40 minutes’ north from the Georgian town of Gori, the village of Nikozi lies jammed against the boundary with South Ossetia. From the yard of the Zemo Nikozi church of the Deity, the de facto republic’s capital, Tskhinvali, is clearly visible a few kilometres to the north. It lies just the other side of a barbed wire fence which separates the breakaway region from the rest of Georgia.

“There used to be Georgian villages there,” says our interpreter, Mikael Sultanovi, pointing to a bare hillside just past the occupation line, “but after 2008 they were not Georgian anymore.”

A precarious reality

These settlements were flattened during the Russo-Georgian War of August 2008 in which Tbilisi attempted to regain control of a large portion of Georgian territory from Russia-backed Ossetian separatists. Russian forces intervened under the guise of “protecting” the Ossetian people, but really sought to re-establish their influence in the South Caucasus region, and later recognised South Ossetia and fellow breakaway region, Abkhazia, as independent states, placing Kremlin-loyal governments in power there. 

In its precarious position across the fence from Tskhinvali, Nikozi saw heavy cross-border fighting between Georgian and secessionist forces and suffered under Russian air attacks. The 5th century church and adjacent monastery were bombed to ruins and are still undergoing reconstruction over 16 years later. 

Nona moved to Nikozi in 1997. Her husband’s family have been there for generations. “During the war we had to leave for a couple of months,” she says, setting a jug of fresh grape juice down on her kitchen table. “When we came back everything had been stolen from our house – the television, the furniture, and part of the house was damaged. We renovated and life continued as it was before. Nothing changed.”

For the Nikozi villagers, the occupation by Russia of a huge chunk of the surrounding region does not seem to pervade their daily lives much. For the most part their worlds exist at the local, domestic level.

“We have usual family living … I get up in the morning, clean the house,” says Nona. “My main responsibility is to take care of the cows and the kids.”

When asked if the Russian military presence in South Ossetia affects her life in any way, Nona replies: “there were fields nearby where the kids played, now they can’t go there anymore. But we don’t live in fear.”

Touting geopolitics 

Recent months have seen controversial claims by the ruling Georgian Dream (GD) party relating to Georgia’s occupied territories. During a speech in Gori last month, GD honorary chairman, Bidzina Ivanishvili, appeared to place the blame for the August War not on Russia, but on Georgia, and former president Mikheil Saakashvili’s western-leaning United National Movement (UNM) party. 

In August, GD, which has been in power 12 years and has the support of 33% of voters as per recent polling, hinted that it was considering a confederation with the separatist regions and would recognise their independence as a precursor, though they now deny this.

But the future status of Georgia’s secessionist territories, despite having one on their doorstep, will hardly be the top priority for Nikozi voters when they head to the polls next week.

Framed by the pro-Western opposition as a referendum on Georgia’s Euro-Atlantic integration, the October 26 parliamentary elections are a crossroads for Georgia and, according to a recent OSCE Election Observation Mission report, will “take place in the context of entrenched political polarisation”. 

Hoping to win a fourth term in office, GD is also playing geopolitics, posing a choice to voters between a war-torn future for Georgia resembling Ukraine’s present – courtesy of the opposition – and peace and prosperity, something they alone can ensure.

This dilemma may be gripping the well-educated Tbilisi population, but in rural settings like Nikozi, where cows chew the hedgerows and children race along stony lanes, geopolitical crusades lose steam. 

“The top issue for most Georgians is the economy and their jobs, not EU membership”, reported the US-based McCain Institute in its recent pre-election assessment mission to the South Caucasus country. 

The daily struggle for survival

Low pay is the quotidian challenge in Nikozi, and locals don’t feel the government do much to ease financial pressure in remote villages like theirs. 

A recent report on rural election campaigning by policy analyst, Nino Samkharadze, observed that “the main focus of Georgian political parties is the centre, Tbilisi”. Yet, 70% of Georgia’s population live in the regions, and “their problems are often specifically linked to where they live and cannot be addressed solely by policies developed in the capital,” Samkharadze continues. 

“Mostly things don’t happen, it’s only promises,” says 45-year-old Pelagea. Government pledges to invest millions in Georgian villages are meaningless, agrees her friend, Lazare, who runs a rock-climbing club in town to engage the Nikozi youth. “It’s only before elections that they say this stupid stuff”, the bouldering champion continues.

“We take care of ourselves. The government only helps with university fees, and our utility bills are halved because we live near mountains and this border,” says Nona, adding that not even large families receive child benefits. “The government thinks they help enough already,” she adds, with a hint of exasperation. 

Pelagea, a mother of six, has nothing good to say about the ruling party. Her family lives on a total of just over GEL500 (€170) a month, 20% of which they lose in tax. “No one will tell us where this [tax] goes, but it goes in their pockets,” she laughs, leaving no one in any doubt as to whose pockets she’s implying. “I’m telling the truth and I’m not afraid,” she says defiantly.

Hunched on a child’s plastic stool in the yard of the nursery where she works as a cook, Pelagea’s face grows sombre. “We are barely surviving month to month,” she says hopelessly. Aside from their jobs, she and her husband keep cattle and grow vegetables like most in the village, “but still conditions do not improve; it’s like this all over the country,” the cook says.

Like many Georgians, Pelagea is forced into exploitative, predatory lending schemes to subsidise her pitiful salary. “The banks easily give you the loan and then threaten you if you don’t pay,” she says, her voice full of rage.

Cut off 

Nikozians also laments the pitiful state of local infrastructure. “There was a train, once,” says Nona, explaining that villagers used to transport their fresh produce to Tbilisi or – pre-2008 – to Tskhinvali, to sell. After South Ossetia’s official secession, the line stopping running, cutting off the separatist capital and Georgian capital from Nikozi traders, who have no local bazaar, and get no help from GD. “We have no government support to sell our potatoes,” says Pelagea, “they prioritise income from foreign imports, not from local products.”

Unable to sell their wares, many Nikozi locals were forced seek their livelihoods elsewhere after the August War, something particularly noticeable on Eka’s street. “Many of these houses are empty,” says the good-natured mother of four, pointing over her garden fence, which is hidden under snaking roses.

With so many leaving, Nikozi’s birth-rate is suffering, says Eka, and she gestured to her youngest son swinging from the grape trellis nearby. “In his class there are only five kids. This affects his development and communication.”

Eka’s husband works as a welder in Tbilisi. Half his wages go on the daily commute, which used to be cheap and easy. “With the train transportation was simple,” Eka says, “when it was cancelled life changed.” 

Though she pins responsibility on the government, Eka cautiously admits she feels life in Nikozi has generally improved since 2008. Despite polling that rural Georgians are more trustful of the government than city dwellers, she’s one of few in Nikozi to offer praise. “After the war there were positive changes, they took good care of us,” Eka says earnestly. (UNM was in power at that time, but she mentions no party name.) “We got a road, running water, free university tuition – this is a fact so no one can disagree,” she continues. 

An uncertain future 

Two EU Monitoring Mission trucks rumble past the gate of Pelagea’s nursery. Following the EU-brokered, Six Point Agreement that ended the 2008 war, unarmed peacekeepers were deployed to the region.

“Nothing would be here without Europe,” says Mikael, as the trucks disappear round the bend. He points to the shiny “USAID” plaque by the nursery entrance, and then along the road to the hospital which runs on grants from the Japanese Embassy. Though not strictly examples of EU support, the interpreter was highlighting how Western investment in this small, forgotten village far outshines any GD initiative.

Generous donations notwithstanding, some locals in Nikozi remain unconvinced by the opposition’s promise of closer ties with the West. 40-year-old Nikoloz, a farmer and father of five, would love a stronger agro-network with Europe, but remains sceptical. “I don’t know about the farming situation or how farmers live there,” he says doubtfully, clearly unsure, as many seem to be, as to what’s actually on the table for Georgians should they choose a Western course on October 26. 

It seems the ruling party don’t have Nikoloz’s vote either. He describes a mafia network of sellers that import fruit from Central Asia to sell in Georgia at low prices. “Government individuals and large supermarket chains like Carrefour make a profit, and no one cares about Nikoloz’s apples – what can I do?” says the farmer, looking around at his orchard, which is heavy with fruit. “I can’t go against the government, and Carrefour means government”, he continues, “if it goes on like this soon these farms won’t exist.” 

Meanwhile, GD’s warning that an opposition victory means war does seem to have alarmed some. “If we don’t choose the right policy our peace will be threatened, like in Ukraine’s case,” says Eka, her son wriggling on her knee. “The main thing for us is to have peace, but I don’t know if these elections are the chance for that,” she continues, as the boy slips from her arms and darts back to his sisters.

The other mothers seem equally anxious about the future. “I want whatever’s best for my kids,” says Nano, uncertainly, “if it’s Europe, it’s Europe”. The women do agree that Nikozi, with its poor job prospects, is not the ideal springboard into adulthood, and Pelagea even admits she’s “not confident” that Georgia offers any future at all.

Her pessimism is no surprise: 60% of rural Georgians believe the situation in their country will never improve. Nikoloz is no exception – he is sure “everything will get worse” and “none of the political parties” will help him, a common feeling amongst those in the regions.

“Equality is a fantasy,” the farmer says, gazing down at his son in his lap. “The world has always been made up of kings and slaves. That will never change.”