at least since the proclaimed end of history after the collapse of the Soviet Union (Fukuyama 1992). With no future ahead, the future now takes place in the past, captured in out-dated utopias such as those of state socialism. This is one of the reasons why places like Abkhazia are so attractive to Western visitors: it is here they can encounter a past future. It radiates from the Soviet mosaics and conjures up the departure into space or utopia on earth. If there wasn’t the suspicion that this future has expired, one would want to join these travels, too.
NGO Politics
Business or betrayal? Such is the question asked by Timur Kodori in an entry on Facebook dated 24 July 2017.[5] The author is concerned about the involvement of his Abkhaz compatriots in an international project to preserve the Abkhaz language. The project is coordinated by the Georgian-based Centre for Civil Integration and Interethnic Relations and funded by the United States Development Assistance (USAID). The participating linguists hail from the University of Frankfurt; their local partner is the “Association of Businesswomen of Abkhazia.” In his post, Kodori mentions the names of the participants as well as the amount of money they received. He then raises the question whether the Abkhazians involved in this project had been bribed by the opponents of Abkhazia. “How soon will Abkhazia lose its independence as a result of such an approach and [...] again become an appendix of Georgia?”
Another indicator of betrayal is, according to Kodori, the fact that the Abkhaz participants have accepted to be photographed in front of a logo showing Abkhazia within the confines of Georgia. This logo is part of the corporate design of the Georgian NGO responsible for the project. The homepage of this NGO does not mention this project, however, not even in their Annual Reports produced during the project term 2015-2016. And maybe it is no coincidence that the “current projects” section of the NGO’s homepage was adjusted on 25 July 2017 – one day after Kodori’s post. On the websites of those involved in Frankfurt and Abkhazia, too, not a single word can be found about this project. Only the donor has published the following description:
The aim of the project is to support the interpersonal reconciliation between Georgians and Abkhazians by protecting and promoting the endangered Abkhaz language. This goal will be achieved by: (1) mobilizing the Georgian and Abkhazian representatives of science and civil society through the common interest in treasuring and revitalising the Abkhazian language, (2) bringing together young people, the potential leaders of Abkhazia and Georgia, to represent and promote universal human values as well as encouraging mutual respect, tolerance and a peaceful neighbourhood and (3) to facilitate a meaningful dialogue between various social groups regarding issues of common interest, e.g., education, science and the promotion of joint cooperation.[6]
In addition to the promotion of cooperation, this project concerns the creation of an Abkhaz language corpus and the development of software for the linguistic processing of the Abkhaz language. The required material is provided by Abkhazians (among them writers), the scientific expertise by the specialists from Frankfurt. Abkhazian linguists are not part of this cooperation, although they too are working on the documentation of the Abkhazian language and on concepts for its promotion. A linguist and teacher of Abkhaz based in the Abkhazian capital who authored one of the few textbooks available has never heard of the project. A linguist from the Abkhaz Academy of Sciences heard of this project from his dentist. The form of collaboration this project promotes is thus asymmetric: one party delivers, the other one understands.
This colonial form of knowledge production confirms the mistrust of those who feel that Abkhazia is not taken seriously. In this way, mistrust perpetuates and intensifies the rejection to work with colleagues from abroad, as cooperation is never assumed to take place among equals. A great deal of energy is needed for mistrustful engagements with external actors, energy many Abkhazians lack after decades of isolation, stagnation and depression. Better not having anything to do with something one cannot trust and that can be avoided. Given the clouds under which the project is shrouded, another mistrust finds substantiation: one should not see what it is all really about.
Once again, mistrust is ignited by surfaces. Instead of assuming that all there are facades, with no substance behind, the suspicious assumption here is that there is something hidden behind the facade, namely a political agenda based on hostile intentions. On the surface, one can see NGO-driven civic engagements, presumably without a political purpose and directed towards a universal good (in this case, the preservation, documentation and promotion of the Abkhaz language). Underneath the surface, however, a doubtful observer such as Timur Kodori identifies a dark force, here incorporated by the Georgian state and its allies. In order for this force to work, so Kodori implies, it has to come in disguise. This disguise is provided by the NGOs involved in this project, which are essentially machinations of masquerade.
For Kodori, the research project is just a cover-up of political infiltration and indoctrination. In the Russian-speaking world (that includes Abkhazia), such activity is covered by the word pokazukha, which “refers to putting on a false show to cover up the actual state of affairs“ (Sántha and Safonova 2011: 75).[7] The aim of this show is to represent a presence that isn’t real, and a reality that is not meant to be present. Trusting the visible would mean to be trapped in illusion and to fall victim to deceit. The distrust that Kodori articulates is meant to make the show fall apart.
Distrusting Facades
In many of the cases portrayed above, facades have aroused suspicion. In the case of Georgian facade politics, the suspicion is that there is nothing behind, that the surface is all there is. This absence of substance comes in stark contrast to the message that is conveyed with these facades: that of a presence, of a thriving life, of a future and a succeeding present. In the case of Abkhazians facades (that are often those of ruins), the absence of something behind at the same time denotes an absence of the future. This absence of the future is, in a way, the essence of Abkhaz ruins. Whereas in the Georgian case, the Potemkin facades denote an attempt to manipulate public perception, in the Abkhaz case, they denote a void.
Facades may also serve to hide a secret agenda. In this vein, Timur Kodori assumes that NGOs occasionally provide the facade behind which a secret political agenda unfolds. He sees the NGOs that he is targeting as Trojan horses that allow the enemy to penetrate ones own space. What he discerns is a contradiction between visible surfaces and that what is underneath. Such kind of contradiction may be explained with the help of conspiracy theories.
Doing so also allows alleviating tensions with one’s neighbours who do not need to be held accountable for past atrocities, because another clandestine power can be blamed instead. In the context of Abkhazia, this discursive strategy fosters conviviality with those that cannot be trusted. The tension that distrust creates is distracted by conjuring up joint enemies, even if fictional ones.
Bibliography
Asmussen, Jan. 2011. Conspiracy Theories and Cypriot History: The Comfort of Commonly Perceived Enemies. Cyprus Review 23 (2): 127-145.
Broers, Laurence. 2001. Who are the Mingrelians? Language, Identity and Politics in Western Georgia. Sixth Annual Convention of the Association for the Study of Nationalities 2001. Panel: Minority Identity in Georgia (unpublished paper).
Frederiksen, Martin Demant und Katrine Bendtsen Gotfredsen. 2017. Georgian Portraits: Essays on the Afterlives of a Revolution. Winchester/Washington: Zero Books.
Fukuyama, Francis. 1992. The End of History and the Last Man. New York: The Free Press.
Girard, Réne. 2005. Violence and the Sacred. New York: Continuum.
Gogebashvili, Iakob.1990 [1902]. borot’i c’adili samegrelos shesaxeb [An Evil Intention
vis-à-vis Mingrelia]. In: rcheuli txzulebani xut t’omad [Collected Works in Five Volumes]
Vol. 2. Tbilisi: ganatleba.
Harris, Alice C. 1991. Mingrelian. In: A.C. Harris (ed.): The Indigenous Languages of the Caucasus 1: The Kartvelian Languages. Delmar NY: Caravan Books: 313–394.
Nikulin, Alexander. 2011. Tragedy of a Soviet Faust: Chaianov in Central Asia. In Exploring the Edge of Empire: Soviet Era Anthropology in the Caucasus and Central Asia, ed. by F. Mühlfried and S. Sokolovskiy. Münster: LIT Verlag: 275-293.
Sántha, István and Tatiana Safonova. 2011. Pokazukha in the House of Culture: The Pattern of Behavior in Kurumkan, Eastern Buriatiia. In: Donahoe, Brian and Joachim Otto Habeck (eds.): Reconstructing the House of Culture: Community, Self, and the Making of Culture in Russia and Beyond. New York: Berghahn: 75-96.
West, Harry G., and Todd Sanders (eds.). 2003. Transparency and Conspiracy: Ethnographies of Suspicion in the New World Order. Durham, London: Duke.
Yurchak, Alexei. 2006. Everything Was Forever, Until It Was No More: The Last Soviet Generation. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
Florian Mühlfried 2019: Schemes of Mistrust: A Global Perspective. Basingstoke: Polgrave Pivot (chapter 5)
[1] This essay is largely identical with chapter five of my book on „Schemes of Mistrust: A Global Perspective” to be published with Palgrave Pivot in spring 2019. I thank the publisher and in particular my editor Mary Al-Sayed for the permission to republish my chapter in this format.
[2] In accordance with the policy of the media portal OC Media that reports on the entire Caucasus region, I do not use qualifiers such as ‘de facto’, ‘unrecognised’, or ‘partially recognised’ when discussing institutions within Abkhazia for reasons of readability. In the same vein, the simoultanous usage of the designations Abkhazia and Georgia does not imply a position on the political status of Abkhazia, but rather follows the pragmatic goal of being able to contrast situations and developments in Abkhazia and (the rest of) Georgia without straining readability with inserted brackets.
[3] See West and Sanders 2003 for the social workings of conspiracy theories.
[4] Many thanks to Sascha Roth for raising this argument.
[5] Timur Kodori is probably a pseudonym.
[6] Source: https://www.usaid.gov/georgia/working-crises-and-conflict; later on, however, this entry also disappeared.
[7] Again, my gratitude goes to Sascha Roth for bringing this to my attention.
Tuesday, February 27, 2018
BOOK: Sacred Places, Emerging Spaces. Religious Pluralism in the Post-Soviet Caucasus. Edited by Tsypylma Darieva, Florian Mühlfried, & Kevin Tuite (berghahnbooks.com)
Reviews
“This volume shares in a rich resurgence of writing on religious activity across the former Soviet Union and particularly in areas of the Caucasus, offering sharp insight into arguably one of the most popular religious traditions, shrine pilgrimage, about which we know surprisingly little. The editors have gathered the highly qualified scholars for the task, including a number of specialists from the Caucasus proper.” • Bruce Grant, New York University
Description
Though long-associated with violence, the Caucasus is a region rich with religious conviviality. Based on fresh ethnographies in Georgia, Armenia, Azerbaijan, and the Russian Federation, Sacred Places, Emerging Spaces discusses vanishing and emerging sacred places in the multi-ethnic and multi-religious post-Soviet Caucasus. In exploring the effects of de-secularization, growing institutional control over hybrid sacred sites, and attempts to review social boundaries between the religious and the secular, these essays give way to an emergent Caucasus viewed from the ground up: dynamic, continually remaking itself, within shifting and indefinite frontiers.
Tsypylma Darieva is a senior research fellow at the Centre for East European and International Studies (ZOiS) in Berlin and is teaching at Humboldt University Berlin. Her research and teaching interests include anthropology of migration, diaspora and homeland, urbanity, and sacred places in Central Eurasia. She has conducted fieldwork in Azerbaijan, Armenia, Kazakhstan, and Germany. Darieva is the author of Russkij Berlin: Migranten und Medien in Berlin und London (LIT, 2004), co-editor of Cosmopolitan Sociability: Locating Transnational Religious and Diasporic Networks (Routledge, 2011), Urban Spaces after Socialism: Ethnographies of Public Places in Eurasian Cities (Campus, 2011) and of the forthcoming volume Sakralität und Mobilität in Südosteuropa und im Kaukasus.
Florian Mühlfried is a social anthropologist in the Caucasus Studies Program at the Friedrich Schiller University of Jena. Previously, he was a research fellow at the Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology and a visiting professor at UNICAMP, Brazil. He has published the monograph Being a State and States of Being in Highland Georgia (Berghahn, 2014), a book on feasting in Georgia (ibidem, 2006), and edited the volume Mistrust: Ethnographic Approximations (Transcript, 2018).
Kevin Tuite is Professor of Anthropology at the Université de Montréal. He also directed the Caucasus Studies Program at the FSU-Jena from 2011 to 2014. His publications include Language, Culture and Society: Key Topics in Linguistic Anthropology (co-edited with Christine Jourdan) (Cambridge, 2006).
Contents
List of Illustrations
Acknowledgements
Introduction
Tsypylma Darieva, Florian Mühlfried and Kevin Tuite
Chapter 1. Between ‘Great’ and ‘Little' Traditions? Situating Shia Saints in Contemporary Baku
Tsypylma Darieva
Chapter 2. Women as Bread-Bakers and Ritual-Makers: Gender, Visibility and Sacred Space in Upper Svaneti
Nino Tserediani, Kevin Tuite and Paata Bukhrashvili
Chapter 3. The Chain of Seven Pilgrimages in Kotaik, Armenia: Between Folk and Official Christianity
Levon Abrahamian, Zaruhi Hambardzumyan, Gayane Shagoyan and Gohar Stepanyan
Chapter 4. Sacred Sites in the Western Caucasus and the Black Sea Region: Typology, Hybridization, Functioning
Igor V. Kuznetsov
Chapter 5. The Power of the Shrine and Creative Performances in Ingiloy Sacred Rituals
Nino Aivazishvili-Gehne
Chapter 6. Accompanying the Souls of the Dead: The Transformation of Sacral Time and Encounters
Hege Toje
Chapter 7. Not Sharing the Sacra
Florian Mühlfried
Chapter 8. Informal Shrines and Social Transformations: The Murids as New Religious Mediators among Yezidis in Armenia
Hamlet Melkumyan
Chapter 9. Sharing the Not-Sacred: Rabati and Displays of Multiculturalism
Silvia Serrano
Index
Wednesday, February 17, 2016
ZEITSCHRIFT osteuropa: Grenzland - Konflikt und Kooperation im Südkaukasus (zeitschrift-osteuropa.de)
Manfred Sapper, Volker Weichsel (Hg.)
Berlin (BWV) 2015 [= Osteuropa 7-10/2015]
672 Seiten, 175 Abb., 21 Farbkarten
Preis: 32,00 €
ISBN: 978-3-8305-1708-5
Inhalt
Editorial
Jörg Stadelbauer Naturraum Kaukasien.Vielfalt, Kontraste, Risiken
Kaum ein anderes Gebiet des postsowjetischen Raums hat eine derartige Vielfalt aufzuweisen wie Kaukasien. Dies gilt für den naturgeographischen Rahmen, für Geschichte, Kultur, politisches Handeln und wirtschaftliche Potentiale. Wenn Georgien, Armenien und Aserbaidschan als Einheit gesehen werden, dient dies vor allem der Vereinfachung. Doch tatsächlich ist die Heterogenität enorm. Das bezieht sich auch auf die Nutzung der Bodenschätze, die Häufung von Naturgefahren durch extreme Witterungserscheinungen und globalen Klimawandel sowie die Degradation von Boden und Vegetation.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 7–44)
Tsypylma Darieva, Florian Mühlfried Kontaktraum Kaukasus.Sprachen, Religionen, Völker und Kulturen
Der Nordkaukasus und der Südkaukasus sind historisch, sozioökonomisch, kulturell und konfessionell eng verflochten. Als Teil multinationaler Imperien war der Kaukasus immer eine Kontaktzone, die von ethnischer und sprachlicher Vielfalt sowie einem reichen kulturellen Erbe geprägt ist. Ethnische Zugehörigkeit und ihre Repräsentation werden immer wieder aufs Neue hergestellt, verfestigt und aufgelöst. Gleichzeitig gibt es eine Tradition lokaler kosmopolitischer Kultur, die durch interregionalen Handel, normative Ordnungen und kulturellen Austausch aufrechterhalten wird. Allerdings gerät der „Kosmopolitismus von unten“ zunehmend in Gefahr.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 45–70)
Sofie Bedford, Emil Souleimanov Islam im postsowjetischen Kaukasus.Von Sunniten, Schiiten, Sufis und Salafisten
Der Islam ist im Kaukasus in unterschiedlichen Formen verbreitet. Der Nordostkaukasus ist von sunnitischen Sufi-Bruderschaften geprägt. Dort betrachten Eliten und Laien die Religion als Quelle politischer Legitimität. Im Nordwestkaukasus ist der sunnitische Islam der hanafitischen Rechtsschule verbreitet. In Aserbaidschan dominiert die von der iranischen Safawiden-Dynastie verbreitete Zwölfer-Schia, und der Islam ist – wie auch im Nordwestkaukasus – weitgehend auf den Bereich der Spiritualität beschränkt. Doch auch dort stellen Salafisten die Autorität des offiziellen Islam in Frage.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 71–92)
Oliver Reisner Sakral-national. Staat, Religion und Nation in Georgien
Georgiens Orthodoxe Kirche propagiert eine national-religiöse georgische Identität. Damit hat sie in den vergangenen Jahren an Einfluss gewonnen. Eine starke Verankerung in der Gesellschaft erlaubt ihr, auch politischen Druck auszuüben. Die Anpassung der georgischen Rechtsordnung an europäische Normen, etwa durch Verabschiedung eines Antidiskriminierungsgesetzes, konnte sie zwar nicht verhindern, ebenso wenig wie die rechtliche Anerkennung anderer Religionsgemeinschaften. Doch mit ihrer Mission gegen eine liberale und multikonfessionelle Gesellschaft provoziert sie Konflikte, ganz gleich ob sie die georgische Gesellschaft von den Muslimen Adschariens oder von Menschen mit gleichgeschlechtlicher Orientierung bedroht sieht.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 93–112)
Thomas de Waal Aneinandergekettet. Armenier und Türken im Schatten des Genozids
Die Ermordung von 1,5 Millionen Armeniern durch die jungtürkische Regierung im späten Osmanischen Reich hat lange Schatten geworfen. Es handelte sich um einen der ersten Völkermorde des 20. Jahrhunderts. Seither dauert die Konfrontation von Armeniern und Türken an. Trotz der Unversöhnlichkeit und Entfremdung auf beiden Seiten sind die Armenier mit ihrem Trauma und die Türken mit ihrer Furcht, die Wahrheit anzuerkennen, in geradezu pathologischer Weise aneinandergekettet. Um in der armenischen Frage voranzukommen, sollte der Dialog an die Stelle der Konfrontation rücken. Es wäre vernünftig, den verhärteten, symbolischen Konflikt um den Begriff „Genozid“ zurückzustellen.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 113–128)
Jan Plamper Stalinkult und Ethnizität. „Koba“: Georgier oder „Vater der Völker“?
Stalin war Georgier. Doch im Stalinkult, an dem seit 1929 alle sowjetischen Medien von der bildenden Kunst über die Volksdichtung bis zum Film mitwirkten, blieb seine persönliche Nationalität tabu. Stalin verkörperte jenseits jeder eigenen Ethnizität den „Vater der Völker“. Seine patriarchalische Rolle stand symbolisch für die Sowjetunion, für das übernationale Dach, das die nationalen Territorien des sozialistischen, föderalen Staats überspannte. Stalin füllte damit das repräsentative Vakuum, das auf der Ebene der supranationalen sowjetischen Identität bestand.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 129–149)
Aleksandr Gol’dštejn Denk an Famagusta
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 151–160)
Die Macht des Staates
Andreas Heinemann-Grüder Eingebettet, nicht eingefroren. Konflikte und Regime im Kaukasus: Ein Literaturbericht
In den vergangenen Jahren ist eine Reihe neuer Analysen zu den Gewaltkonflikten im Kaukasus erschienen. Nur den besten Studien gelingt es, die ethnonationalistischen Gewaltakteure konkret zu benennen, Spannungen zwischen offiziellen Geschichtsbildern und konkreten Erfahrungen aufzuzeigen und zu demonstrieren, wie sich die sowjetischen Muster der Feindbildproduktion bis heute fortsetzen. Föderalismus als Option der Konfliktregelung wird jedoch kaum diskutiert. Ein Forschungsdesiderat sind komparative Analysen zu den (semi-)autoritären Regimen im Kaukasus und ihren Reproduktionsmechanismen sowie zur Mikrodynamik von Konflikten und zu innergesellschaftlichen Konfigurationen. Auch eine vergleichende Politikfeldforschung, die die politische Ökonomie sowie die Funktionsweise gerade der parastaatlichen Gebilde in Bergkarabach, Abchasien und Südossetien in den Blick nimmt, steht noch aus.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 161–179)
Huseyn Aliyev Netzwerke im Südkaukasus.Formen und Funktionen informeller Praktiken
Die Menschen des Südkaukasus sind zur Bewältigung ihres Alltags auf informelle Netzwerke angewiesen. Deren Ursprünge liegen in den traditionellen Formen sozialer Organisation wie Großfamilien und ländlichen Gemeinden. In der Sowjetunion dienten informelle Netzwerke zum Ausgleich der strukturellen Defizite der Planwirtschaft. Sie garantierten Zugang zu Mangelprodukten und Dienstleistungen. Die Einführung der Marktwirtschaft ließ die Netzwerke nicht obsolet werden. Im Gegenteil: In Politik, Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft gewannen sie sogar an Bedeutung.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 181–190)
Petra Opitz Erneuerungsbedarf. Energiewirtschaft in Armenien, Aserbaidschan und Georgien
Armenien, Aserbaidschan und Georgien rechnen in den nächsten Jahren mit einem steigenden Energiebedarf. Aserbaidschan kann sich durch eigene Öl- und Gasvorkommen selbst versorgen. Armenien ist auf Brennstoffimporte aus Russland angewiesen und plant den Ausbau von Atomkraft. Georgiens Energiemix schwankt saisonal aufgrund eines hohen Anteils an Wasserkraft. Den Transit von Gas und Öl bekommt Georgien in Erdgas vergütet, das es für die Produktion billigen Stroms einsetzt. Mit Ausnahme von Wasserkraft spielen alternative Energiequellen in den drei Ländern bislang kaum eine Rolle. In die Steigerung der Energieeffizienz wird kaum investiert.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 191–209)
Silvia Stöber Zwischen Aufklärung und Propaganda. Medien im Südkaukasus
Die Medienlandschaften der südkaukasischen Staaten sind so unterschiedlich wie die Länder. In Georgien gibt es eine lebendige Medienszene, in Armenien ist der Markt von politischen und wirtschaftlichen Kartellen geprägt. In Aserbaidschan unterdrückt das autoritäre Regime die unabhängigen Medien.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 211–229)
Zaal Andronikashvili, Giorgi Maisuradze Philologen gegen Philosophen. Georgiens Weg in eine unfreie Freiheit
Georgien stand im Jahr 1990 an einer Wegscheide. In der Debatte über die Zukunft des kurz vor seiner Unabhängigkeit stehenden Landes zeigten sich Grundmuster des nationalen Selbstverständnisses. Eine rückwärtsgerichtete, den nationalen Mythos pflegende „philologische“ und eine nüchtern-analytische, in der Gegenwart verortete „philosophische“ Strömung lagen im Widerstreit. Die Wahl des Literaturwissenschaftlers Zviad Gamsakhurdia zum Präsidenten besiegelte auf Jahre hinaus die Dominanz der Philologen und einer klassenartig organisierten Intelligencija, die sich als Hüterin der Nationalkultur ausgab. Die Gegenströmung repräsentierte der Ende 1990 verstorbene Philosoph Merab Mamardashvili, der für ein Ethos der Verantwortung und einen tätigen Freiheitsbegriff eintrat. Die Niederlage dieser Strömung führte zur Eskalation von Konflikten, deren Folgen bis heute nicht überwunden sind.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 231–246)
Christian Timm Georgien: Staat im Markt. Vom Neoliberalismus zum gelenkten Kapitalismus
Nach der Rosenrevolution 2003 änderte sich in Georgien das Verhältnis von Wirtschaft und Politik. Mikheil Saakashvilis Politik der Deregulierung und Nichtintervention hatte die erwünschten Effekte: Bürokratismus und Korruption wurden beseitigt, das wirtschaftliche Umfeld gewann an Attraktivität. Die liberalen Reformen waren jedoch von willkürlichen informellen Interventionen begleitet. 2008 bildete einen Wendepunkt in der Wirtschaftspolitik. Proteste im Inneren, der Ansehensverlust nach dem Augustkrieg und die globale Finanzkrise beschleunigten das Ende des liberalen Wirtschaftsmodells. De facto führte die Regierung ein staatlich gesteuertes Entwicklungsprogramm ein.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 255–270)
David Losaberidze Zentrum und Peripherie. Kommunale Selbstverwaltung in Georgien
Das unabhängige Georgien hat der Dezentralisierung der politischen Entscheidungen keine Aufmerksamkeit geschenkt. Die kommunale Selbstverwaltung fristet ein Schattendasein. Organe der kommunalen Selbstverwaltung haben kaum Kompetenzen und sind unterfinanziert. Dabei sind funktionierende Städte und Gemeinden für Schlüsselbereiche der Daseinsvorsorge unverzichtbar. Erst in jüngster Zeit setzt sich das Bewusstsein durch, dass Dezentralisierung und die Idee der Subsidiarität den Staat nicht schwächen, sondern funktionierende Dienstleistungen den Staat stärken und damit die Legitimität der Herrschenden erhöhen.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 271–283)
Maria Koinova Einheit in der Vielfalt. Die armenische Diaspora und Armenien
1915 verloren bei dem Völkermord an den Armeniern durch das Osmanische Reich bis zu 1,5 Millionen Menschen ihr Leben. Ebenso viele Armenier wurden vertrieben. Die armenische Diaspora kämpft seitdem um die Anerkennung dieses Verbrechens als Genozid. Vor allem in den USA, in Frankreich, dem Nahen Osten und in Russland gibt es eine armenische Diaspora. Sie ist ein beachtlicher Wirtschaftsfaktor für Armenien. Ihr großer Einfluss auf die Politik in Armenien ist nicht unproblematisch. Ihre teils kompromisslose Haltung erschwert pragmatische Lösungen in der Bergkarabach-Frage oder in den Beziehungen zur Türkei.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 285–298)
Eva-Maria Auch, Sebastian Schmidt Ambivalenzen in Aserbaidschan. Umwelt- und Naturschutz im autoritären Staat
Die ökologische Lage in Aserbaidschan ist widersprüchlich. Einerseits gab der Zusammenbruch der Sowjetunion den Blick auf die Unterwerfung, Zerstörung und Verseuchung von Natur und Umwelt frei. Das petrochemische Zentrum Sumqayit etwa gehörte zu den belastetsten Städten weltweit. Andererseits rückte ein Naturraum von einmaliger Schönheit in den Blick. Im Naturschutz und in der Forstpolitik erzielte das Land erstaunliche Erfolge. Doch in der Gesellschaft fehlt es an ökologischem Bewusstsein und Sensibilität für die Bedeutung des Umwelt- und Naturschutzes sowie zunehmend an politischer Rückendeckung. Selbst Errungenschaften im Naturschutz geraten zunehmend unter Druck.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 299–320)
Katharina Hoffmann Gesellschaft und Staat. Die lokale Ebene in Armenien und Aserbaidschan
In Armenien und Aserbaidschan sind die Beziehungen zwischen Gesellschaft und Staat von Distanz geprägt. (Selbst-)Verwaltungsinstitutionen auf lokaler Ebene schaffen keine Annäherung. Sie dienen den regierenden Eliten zur Durchsetzung ihrer Interessen, bieten der Bevölkerung aber keinen Einfluss auf staatliche Entscheidungen zu lokalen Belangen. Der Bevölkerung bleibt vor allem, ihre Anliegen durch Selbstorganisation oder in persönlichen Netzwerken zu verfolgen.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 321–334)
Ansgar Gilster, Christina Huthmann Zweite Welt. Gesundheit und Bildung im Südkaukasus
Die Sozialsysteme der südkaukasischen Staaten gerieten nach Auflösung der UdSSR in eine Krise. Es dauerte mehr als ein Jahrzehnt, bis die Auswirkungen von Sezessionskonflikten und wirtschaftlichem Zusammenbruch überwunden werden konnten. Viele Entwicklungsindikatoren haben sich im vergangenen Jahrzehnt verbessert. Die Lebenserwartung steigt, das Gesundheitssystem gewährleistet eine Grundversorgung. Der Besuch einer Schule ist wieder für alle Kinder eine Selbstverständlichkeit, die Qualität weiterführender Bildungseinrichtungen wurde verbessert. Vorreiter bei Reformen ist Georgien, das wirtschaftlich am schlechtesten dasteht. Aserbaidschan hingegen nutzt das ökonomische Potential aus dem Erdölgeschäft nicht, um durch einen breiteren Zugang zu medizinischer Versorgung und Bildung für mehr soziale Gerechtigkeit zu sorgen.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 335–350)
Lina Verschwele Unter dem Radar. Ende des autoritären Burgfriedens in Bergkarabach?
Im Mai 2015 wählte Bergkarabach ein neues Parlament. Viele Experten sahen in der Abstimmung nur politische Kosmetik, im Parlament werde ohnehin nur zum Schein diskutiert. Tatsächlich hatte der Konflikt mit Aserbaidschan lange für einen autoritären Burgfrieden gesorgt. Doch die Einigkeit bröckelt. Mit der Partei der Nationalen Wiedergeburt zog eine echte Oppositionspartei in das Parlament ein, die nicht zum herrschenden Establishment gehört.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 351–364)
Die Macht der Mächte
Roland Götz Erdöl und Erdgas im Südkaukasus. Binnenversorgung, Export, Transit
Von den drei südkaukasischen Staaten kann nur Aserbaidschan seinen Bedarf an Erdöl und Erdgas selbst decken. Georgien und Armenien sind auf Importe dieser Energieträger angewiesen. Armenien lehnt sich energiepolitisch an Russland an, Georgien hat sich als Transitland für die Lieferung von Öl und Gas aus dem Kaspischen Raum nach Europa etabliert. Aserbaidschan bereitet den Gasexport nach Europa vor. Ob zukünftig auch Erdgas aus Turkmenistan über Aserbaidschan und Georgien in die EU gelangen wird, ist ungewiss. Die EU bemüht sich mit wenig Erfolg um die Errichtung eines ihren Wettbewerbsregeln unterworfenen „südlichen Gaskorridors“, weil sie die Interessen der Gasförderländer der Region verkennt.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 365–382)
Uwe Halbach Russland im Süd- und im Nordkaukasus. Zwischen „Nahem Ausland“ und „Innerem Ausland“
Russland hat eine besondere Beziehung zum Kaukasus. Sie ist durch die Expansion des Zarenreichs historisch, kulturell und affektiv aufgeladen. Bis heute ragt Russland mit sieben Teilrepubliken in die Gesamtregion hinein. Außen- und sicherheitspolitisch, sozioökonomisch, aber auch religiös ist Russland mit dem Südkaukasus so eng verbunden, dass Moskau in seiner Politik gegenüber Armenien, Aserbaidschan und Georgien sowie den abtrünnigen Gebieten wie Abchasien oder Südossetien Rückwirkungen auf die eigene Peripherie im Nordkaukasus berücksichtigen muss. Das gesamte kaukasische Feld ist durch das Spannungsverhältnis zwischen russländischem Machtanspruch und faktischer Gestaltungsmacht geprägt.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 383–406)
Franziska Smolnik, Andrea Weiss, Yana Zabanova Prekäre Balance.Die Türkei, Georgien und der De-facto-Staat Abchasien
Die Türkei hat in den vergangenen 25 Jahren von Konflikt und Kooperation geprägte Beziehungen zu ihren östlichen Nachbarstaaten im Südkaukasus aufgebaut. Im Zentrum stehen wirtschaftliche und politische Interessen, doch auch die Geschichte des Osmanischen Reichs in der Region spielt eine Rolle. Ankara pflegt enge Beziehungen zu Georgien, unterhält aber auch informelle Kontakte zu dem von Tbilisi abtrünnigen De-facto-Staat Abchasien. Für die gesellschaftlichen Beziehungen zu Abchasien spielt die abchasische Diaspora in der Türkei eine wichtige Rolle. Dieses Engagement der Türkei ist jedoch ein Balanceakt. Ankara muss nicht nur auf Tbilisi Rücksicht nehmen, sondern auch auf Russland. Das setzt auch der Rolle der Türkei als Vermittler im georgisch-abchasischen Konflikt Grenzen.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 407–426)
Gayane Novikova Blockade à trois. Das Beziehungsdreieck Armenien–Aserbaidschan–Türkei
Die internationalen Beziehungen im Südkaukasus sind noch immer entscheidend von dem Konflikt um Bergkarabach geprägt. Aserbaidschan und die Türkei sind eng miteinander verbunden und halten die Grenze zu Armenien geschlossen. Das auf diese Weise isolierte Armenien sieht sich von einer massiven Aufrüstung in Aserbaidschan bedroht und lehnt sich aus sicherheitspolitischen Gründen an Russland an. Die Isolation Armeniens kommt Georgien zugute, das so zum alleinigen Transitland geworden ist. Der Versuch, die Blockaden durch eine Verbesserung des Verhältnisses zwischen Armenien und der Türkei abzubauen, scheiterte 2010 an der Frage der Anerkennung des Völkermords an den Armeniern im Osmanischen Reich. Heute herrscht wieder Eiszeit, nicht nur zwischen Baku und Erevan, sondern auch zwischen Ankara und Erevan.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 427–441)
Volltext als Datei (PDF, 302 kB)
Emil Souleimanov, Josef Kraus Alte und neue Ansprüche. Die Politik des Iran im Südkaukasus
Der Iran ist eine wichtige Regionalmacht im Südkaukasus. Mit Georgien pflegt der Iran lediglich eine wirtschaftliche Kooperation. Das armenisch-iranische Verhältnis ist durch die Beziehungen beider Länder zu Aserbaidschan geprägt. Iran und Aserbaidschan haben ihre wirtschaftlichen Beziehungen verbessern können. Doch die politischen sind von Konflikten geprägt. Angesichts von 20 Millionen Aseris im eigenen Land fürchtet Teheran aserbaidschanischen Nationalismus und Irredentismus. Der Iran feilt an einem Instrumentarium, um die aserbaidschanische Integrität und Sicherheit von innen heraus zu unterminieren. Baku will seine Position durch die Hinwendung zu Israel und auch zu den USA stärken.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 443–457)
Julien Zarifian Bedingt engagiert. Die USA im Südkaukasus
Bis zur Auflösung der Sowjetunion sahen die USA den Südkaukasus nur durch das Moskauer Prisma. Das hat sich seit der Unabhängigkeit Armeniens, Aserbaidschans und Georgiens verändert. Die USA verfolgen im Südkaukasus eigene sicherheitspolitische, energiewirtschaftliche und politische Interessen. Georgien ist zu einem Verbündeten Washingtons geworden, Aserbaidschan ist den USA gewogen, und Armenien pflegt gute Beziehungen zu Amerika, obwohl Russland für Erevan sicherheitspolitischer Garant im Konflikt um Bergkarabach ist. Unter Obama haben die USA ihr Engagement in der Region allerdings stark reduziert.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 459–467)
Michèle Knodt, Sigita Urdze Ferne Nachbarn. Die Europäische Union im Südkaukasus
Das Interesse der EU am Südkaukasus ist begrenzt. Nach der Unabhängigkeit Armeniens, Aserbaidschans und Georgiens leistete sie humanitäre Hilfe und engagierte sich in der Entwicklungszusammenarbeit. Den ethnoterritorialen Konflikten in der Region schenkte die EU kaum Beachtung. Eine spezielle Südkaukasus-Politik hat sie nicht entwickelt. Für Brüssel war der Raum Teil der östlichen Partnerschaft. Dieses Modell ist an seine Grenzen gestoßen. Lediglich Georgien hat ein Assoziierungsabkommen mit der EU unterzeichnet, Armenien hat davon Abstand genommen, und Aserbaidschan hat von Anfang an klar gemacht, dass es nicht bereit ist, sich den Bedingungen der EU anzupassen.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 469–485)
Die Macht der Bilder
Sergej Rumjancev Feiertage für das Volk. Transnationale Erinnerung im Südkaukasus
Anfang des 20. Jahrhunderts waren Denkmäler im öffentlichen Raum des Südkaukasus nahezu unbekannt. Erst das Sowjetregime führte Feiertage und Denkmäler ein. Ziel dieser Erinnerungspraktiken war es, die multinationale Gesellschaft zu mobilisieren und zu integrieren. Nach dem Motto „national in der Form, sozialistisch im Inhalt“ wurden mittelalterliche Dichter einer „Nationalkultur“ zugeordnet und heroisiert. Als Beweis für die Gültigkeit des Historischen Materialismus wurden sie als übernationale Vorläufer sozialistischen Denkens interpretiert und instrumentalisiert. Shota Rustaveli, Nizami und das Volksepos David von Sasun wurden so Teil des sowjetischen Kulturerbes. Die postsowjetische Kulturpolitik verläuft in diesen Bahnen. Dieselben Eliten arbeiten in denselben bürokratischen Strukturen und bewegen sich im selben Statussystem aus Ehrentiteln und Auszeichnungen. Selbst die sowjetische Form der Erinnerung ist weitgehend unverändert.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 487–514)
Adrian Brisku So fern und doch so nah. Das Europabild in Georgien: Eine Ideengeschichte
Die Idee Europa kam aus Russland nach Georgien. Georgische Adelige im Dienst das Zaren begannen in der ersten Hälfte des 19. Jahrhunderts ins Russische übertragene Schriften des deutschen Idealismus sowie der Dichter der Romantik zu lesen. Diese Texte brachten die nationale Idee nach Georgien. Auch für die nationale Bewegung der 1870er–1890er Jahre blieb Russland das Tor nach Europa. Erstmals sprachen Anfang des 20. Jahrhunderts die Dichter der symbolistischen Gruppe „Blaue Hörner“ nicht von einer Hinwendung zu einem modernen Europa, sondern von einer „Rückkehr“ Georgiens in die europäische Zivilisation. Nach der Errichtung der Sowjetherrschaft in Georgien lautete die offizielle Doktrin 70 Jahre lang, die sozialistische Zukunft liege in Asien. Erst mit der Perestrojka tauchte die Vorstellung einer Rückkehr ins gemeinsame Haus Europa wieder auf. Russland allerdings hat in den vergangenen zwei Jahrzehnten seine Rolle als Vermittler europäischer Ideen verspielt. Heute schauen die Gegner eines europäischen Georgien nach Moskau.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 515–529)
Zaal Andronikashvili Glaubensbrüder oder Reich des Bösen. Russlandbilder der georgischen Literatur
Das konfliktträchtige Verhältnis zwischen Georgien und Russland ist seit Jahrhunderten stark emotional aufgeladen. Dies schlug sich nicht nur in der russischen, sondern auch in der georgischen Literatur nieder. Der Verlust der Unabhängigkeit ab 1801 und die Eroberung durch bolschewistische Truppen 1921 bilden tiefe Zäsuren. Das Spektrum der georgischen Russlandbilder reicht von der christlichen Schutzmacht bis zum kolonialen Unterdrücker, in ihm schwingt die Verheißung individueller Freiheit, aber auch der Hass auf das große kollektive Gefängnis mit. In den literarischen Erscheinungsweisen des großen Nachbarn spiegelt sich stets auch das sich wandelnde Selbstbild Georgiens.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 531–548)
Franziska Thun-Hohenstein Der russische Georgien-Mythos. Die Sowjetisierung einer romantischen Utopie
In der russischen Literatur des 19. Jahrhunderts wurde Georgien romantisch überhöht. Mit dieser Tradition brachen auch Dichter und Schriftsteller der Sowjetzeit nicht. Das zeigen die Werke von Sergej Tret’jakov, Konstantin Paustovskij oder Andrej Bitov. In Poetik und Metaphorik knüpften sie an den romantischen Georgien-Mythos an. Ungeachtet der ideologischen Überformung speisen sich ihre Texte aus dem traditionellen Arsenal an Metaphern, Motiven und Symbolen, weshalb russisch-imperiale Gesten und Deutungen Georgiens erkennbar bleiben. Auf der sprachlichen Ebene treffen die sowjetischen Ideologeme und die traditionell romantische Metaphorik vielfach unvermittelt aufeinander und lassen Kontinuitäten oder Brüche zwischen beiden hervortreten.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 549–568)
Sevil Huseynova Baku zwischen Orient und Okzident. Der Islam in der postsowjetischen Stadt
Nach dem Zusammenbruch der Sowjetherrschaft, die alle Religionen bekämpft hatte, kam es im unabhängigen Aserbaidschan zur Rehabilitation des Islam. In der Hauptstadt Baku wurden zweckentfremdete Moscheen restituiert, andere renoviert, neue gebaut. Der Islam ist in den öffentlichen Raum zurückgekehrt. Gleichzeitig betont das Regime den säkularen Charakter des Landes, versucht Kontrolle über alle Gläubigen zu bekommen, bekämpft radikale Strömungen und plädiert für einen „weltlichen Islam“ als nationale Tradition. Für Muslime ist das Nonsens. Die Stadt als ein Ort des Nebeneinanders unterschiedlicher Lebensweisen gerät unter Druck.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 569–586)
Volltext als Datei (PDF, 984 kB)
Florian Mühlfried Religion, Reinheit und Radikalisierung. Vom Ende des Alaverdoba-Fests in Georgien
Georgien erlebt seit einigen Jahren eine national-religiöse Aufladung des öffentlichen Raums. Diese Sakralisierung drängt nicht-georgisch-orthodoxe Minderheiten aus lokalen Gemeinschaften. Exemplarisch zeigt sich dies an einem Volksfest im ostgeorgischen Alaverdi. Dort löst sich ein jahrhundertealtes, von Arbeitsteilung und Handel getragenes transkonfessionelles Miteinander von Muslimen und Christen unter dem Druck der Kirchenobersten auf. Dies könnte zur Radikalisierung beider Gruppen führen.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 587–598)
Zaur Gasimov Aserbaidschan: Exportware Führerkult. Der Personenkult um Heydar Aliyev
Seit einem Jahrzehnt präsentiert Baku das Andenken an Heydar Aliyev auf dem internationalen Parkett, indem es die Errichtung von Aliyev-Denkmälern und -Parks fördert. Während große Teile der aserbaidschanischen Bevölkerung trotz der enormen Öleinnahmen immer noch unter der Armutsgrenze leben, erkauft sich Baku die Erlaubnis, den Aliyev-Kult ins Ausland zu exportieren. Dies trägt weder zur Demokratisierung von Aserbaidschan noch zur Verbesserung seines Images auf dem internationalen Parkett bei. Gleichzeitig stellt es die demokratische Reputation jener Staaten in Frage, die sich auf dieses Spiel einlassen.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 599–612)
Giorgi Gvakharia Zwischen Zwang und Freiheit. Poesie und Realismus im georgischen Film
Georgien hat eine außergewöhnlich lebendige Filmszene und brachte bereits viele innovative Filmkünstler hervor. In den 1920er Jahren drehten Georgier wegweisende Stummfilme, die unter dem Einfluss der Avantgarde standen. Unter der Doktrin des Sozialistischen Realismus lieferte der georgische Film in den 1930er und 1940er Jahren systemkonforme Monumentalfilme und Stalin-Elogen, seine Blüte erlebte er jedoch in den 1950er und 1960er Jahren. Der typische lyrische Grundton ist nicht nur dem Druck der Zensur geschuldet, sondern auch Ausdruck einer besonderen Mentalität. Nach der Unabhängigkeit Georgiens geriet der georgische Film in eine Sinnkrise. In jüngster Zeit sind es vor allem Regisseurinnen, die den Film neu erfinden.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 613–630)
Michail Ryklin Eine Philosophie der Freiheit. Merab Mamardashvili und die Metaphysik der Agora
Merab Mamardashvili war ein prinzipieller Gegner staatlicher Ideologien. Seine Moskauer Seminare der 1960er und 1970er Jahre waren ein Ort der Meinungsvielfalt und der freien Rede. In ihnen trat der im georgischen Gori geborene Philosoph, den die Sowjetunion 20 Jahre mit Reiseverbot belegte, in den Dialog mit Platon, Kant und Descartes. Damit gab er der Metaphysik eine russische Sprache. Als die staatlichen Repressionen in den 1980er Jahren zurückgingen und Wandel in greifbare Nähe rückte, wurde die politische Bedeutung der Philosophie Mamardashvilis offensichtlich.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 631–642)
Aschot L. Manutscharjan Das Wort „Genozid“ gab es noch nicht. 100 Jahre Völkermord an den Armeniern
2015 jährten sich die Vertreibung und die Massaker an den Armeniern im Osmanischen Reich zum 100. Mal. Anderthalb Millionen Menschen verloren bei diesem Massenmord ihr Leben. Dass es sich um einen Genozid handelte, ist unumstritten, auch wenn der Begriff selbst erst 1951 Eingang in das Völkerrecht fand. Das belegt eine Vielzahl von Monographien, Studien, Quelleneditionen und Aktenpublikationen aus den diplomatischen Archiven. Das Wissen über den Völkermord ist erdrückend. Es ist an der Zeit, dass die Türkei ihre Politik der Leugnung beendet und die Aufarbeitung der Vergangenheit leistet.
(Osteuropa 7-10/2015, S. 657–670)
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