It need hardly be said that little remains of the boundless euphoria experienced by Abkhaz people on 26 August 2008, the day President Dmitry Medvedev announced the recognition of independence for Abkhazia and South Ossetia. At that time everyone believed that no fewer than 10 countries would soon follow suit, but this turned out to be a vain hope. At the moment of writing no one, apart from Nicaragua, has offered support to Abkhazia, and this has clearly affected the official rhetoric emanating from Sukhumi.

A year ago, before the August events in the Caucasus, President Bagapsh and foreign minister Sergei Shamba often put forward the idea of a multi-vector foreign policy, which clearly did not suit Moscow at all. Several months before Russia's recognition of Abkhazia, Mr Shamba had spelt out this policy, which was to involve Russia, the European Union and Turkey (where there is a population of up to 500,000 Abkhaz, who were forced to migrate there after the Caucasian war in the 19^th century). However, these signals received no support from the West, and after the European Union and the USA had reacted extremely negatively to Russia's recognition of Abkhazia's independence, the "multi-vector" thesis quietly disappeared from the vocabulary of official Sukhumi altogether.

Nevertheless, the fact of recognition and Moscow's acceptance of responsibility for security in Abkhazia was sufficient for the issue of the Georgian-Abkhaz conflict to take a back seat for the Abkhaz themselves a year later.

Stationing a Russian military base in the republic and posting Russian border guards on the Abkhaz-Georgian border along the Inguri River virtually eliminated the threat of war with Georgia for Abkhaz society. The world media may constantly claim a new Russian-Georgian war is not far off, but from inside Abkhazia this is difficult to believe. No one in local political circles or in the expert community thinks that Abkhazia will be dragged into a new war in the near future. Never before has there been such unanimity.   The unprecedented flow of tourists into the republic is indirect proof that there is no cause for concern. The season is in full swing and already three times more people have chosen to take their holidays at Abkhaz resorts than last year. Which, as Abkhaz politicians say, is a kind of barometer.

For the Abkhaz themselves, perhaps the most important product of recognition is security.  After all, the young republic had effectively been in a state of siege since 1994, with daily expectations of an attack from Tbilisi.

The Sukhumi government may have dealt with one headache, but there are still just as many problems. The Abkhaz are now trying to prove that their desire for independence is not limited to not wanting to live in Georgia. Currently the most important task for them is to establish and maintain normal relations with Moscow with no loss of sovereignty. The whole future of the Abkhaz project depends on how quickly they will cope with the new challenge.

In relation to the main enemy, Georgia, even an ordinary Abkhaz farmer understood very well what was in Abkhaz interests and what was not, as these interests had cost the lives of several thousand Abkhaz during their 1992-93 war with Georgia. But how to organise its relations with Russia, at present its only ally - this not even the Abkhaz political elite itself knows.

The Abkhaz have no wish to quarrel with their mighty neighbour: Russia is not just their only window on the world and guarantor of protection from Georgia, but also the source of financial prosperity. Direct subsidies from Moscow make up more than half the Abkhaz budget and trade with Russia is 95% of the country's commercial traffic.   Holidaymakers at Abkhaz resorts (the most important segment of the economy) are almost exclusively Russian and practically all foreign investments are also Russian. On top of this most people have dual Abkhaz-Russian citizenship, which allows them to travel the world. Local pensioners receive a Russian pension, which is 10 times greater than the Abkhaz pension. Such close relations make it difficult to preserve the national interest, that is sovereignty and national identity, but Abkhaz society is not prepared to sacrifice its sovereignty just to please Moscow - it is too hard won. South Ossetia regards independence as a transitional stage to eventually becoming part of Russia, but Abkhazia has no such plans.

This explains the reaction to one of the first treaties with Russia - "On the joint protection of the border of the Republic of Abkhazia", signed at the Kremlin by Presidents Dmitry Medvedev and Sergei Bagapsh at the end of April this year.   Many experts consider that some parts of the Agreement go against the Abkhaz Constitution and such was the level of criticism that even Moscow became concerned. A representative delegation of Federal Council senators and State Duma deputies was immediately dispatched to Sukhumi to dispel Abkhaz doubts. The Kremlin also recalled for fine tuning the Russian-Abkhaz treaty on military cooperation which was ready to be signed. Thus did Moscow succeed in defusing the situation.

But this may only be a temporary measure.  The Abkhaz presidential elections are due in December and it is already clear that in the battle for votes the Russian question will be one of the most important. There are plenty of possible irritants. President Sergei Bagapsh has declared his intention to transfer Abkhaz railways and Sukhumi Airport to Russian management for eventual privatisation. He also plans to allow the Russian state company Rosneft to produce oil on the Abkhaz shelf of the Black Sea. The government's projects have riled the opposition. They accuse the president of selling off national interests.  He in his turn justifies his actions by saying that Abkhazia on its own cannot rebuild and subsequently maintain its railway and this also applies to other strategic segments which Russian business has its eye on.   Through the media, which he controls, the President has accused the opposition of inflaming anti-Russian feelings, which is an absurd charge. The Abkhaz political elite has plenty of shortcomings, but one thing that unites them is their pragmatism in relation to Russia.

Spoiling relations with a country on which the vitality of one's own country depends is not part of the game plan of any Abkhaz politician. Moscow could come to an agreement with any of them on any issue, except one - Abkhazia's rejection of independent state status. The present Abkhaz opposition, represented by two leaders - the head of the ERA party Belan Butba and the former vice-president Raul Khadzhimba - is no exception. Butba entered politics as one of the richest people in Abkhazia, and his main business is in Russia. Raul Khadzhimba had unlimited Kremlin support in the presidential elections of 2005. For several months the Kremlin used all kinds of pressure, including closing the Abkhaz-Russian border, refusing to recognise the victory of the candidate from the opposition at the time, Sergei Bagapsh. Moscow was forced to back down in the end and new elections were held.  Bagapsh became president, and Khadzhimba vice-president. After the scandal surrounding the border treaty, Khadzhimba staged a walk-out and resigned. He now says that the present state of Russian-Abkhaz relations is not Moscow's fault at all:  he lays the blame exclusively on the Abkhaz leadership, hinting that national interests suffered because of the government's incompetence, and that they were sacrificed for the personal interests of individual government representatives.

The Kremlin is more aware than ever of the nuances of the Abkhaz internal situation (which was not the case, say, five years ago during the last presidential elections). Although Moscow is quite happy with President Bagapsh, and his popularity rating in the country is quite high, Russia does not intend to repeat previous mistakes. To clarify his position Vladimir Putin had to do something the Kremlin had never done before in the post-Soviet space. During his one-day visit to Sukhumi he took the unusual step of holding separate meetings in the presidential palace with Bagapsh and the leaders of the opposition. A year ago Russia guaranteed Abkhazia protection from Georgia.  Now she has no objection to extending her powers and guaranteeing their internal stability. And by all accounts the Abkhaz do not object to these intentions.

Getting rid of presidents in Northern Caucasian republics rarely ends well. An explosion is bad news: when Akhmat Kadyrov was killed in Chechnya, Ramzan Kadyrov came to power.  When Murat Zyazikov was replaced in Ingushetia, Basaev immediately attacked and anti-terrorist activity in the republic became much worse. The assassination attempt on Ingushetia's Yunus-Bek Yevkurov has brought Ramzan Kadyrov into the picture once more.

The day of the attempt, 22 June, Kadyrov announced after a meeting with Medvedev that the Russian president had asked him to take charge of counter-terrorism in Ingushetia. He added that the prosecutor's office and interior ministry could do whatever they considered necessary, but that he himself would be guided by the laws of the mountains in dealing with the people who had tried to kill his "brother", the president of Ingushetia.   Ramzan Kadyrov had previously said in an interview with Ekho Moskvy that he would personally deal with those who even knew anything about the murder of his father (let alone those that carried it out) - and now they are all dead. The prosecutor's office took no action against Kadyrov after these virtual admissions of extrajudicial executions and we can be sure that they will not take any now.

The issue of how to control the war on terrorism in Ingushetia is becoming critical. Ingushetia is currently among the least economically developed regions of Russia, with the highest level of unemployment, but also with one of the highest percentages of young people in the country. The local authorities - at any rate, during the period of Murat Zyazikov's rule - did virtually nothing to address social and economic problems. For the last few years almost every day has seen the murder of members of law-enforcement organisations or other government representatives. So "controlling the anti-terrorist operation" here effectively means controlling the republic.

Actually the possible unification of Chechnya and Ingushetia has been on the cards for a long time. Or rather the annexation i.e. a return to the protection of its "elder brother", as throughout almost the entire Soviet period.

Ingushetia's Soviet history

The Ingushetia Autonomous Oblast with its capital in Vladikavkaz existed for just 10 years (1924-34) as part of the Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic. 

From 1934 Ingushetia was part of the Chechen-Ingush ASSR with its capital in Grozny (from 1934 to 1936 the Chechen-Ingush Autonomous Oblast).  All that time the Ingush, who with the Chechens belong to the group of Vainakh peoples, shared the fate of the Chechens.

By 1939 there were a total of 92,000 Ingush living in the Soviet Union, while there were over 408,000 Chechens. In 1944 both these peoples suffered a common tragedy - they were declared traitors and deported to Siberia and Kazakhstan.  Approximately a third of the population died in the process and their autonomy was destroyed.

It was only in 1957, after a law on rehabilitation had been passed, that the Chechen-Ingush autonomous republic was restored and the Ingush and Chechens returned from exile. According to data for 1959, there were a total of 56,000 Ingush and around 250,000 Chechens living in the RSFSR (and although the total number of them in the Soviet Union reached the figures of 1939 by 1959, only half of the Ingush and Chechens returned home)[1].

About one sixth of the former Ingush lands were not returned to the restored Chechen-Ingush autonomy: the greater part was transferred to North Ossetia. The largest area that became part of Ossetia in 1957 was the Prigorodny region.  In 1944 around 30,000 Ingush were living there (almost a third of the ethnic group), accounting for over 90% of the population of the region[2].

After the deportation of the Ingush, the Prigorodny region and a number of other Ingush territories were settled by Ossetians from the mountainous part of South Ossetia.  When the Malgobek and Nazran regions were returned to the Chechen-Ingush ASSR in 1957, the settlers from South Ossetia were not allowed to go back to Georgia.  They had to make do with the Prigorodny region and this process continued after 1957 as well.  By 1959 the population of the Prigorodny region was 63% Ossetian, 19% Russian and only 12% Ingush. (In 1990, Ingush made up 44% of the population of the region, or 17,500 people)[3]. Although the Ingush were not formally prohibited from returning to the region, the authorities de facto not only gave them no assistance, but actually prevented them from doing so. Many of the Ingush who were unable to return to the Prigorodny region, never saw their native villages again and settled in Grozny.

Relationship with Chechnya

For almost 60 years the Ingush remained in the shadow of the more numerous Chechen people.  All the major industries, higher education facilities and administrative buildings were located in Grozny. Ingushetia remained a primarily rural area throughout this time, and did not develop in any way. The Ingush intelligentsia was also mainly concentrated in Grozny or in Vladikavkaz. Formally rehabilitated, but still "unreliable", the Vainakhs were hardly ever allowed to take positions of leadership, or work in qualified positions in their own republic - and this affected the Ingush more than the Chechens.

When Chechnya declared independence in the autumn of 1991, the Ingush confirmed at a national referendum that Ingushetia was part of the Russian Federation and no longer belonged to the splinter Chechen-Ingush Republic.  On 4 June 1992 the Supreme Council of the RSFSR passed the law "On the formation of the Ingush Republic as part of the Russian Federation". This had a lot to do with the understanding that if they seceded from Russia, the Ingush would lose any hope of getting back the Prigorodny region.  In the spring of 1991 the Supreme Council of the RSFSR passed the law "On the rehabilitation of repressed people", which among other things recognised "their right to the restoration of territorial integrity".

However, the first law did not determine the administrative borders of the new territorial formation, and the second ("On rehabilitation") failed to lay down a procedure for the return of the territories.   Georgia's claims on South Ossetia at the time of the collapse of communism led to a new wave of refugees into the Prigorodny region.  All this effectively planted a time bomb that was to explode less than six months later when Ingushetia became involved in an armed conflict in the Prigorodny region of Northern Ossetia, the consequences of which in many ways still determine policies in the region.

One of these consequences was a wave of refugees. Almost all ethnic Ingush were forced to leave the territory of North Ossetia. Ingushetia, which had a total population of around 170,000 in the national census of 1989, took in 30-60,000 people, which created huge problems for the republic. 

It was this week-long conflict that brought the Ingush together, gave them an acute sense that they were a separate people, and that their republic should be an independent administrative entity. So you might say that modern Ingushetia came into being as a result of the clashes with Ossetia when the Soviet Union collapsed.

The border with Ossetia was practically closed for the Ingush after this conflict. At the same time, neighbouring Chechnya had unilaterally announced independence and was leading its own internal political life, keeping its distance from the Prigorodny conflict. To this day the Ingush resent the fact that the Chechens failed to come to their aid at this time.

President Aushev

When the Soviet army general Ruslan Aushev came to power in Ingushetia, it embarked on a political life of its own.  It had to demonstrate its independence not only to its neighbours, but to the rest of Russia, which the Ingush felt had treated it unjustly, joining the conflict entirely on the side of their opponents.

President Aushev succeeded in having Ingushetia declared a privileged economic zone.  From 1 July 1994 all enterprises registered in the republic were exempted for a year from paying local taxes, and received considerable privileges in paying federal taxes. As a result of Aushev's efforts, by the end of 1994 there was a state concern, Ingushneftegazkhimprom, uniting 14 oil and gas processing enterprises, the first asphalt factory had opened and there were regular flight to and from Moscow.

Refugees from the 1^st Chechen War

However, the period of calm was not to last long. In December 1994 the first Chechen war broke out and, although military operations did not spread to Ingushetia, there was a wave of refugees from Chechnya.  There are no precise figures, but estimates suggest this was around 150,000 people.  The combination of new refugees and those from the Prigorodny region proved an insufferable burden for the republic. Ingushetia became a hub of refugee camps.

After the end of the war in 1996, the majority of Chechen refugees returned home, while many Ingush who had been living in Grozny preferred to stay in Ingushetia and settle down there, closer to their relatives. The Ingush intelligentsia returned, which was important for the subsequent development of the republic, especially as the exodus of the non-Vainakh population was continuing. The population of the capital at the time, Nazran, grew swiftly: in 1989 it had been under 20,000, but by this time it had grown to 125,000.

The second Chechen war meant a new wave of refugees for the republic, bigger than ever before. Approximate estimates show that around 350,000 people left Chechnya at that time. General Shamanov decreed that all regions of the Russian Federation were to close their administrative borders to refugees. President Aushev alone refused to do this, which saved thousands of lives.  Ingushetia took almost all the migrants from Chechnya and the population of the republic doubled over several months. Subsequently, the number of refugees dropped to 150,000 over the course of half a year, and remained at this level until the end of 2002.

Humanitarian organisations, both international and Russian, helped the Ingush government to deal with this very difficult situation and until 2007 their missions were based in the peaceful city of Nazran[4]. Their work included the distribution of humanitarian aid, supporting educational projects and giving mini-loans to help small businesses. The Ingush themselves say that there were many positive changes when the Chechens came to Ingushetia.   The service sector began to develop - shops, hair salons and sewing workshops opened up and privately-owned public transport became more efficient. However, the large number of refugees also contributed to a rise in crime, and in a country with major employment problems, humanitarian aid tended to corrupt people - especially the younger generation. As the situation in Chechnya became relatively stable, the number of refugees dropped, but there are still quite a lot of them.

Last year a Chechen refugee in the village of Ekazhevo stopped my colleague and me on the street. She had seen that we were clearly not locals (in other words, Muscovites - almost no one else comes here), so she threw on a jacket and rushed out, thinking that perhaps we could help her.  She had been living in a barn with her children for almost 10 years.

Chechen insurgency

With the refugees almost inevitably came the insurgents. Anti-terrorist operations in Chechnya were continuing, so militants in Ingushetia were no longer just "sitting it out": after 2002 they started operating from inside the republic.  Counter-terrorism became part of life in the republic and led to mass crimes and human rights violations: militants attack police and the military, officials are killed, there are "special operations", in which law-enforcement officers carry out executions without trials and kidnap people.

Originally the armed underground consisted mainly of Chechen rebels, who had moved to the neighbouring republic to escape from federal troops, but later (and to a large degree because of the brutality of the law-enforcement officers), the Ingush began to take a more active role in the underground. Once peaceful Ingushetia is no more.

The Chechen wars exacerbated internal problems, but they also complicated relations between the Ingush and the outside world. The average Russian citizen cannot really tell a Chechen from an Ingush, and neither can the average policeman or any other government representative. Negative attitudes towards Chechens began to be extended to the related Vainakh people, the Ingush.  This made it difficult for them to move around and affected their relations with the rest of the country.

President Zyazikov

The beginning of 2002 was a turning point in the life of the republic: Ruslan Aushev, who had led the country since 1993, resigned. He had called for an immediate ceasefire by federal troops in Chechnya and peace talks.  He was accused of sympathising with Chechen insurgents.  Former allies within the republic accused him of establishing a dictatorship. In December 2001 Aushev stood down.

In April 2002 presidential elections were held.  The FSB general Murat Zyazikov was actively promoted by central government and in the second round on 28 April 2002 he was elected president of Ingushetia. The authorities lost no opportunity of manipulating the elections and made good use of the advantages of administrative office.

On 21-22 June 2004 the republic was stunned when a large group of militants led by Shamil Basaev seized several towns in the space of a few hours, including the cities of Nazran and Karabulak. The militants established checkpoints at crossings, checked documents and shot law-enforcement officers on the spot. This was the largest operation by insurgents in Ingushetia.  It resulted in the deaths of 78 law-enforcement officers and escalating internal conflict.

The terrorist act in the North Ossetian city of Beslan on 1-3 September 2004 led to a new escalation of the conflict in the Prigorodny regions.  Ethnic Ingush took part in the seizure of the school, where over 300 people were killed and immediately after the tragedy there were calls in the Ossetian media for " revenge on the Ingush".

In the second half of 2007-2008 attacks on uniformed officers and government representatives and acts of terrorism took place almost every day. In the summer of 2007 an additional military contingent of 2,500 Russian troops was sent to Ingushetia to maintain order.

Now there are ever fewer people in Ingushetia: the entire population is under half a million.... This winter a friend who came to Moscow to work told me: "Yesterday I waited about half an hour for a friend in the metro underpass.  I saw 15 or so people from Ingushetia. I know the Ingush by their faces. Sometimes I think that over the last year and a half there are more of them in Moscow than in Ingushetia. Whoever you ask about, they're all here. It's all rather strange. But what sort of a life can people have there now?"

At the same time the inefficiency of the local government became a real problem. President Murat Zyazikov's powers were extended in 2005 at the request of the Russian President[5], but he had no influence on the situation and was unable to solve of the most important problems.  He failed to protect people from insurgent attacks or the lawlessness of uniformed officers, to ensure economic development, create jobs, to uphold what the majority of the population sees as their national interests, or deal with corruption.

In 2007 social dissatisfaction in society reached a critical level. There was no democratic system for exerting pressure on the government, so new forms of protest started appearing - mass street rallies, an attempt to revive the traditional legislative body, the Mekkh Kkhel, and the use of various information technologies. The local political opposition took up the movement that had begun at grass roots level with demands to stop the practice of kidnapping people.

Protests continued for over a year and resulted in the replacement of the president in October-November 2008. Murat Zyazikov was removed from his post by a decree of the Russian president. The new president was a native of Ingushetia, career army officer Yunus-Bek Yevkurov.

Ingush refugees

But in spite of all the changes and upheavals the republic continued to exist. An existence full of resentment and in complete isolation. They can't travel freely westwards to Ossetia because of the conflict that flared up in 1992 when communism ended, and also because of the Beslan incident in 2004.   But their relationship with Chechnya is much more complicated. Or rather, much more painful.  The Chechens are the people closest to the Ingush, they share a common history, a common life, but... they can't go there anymore, and a return to Grozny for the Ingush is not possible.

The Ingush, who fled from the war in Grozny to their villages, found their apartments destroyed or looted when they returned. They had not been able return to check their homes as often as the Chechens - the border between Ingushetia and Chechnya with its checkpoints became one of the most dangerous places in the entire Caucasus. After the war, when there are no relatives around to help, it is not so easy to rebuild your house. For many, Grozny simply ceased to exist.

Ingushetia, the smallest republic of all the Russian republics, is shaped like a telephone receiver - 50-60 km wide in the southern and northern extremities and not more than 20 km in the middle.  Squashed between two neighbouring republics, for the Ingush the border represents the dividing line between home and a hostile outside world.

This is why in Russia today many Ingush have become refugees twice over:  first they were forced to abandon their homes in the Prigorodny region and begin a new life in Grozny, then they had to flee again from the Chechen wars. The more traditional rural Ingush did not find it easy to become integrated, even in Chechen society, and to this day Ingush families try not only to marry their daughter to an Ingush man, but to marry their son to an Ingush woman as well. Once in Ingushetia, they are often unable to resettle in rural life after having lived in one of the largest and most developed cities of the North Caucasus.

Magomed left Grozny during the first war and now lives in Karabulak.  He only remembers Grozny occasionally:

"Go back there? What have they got there? I was in Grozny recently, on the street I grew up on, where I spent almost all of my childhood. I don't know anyone there now - just one or two families have remained. The people who used to live there are not there any more. I consider myself a local here now."

There are many "locals" here now. Very many. What used to be the Grozny urban intelligentsia (those who didn't move further away) have ended up in small, rural Ingushetia.  They live in the town of Nazran, which is essentially an overgrown village, but a peaceful place. Even if former teachers from Grozny universities say with a sigh that there used to be several technical colleges there and now there are five universities, they don't want to go back either. They don't even want to go back to a Grozny that is being actively rebuilt. A Grozny that has ceased to become an anti-terrorist operation zone:

"Is there a feeling of stability there? Of course not. Where could it come from? It's a serious ordeal when a person is living there, going to work and bringing up children, when suddenly bombs start falling. We had to flee to this place, and if we go back, no one guarantees that we won't have to flee again tomorrow. So perhaps we are better off here."

Of course, not all the Ingush left Chechnya.  There were some who survived both wars. And some of them didn't.   In 2007 the European court for human rights handed down a decision on another "Chechen case" - the Tangieva case.  The elderly parents of a friend and colleague were killed together with their Russian neighbour in Grozny, in their own house, during a "clean-up operation" in January 2000.  After a few months and with great difficulty, their children were able to take their bodies to Ingushetia and bury them there. They didn't return to Chechnya. Shamil is the only one of the brothers and sisters who remained in Grozny, in his parents' burnt-out house.  Now the house has been almost completely rebuilt, but as soon as they can, both he and his relatives want to rebuild their house in their native village in the Prigorodny region.

Ingushetia as a transit point

After 17 years of independence in the shadow of the more famous Chechnya, the Ingush still feel that they are regarded as an add-on and people often don't even know about the existence of Ingushetia:

"On many sites, when you want to fill in the box about where you are from, you write Checheno-Ingushetia. I recently registered on the Classmates [Friends Reunited equivalent ed.] site, and Ingushetia was not there at all. Our towns - Nazran and Karabulak - were classified as part of the Chechen republic, i.e. it didn't even show that this was Ingushetia. So I ended up writing that I was from the Chechen Republic, Nazran".

Chechnya has overshadowed almost everything: by now Ingushetia had become simply a transit point for human rights advocates, journalists and politicians. Planes flew here, there was a hotel, there was Internet, there was running water - but almost everyone was going on to Chechnya. Then it became possible to fly directly to Chechnya, Internet access improved there, and Ingushetia turned into one of the least stable republics in the Caucasus.

People started to talk and write about Ingushetia.  At the end of 2007 a paper by the Memorial Human Rights Centre was published, "Whither Ingushetia?" and in December 2008 there was a Human Rights Watch report "As if they've come from the moon! Anti-terrorism, human rights violations and impunity in Ingushetia". Moscow journalists began coming here to report on protest meetings.  The local authorities, unaccustomed to so much attention, clearly didn't know what to do about it - journalists and human rights advocates were kidnapped and beaten up, or "deported" to neighbouring Ossetia.  Press conferences were organized in Moscow to explain the hostile actions of the slanderers.

No investment

In neighbouring Chechnya there are ongoing building programmes, the young president is bringing money into the republic and the job opportunities are better.  People in Ingushetia may feel envious of this, but when Ramzan Kadyrov came to power and there was talk of unifying the two republics, the Ingush were almost unanimously opposed. When asked why, they simply said: "Then there will be a war here too. There will be a lot of blood".

Despite the poverty of the region, the Ingush understand very well what is happening in Chechnya. When asked about independence from Russia, they say: "No. We remember too well what happened to Chechnya." They also know how the Chechen law-enforcement officers work: how they came to refugee camps in Ingushetia and took people away, or shot Ingush policemen who tried to inspect them. They also know that if they become part of Chechnya again, then they will be the "younger brother": they won't be able to take any decisions, and they won't be able to return to "their" Grozny anyway - simply because this Grozny no longer exists.

The issue of national self-determination became a hot topic again at the end of last year. The occasion for this was the Federal Law „On organising local government in the Republic of Ingushetia and the Chechen Republic" of 24 November 2008.  The republic has disputed territories on all sides, so there was active discussion about how the border with Chechnya would be determined, and most importantly what would happen to villages of the Prigorodny region. The passing of the law practically coincided with the appointment of the new Ingush president.

Kadyrov's pretensions to Ingushetia

One of the main disappointments concerning Yevkurov that I picked up in Ingushetia was that he made no attempt to get the Prigorodny region back.  All he did was declare that refugees should be able to return there. The Prigorodny question still comes up in almost every conversation with any resident of Ingushetia. In the past people have even said that if Kadyrov were here in Ingushetia, then perhaps he would be able to get the region back.

Kadyrov's current move on Ingushetia is not his first attempt to lay claim to neighbouring territory. When he was the first deputy prime minister of Chechnya in 2005, Ramzan Kadyrov said that the most important problem for the newly-elected Chechen parliament was to extend the borders. "This question has been dragging on for about 15 years. During this time, the borders were moved by anybody who felt like it, and the territory of Chechnya has been significantly reduced." He emphasised that "...the issue of Chechen native land concerns the whole people. Now the time has come for parliament to investigate."

The Dagestan and Ingush authorities alike expressed their bewilderment over this statement. But back then Ramzan Kadyrov was only deputy prime minister, and it seemed that this was simply the naked ambition of a young leader who didn't have enough power.

The Chechen leadership subsequently acted more cautiously.  In 2006 only the chairman of the National Assembly of the Chechen republic, Dukvakha Abdurakhmanov, expressed an opinion on the territorial claims.  He said that a number of Chechen regions were located inside Dagestan, and that the unification of the Chechen Republic and the Republic of Ingushetia was essential, because the division had taken place artificially and without a referendum. Ramzan Kadyrov tried to distance himself from these statements, saying that this was the personal opinion of the Chairman of the National Assembly, and in no way connected with the official position of the Chechen authorities. However, the official who came out with this controversial statement which ostensibly went against the official position of the national leader (not yet the president at that time) continued to hold his post - clearly there were no real disagreements on this issue.

The following year, when he became president, Kadyrov began to declare his ambitions to extend his informal suzerainty in the region.  But this time he went about it much more tactfully and at a different level: at a meeting of leaders of North Caucasus regions, the Chechen president proposed to meet each month to discuss common problems.

The future

The future of Ingushetia, Russia's youngest republic, has been much discussed over the past few years. But now, after Ramzan Kadyrov has moved in there, it is time to formulate the question differently: will it now exist at all?  They've had 17 years of independence, but to what end?  17 years of living with a feeling of injustice, that they've lost everything and will have to start from scratch.   A feeling that all this has to be endured, because things are even worse for their neighbours and that all there is to hope for is that one day this will end.

Kadyrov has come to Ingushetia, but I don't think we should expect that he will bring us money, as he did to Chechnya.  He has none of the right connections here yet, nor anyone who is personally obliged to him.  He doesn't have a local support system, whereby everyone is obliged to pay tribute to him. The danger is that the Ingush won't get from Kadyrov the things that they like about him - only the things that they don't.

After the August 2008 war in Georgia, people in Ingushetia didn't wonder (as they did in Chechnya): "How come Russia gave independence to these people who only number in the tens of thousands, but not to us, of whom there are a million?!"    But they did wonder: "What about the Ossetians? Are they really independent now?" What the Ingush remember is that at the fall of communism in 1992 Ossetians had come from South Ossetia to fight them.

In August 2008 central TV channel correspondents were saying that Ossetia had been, and remains, Russia's outpost in the Caucasus.  The Russian Prosecutor's Office was talking about genocide. And yet again the Ingush got the feeling that no one cared about them.

When Zyazikov was dismissed and Yevkurov appointed,  many people became hopeful again and some even came back to live in Ingushetia. But now there's Kadyrov.

On the day after the Chechen President's statement, Ruslan Aushev, who had refused all proposals to return to the republic after 2002, announced publicly that he was ready to be the leader of Ingushetia while Yunus-Bek Yevkurov was in hospital, if everything was organised according to correct legal procedures. Aushev also said that the president of the neighbouring republic had enough problems of his own. The Ingush opposition, citing Ruslan Aushev's statement, began gathering signatures to support this course of action. Aushev was forced to explain that he had not called on anyone to take any action.

Kadyrov's reaction was immediate.  He described Aushev's statements as inappropriate and incorrect, and announced that it was under Aushev's rule that "bandits of all kinds had made their nests in Ingushetia". Kadyrov believes that Aushev not only took no action against members of illegal armed formations, but had "concealed Maskhadov, Basaev and other heads of bandit groups on the territory of Ingushetia". "We pointed out on several occasions during  Aushev's rule that there were militant ringleaders hiding out in Ingushetia, that they were being sheltered.   Aushev reacted badly to these reports, and took no steps to fight terrorism as we did in Chechnya". "Today in Ingushetia, the results of Aushev's irresponsible attitude to the problem of terrorism are still making themselves felt," the Chechen president concluded.

Now that Kadyrov is making all these statements after the assassination attempt on Yevkurov, giving orders to the Chechen law-enforcement officers to deal with the terrorist underground in Ingushetia in two weeks, we should remember his speech in 2005 about the poor work of the law-enforcement bodies of neighbouring republics in dealing with armed opposition groups. "Militants feel comfortable in Dagestan and Ingushetia, and some other republics. In my opinion the Dagestan Interior Ministry is particularly ineffective in dealing with them. They relax there, get treatment for their injuries, and then slip across the border into Chechnya, kill state officials and policemen, and leave to go into hiding until the next time". At the same time, Kadyrov claimed there were no ethnic Chechens left among the insurgents in Chechnya itself.

Kadyrov talked about the rebels in Ingushetia and Dagestan in 2005 at the same time as he was making claims on the neighbouring territories.

It seems very unlikely that Aushev will stand in for Yevkurov in Ingushetia now, even temporarily, in which case the Russian authorities will have to make Kadyrov's appointment official. The Kremlin does not look as though it is prepared to do this or that it even wants to. So the issue now is not only whether Ingushetia continues as an independent republic.  It's not just a question of whether the Ingush will continue to be loyal to Russia.  In the end it's about what Russia decides to do with its policy in the Caucasus as a whole.

[1] "Demoscope" http://demoscope.ru/weekly/ssp/sng_nac_59.php?reg=1

[2] V. Belozerov. Etnicheksya Karta severnogo Kavkaza (Ethnic Map of the North Caucasus). Moscow, OGI, 2005. 304 p.

[3] Ibid.

[4] In 2007, in connection with the escalating situation in the republic and shots fired at the "UN town" in Nazran, the UN raised the danger level of Ingushetia to 4 points on the 5-point scale, and moved its offices to Vladikavkaz. All other international organizations subsequently followed their example.

[5] Murat Zyazikov did not wait until the end of his presidential term.  In accordance with the new procedure of appointing regional heads, the question of confidence was put before the president of the Russian Federation.   The republican parliament was asked to approve the extension for another term. 

I'm not sure I can recommend the Abkhazian house wine that gets served in the bars and restaurants of Sukhumi. The Abkhazians make some drinkable wine, like the ‘Psou' brand that is served in Moscow's upscale Aromatniy Mir supermarket chain, but their rough and ready house wine is something to be avoided.

A little over a year, on the morning of 8 August 2008, those of us in Abkhazia who had not stayed up to watch the late-night news awoke to reports of the Georgian military assault on the centre and the environs of Tskhinval (Tskhinvali), the capital of South Osssetia. It was not entirely unexpected: there had been reports of Georgian plans to attack Abkhazia itself in spring 2009, and overall tensions had been high. But it was still a shock, and we speculated on the consequences for Abkhazia and the region if Russia did not swiftly move to repel the Georgian advance across the demilitarised zone around South Ossetia.

George Hewitt is professor of Caucasian languages and linguistics at London's School of Oriental & African Studies (SOAS). Among his many works is (as editor) The Abkhazians: A Handbook

Also by George Hewitt in (Routledge, 1998) on openDemocracy:

"Sakartvelo, roots of turmoil" (27 November 2003)

"Abkhazia: land in limbo" (10 October 2006)

"Abkhazia and South Ossetia: heart of conflict, key to solution" (18 August 2008)  The sense of Abkhazia's potential vulnerability was increased by awareness that the Georgian president, Mikheil Saakashvili, had in 2006 broken the terms of the Moscow accords of 1994, which formalised the ceasefire in Abkhazia after the brutal war of 1992-93 that had ended in a shattered Abkhazia securing its freedom from Georgian rule. Saakashvili had done this by introducing a contingent of military personnel into the one part of Abkhazia (the upper Kodor [Kodori] valley) that had remained under Georgian control after the war. This illegal act - which Georgia's western partners all too typically chose to ignore - was accompanied and followed by frequent boasts that Tbilisi would soon "recover" South Ossetia and Abkhazia.

The outcome, in what turned out to be five days of intense combat on 8-12 August 2008, was very different. The Russian military responded to the Georgians' initial assault with overwhelming force of its own, including the destruction of Saakashvili's arsenal stored at the military base in Gori (thus ensuring no further Georgian military advances in that area for the foreseeable future).

In Abkhazia itself, the authorities both forestalled any possible action from Georgia and took advantage of the situation by launching an operation in the Kodor valley; this was retaken over two days, with no loss of life on the Georgian side or amongst the local Svan population. The Georgian troops stationed there duly fled without offering any resistance, abandoning their equipment in the process. Indeed, a staggering amount of weaponry and munitions were uncovered in the aftermath; Mikheil Saakashvili's hubris was reflected in the presence in the Kodor of a "NATO Information Centre". The operation extended to military stores in Senaki and the port of Poti (both in neighbouring Mingrelia), thus protecting Abkhazia from future land-incursion or seaborne-assault.

The cost of misreading

The decision by Mikheil Saakasvhili to activate his battle-plans against South Ossetia on the night of 7-8 August 2008 was extraordinarily stupid - so much so, that it is hardly surprising if many in the west instantly embraced Tbilisi's charge that Russia must have made the first move. This rush to judgment regrettably skewed reporting of the entire war by many western news-media outlets, including the BBC (thus continuing a long record of journalistic failure in the region).

This is far more than a jibe, for the misreading of events in and around Abkhazia and South Ossetia - by western media, but more widely by the west's diplomats and politicians - has played and continues to play a role in clouding the actual circumstances of the region. The implication is that to understand the conflicts surrounding these territories (in the early 1990s, as well as 2008) and to draw relevant lessons involves also criticising how these conflicts have been misconstrued at the highest policy levels.

After all, the outcome of the west's policy choices over these years has been to produce the direct opposite of what its consistent support for Georgia has been meant to achieve: namely, the ever-closer ties of Abkhazia and South Ossetia with Russia. This process culminated in Moscow's recognition of them as independent states on 26 August 2008, and all that will flow from the subsequent agreements being signed with Russia in terms of security, transport, trade and investment.

The realistic option

The most important conclusion of the August 2008 war, now shared even by hawkish commentators in the United States who have been vocal advocates for a hardline Georgian stance, is that both South Ossetia and Abkhazia are permanently lost to Georgia (see "Abkhazia and South Ossetia: heart of conflict, key to solution", 18 August 2008). This conclusion seemed obvious to informed observers at the end of their wars (in, respectively, June 1992 and September 1993); but the cataclysmic events of August 2008 seems at last to have convinced many who had been in denial.

But even many of those who have come round to this view resist its self-evident consequence: namely, that the two republics should be promptly and universally recognised de jure as well as de facto. If this policy was followed, it would have at least three positive consequences.

First, it would be good for Georgia. The country would be faced with a realistic if doubtless difficult option: to discard any remaining fantasy of Tbilisi's re-establishing its control, and to focus on building normal, good-neighbourly relations with these political entities.

Second, it would be good for the republics. They would be opened to all the regular advantages enjoyed by fully recognised states; among them unrestricted and universal travel-rights for their citizens, inward investment, and the free flow of ideas that accompanies contacts between nations. All of these would balance the dominant influence of Russia, which otherwise - under conditions of continuing western boycotts - can only strengthen. At the same time, it is unrealistic to expect Russia to withdraw altogether, for two reasons: Russia has legitimate interests of her own in the region, and the Abkhazians (in view of the west's longstanding support for Georgia) would not wish this to happen.  

Third, it would be good for the inhabitants of the region, on all sides. The guarantee of the security of Abkhazia and South Ossetia, and the improving economy and infrastructure that would follow, would have beneficial knock-on effects. The eastern part of Abkhazia around Ochamchira is an example: here, the war damage from 1992-93 is still everywhere visible, with residents left to survive as best they can amid the ruined houses (only in 2007 was the Halo Trust able to finish clearing the region of thousands of mines that had rendered whole tracts of fertile land too dangerous to risk being farmed). A process of reconstruction could revivify the area, and make it possible that in time more of the refugees who fled from Abkhazia to Georgia in autumn 1993 will finally be able to resume life in their former homeland.

The wasted support

Some analysts offer a very different set of recommendations. Spencer B Meredith advocates severing all links with the "separatists"; he suggests that, if Russia does not make the necessary investments in Abkkhazia and South Ossetia, the result will be two failed states (see "Restoring Georgia's Sovereignty, Redux", Foreign Policy Journal, 5 August 2009).

This is wrong. Russians' affection for Abkhazia's Black Sea coast, and the fact that most Ossetians live in Russia's north Caucasus (where for centuries they have been Russia's closest allies), ensure Moscow's continual engagement. In questioning where the two republics would be without Moscow's support, Meredith neglects Georgia's dependence since 2003 on huge subventions from Washington; in lamenting Georgia's lack of funds to spend on the thousands of refugees living within its reduced frontiers, he overlooks that much more could have been done if funds spent on Georgia's military had been devoted to humanitarian projects (Tbilisi's defence budget increased from $36 million to $990 million in 2003-08).

Such "support" for Georgia is part of the same pattern that led to the disaster of 2008 (see Vicken Cheterian, "Georgia's arms race", 4 July 2007). It is a long way from the true support that Georgia needs, which would enable it to accept what happened in the war and begin to move on.   

There is a danger that without a decisive step forward, there will be merely a continuation of more of the same failed policies that since the early 1990s have led to the present impasse.

Indeed, after almost two decades of wasted and counterproductive efforts, it is time for a radical reassessment. If this is to happen, it will do well to look again at the events of the early 1990s; in particular at the way that high political calculation in the west reacted to and helped to shape events on the ground in this period, with disastrous results.

The rush to judgment

The west could probably have done little to prevent the Georgian-South Ossetian war of 1990-92, imposed by Georgia's first post-communist leader Zviad Gamsakhurdia on the then autonomous district of South Ossetia. This is because at the start of the war both parties to the conflict were integral parts of the still-existing Soviet Union. But the same most assuredly cannot be said of the Georgian-Abkhazian conflict (see "Sakartvelo, roots of turmoil", 27 November 2003).

Zviad Gamsakhurdia was ousted in a coup in January 1992. The war in South Ossetia was still in progress, and a new (truly civil) war broke out in Gamsakhurdia's home province of Mingrelia (western Georgia) between his supporters and those of the junta that ousted him. Amid this chaos, the coup-leaders invited the Soviet Union's former foreign minister Eduard Shevardnadze out of his Moscow retirement to provide still-unrecognised Georgia with a standard-bearer who would appeal to the west.

The ploy worked brilliantly: the west was eager to reward the man it regarded as a heroic architect from within of the dissolution of the Soviet system. But why was there such a rush? A clue lies in the internal politics of Britain at the time.

A general election was due in Britain on 9 April 1992. The Conservative prime minister John Major had inherited office from Margaret Thatcher after her forced retirement in November 1990; a colourless figure whom most opinion-polls suggested would lose to a Labour opposition emerging from long retreat. Major and his foreign secretary Douglas Hurd believed they had every reason to look on Eduard Shevardnadze with favour; the idea that (as a former British ambassador to the USSR told me) "we in the west owe Shevardnadze a huge debt of gratitude" was widespread in establishment circles. (A one-time speaker of the Abkhazian parliament, Sokrat Dzhindzholia, offered me the very different view in during a London taxi-ride that "Shevardnadze is a fine executor of other people's decisions, but he is not a person to be head of state himself", though few western governments of the time would have listened to such views).

In any event, two weeks before the election, the John Major government recognised Georgia and established diplomatic relations with it. Britain was due to assume the six-month presidency of the European Union in July 1992; the country continued to - in Douglas Hurd's deathless phrase - "punch above its weight", as all the major European countries and the United States matched the British policy in reaching out to Tbilisi.

It was a fateful step - for it locked the recognising states into the position of support for the territorial integrity of the recognised entity, however questionable or indeed illegitimate that "integrity" (in the case of Abkhazia, it reflected Stalin's subordination of Abkhazia to his native Georgia in 1931). But what was to follow was worse. Georgia at the time had no government with a democratic mandate; the state was in internal chaos, the civil war was still in progress in Mingrelia, and tensions in Abkhazia (where there had been fatal clashes in July 1989) were rising.

A wise policy at this point would have offered Eduard Shevardnadze and his military- (later state-council) colleagues the conditional enticements of membership of (for example) the International Monetary Fund, the World Bank, and United Nations membership - to be granted once his government had earned democratic legitimacy in the elections planned for autumn 1992, ended the ongoing internal conflicts, and reached a peaceful resolution of the crisis in Abkhazia (see "Post-war Developments in the Georgian-Abkhazian Dispute", Parliamentary Human Rights Group, June 1996).  

Instead, the rush to embrace Tbilisi was heedless. True, the war in South Ossetia was ended with the Dagomys agreement in June 1992, mediated by Boris Yeltsin; but the Georgian government and its militia supporters "celebrated" its acceptance by the United Nations with an assault on Abkhazia - reflecting (in my interpretation of events) Shevardnadze's (mis)calculation that Gamsakhurdia's Mingrelian supporters would rally round the national flag in the face of a common foe.

What happened instead was tragedy all round: widespread bloodshed, the loss of Abkhazia to Georgian control, a once relatively prosperous economy in ruins, almost a generation of blighted lives on both sides. The particular disaster from the Georgian point of view was that Abkhazia was lost to Georgia's control as of 30 September 1993. 

The last war

The precise sequence of events suggests that the west in general, and Britain in particular, bears a grievous responsibility for the tribulations suffered by many of the region's peoples in the early 1990s and subsequently: the Abkhazians, more latterly the South Ossetians, and those Kartvelians (viz. Mingrelians, Georgians and Svans) whose lives were lost or livelihoods permanently disrupted in the immediate or longer-term wake of the woeful decisions of 1992. This should be publicly acknowledged and a suitable recompense paid, specifically through the recognition of the two states that acquired a de jure status on 26 August 2008.

This would be a precondition for serious thought about how the Transcaucasus region can be taken forward to the secure and prosperous future its peoples surely deserve. Such a settlement, apart from being the only realistic solution to two decades of failure, would be the best way to redress the mistakes committed since 1992. The anniversary of Mikheil Saakashvili's crassness in 2008, as of two decades of misguided and self-damaging Georgian policies, would be a good time to move towards it (see Donald Rayfield, "The Georgia-Russia war, a year on", 6 August 2009). 

The precipitateness of the British decision to recognise Georgia was underlined when, contrary to expectations, the party of John Major won the British general election of April 1992. His and Douglas Hurd's misjudged policies in ex-Yugoslavia were to be responsible for huge damage there too. It is very late in the day, but these statesmen's contemporary European Union and American successors need to learn the lessons of the last two decades, and come to decisions that will ensure that the war of August 2008 proves to be the region's last.

The obliging bankers immediately responded to the criticism. Two of the country's major financial institutions - Sberbank and Vneshtorgbank (VTB) - announced that they were prepared to reduce their interest rates. At least, for borrowers they described as strategic.

I was surprised the moment he came to pick us up in the western Georgian town of Zugdidi. I had thought he would be young, like most of Mikheil Saakashvili's youthful administration. Shota Utiashvili was a senior government official, and I had expected him to be dressed in something more formal than shorts, trainers and a striped polo shirt. The Department Director at the Ministry of Interior Affairs looked as if he was on his way to a picnic, rather than accompanying foreign journalists in a high-risk conflict zone.

The general rationale behind the Medvedev security concept is to redefine Europe in ways that are more inclusive of Russia and its interests. Since the end of the Cold War, Russia has felt excluded from the continental mainstream. In the 1990s political instability, socioeconomic crisis and sharply reduced influence abroad ensured that it would be regarded as a junior partner at best. Later, as Russia's fortunes improved under Putin, it would be seen as more influential, but also as increasingly awkward and sometimes confrontational. The brief Georgia war in August 2008 marked, simultaneously, the climax of a much-trumpeted resurgence and Russia's alienation from Europe.

All this has occurred against a backdrop in which the EU and NATO have become almost wholly identified with post-Cold War Europe. If Russia is part of Europe, then it belongs to an earlier age: on the one hand, a ‘common European Christian civilisation'; on the other, a loose gathering of great European powers - Russia, France, Germany and Great Britain. The acceleration of European integration over the past 20 years has left it behind, even more of an outsider than countries such as Turkey (a NATO member for more than half a century).

The original iteration of the Medvedev initiative in June 2008 predated the Georgia conflict. It was intended, in the first instance, to limit American influence on the continent. It emphasised that "Atlanticism as a sole historical principle has already had its day"; claimed that the existing European architecture bore "the stamp of an ideology inherited from the past"; and declared that NATO had "failed so far to give new purpose to its existence." Crucially, Moscow called for a European summit to start work on drafting a new Helsinki-type charter and, in case anyone should miss its meaning, noted that "absolutely all European countries should take part in this summit, but as individual countries, leaving aside any allegiances to blocs or other groups."

Divide and scatter

The Kremlin seeks to exploit divisions within the Western alliance - between the US and Europe, and amongst the Europeans themselves. Medvedev's original proposal followed on the heels of the Bucharest NATO summit in May 2008, which saw serious splits within the alliance over whether to grant Georgia and Ukraine Membership Action Plan (MAP) status. In the end, they were promised eventual membership, but with no timeline or road-map.

The Medvedev initiative was a natural response to European disarray. The Bucharest summit highlighted the fissures within the Western alliance on Russia policy. Some member-states, notably Germany and France, believed that the West had pushed Russia too far, and that NATO enlargement had reached its natural limits for the foreseeable future. The overt ‘European-ness' in the original Medvedev proposals was designed to appeal to this ‘pragmatic' constituency within the alliance. It tapped into anxieties over the Bush administration's policies towards Russia and the former Soviet Union; a more generalised, if latent, anti-Americanism in some European states; and eagerness to restore predictability to Europe's relations with Moscow.

Longer-term, Moscow aspires to an arrangement that would consolidate its position as the ‘regional superpower' in the former Soviet space; bring it into the European strategic mainstream; and recognise, formally and practically, its status as a great power on a par with the US and the totality of European states.

Some detail, little substance

The first iteration of Medvedev's proposals in Berlin in June 2008 elicited little response in Europe. Only when the Russian president presented a more developed version at the World Policy Forum in Evian in October 2008 did his project begin to attract attention. By this time, Russia's relations with the West - and particularly the US - had reached a 20-year low following the Georgia war.

The biggest difference between Medvedev's Evian statement and his Berlin address was the shift in focus from European to Euro-Atlantic. Although he condemned Washington's alleged complicity in the Georgia war and American unipolarity in general, there was now an implicit understanding that the US could not be excluded from any revised security architecture. In addition to the frequent use of the term ‘Euro-Atlantic', Medvedev highlighted issues that extended beyond Europe such as the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction (WMD) and international terrorism. Importantly, too, he invited "all key Euro-Atlantic organisations" to take part in a European security conference - a significant departure from Berlin, when he had called for countries to attend as individual nations only.

But the Evian speech remained thin on substance and contained little that was new. Respect for international law, national sovereignty and territorial integrity; the inadmissibility of the use of force; the notion of ‘equal' and indivisible security; and crude criticisms of NATO and its yen to expand - these were the stuff of innumerable statements issued by the Kremlin and Ministry of Foreign Affairs during the Yeltsin years.

Arguably, the only conceptual innovation was a new Helsinki-type treaty that would "ensure in stable and legally binding form our common security guarantees for many years to come." But even its significance was questionable. The notion of a ‘Helsinki II' treaty followed in the tradition of grandiose, but essentially empty ideas, such as a ‘global multipolar order for the 21^st century', a Moscow-Beijing-New Delhi axis, and the BRIC (Brazil, Russia, India and China). It did not point to a more contemporary understanding of international security. Instead, Medvedev highlighted the importance of military issues. The assumption that international security is fundamentally about political-military power reflected a realist culture dating back more than 300 years, one that viewed soft power and soft security (political and human) as more decorative than essential.

Moving the goal-posts

But the unfolding of the Medvedev initiative has also revealed Moscow's sensitivity to changing domestic and international circumstances. Europe's relative unity over Georgia, the impact of the global financial crisis and, most recently, a resurgent US following Barack Obama's election have radically changed the external context of Russian policy-making. An overtly anti-American and anti-NATO tone is no longer sustainable. In fact, this was already evident at Evian, when French President Nicolas Sarkozy emphasized that any ‘Vancouver to Vladivostok' security arrangement must be based first of all on NATO, and urged Russia to engage more closely in existing institutions and mechanisms, such as the NATO-Russia Council (NRC) and the EU's European Security and Defence Policy.

Moscow is now clearly at pains to smooth out the rough edges in its security initiative. At a time when relations with the US and NATO are improving, there is little will in the Kremlin to upset things.

Does Russia have a case?

It has become fashionable to blame Western governments, above all the US, for the deterioration in the Euro-Atlantic security environment. They are accused of rubbing Russia's nose in the dirt, most notably by enlarging NATO eastwards to include most of Central and Eastern Europe. In recent years, Western support for the colour revolutions in Georgia and Ukraine, the development of US missile defence plans in Poland and the Czech Republic, and a failure to manage Russian sensitivities in the former Soviet Union have generated considerable resentment in Moscow. The current European security architecture, centred on institutions such as NATO and the OSCE, stands accused not merely of failing to alleviate tensions, but of aggravating them to the point of crisis.

On the face of things, the Russians would appear to have a case - the existing security architecture is ineffective in many respects. It cannot stop wars; it breeds considerable ill-feeling, and the Western powers exploit it to promote national and bloc (i.e., NATO) interests. Yet such criticisms should not obscure the fact that international organisations are only as good as their constituent states. Despite the considerable advances in multilateral diplomacy since the Second World War, it is the great powers, not multilateral institutions, which dominate international affairs.

As Russia has demonstrated, and others before it, great powers will not always abide by international law; they will not necessarily respect the sovereignty and territorial integrity of other states; they will sometimes use force as an instrument of foreign policy; they will ensure their security at the expense of others; and they will pursue their national interests in ways they deem appropriate, but that offend the interests or sensibilities of others. The best architecture in the world will not alter any of these realities.

Rather than finding (obvious) fault in the current security system, we need to consider whether it can be improved, even at the margins. Can NATO find ways to become more inclusive of Russian interests? How might the OSCE develop into a more effective body? Can the impasse over the CFE (Conventional Forces in Europe) Treaty be resolved? Would European security be enhanced by the integration of Moscow-backed institutions such as the Collective Security Treaty Organisation (CSTO)? And would a new pan-European treaty bring the Helsinki Charter into the 21^st century?

‘Fixing' the unfixable

It is difficult to be sanguine about the prospects. Take NATO, for example. The alliance has tried to reinvent itself in the post-Cold War period. It has changed its identity from a defensive alliance countering the Soviet military threat to an organisation that has promoted stability, democracy and the development of civil society in much of Central and Eastern Europe. There can be little doubt that these countries - and European security in general - would have been far worse off had they been left to fester in a kind of strategic limbo-land (or ‘buffer zone'). One needs only to look at the Balkan conflicts to see what the fate of these countries might have been had they been excluded.

Simultaneously, NATO has attempted to engage Russia more closely in security co-operation. In the 1990s, it brought Russia into the Partnership for Peace (PfP) programme, with the potential prospect of eventual alliance membership. The 1997 NATO-Russia Founding Act admitted Moscow to alliance consultations for the first time. And in 2002 the creation of the NATO-Russia Council established mechanisms for joint decision-making in areas of common security concern.

None of this, however, has changed the core perception in Moscow that NATO remains a ‘relic of the Cold War', directed primarily at containing Russia. Although there has been some modest co-operation within the NRC, for example on joint anti-piracy patrols in the Mediterranean, Russian policy-makers continue to regard the alliance as intrinsically hostile.

As for the OSCE, during the 1990s it was Moscow's favourite security organisation. Not only was Russia a full member, but consensus voting rules meant that it could always veto any decision it disliked. The OSCE was an attractive ‘alternative' to NATO precisely because it did not impinge on the sovereign prerogatives of the great powers, Russia in the first instance.

This situation changed after the December 1999 OSCE summit in Istanbul, when the organisation condemned Moscow's conduct of the second post-Soviet Chechen war. Since that time, the OSCE has begun to exert genuine influence in the area of soft security. The Office for Democratic Institutions and Human Rights (ODIHR), in particular, has assumed a high profile through its monitoring and evaluation of elections in Central and Eastern Europe (including Russia). Moscow views such scrutiny as an infringement of sovereign rights. It seeks a return to the good old days - and the OSCE's ‘core' security functions - when the organisation was almost entirely ineffectual.

The CFE Treaty is one area where there is room for significant improvement. The treaty needs to be revised (‘modernised') to reflect the changes in Europe's strategic map since the fall of the USSR. The present version restricts Moscow from moving more troops to the south, where the main threats to Russia's national security lie. NATO member-states have erred in linking their ratification of an adapted CFE treaty to the withdrawal of Russian troops (‘peacekeepers') from Abkhazia, South Ossetia and Moldova. Moscow has rejected this linkage and used the non-ratification issue to justify suspending its participation in the CFE treaty. Nevertheless, all these problems relate to the treaty itself, not to the much broader (and largely abstract) question of a continental security architecture. As such, they should be addressed within the specific framework of CFE negotiations.

Since its establishment in 2002, the CSTO has been Moscow's multilateral instrument of choice - a political-military alliance that brings together Russia's closest allies within the former Soviet Union: Belarus, Armenia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan and Uzbekistan. Although its military effectiveness is minimal, it sends the message that Russia is not without friends, and it gives Moscow something to bargain with when pushing for a more central role in European security. As a result, Russian policy-makers are now calling for a NATO-CSTO ‘equal partnership'. The problem, however, is the enormous imbalance in the scale, capabilities and importance of the two organisations. If the CSTO is brought into a new security architecture, its role will be peripheral. And Moscow will continue to take umbrage at the perceived unfairness of Europe's security framework.

The idea of a Helsinki-2 or Helsinki-plus treaty has found some support in the West. In principle, there is nothing wrong with freshening up the 1975 Helsinki Final Act to reflect post-Cold War realities. However, Medvedev's emphasis on hard security (see above) indicates that a ‘new' treaty, as imagined by Moscow, would reflect traditional Russian thinking. The gulf between the enunciation of supposedly common values and their radically different interpretations across Helsinki signatory states remains stark. A new treaty would inevitably become heavily politicised, aggravating extant tensions on the European continent. (In this connection, the notion that the West could somehow ‘trap' Russia into abiding by commitments to democracy and human rights is delusional.)

Finally, we should consider whether it is even meaningful to speak of a security architecture. Today, more than ever, the conditions are lacking to translate worthy aspiration into practice. Regional organisations are in open competition; there are major disagreements over the legitimacy of European security mechanisms; the values-gap between Russia and many Western countries is wide and getting wider; and Moscow and the West compete for influence in the so-called ‘common neighbourhood'. To promote a new security architecture without addressing some of these fundamental problems is to pretend that elaborate process can somehow substitute for lack of substantive progress.

Back to the USA

The vagueness of the Russian proposals has been much criticised. Such vagueness underlines the fact that Moscow has a far better understanding of what it does not like than of how an alternative architecture might work. Another explanation is that the Medvedev initiative has been overtaken by developments: the global financial crisis and, above all, the warming of Russia-US ties.

The Obama administration has not only talked of ‘pressing the reset button' in US-Russia relations, but has re-engaged with Moscow in areas where it believes Russia can make a difference: strategic arms control, the Iranian nuclear question, and Afghanistan. At the same time, it has downplayed to near-anonymity issues that have previously caused major ructions, such as NATO enlargement and missile defence. The administration's moves have altered the psychological climate and led Moscow to embrace, albeit cautiously, the opportunity to engage Washington on issues where it has both a vital interest and a genuine role. The prospect of a renewed co-operative security relationship with the US has made grand systemic approaches to international security less relevant.

More generally, Washington's renewed interest has encouraged a return to the America-centric tradition in Russian strategic thinking. The EU may account for over half of Russia's external trade as well as most of its foreign investment. But for Russia's leadership, the US remains the main game because it is by far the most powerful country in the world, even if its authority is under greater challenge than at any time in the past two decades. Brutally put, in the Russian mind raw power trumps geographical proximity, economic interaction and cultural affinity.

As long as the Russia-US relationship remains centred on concrete priorities, there will be scant policy space for more conceptual schemes, particularly if, as now, Washington shows little interest in them. But should the bilateral relationship sour then the notion of a European/Euro-Atlantic security treaty could gain new impetus.

The challenge for Europe

The main challenge for European policy-makers in responding to the Medvedev project is that there is very little to ‘bite' on. It was easy to reject some of the early ideas, such as the exclusion of NATO and the US. But, beyond that, getting to grips with what the Russians really want has proved elusive.

The Europeans have foiled Moscow's attempts to divide them from the US and from each other. They have refused to legitimise the notion of a Russian sphere of privileged interests. They have underlined NATO's primacy in European security, as well as preserving a central role for the OSCE. And they have left the onus on Moscow to deliver on the detail of its security proposals.

The real test is whether European unity can withstand a more nuanced Russian foreign policy. Several traps await. One is a misplaced belief that Moscow has seen the error of its confrontational ways. While the global financial crisis has acted as a reality check on the Russian leadership, this will not necessarily foster a more benign attitude towards the West. While Moscow may have softened its foreign policy style, some things remain constant: an innate sense of Russia as a global great power; the conviction that the former Soviet republics belong in its sphere of influence; and a general view of the world as a fiercely competitive arena.

Another error would be to view the rapprochement between Moscow and Washington as an unalloyed benefit. For Washington's courting of Moscow will reinforce the extant America-centrism of the Russian elite, giving new life to notions of strategic bipolarity at the expense of more multifaceted relations with Europe.