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WHAT HAPPENS TO PEOPLE WHEN THEIR GOVERNMENTS FIGHT?
Galina Sapozhnikova
http://vologda.kp.ru/daily/24162.4/3 75725/
Sept 11 2008
My sadness didn't hit me in Georgia when Tbilisi residents joined hands
in a human chain yelling "Stop Russia!" or even Monday in Hague when
representatives of our two nations faced off at the International
Court of Justice (ICJ), the UN's highest court. Instead, it hit me
in a Georgian restaurant in Moscow. On that Saturday evening, the
venue was completely empty. The staff were as polite as always --
the chef, waiters and performers -- and everyone pretended that
nothing had happened.
Gentle influence
"They should have been gentler with us," an Adjarian businessman,
Murman, told me in Batumi. He owned a hotel that was privatized just
before the fall of the Soviet Union. "Russia could have received
anything she wanted -- Akhazia, South Ossetia and even Georgia."
When Murman said "gentler," he was referring to the U.S. mechanism
for influencing foreign nations -- pumping finances into a country
and taking upon oneself the minimal obligations.
Pleasing the people
I've had the chance to observe Georgia over the past two years. And
I can state with certainty that the finances that have been poured
into the country were used appropriately. This doesn't mean that
all Georgians have hot running water and no longer fear electrical
shortages. However, schools have become genuine schools and hospitals
real, functioning hospitals. Fountains burst round-the-clock in Tbilisi
and Signakhi has turned into a magnificent European city. But the true
eye catcher in Georgia is the large number of small children playing
in the streets. The country's birth rate is a fail proof barometer
for its stability.
KP correspondent Galina Sapozhnikova (second from the left).
"Go-o-o-od evening, my fellow Georgians!"
Imagine this strange picture. You're walking down the street in a city
in Russia and hear 5-year-old children playing and yelling in their
courtyards: "Russia!", "Russia!" And this isn't during Eurovision or
the UEFA championship.
This is exactly what I saw in Georgia. Four hours after the
all-national anti-Russian campaign, children were still roaming the
streets and hanging out of their parents' cars waving Georgian flags
and chanting: "Sakartvelo! Sakartvelo!"
After watching a fair amount of Georgian television, I started to
realize that the issue at hand isn't just Western propaganda. The
mentality of Georgians today is more the result of their President
Mikhail Saakashvili, and his unique ability to captivate his citizens.
Every evening, Saakashvili appears on live television and addresses the
country for 40 minutes. Although I don't understand a word of Georgian,
after staring at the television three nights in a row, I slowly began
to discern between his tones of voice. His method of addressing the
people has a truly hypnotic effect. I wouldn't be surprised if an
army of rebellious Georgians is soon born whose aim will be to seek
revenge on Russia for "its aggression" during the South Ossetian War.
The beaches were empty without Russians.
Divide and rule
As I watched representatives of various Russian-speaking minorities
join hands in the human chain against Russian aggression in Batumi, I
couldn't help but think back to the early 1990s in the Batlics. Exactly
the same thing had happened.
The Russian-speaking population had been sidelined and divided into
numerous ethnic groups so they could easily be controlled by the
government. Now, in Georgia, if something happens to Russians, only a
small group will appeal to Moscow for assistance. The rest will turn
to the individual governments that correspond with their ethnicity
-- Ukrainians to Ukraine, Armenians to Armenia, and Belarusians to
Belarus -- even if they've never been there and don't speak a word
of the national language.
Later in the day, I was introduced to an elderly Jew. He had such
sadness in his eyes. He had never been to Israel and didn't speak a
word of Hebrew, but he had been asked to stand in the square waving
an Israeli flag. What a strange feeling. A crowd of Soviet people
with Georgian passports, all of whom spoke Russian and read Russian
newspapers and books, were now foreigners to each other. This is the
most sure-fire way to reduce the voice of local Russian sympathizers.
Such a method of dividing and ruling the people worked well in the
Baltics, but the repercussions could be far more severe in Batumi,
where there are over 83 nationalities. Combined with the Caucasus
temperament, this could be a recipe for disaster.
The signs overlooking Georgia's streets are a reminder of our
friendship.
"Our Georgia. And yours, too!"
"Why do I need this?! I want to go to Russia!" several taxi drivers
told me. "Everyone supports you here!" the director of a cafe on the
shore in Batumi told me. I heard almost the same thing from everyone
in the area. I don't know where they got all those people who lined
up during the anti-Russian meetings. Can the people just not make up
their minds?
But this has nothing to do with indecisiveness. This is an ideological
choice. And this choice between Russia and the U.S. is divided along
social lines. It has nothing to do with geography or age. Richer
Georgians support Saakashvili. But they were the ones who ran away
first when they heard the Russians were approaching Batumi. They
packed their things and headed to their dachas in the mountains.
Russia has the support of the 80 percent of the people who are
poorer. These were the soldiers who were fighting in South Ossetia. And
this explains the looks of confusion Russians saw on the faces of
Georgian soldiers on national television. They simply don't know who
their enemy is and why. I walked over to a bunch of students waving
flags of "friendly" nations on the street -- U.S., EU, Ukraine and the
Baltics and asked them a few questions hoping to incite their anger.
"So you mean to say the Russians are your enemies?" I asked.
"No. They're good, too!" they told me.
Just how hopeless is the situation?
I was sitting with Murman in his restaurant one evening. He
was reciting Turgenev to me, and I recalled a few lines of
Baratashvili. Everything we talked about was painful -- Paradzhanov,
Griboedev and Okudzhav...
"Okudzhav would die today if he knew what was happening," Murman
said. "My tears aren't figurative, but real. Now it's time for us to
leave Russia..."
When we parted, I didn't go to my room to cry. Instead I left Georgia
with a smile because I know things are far from over. Everything is
still possible, even though I know that with each paragraph I write
Georgia's lawyers are accusing Russia of human rights violations
before the ICJ.
Galina Sapozhnikova
http://vologda.kp.ru/daily/24162.4/3 75725/
Sept 11 2008
My sadness didn't hit me in Georgia when Tbilisi residents joined hands
in a human chain yelling "Stop Russia!" or even Monday in Hague when
representatives of our two nations faced off at the International
Court of Justice (ICJ), the UN's highest court. Instead, it hit me
in a Georgian restaurant in Moscow. On that Saturday evening, the
venue was completely empty. The staff were as polite as always --
the chef, waiters and performers -- and everyone pretended that
nothing had happened.
Gentle influence
"They should have been gentler with us," an Adjarian businessman,
Murman, told me in Batumi. He owned a hotel that was privatized just
before the fall of the Soviet Union. "Russia could have received
anything she wanted -- Akhazia, South Ossetia and even Georgia."
When Murman said "gentler," he was referring to the U.S. mechanism
for influencing foreign nations -- pumping finances into a country
and taking upon oneself the minimal obligations.
Pleasing the people
I've had the chance to observe Georgia over the past two years. And
I can state with certainty that the finances that have been poured
into the country were used appropriately. This doesn't mean that
all Georgians have hot running water and no longer fear electrical
shortages. However, schools have become genuine schools and hospitals
real, functioning hospitals. Fountains burst round-the-clock in Tbilisi
and Signakhi has turned into a magnificent European city. But the true
eye catcher in Georgia is the large number of small children playing
in the streets. The country's birth rate is a fail proof barometer
for its stability.
KP correspondent Galina Sapozhnikova (second from the left).
"Go-o-o-od evening, my fellow Georgians!"
Imagine this strange picture. You're walking down the street in a city
in Russia and hear 5-year-old children playing and yelling in their
courtyards: "Russia!", "Russia!" And this isn't during Eurovision or
the UEFA championship.
This is exactly what I saw in Georgia. Four hours after the
all-national anti-Russian campaign, children were still roaming the
streets and hanging out of their parents' cars waving Georgian flags
and chanting: "Sakartvelo! Sakartvelo!"
After watching a fair amount of Georgian television, I started to
realize that the issue at hand isn't just Western propaganda. The
mentality of Georgians today is more the result of their President
Mikhail Saakashvili, and his unique ability to captivate his citizens.
Every evening, Saakashvili appears on live television and addresses the
country for 40 minutes. Although I don't understand a word of Georgian,
after staring at the television three nights in a row, I slowly began
to discern between his tones of voice. His method of addressing the
people has a truly hypnotic effect. I wouldn't be surprised if an
army of rebellious Georgians is soon born whose aim will be to seek
revenge on Russia for "its aggression" during the South Ossetian War.
The beaches were empty without Russians.
Divide and rule
As I watched representatives of various Russian-speaking minorities
join hands in the human chain against Russian aggression in Batumi, I
couldn't help but think back to the early 1990s in the Batlics. Exactly
the same thing had happened.
The Russian-speaking population had been sidelined and divided into
numerous ethnic groups so they could easily be controlled by the
government. Now, in Georgia, if something happens to Russians, only a
small group will appeal to Moscow for assistance. The rest will turn
to the individual governments that correspond with their ethnicity
-- Ukrainians to Ukraine, Armenians to Armenia, and Belarusians to
Belarus -- even if they've never been there and don't speak a word
of the national language.
Later in the day, I was introduced to an elderly Jew. He had such
sadness in his eyes. He had never been to Israel and didn't speak a
word of Hebrew, but he had been asked to stand in the square waving
an Israeli flag. What a strange feeling. A crowd of Soviet people
with Georgian passports, all of whom spoke Russian and read Russian
newspapers and books, were now foreigners to each other. This is the
most sure-fire way to reduce the voice of local Russian sympathizers.
Such a method of dividing and ruling the people worked well in the
Baltics, but the repercussions could be far more severe in Batumi,
where there are over 83 nationalities. Combined with the Caucasus
temperament, this could be a recipe for disaster.
The signs overlooking Georgia's streets are a reminder of our
friendship.
"Our Georgia. And yours, too!"
"Why do I need this?! I want to go to Russia!" several taxi drivers
told me. "Everyone supports you here!" the director of a cafe on the
shore in Batumi told me. I heard almost the same thing from everyone
in the area. I don't know where they got all those people who lined
up during the anti-Russian meetings. Can the people just not make up
their minds?
But this has nothing to do with indecisiveness. This is an ideological
choice. And this choice between Russia and the U.S. is divided along
social lines. It has nothing to do with geography or age. Richer
Georgians support Saakashvili. But they were the ones who ran away
first when they heard the Russians were approaching Batumi. They
packed their things and headed to their dachas in the mountains.
Russia has the support of the 80 percent of the people who are
poorer. These were the soldiers who were fighting in South Ossetia. And
this explains the looks of confusion Russians saw on the faces of
Georgian soldiers on national television. They simply don't know who
their enemy is and why. I walked over to a bunch of students waving
flags of "friendly" nations on the street -- U.S., EU, Ukraine and the
Baltics and asked them a few questions hoping to incite their anger.
"So you mean to say the Russians are your enemies?" I asked.
"No. They're good, too!" they told me.
Just how hopeless is the situation?
I was sitting with Murman in his restaurant one evening. He
was reciting Turgenev to me, and I recalled a few lines of
Baratashvili. Everything we talked about was painful -- Paradzhanov,
Griboedev and Okudzhav...
"Okudzhav would die today if he knew what was happening," Murman
said. "My tears aren't figurative, but real. Now it's time for us to
leave Russia..."
When we parted, I didn't go to my room to cry. Instead I left Georgia
with a smile because I know things are far from over. Everything is
still possible, even though I know that with each paragraph I write
Georgia's lawyers are accusing Russia of human rights violations
before the ICJ.