Does their nationality have anything to do with their alleged terrorism? Many Russians probably think so.

Tajikistan, a landlocked country of 10 million sandwiched between Uzbekistan, Afghanistan and China, is the most impoverished of the former Soviet republics. Known for its corruption and political repression, it has chafed under the iron-fisted rule of President Emomali Rahmon since 1994.

There are estimated to be well over three million Tajiks living in Russia, about one-third of the total Tajik population. Most of them hold the precarious status of “guest workers,” holding low-paying jobs in construction, produce markets or even cleaning public toilets.

While Russia’s declining population has led to increasing reliance on foreign workers to fill such needs within its labour force, the attitude of Russians towards natives of Central Asia and the Caucasus region is generally negative.

It’s similar to the American stereotype about Mexicans so infamously expressed by Donald Trump in 2015: “They’re bringing drugs. They’re bringing crime. They’re rapists.”

CBC News Video: “Why would ISIS-K attack Russia? | Front Burner

Non-Slavs are systematically discriminated against in Russia, and since 2022 they have been disproportionately conscripted and sent to Ukraine to serve as cannon fodder at the front.

Tajik exclusion

As I have described in a recent book, few nations in history have seen their standing so dramatically reduced as the Tajiks have over the past 100 years.

For more than a millennium, the Tajiks — Persian-speaking descendants of the ancient Sogdians who dominated the Silk Road — were Central Asia’s cultural elite.

Beginning with what’s known as the New Persian Renaissance of the 10th century when their capital, Bukhara, came to rival Baghdad as a centre of Islamic learning and high culture, Tajiks were the principal scholars and bureaucrats of Central Asia’s major cities right up to the time of the Russian Revolution.

The famous medieval polymath Avicenna was an ethnic Tajik, as were the hadith collector Bukhari, the Sufi poet Rumi, and many others.

But as the most significant purveyors of Central Asia’s Islamic civilization, Tajiks were seen by the Bolsheviks as representing an obsolete legacy that socialism aimed to overcome.

The Tajiks were virtually excluded from the massive social and political restructuring imposed on Central Asia during the early years of the Soviet Union, with most of their historical territory, including the fabled cities of Samarkand and Bukhara, being awarded to the Turkic-speaking Uzbeks who were seen as being more malleable.

Only as late as 1929 were the Tajiks given their own republic, consisting mostly of marginal, mountainous territory and deprived of any major urban centres.

Impoverished

Throughout the 20th century, the Tajik Soviet Socialist Republic was the most impoverished and underdeveloped region of the former Soviet Union, and it has retained that unfortunate status since independence in 1991.

From 1992-1997, the country was plunged into a devastating civil war that destroyed what infrastructure remained from the Soviet period. Since that time, Rahmon has used the threat of renewed civil conflict to vindicate his absolute rule.

The spectre of radical Islam emanating from neighbouring Afghanistan — where the Tajik population considerably outnumbers that of Tajikistan — has provided additional justification for Rahmon’s repressive policies.

In today’s Tajikistan even those with a university education find it almost impossible to earn a salary that would enable them to build a normal family life.

Disempowered and humiliated by the system, they are easy prey for radical Islamic preachers who give them a sense of value and purpose.

The added backdrop of financial desperation makes for an explosive cocktail: one of the suspects in the recent Moscow attacks reportedly told his Russian interrogators that he was promised a cash reward of half a million Russian rubles (about US$5,300) to carry out his alleged atrocities..

Terrorism as desperation?

Normal, sane human beings everywhere are horrified by terrorist acts regardless of how they are justified by their perpetrators, and the long-suffering people of Tajikistan are no exception.

But unfortunately, the conditions under which a small number of extremists can perceive the psychopathic murder of innocent civilians for cash or ideology as an attractive option show no signs of abating.

Russia’s laughable attempt to somehow link the Moscow attacks to Ukraine is a clumsy diversion from the consequences of its relations with Central Asia.

Richard Foltz, Professor of Religions and Cultures, Concordia University

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Russia has long been one of the world’s most openly and aggressively homophobic states. Both the Russian government and the Russian Orthodox church have held up LGBTQ+ activism as the quintessential symbol of Western “corruption and decadence”, against which “traditional Russian values” are claimed to be the only effective bulwark. Legislation adopted in 2013 banned anything which could be construed as promoting LGBTQ+ rights to children, including any use of the rainbow symbol – even rainbow-coloured ice cream. Since the onset of its war on Ukraine in February 2022, Russia’s exploitation of this bogus threat to justify its political aims has sunk to new lows.

In announcing the “special operation” against Ukraine on February 24, Russian President Vladimir Putin accused the West of “aggressively imposing… attitudes that are directly leading to degradation and degeneration, because they are contrary to human nature.” Russian Orthodox Patriarch Kirill – who prospered as a KGB informant during the Soviet period – has been even more explicit in framing the Ukraine invasion as a form of holy resistance against an alleged LGBTQ+ threat emanating from the West. In a March 2022 sermon he described LGBTQ+ rights as the “forcible imposition of a sin condemned by divine law”.

In marked contrast to Roman Catholic Pope Francis whose condemnation of Russian aggression has been unequivocal, Patriarch Kirill has been nothing short of rabid in his support for Putin’s war, even going so far as to promise total absolution of sins for any Russian soldiers who die in battle. Presumably these sins include the rape, torture, and summary execution of Ukrainian civilians. How does a so-called “Man of God” justify such horrors? Because the alternative – a world in which LGBTQ+ people enjoy equal rights – is apparently even worse.

Although little discussed in the Western media, homophobic fear-mongering has been a cornerstone of Russia’s domestic propaganda campaign drumming up support for its war in Ukraine. In the view of Russian media tycoon Konstantin Malofeyev, “Our enemy really holds the propaganda of sodomy as the core of its influence.” And as one Russian mother expressed to a friend after her son was called up, “It’s terrible of course. But better he dies over there, than if NATO conquers us and makes him gay.”

The Russian propaganda machine has, apparently, succeeded in persuading much of the Russian public to accept three spurious claims: that 1) NATO intends to invade Russia, 2) NATO’s principal aim is to make Russian children gay, and 3) one is not born gay, but becomes so through the pernicious influence of “corrupt” others.

I became personally sensitized to Russia’s linking of the perceived threats posed by NATO and LGBTQ+ rights after fleeing the country in 2020, in circumstances frighteningly reminiscent of the nail-biting climactic scene in the film Argo. As I had merely been conducting what I imagined to be innocuous historical research on a non-Slavic minority, it astonished me to come across a nonsensical hit piece published in the Russian media shortly after my departure which accused me of being “a NATO spy”, working on behalf of “the Anglo-Saxon powers” to organize pride parades in the North Caucasus. The article warned its readers that “the first condition for recognition by the ‘international community’ is the holding of gay pride parades,” an assertion that Russian Orthodox Patriarch Kirill has repeated on numerous occasions since the war began.

The strategy of the Russian state, in tandem with the Russian Orthodox church, to use LGBTQ+ rights as a red-button issue to win knee-jerk support for their criminal war campaign has much in common with the US Republican Party’s manipulation of the abortion debate. In both cases, a deliberate policy of inflaming the ignorant and irrational passions of broad segments of the population appears to have great success in stifling science and rational discourse, along with any level of human compassion.

With traffic jams stretching back for many kilometres and delays of up to 24 hours to reach the border post, citizens leaving Russia are experiencing very different receptions in these three neighbouring countries. In eastern Siberia near Lake Baikal, the Buryat Republic bordering Mongolia is home to many ethnic Mongols. Along with other non-Russian peoples from the Caucasus and elsewhere, they have been sent to the war front in disproportionate numbers. Many feel it is not their war, and Mongolian president Tsakhia Elbegdor has promised a warm welcome to those fleeing the draft. In Kazakhstan, free food, cigarettes, and SIM cards are being offered to arriving Russian citizens.

The situation in the Caucasus is rather different. The border crossing at Verkhny Lars between the Russian republic of North Ossetia-Alania and Georgia is a scene of panic and opportunism. The line of vehicles waiting to enter Georgia stretches for more than 30km, all the way back to the Ossetian capital, Vladikavkaz. This slow-moving caravan towards the border has provided a range of business opportunities for enterprising locals, civilians and law enforcement officers alike. Coffee- and sandwich vendors have been doing a thriving business moving up and down the line. Scooters and bicycles, able to breeze passed the immobilized traffic, are being rented out at a premium. Vladikavkaz police, meanwhile, have been taking bribes to allow those passing through the city to continue onward, and once at the border would-be emigrants can expect to pay Russian border guards to let them through.

The Georgians, for their part, present new arrivals with forms to sign stating that they oppose the war in Ukraine and that Russia has illegally (since 2008) occupied the Georgian territories of South Ossetia and Abkhazia. Anyone who refuses to sign is sent back into Russia, where Russian officials are waiting to greet them with draft papers.

Many are passing the long hours inching towards the border on their cell phones, asking for tips on getting across and posting their experiences on social media. It is advised to display a “Z” sticker on one’s car while still on Russian territory, but to be sure to remove it before reaching the Georgian border post, otherwise one will be refused entry into Georgia. There is a wealth of information on getting across the US border from Mexico – assuming one makes it that far – where having the right skin colour is said to guarantee preferred treatment for one’s asylum application.

Of course, most Russian citizens do not have the means to flee abroad and must stay to face their destiny. Many are resigned to this, and in time-honoured Russian fashion, accept their fate with black humour. “I’ll go to the front,” says one; “it will give me a break from my wife.” A video circulating on Telegram shows a group of laughing drunks on the verge of being bussed off for training. “We’ll go wherever we’re needed,” slurs one, waving a half-empty bottle of vodka. Another clip shows a group of enthusiastic young men dancing in front of a recruitment centre, followed by a sober scene from their barracks where they contemplate the rifles they have been issued – as rusted and unusable as the broken bedsprings and shredded mattresses of their cots.

Ordinary Russians are receiving a wake-up call to the actual situation on the ground in Ukraine. Decision-makers at the upper echelons of Russian society may soon receive theirs as well.

In the wake of a two-year pandemic the urge to travel has taken on a new urgency. But alongside our longing for freedom of movement, we are confronted with an increasingly undeniable climate emergency in which our driving habits are deeply implicated. As if dealing with climate guilt weren’t bad enough, gas prices have risen to ruinous levels, although their impact on deterring or reducing travel so far seems negligible. Driving an EV, however, offers a solution to both aspects of the problem.

As one who has been criss-crossing the entire continent by car for more than forty years, I have to confess that long road trips are in my blood. Happily, as the owner of an EV – a 2021 Hyundai Kona – the issues of carbon footprint and astronomical fuel costs no longer affect me the way they once did. I was bemused when conversations with fellow travellers encountered during a recent road journey from my home in Quebec to Newfoundland – a distance of 3,544km (2,202 miles) round-trip – cast me willy-nilly into the role of EV guru, dispensing information and advice to curious drivers of gas-powered cars.

EV charging stations are often located adjacent to gas stations or in other public areas, and virtually every time I stopped to charge my vehicle someone would come up and start asking me questions. How much range do I get on a full charge? (About 400km/250 mi.) Is it less in the winter? (Yes, about 25% less where I live, where it often gets to -20 C.) How much do I pay for a charge? (From $10-15 CDN/8-12 US at a public fast charger, about $1 on my charger at home.) How long does it take? (30 minutes to an hour, depending on how low I let the battery get.) How do you know where to find a charging station? (I have an app, actually three different ones, which I also use to pay when I charge up.) Am I restricted in where I can go, if there are no charging stations around? (It depends on the region.) Do you ever have to wait for a charger that is already in use? (That has happened to me a couple of times.) What do you think of hybrids? (What do you think of cutting down from two packs of cigarettes a day to one?) Some people tried to challenge me, e.g., “If it weren’t for government rebates, EV’s wouldn’t be economically viable.” (Do you think the oil industry doesn’t benefit from massive government subsidies? Try removing those and see if oil remains economically viable!) Clearly the word on EV’s has gotten out, but often only in vague terms, which are sometimes inaccurate.

At present there are some challenges to doing a road trip in an EV. When I lived in Florida twenty years ago I used to make the 24-hour drive to Quebec City in two long marathon days. I couldn’t do that in my EV, nor would I want to. Charging station coverage varies dramatically from one region to another. I am fortunate now to live in Quebec, which – as in so many other respects – is far ahead of the rest of North America in supporting the transition to EV’s. We receive a $13,000 government rebate for the purchase of a new EV, plus $600 for the installation of a home charging station. Quebec currently has public charging stations everywhere throughout the province, even in small towns – about 7,000 stations at last count, and adding more every week.

Our family’s most recent destination, Newfoundland, lags at the opposite extreme. In fact we wanted to go there last summer, but there were no fast chargers anywhere in the province. This year there are fourteen, spaced out along the Trans-Canada Highway such that we were able to visit most of the sites we wanted to during our trip. And thanks to an app called PlugShare, we even discovered places that offer a free charge, including national park visitor centres and a number of auto dealerships. When staying at Airbnb’s we would plug in the car overnight to an ordinary outdoor outlet, which was not enough current to provide a full charge but sufficient to give us an extra 70km or so by morning, for free.

It is true that at the present time, when traveling long distance by EV one has to bear certain calculations in mind. There will be rest stops every few hours. Is that a bad thing? It seems a small sacrifice when weighed against the harm done by driving a gas-powered vehicle. The reality is that within a few years from now everyone will be driving EV’s, and we will look back on our society’s petro-addicted history as an age of shocking barbarism and needless destruction. The question to ask is whether one prefers to be ahead of the curve of inevitable change, or behind it?

This narrow channeling of the country’s resources has brought about a steady decline in living standards for ordinary citizens who are not fortunate enough to be employed in government ministries such as the MVD (Internal Affairs, which includes FBI-like functions), the security forces (the infamously unaccountable siloviki, including the FSB, the GRU, the FSO, and other organizations), the military, the police, or connected to oligarch-run business networks with ties to himself.

An FSB agent can expect to earn the ruble equivalent of $1,100 US per month and a police officer about $600-700, in addition to benefits such as housing assistance, free university education for family members, free or heavily discounted vacations, etc. A surgeon, meanwhile, might make $200-300 by working multiple jobs, while a teacher will have to struggle by on a measly $100 or less. Salaries for office workers fall somewhere in between. Generally speaking, any position worth having can only be obtained through nepotism, patronage networks, or bribery.

A male with the requisite skills can sometimes find employment as a car mechanic or construction worker. Low-paying unskilled jobs include food service, private security, and retail sales. Those who own a car often work as unofficial taxi drivers. Some men, unable to find employment, try to survive by betting on sports events, while many others rely on the financial support of their wives or girlfriends who bring in money by working in beauty salons or engaging in informal business such as buying and selling clothes, cosmetics or household products. But without the necessary connections and a willingness to participate in corrupt, often criminal activities, it is becoming increasingly difficult if not impossible for the average Russian to lead anything resembling a normal life. The cost of living in Russia—outside of Moscow and St. Petersburg which are world class cities and priced accordingly—is slightly less than in the West, but not by much. And given the much higher salaries in the aforementioned cities, the nationwide average of $660 US per month should be adjusted considerably downward for most regions.

As the ruble plummets, the cost of living goes up but salaries do not. Pensions barely cover the cost of monthly utilities. Social assistance, including bonuses for health workers exhausted by the COVID pandemic, gets diverted along the way into mysterious pockets without ever reaching those in need. Healthcare services are being steadily reduced and hospitals closed in the interest of “maximizing efficiency”. Putin constantly claims to be “operating within the framework of the law”, but the legal system in Russia is manipulated for the sole purpose of supporting and protecting the powerful.

Russia is a rich nation, yet its leadership has chosen not to invest that wealth in the development of the country but rather in the building up of a massive security apparatus which serves only the interests of the President and those close to him. The Russian state is a kleptocracy in the purest sense of the term, and for years its kleptocrats and their billions looted from the Russian people have been received with open arms by Western countries such as the UK, the US and Canada, all too willing to turn a blind eye and hand out residence permits and passports without having performed due diligence. Many of these same privileged Russians with their Western safety nets show nothing but contempt for their host countries in their Russian-language social media posts, praising Putin and insisting that life is Russia is as good or better than in Western countries, even—as our “oppressive” and “totalitarian” pandemic restrictions are claimed to demonstrate—that Russia is “more free”.

Ordinary Russians had no voice in the decision to launch an invasion of Ukraine, which was the longstanding personal obsession of a President most Russians do not support but are not free to oppose. Teenage conscripts, told they were being sent to participate in “exercises”, have been shocked to find themselves on a war front facing people they never considered their enemy. As our leaders wring their hands and bemoan the Ukrainians’ fate, they should also take a good look at their own roles in enabling Putin and his circle to build up the war machine that has only too naturally unleashed itself on the nearest and most convenient victim. The pistols could not hang indefinitely, and now they have been taken down and are being fired at thousands of innocent victims.

However, being privileged to live in a city with good public transport (Montreal) and typically using a car only for long journeys, I had to wait for the appearance of an EV with adequate range to meet my needs. The new Hyundai Kona seemed to fit the bill, and a week ago I finally took the plunge and got a Hyundai Kona.

As the previous owner of a Toyota Prius and a Honda Civic hybrid, I can say without hesitation that the Hyundai Kona is the most comfortable car I have ever owned, both in terms of its interior and its drivability.

It accelerates like a rocket, and the safety features are truly impressive. It steers you back into your lane if you wander, and slows down automatically if you approach the rear of another vehicle. It even suggests you take a coffee break if you have been on the road for a long time!

The EV model costs more than its gas-powered equivalent, but the data show that the cost is very much front-loaded, the high initial investment being offset over time by power and maintenance costs that are quite nominal. Even so, for me the decisive consideration was that since EVs are still priced beyond the means of many car-buyers, the fact that only increased demand will bring down the price means that those of us who can afford to buy an EV have a strong moral duty to do so.

Given that I now had the option to go electric, there was simply no way I was going to commit to continue paying into the criminal petroleum economy for the next ten years by buying a new gas-powered vehicle. Over 90% of Quebec’s power is produced by hydro-electricity, and it is a leader in wind energy, so that driving an electric car here really is a low-carbon enterprise.

Where I live, at least, range anxiety is wholly unjustified since there are currently over 2,000 charging stations all across Quebec, even in remote locations such as rural villages and national parks, and more are being installed every day. Still, I stop to recharge when the battery is still half full, since during the first week driving my new EV, mainly on highways, I noticed that my actual mileage is less than what was advertised. Still, on balance, and despite my initial sticker shock, I am now very comfortable with my decision.

I am proud to see that my province is leading North America in implementing the transition away from oil, with a firm commitment to EVs that includes not only a rapidly growing network of charging stations but also offers the most generous financial incentives anywhere on the continent: an $8,000 rebate on the purchase of any new EV, which is on top of the $5,000 offered by the Canadian federal government.

The car handles extremely well and feels quite solid on the road, unlike my Prius which always seemed ready to tip over on sharp curves. I have never been a fan of driving, but being behind the wheel of my new Kona is the closest it has ever felt to pleasurable. But when all is said and done, the true pleasure is the relief of knowing that I have, at long last and for the first time in my forty-three years of driving, forever broken the shackles that bound me to a destructive, exploitative system, stretching from dictatorial oil states to earth-wrecking Big Oil corporations, that I have always abhorred.

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Bonus Video added by Informed Comment:

2020 KONA electric | Explore the product | Hyundai Canada

Never have the perverse priorities of submission to the Market God (Harvey Cox’s term) been more glaringly apparent, as its acolytes call upon our senior citizens to willingly sacrifice their lives for the sake of the economy.

Sadly, to a historian of religions none of the generally recognized faith systems in the world today seems to have entirely escaped the temptation to increase its own influence and wealth by manipulating its followers to ignore obvious truths (including those established by science) even when the result of this misdirection threatens our very existence as a species. How else to explain that while the overwhelming majority of people on this planet identify as religious, most of us continue to passively accept the many destructive and fundamentally unjust activities promoted by the priests of the Market and the missionaries of consumerism? Is it enough to recite “turn the other cheek”, “the world is a mosque”, or “all is one”, while making daily trips to the mall to buy products made by underpaid labour from raw materials that have been unsustainably extracted from an exhausted earth, products which–following their packaging–will soon wind up in landfills or incinerators that poison the soil, the water and the air upon which our lives depend?

Observe how nature has responded to the global pause in human activity: the air over Beijing and the canals of Venice miraculously self-cleaning within a matter of weeks! The fact that nature responds so positively to a diminution in our activities should be sobering. Should this not motivate us to reflect on the cavalier manner in which our way of life, under circumstances we consider “normal”, relentlessly degrades the natural elements most vital for our existence?

In my book Religions of the Silk Road (2nd edition, 2010), I identify patterns by which all of the so-called “world religions” spread and became institutionalized through their symbiosis with global economic networks. Recognizing this historical reality makes it easy to understand why they have all proven so accommodating to the Religion of the Market, even to the extent of assimilating themselves to it. Examples of this sad phenomenon are everywhere apparent.

Click here

It is tragic that in recent weeks so many nodes of transmission for the coronavirus all over the world have been large religious gatherings (churches in South Korea and the US, “ultra-Orthodox” Jewish communities in Israel and Canada, massive multi-day assemblies of Muslim missionaries in Malaysia and Pakistan, the Holi festival and multifarious pilgrimages in India…), in some cases when the risk of infection was known to the organizers. Even more tragic is that so many religious leaders of all faiths have been slow and at times even actively resistant when it comes to acknowledging the severity of the situation and the need to alter our behaviours accordingly.

Crisis entails opportunity, as ancient Chinese wisdom has it. The coronavirus pandemic should be a wake-up call, challenging us to question why it is that the structures and principles of the dominant corporate model have left us so vulnerable and unprepared. In light of this unprecedented global catastrophe, can there be any doubt that nothing less is called for today than a radical re-analysis and re-assessment of some of the most basic assumptions underlying our modern way of living in the world? Established religions, which all too often find themselves behind the curve of events and, disadvantaged by the inertia-inducing weight of tradition, choose instead the path of retreat into atavism, cannot avoid this call to introspection if they are to remain relevant.

Tskhinval, Republic of South Ossetia (Informed Comment) – On May 29 South Ossetians celebrated the signing of their declaration of independence in 1992. Given that South Ossetia’s statehood has been recognized by only five UN member states, this event could hardly be expected to make international news. And yet, given the one-sidedness that has characterized discussions of five small post-Soviet breakaway states in the West over the years, it may be instructive to look more closely at why these conflicts continue to elude any kind of resolution.

Twenty-eight years after the fall of the Soviet Union the resulting geopolitical map remains unresolved. A number of so-called “frozen conflicts” endure where certain territories have withdrawn—usually on the basis of ethno-linguistic differences—from the republics to which they were assigned during the Soviet period. These include Abkhazia and South Ossetia, two regions which have declared independence from Georgia; the Armenian enclave of Artskh/Nagorno-Karabakh which is claimed by Azerbaijan; and two Russian-majority territories, Transnistria and Donbass, which have seceded from Moldova and Ukraine respectively.

Each of these cases has particularities of its own, with legitimate justifications on either side. They also have in common that the secessions in question were aided and abetted by Russia, and the breakaway states in question remain economically and militarily dependent on Russia for their survival. Western governments and media have therefore tended to see these cases as land grabs by Russia, and have for the most part dismissed the establishment of new states as violations of international law.

Here on this sunny spring day in the spectacularly beautiful central Caucasus things appear quite differently. The Ossetes—a largely Christian people who speak a northeast Iranian dialect and are the world’s only surviving descendants of the ancient Scythians—were divided after the Bolshevik Revolution into two political entities, the northern part being allocated to Russia and the south to Georgia. As nationalist sentiments began to arise across the Soviet Union by the late 1980s, southern Ossetians came to feel increasingly threatened by the emerging Georgian nationalist project. Tensions began to rise between the two communities, which grew severely worse after the Georgian parliament under the ultra-nationalist leader Zviad Gamsakhurdia voted to abolish the Ossete Autonomous Oblast in an attempt to deprive Ossetians of their own administrative unit. When Gamsakhurdia later told an Italian interviewer that “Ossetians are scum, and we will wipe them from our country,” any illusions of future peaceful cohabitation were forever dispelled.

The collapse of the USSR led to outbreaks of intercommunal violence between armed militias all across the Caucasus, as the region’s many diverse ethnic groups competed for their place within the newly-emerging states. In South Ossetia more than 2,000 people were killed as fighting escalated between Georgian and South Ossetian troops. On May 20, 1992 a group of 36 civilians trying to flee the fighting in the South Ossetian capital, Tskhinval, were massacred by Georgian militiamen. For South Ossetians this was the last straw—nine days later the South Ossetian parliament declared its independence from Georgia.

The warring parties finally signed a ceasefire agreement on June 24, 1992, which provided for a peacekeeping force made up of South Ossetian, Georgian and Russian forces. A fragile peace endured, with South Ossetia functioning as a de facto independent state, until the election in 2004 of Georgian president Mikhail Saakashvili, who had campaigned on promises to restore South Ossetia and Abkhazia to Georgian control. The next four years saw occasional flare-ups among the Georgian, South Ossetian, and Russian militias. On August 7, 2008 Saakashvili read a statement on television in Ossetian promising peace and brotherhood; that same night Georgian forces invaded Tskhinval. Two days later the Russian army moved in, and on August 12 a ceasefire agreement was signed under the auspices of French president Nicholas Sarkozy. As a result of the Georgian aggression Russia formally recognized the Republic of South Ossetia as an independent state, and has remained its principle guarantor ever since.

After the 2008 war the border between South Ossetia and Georgia was definitively closed, leaving the fledgling republic’s sole link with the outside world a road tunnel beneath the Caucasus leading to the Russian republic of North Ossetia. South Ossetia is completely dependent on Russia economically and diplomatically. And yet, the differences with North Ossetia, which is a republic within the Russian Federation whose inhabitants are Russian citizens, are in some ways profound. In contrast to the heavily Russified North Ossetian capital of Vladikavkaz, in South Ossetia the Ossetian language and culture are alive and well. While most South Ossetians dream of an eventual political union with their cultural cousins in the north, for now it appears that formal integration into Russia is a price they are unwilling to pay.

With a tiny population of only 53,000, South Ossetia may not appear to be a viable state, and as long as it is forced to depend on Russia there would seem to be little chance for it to develop on its own. An increased degree of international recognition, however, could change that, if South Ossetia were given the status to enter into economic, political and cultural relationships with other countries. That may be the only scenario by which South Ossetians can hope to preserve their unique and historically rich language and culture for the generations to come.

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Bonus video added by Informed Comment:

Washington Post: “This Russian-backed separatist enclave still bears the scars of war”