I will be honest: before I left, for me the war in Ukraine was a topic in the public debate, not much else. Studying political science in a country that has tended to be peaceful for more than seven decades, my approach has been almost exclusively on geopolitical and strategic analysis. Outraged, sure, active in fundraising and commodity collections, sure, but not really involved. The same for all the conflicts that have followed since I reached an age sufficient to understand the meaning of the word 'war'. I am not saying that one has to live in constant apprehension and mobilisation in order not to feel indifferent (then everyone handles it as she/he prefers), but today, that I find myself in a completely unlike context than in Italy, I feel that the Me of that time was foreign, detached, distant.
Mind you, that is quite different from not understanding the gravity and devastation of the event.
Banally, I had never interacted with a Ukrainian or Russian on the topic, and there was little talk of it around. Indeed, if anyone talked about it, it was because of rising utility bills and petrol prices, the problem of finding sunflower oil, the increase in materials such as steel, and the question of sending weapons: they remained matters of domestic politics at the end of the day. Was there talk of the Ukrainian and Russian people? Certainly, but with a lack of empathy, with passing interest, perhaps also because we are victims of a media addiction whereby the violence of wars is now photos and posts on social media that have also become a little tired, I often hear.
Seven hours on a plane was enough for me to scale my lack of real involvement.
I slammed into it.
Now I am in Georgia, and here it’s a question that cannot be avoided: you are asked to take sides, even if only with cultural and commercial considerations. If you don’t want to take sides, however, you have to know that you are not welcome everywhere if you act, speak or think in a certain way.
My distant look was no longer plausible for a war so close.
The first real slap in the face for me was when in a toilet, a lady addressed us in Georgian, whereupon my colleague told her that we did not speak her language but could speak Russian. From that moment on, the lady no longer looked us in the eye, no longer considered us, continuing to go about her business as if we did not exist. We left the bathroom a little lost, we didn’t understand.
The ubiquitous Ukrainian flags in the city, next to the Georgian and European ones, are a clear sign of the position that many here have taken; however, I cannot refrain from being astonished: I had not imagined such tension, also cultural I mean. On reflection, I realise that language can be an instrument of soft power, a political issue, of conquest, of co-optation. In the nationalistic narrative, words and language are decisive.
Beyond the writing on the walls and stickers plastering the city with inscriptions such as ‘glory to Ukraine’, ‘Russians are occupiers’, or ‘Russians are not welcome’, it is important to mention some background of the Georgian context. A former Soviet republic, Georgia lived for a good 70 years under what is referred to in the national museum as ‘Soviet occupation’. After the collapse of the USSR, military and political changes followed. Consequently, in 2008, a war broke out and two Georgian regions, Abkhazia and South Ossetia, corresponding to about 20 per cent of the country’s territory, came under the Russian wing.
Present-day Ukraine somewhat resembles what the Georgians experienced, albeit on a different scale, according to some of them: for this reason, a feeling of extreme brotherhood between the two peoples is palpable. Tellingly, for many here, the war in Ukraine is also considered a Georgian war.
However, Georgia has also experienced a particularly copious exodus of Russians fleeing military mobilisation, finding itself in a complex situation whereby on the one hand it recognises the right to escape from a system it considers authoritarian, but on the other hand, there is friction due to the exponential increase of the Russian minority - already negatively regarded because of the 2008 war - which has also led to an increase in prices in the country, especially house rents.
All of this was finally made clear to me when I went to a restaurant and instead of a menu, there was a sheet with the words ‘for Russians only’, which was followed by a whole page written in Cyrillic in which, amidst accusations and claims, there were historical references.
Obviously, my limited experience with Georgians allows me to report only the above, but just as there are those who support Ukraine to the bitter end, there are those who have different or opposing views.
However, if there is something I have noticed, it is that there is suspicion, hatred and pain all over the country: the wound is great and gets deeper as the rancour grows. Moreover, if there is anything I have understood, it’s that a situation such as a war requires an informed assessment that considers the historical, political and social aspects of the parts involved: one cannot claim abstract geopolitical analysis that leads to generic and decontextualised conclusions with theoretical condemnations, because in practice this results in irresponsible solutions and a sterile exercise in intellectual balance.
Sofia Camaglia
Disclaimer: We, AICEM, recognise that not all Russian people are involved and/or support war and the activities undertaken by the Russian government.
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