agriculture, its history, language and culture, has all the attributes of an independent nation but exists only as a compartment of the Russian-dominated Soviet state.
The Soviet system offers a Marxist-Leninist substitute for most of the components of any traditional culture. Atheism is a substitute for traditional religion, dialectical materialism replaces national history and socialist ideology sets limits on cultural expression. That leaves language as the pre-eminent symbol of national identity.
The impossibility of changing the situation, and the Soviet skill in placating the Georgians with national symbols and timely concessions seem to have created a mood of resigned cynicism. The Georgians, who make up 70 per cent of the republic’s population, make the best of the situation: “There are few active dissidents but everyone ‘thinks differently.’ No one believes what he reads in the newspaper,” as one Georgian intellectual put it.
Georgian culture is not free to establish its own character any more than is the national culture in the other non-Russian republics. The language issue which provoked the Tbilisi demonstration on April 14 has great symbolic importance elsewhere. But in each republic there are different points of conflict between socialist ideology and native traditions. In Lithuania, for example, the intensity of national feeling stems in part from the Soviet suppression of the Catholic religion. In Georgia there is, in addition to general cultural resentment, a specific resistance to the rigidities of the planned economy.
Soviet citizens elsewhere uncharitably attribute a penchant for corruption to the Georgians. In some cases, it could just as easily be described as impatience with centralisation and a persecuted talent for private enterprise.
In the live and let live atmosphere which prevailed before the accession of Mr. Shevarnadze in 1972, the living standard in Georgia was reputedly the highest in the Soviet Union. It may still be. A not inconsiderable portion of the wealth is derived from the unofficial but highly organised purchase of fruits, flowers and vegetables and their resale in northern cities.
The practice has been mostly brought under control, partially because of the Government’s decision to pay higher prices to farmers for their produce. But it has not been eliminated.
The Press is full of stories about speculators being caught trying to smuggle fruit out of Georgia or manufacturing bootleg liquor in their bathtubs. Recently, three lorries full of fruits and vegetables and protected by armed guards were stopped at the border between Georgia and the Russian republic by a night patrol.
The crackdown on corruption in Georgia was initiated by Mr. Shevarnadze after he replaced the former Georgian communist leader, Mr. Vasily Mzhavandze. Thousands of Georgian officials were fired or deprived of their influence and tough penalties began to be meted out to bribe takers and black market operators. One response was a series of fires and bombings, beginning with the torching of the Tbilisi opera house in 1974 and culminating in the bombing of the Council of Ministers’ building in 1976 for which a man was reportedly shot.
Mr. Shevarnadze’s activities after taking office had the potential to evoke considerable resentment on the part of ordinary Georgians tempted to view him as Moscow’s agent assigned to bring the republic in line, Mr. Shevarnadze’s personal qualities, however, unusually in the case of a Soviet leader, have won him widespread respect.
Mr. Shevarnadze has established a reputation of integrity and unlike the secretive Communist Party leaders in Moscow, is willing to appear at the centre of events. Last year he single-handedly quelled a soccer disturbance during a game between Tbilisi and Voroshilovgrad by appearing alone before the crowd and promising to review the film of a disputed play.
Even Mr. Shevarnadze, however, has not been able to extinguish the Georgians’ enterprising spirit, or the resentment against Soviet control. Jobs as taxi drivers and store managers, and places at university, are no longer for sale, but a visitor cannot fail to notice that blue jeans—Soviet black market item number one—are more common in Tbilisi than elsewhere in the Soviet Union. In the central market, amid the piles of grapes, peaches, melons and pears, caviar is said to be still available for 100 roubles a kilo to those who know whom to ask and how.
ERZEUGT DURCH JUTOH - BITTE REGISTRIEREN SIE SICH, UM DIESE ZEILE ZU ENTFERNEN
Financial Times, Thursday, October 5, 1978
Armenia
Angry Nationalist Struggle
Against Soviet Power
On Saturday afternoon, January 8, 1977, a sudden explosion ripped through a carriage of the Moscow metro as it approached the Pervomaiskaya station. The carriage, filled with passengers including many children, was destroyed.
Official reports minimised the casualties, but a man who took part in the rescue work said that he saw at least 30 dead on the station platform. Scores more people were terribly injured and many died later in hospital. It was the worst act of terrorism in modern Soviet history.
In the months after the explosion, the KGB interrogated dissidents, and rumours swept Moscow that the blast was the work of Zionists. There were many, however, who believed that the trail might ultimately lead not to traditional dissenters but to hot, dusty Yerevan where the historically ill-fated Armenians have shown signs of restiveness under Soviet rule.
Yerevan is a city of lush parks, stolid, rose-coloured apartment blocks built of volcanic rock and columned Government buildings on broad squares. The whites and greys of one-storey houses line the sides of arid hills where vines coil around iron frames on the pavement, creating canopies.
In March this year, two Armenians, Mesrup Saratikyan, and his brother were seized in Yerevan and taken to Moscow, bringing to five the number of Armenians from Yerevan arrested in connection with the metro explosion.
The other three suspects were detained in Moscow and Yerevan in November, 1977. They included Yakov Stepanian, a former political prisoner, and a second unidentified man. They were reportedly arrested after planting a bomb at the busy Kursk station in Moscow which serves trains to the Caucasus. The third man was Stepan Zatikian, who once served a labour camp sentence for anti-Soviet agitation.
On June 7 this year, the Soviet news agency Tass said in a terse dispatch about the metro explosion, that “the criminals have been found by the state security committee organs” and that the men had “admitted their involvement.”
In Yerevan, the news of the arrests had leaked out much earlier through relatives of the accused and dissidents who had been questioned about them. The fact that anti-regime Armenians were apparently involved in the metro bombing had a chilling effect on organised Armenian dissent, which has been supressed in repeated waves of arrests since the early 1960s.
The atmosphere in Armenia is more relaxed than in Moscow. There are attractive cafes and the Soviet Union’s only gallery of modern art. Old men play chess in the park and young people gather on summer nights around the fountain in Lenin Square, where Western rock music is broadcast over a loudspeaker.
Despite this, there has been an active dissident movement in the area since at least 1963 and many more people have apparently been arrested in Armenia than in neighbouring Georgia, where nationalism is also a basic issue. Armenian nationalism has a more emotional edge because of the memory of the 1915–18 massacres at the hands of the Turks.
Many Armenians, particularly members of the older generation, give the Russians credit for saving the Armenians from annihilation. “If it hadn’t been for the Russians,” one taxi driver told me, “The Turks would have murdered every one
