For the third time in recent years, street protests have toppled the leadership of Abkhazia, a pro-Russian self-proclaimed statelet still viewed by most of the world as part of Georgia. Four days of protests in the center of the regional capital Sukhumi and the storming of the presidential administration building ended with de facto president Aslan Bzhania’s resignation and the announcement of a snap election.
The first sparks of the latest explosion of discontent were ignited back in the summer, when the Abkhaz leadership launched a raft of bills facilitating access to the region for Russian nationals and businesses. The first bill—which would have allowed Russian nationals to purchase real estate—was withdrawn due to a lack of support in parliament.
The next initiative was for Abkhazia to recognize Russian court rulings on economic cases, and it was duly passed. But the third bill, which would have provided incentives to Russian businesses, sparked protests and ultimately led to the president’s resignation.
It’s hardly the outcome Moscow wanted. Since recognizing Abkhazia’s independence in 2008, Moscow has consistently insisted on revising the breakaway region’s laws, which date back to the early 1990s following the end of the Georgian-Abkhaz war and were aimed primarily at limiting external influence and prioritizing ethnic Abkhaz. Even the inflow of Russian cash upon which the region depends entirely was not enough to convince the Abkhaz that Russians are not Georgians and do not pose a threat to local residents.
What began as something resembling persuasion later took the form of demands. In 2014, after the annexation of Crimea, the Kremlin official then responsible for Abkhazia, Vladislav Surkov, decided to apply Moscow’s new foreign policy to that region too. Sukhumi was invited to sign an agreement “On Alliance and Strategic Partnership.”
According to one representative of the de facto authorities, Abkhazia did not immediately realize what it was committing to, and thought it would be just another piece of paper that would bring Sukhumi more money but would not require implementation. But after the document was drawn up, Moscow began to demand the implementation of its provisions—including a review of Abkhaz legislation.
After Bzhania won the 2020 election, Russia presented the new de facto president with a list of concrete legislative changes required and a schedule for their implementation. Bzhania played for time, citing the pandemic and the need to strengthen his power (for he too had swept to power following the seizure of the presidential administration building).
After the Russian invasion of Ukraine, Moscow decided it had waited long enough, and threatened in no uncertain terms to slash the Abkhaz budget if Sukhumi did not start fulfilling its promises. A year ago, it became obvious that the regional authorities had run out of options. At that time, and in violation of local laws, the Abkhaz leadership unexpectedly began to erect a tall, spiked iron fence around several buildings of the presidential administration and parliament, prompting speculation that the authorities were taking steps to fence themselves off from the protests that would inevitably take place over the laws drawn up by Moscow. During the latest crisis, protesters broke through the fence with a military vehicle, allowing them to seize the presidential administration building.
But the battle isn’t over just yet. Even if the opposition candidate manages to win the upcoming election, the next leader will still have to find common ground with Moscow. And it’s not just a matter of the new high-rises in the center of Sukhumi that already have funding from Russian investors. Abkhazia quite simply has no other partner besides Russia that recognizes its existence. The vast majority of the world considers the tiny territory to be part of Georgia and occupied by Russia, and declines to deal with the local authorities or engage in any economic activity there.
For a long time, even Russian companies had little to do with Abkhazia, wary of encountering problems with their Western partners. That began to change after 2014, following the first round of sanctions imposed against Russia over its annexation of Crimea, which made investing in Abkhazia begin to look like one of few available options for business.
Abkhazia’s most attractive sector for investors is tourism, which is the region’s economic backbone thanks to its climate. But for many years, Russian businesspeople were only able to invest in Abkhazia in partnership with someone who possessed Abkhazian documents, thereby entitling that person to a significant part of the profits. And when things went sour, foreign businesspeople could not look to either Russian officials or the local authorities for help. Some disputes involving Russian businessmen ended in kidnappings and murders. As a result, foreign investment in Abkhazia over the past decade has been a slow trickle, with major Russian businesses giving the market a wide berth.
The current crisis comes at a time when there is more demand than ever in Abkhaz society for an improvement in living standards. Russia’s recognition of Abkhazia in 2008 sparked a wave of optimism, and promises of reforms and improved living standards have dominated all the recent election campaigns. The upcoming one will likely be no exception. But no one has yet figured out how to improve people’s lives without changing the established local order.
People in Abkhazia have gotten used to everyday cataclysms, such as heavy rain leaving the streets of Sukhumi so flooded that residents are forced to navigate their city in inflatable boats. But they haven’t lost hope that one day, Abkhazia will not just have working storm drains, but also other hallmarks of effective management.
Bzhania is far from the first Abkhaz leader to spark local anger by trying to reform the system, and he is unlikely to be the last. His predecessor, Raul Khajimba, tried to introduce a new tax code. Another former leader, Alexander Ankvab, ruffled feathers by trying to bring some order to the construction of social facilities financed by Russia. All three men were eventually forced to resign under pressure from protests.
If it seems like the Abkhaz leadership caves quickly to protesters, it’s worth recalling that as a consequence of the Georgian-Abkhaz war, local people generally have plenty of weapons at their disposal, and they are prepared to use them against the authorities if they think their rights are in jeopardy. And with a population of less than 200,000 in all of Abkhazia, no matter what high offices a leader might frequent in the Kremlin, they will always eventually have to answer to their relatives and neighbors.
The next Abkhaz leader will have to navigate between the demands of their own complex society and growing pressure from Russia: a dilemma that none of their predecessors has yet managed to resolve.
