Moscow News
www.MN.Ru
September 13, 2007
Abkhazia Revisited
By Lyudmila Butuzova and Roman Mukhametzhanov (photos)
The best black coffee on the Black Sea coast is made on the Sukhumi embankment. It has a unique flavor and goes for just 5 rubles a cup. People start coming here in the morning. This wonderful place hums with life into the evening.
Echo of War
Coffee house patrons continue heated discussions about the outcome and details of the war with Georgia, even though it ended 14 years ago. In August 1992, Georgian troops entered the republic - according to the Georgian side, in order to finish off the gangs of Zviad Gamsakhurdia supporters holed up in the east of Abkhazia. But according to another version, troops entered to restore political control over the breakaway state. The outcome of the 14-month war was the loss of thousands of lives on each side, hundreds of thousands of refugees, and the impossibility of a compromise solution. Today, Georgia still hopes to regain Abkhazia, while Abkhazia is attempting to finally separate from Georgia.
"Please understand and remember: we do not want the Georgians to return," an elderly Abkhazian man shouts to us across a table. Someone from another table informs us that the man is Rudik Chukbar, deputy commander of an artillery battalion, so his opinion is highly regarded.
"When they started the war, we had 60 automatic rifles and not a single round of ammunition," Rudik continues. "But now our army is well armed, equipped and trained. We are not afraid of Georgia, and we will not live with Georgia. They can tell NATO what great fighters we are."
A rock and a hard place
Abkhazia is looking elsewhere. Practically all Abkhazians have Russian national passports, obtained by any means possible; the ruble is the only respected currency (there is simply no other); everyone here speaks Russian, reveres Putin, watches Moscow TV channels and empathizes with everything that is broadcast from the Russian capital. This creates an illusion of involvement and a sense of being an integral part of Russia. Average Abkhazians find it hard to understand why Russia is in no hurry to take the little unsettled republic into its fold.
"Joseph Stalin forcibly incorporated Abkhazia into the Georgian Soviet Socialist Republic," says Nodar, a Sukhumi University professor, alluding to the well known events of 1931. "But Stalin is long gone, so why does nobody want to rectify the mistake?"
The gathered coffee house patrons have no idea how this could be done. They just hope that one day some top-level official, for example, Putin, will tell everyone who must live together and who must live separately. Asked how this command-and-administer approach differs from Stalin's policy, our interlocutors say that if Russia ditches Abkhazia once again, the Americans will arrive in no time at all.
"Do you and Putin need that?" Nodar asks suspiciously.
We cannot answer for President Putin, or even for the Georgian officials, but as far as the two of us are concerned, it is better to drink this divine coffee with the locals.
Paradise Lost
During the Soviet era, Abkhazia was considered to a paradise, and not just because of its scenic landscape and its warm sea. Once the republic's economy was quite successful. In the late 1980s, it had 500 industrial, primarily power engineering and machine manufacturing, enterprises, also producing over 100,000 tons of tangerines, oranges and lemons a year.
The disintegration of the Soviet Union and the subsequent Georgian-Abkhazian conflict effectively wiped out the republic's economy. The property of former Soviet enterprises was sold out, the railroads and highways are in a state of disrepair, the once vibrant timber industry has disappeared, citrus and tea production is negligible, while many plantations have been simply abandoned to the weeds. On top of all this are the sad skeletons of seaside hotels and spa facilities, which from a distance almost resemble bombed-out buildings.
In short, the former paradise is now in dire straits, desperate for international recognition and striving for independence or alternatively, accession to Russia.
A STRANGE ECONOMY
None of the above is a viable option for Abkhazia at this stage. But the Abkhazian people still have hope, and the Abkhazian governing authorities exude optimism, as governing authorities should.
In his annual address, Abkhazian President Sergei Bagapsh highlighted economic stabilization and improvement in the living standards. The local media was sarcastic: economy Abkhazian-style is about the uncontrolled selling-off of land plots to foreigners, whilst any signs of well-being in the republic can only be seen in a luxury limo with tinted windows.
A 1 million ruble lawsuit filed against one newspaper, and a mysterious arson attack against another, were supposed to bring journalists to their senses. But this does not answer the main question being discussed both in whispers and out loud on every street corner, namely, what will happen in the republic once all the seaside land plots and holiday retreats are sold?
By Abkhaz law, land and tourism facilities may not be sold - they may only be leased for a long term. After the breakup of the Soviet Union, all seaside real estate was declared the republic's property. At the time no one was laying claim to the abandoned hotels: there were other things to worry about across the former Soviet Union. After the war, there were no takers for the half-ruined facilities that lay on disputed land. To stay afloat, Abkhazia bent over backwards to attract investors. Political expediency was an operating principle. The Russian presence in the region seemed to be preferable to economic gain.
"In the first few years [of independence] we were very generous, giving away plots of land right and left in the hope that it would help create jobs and get us back on our feet," says Kristian Bzhania, head of a department at the Abkhazian presidential staff. "Three or four years passed, but nothing was done. Many contracts were reviewed or terminated."
Abkhazia also missed out on some enviable opportunities. Oleg Deripaska, the aluminum king, showed an interest in buying Joseph Stalin's dacha on Kholodnaya Rechka [one of five the Soviet dictator maintained in the republic.- Ed.]. Afraid of making a bad bargain, the Abkhazian side kept raising the sum of the deal almost every week - from $4 million to $10 million. They apparently settled on $8 million, but at the very last moment the vendor was told that he would also have to take on the renovation, maintenance and upkeep of an adjacent Soviet-era holiday retreat, including a derelict sewage system, as part of the deal. The deal was never closed.
Yet it seems that the Abkhazian authorities do not seek to derive any profit from facilities leased to Russian state organizations. Thus, the Sukhumi based MVO-PVO sanatorium, which now serves as the headquarters for Russian peacekeepers, was donated to the Russian Defense Ministry. A 0.24 hectare plot of land on the embankment of the Abkhazian capital was transferred to the Moscow city hall on a non-paying basis. A year ago, Mayor Yuri Luzhkov laid the cornerstone of the House of Moscow. The Sukhumi authorities, assuming that Moscow meant business, were so overjoyed that they threw another 1.5 hectares into the bargain, forgetting for some reason that the Russian capital had yet to start the reconstruction of the Moskva sanitarium in Gagra and a yet unfinished vacation retreat in Pitsunda, also donated to by the Abzkhazians.
The majority of hotels and vacation resorts are leased by Russian companies and organizations on preferential terms. The list of big names includes Gazprom, Lukoil, the Ministry of Atomic Energy, and the Fuel and Energy Ministry. Somehow, Russia's elite enjoy so much privilege that very little money trickles down to the republic's budget - exactly how much is a closely guarded secret. According to the Abkhazian opposition, only three or four officials in the president's inner circle know this secret. For everyone else, the details of the budget is held in secrecy.
The Abkhazian people have no idea about how much was paid for a particular facility, how much tax revenue is generated, how much rent is paid on leasing operations, or what share of this money is funneled to social programs. It is only known that 99 percent of investors come from Russia - primarily Moscow, the Rostov region, and the Krasnodar territory, but other parts of Russia are represented there as well.
Secret Investors
Who they are or exactly where they come from is another big secret.
"No one will name names," Aleksandr Kamlia, Gagra deputy mayor, said. "Why expose people who have invested here? Georgia is next door and it does not recognize our deals. If it does not like something we do, it can cut off power or water supplies. Who needs these headaches?"
Indeed, President Mikheil Saakashvili is on record as saying that all real estate contracts in Abkhazia will be annulled, while the appropriated hotels and land plots will be returned to their rightful owners. In this situation, investors prefer to remain incognito.
"It's just an excuse," says Izida Chania, editor in chief and founder of Nuzhnaya, an independent newspaper. "The ruling authorities need secrecy. We don't know anything - who receives what property or on what terms, how much money goes where or who actually owns our real estate."
Still, some names are well known. Krasnodar Governor Tkachev settled down in old Gagra, at the former dacha of Lavrenty Beria [chief of the Soviet security and police, now remembered chiefly for executing Joseph Stalin's Great Purge of the 1930s. - Ed.], or so the story goes. The authorities refer to this dacha as "Kuban's official mission to Abkhazia," although there is not a single official document to confirm this.
One local official listed 30 Russian regions that have recently showed interest in economic cooperation with Abkhazia. Naturally, economic cooperation requires political representation, but there is not much land left on the seaside - certainly not enough for all interested governors. So some regions only landed notices of intent about future cooperation, while some got real land. Needless to say, there is no trace of such transactions: on paper, these land plots belong to straw men or Abkhazia based firms.
A Bargaining Chip
"Russia has helped us to survive," says Nodar Abaz, an old warrior and member of the Abkhazian opposition movement Forum. "After the war, no one knew how to procure food for the people. Russia stood by us. Our elderly people were unable to receive even the ridiculously small 10-ruble pension from Georgia, whilst today, Russia provides 40 million rubles to 25,000 of our pensioners each month."
The old man continues his enumeration of Russia's generous deeds so as not to appear ungrateful, then he asks the most important question: why did this generosity have to come at such an exorbitant cost?
"Where will the Abkhazians, who have been scattered throughout the world, return to?" he asks. "About 300,000 of our people have been displaced, but now their land is occupied, and no one will give it back. The Abkhazian nation is in for a demographic disaster. We will simply disappear off the face of the earth. Because 100,000 people who remain here in their motherland cannot reproduce. Our ruling authorities do not care about this. They only care about staying in power. This is why I am with the opposition."
It would not be much of a stretch to say that half the republic is in opposition, but this does not seem to have any real effect. No one dares to say bluntly that land has become a bargaining chip in relations between Sukhumi and Moscow or that Russia has done little to help Abkhazia gain international recognition. No one can guarantee the security of Russian investment in the event of the worst case scenario for Abkhazia. This must be why no questions are being asked about the provenance of Russian money, as long as it keeps flowing in, creating at least an illusion of stability, the regime's most outspoken critics told these reporters.
In the coffee houses, Abkhazia's opposition curses the authorities, but at public rallies they will attack anyone who suggests that theft and corruption is rampant in the republic. After gazing with admiration at an official's brand new Mercedes car, an oppositionist will typically stress that ministers and mayors live like the guy next door, on a wage of 3,000 rubles ($120) a month. Asked where the foreign luxury cars come from, they will reply that Abkhazians do not look into other people's pockets.
Even when yet another attempt is made on the life of Aleksandr Ankvab, a successful local businessman who is now the prime minister of Abkhazia, and when everyone realizes that it is part of a turf war, supporters of both the political establishment and the opposition will go to a public rally to condemn Georgian terrorists.
"This is what the local mentality is," a Forum leader said. "But if we gain independence, much will change overnight, as in Russia... you have a civilized government and order."