Number 3, Spring 1996

CCCRTE

by Roswitha Jarman

Ingushetia, the smallest of the North Caucasian republics, lies between North Ossetia and Chechnya. Its capital is Nazran. It has some 300,000 inhabitants and accommodates nearly 100,000 displaced persons in makeshift accommodation. Most of the displaced people were expelled from the Prigorodny District (and Vladikavkaz) in the conflict with the Ossetians in the autumn of 1992. Many others are from Chechnya.

Ingushetia is too insignificant to be newsworthy and it is too small to have any broadcasting power itself. Much of what is known about Ingushetia is secondhand, often hostile information coming from more powerful North Ossetia or Russia. Most Ingush feel the world does not know about them.

It is a poor country with little industry. Three outdated factories are sort of working and, apart from trading or rendering basic services, there is no means of income. A high proportion of people live on handouts. Although Ruslan Aushev, the president, is respected, people have a feeling of being disempowered, of being played with, of having no say in what is happening to them or their republic. Aushev is, in effect, a dictator, albeit a benevolent one. Being in opposition, would be seen as being unpatriotic.

On the surface, people live their lives quietly, patiently enduring hardship, communicating in calm ways. All their energies are needed to make ends meet. However this delicate cover of coping is easily broken and repeatedly I was able to glimpse the ocean of despair and helplessness lying just below the surface. Living in Ingushetia felt like walking along a precipice, with the two options in this balancing act being to either hit out at hostile forces or to be the victim. The Ingush have been balancing on the brink of disaster for a long time, patience could just snap. Russia could see this as an invitation to come down hard on them.

Issa is a fine strong father of a lovely family, who, from time to time, made his car available to me. At one point I asked him what he felt Ingushetia needed? He answered, "There are two things: the refugees need to return and we need to be left in peace to order our own affairs. If that is so, all will be alright". I found him nervous and angry on the last morning we met. The day before drunken Russian soldiers had on their way to Chechnya shot at children and injured some. It hurt to feel the anger of this strong and intelligent man. If people are so humiliated and made to feel helpless, they may have no option but to hit out. Whilst I was there, there were several unprovoked shooting incidents.

I wanted to live in Ingushetia for a prolonged period of time in order to better assess what needs of the Ingush people we might be able to respond to in this painful time of their history. For me, the best way to do this was to offer to teach English. I had also hoped to work with some counselling psychologists. This had been a vision of the previous education minister, who I had met two years ago, but it was not seen as a need by the present rector of the university.

Eighteen months ago Ingushetia opened its own university. Until recently students went to Vladikavkaz or to Grozny. The University of Vladikavkaz closed to the Ingush after the violence of more than three years ago, and in December 1994 the University of Grozny was destroyed. The Ingush University lies in the small town of Sleptsovsk on the border with Chechnya. It has a beautiful, simple building lying in open countryside, and seems to be an island of peace. Some 600 students are bused daily to study in two shifts. Facilities for the students are sparse. There are only just about enough desks and chairs to seat the students. Teaching materials, books, or any study facilities are virtually non-existent.

Living alongside people in critical times I see as part of peace building. What we, the trainers, do will not so much resemble workshops with set exercises and learning of skills, but we will let life itself be the workshop. The skills we share will be those that we practice ourselves in the very way we are and in the way we respond to people.

The kind of peacebuilding I was able to do was very different to what I had imagined it to be beforehand. It was not dramatic, it was low key, and yet it was valuable. I had visualized that I might introduce conflict resolution workshops to the students, have sessions on forgiveness and reconciliation with refugees, look at group facilitation with non-governmental groups, and work with traumatised children. Ideally, I had even hoped that I might be able to bring together small groups of Ingush and Ossetians.

During my six weeks in Ingushetia, I:

• taught English -- knowing English is a passport to the world, it means communicating outside the borders of your own country, it is a way out of the sense of feeling isolated and marginalised;
• listened and affirmed people; I tried to show respect for the country and what it is trying to achieve. People need to tell their story and feel that it is heard, not just by me there and then, but by the world community. It is the first step of change. Attentive listening and communication prepares the ground for experiencing and responding to life differently; it makes people able to act in new ways; it nurtures creativity; it also relieves pressure;
• tried to be a living bridge between North Ossetia and Ingushetia and I tried to rectify some prejudices;
• tried to understand the needs of the displaced people, some of whom are now forcefully encouraged to return to their destroyed homes in the Prigorodny District. How safe do people feel and how are they coping with tension and hostility?
• tried to identify individuals and groups of people who are attempting to be pro-active in healing the wounds after conflict.

People who feel themselves to be victims of aggressive neighbours do not accept that they need conflict resolution skills. The Ingush needed to have their story heard and to share this story with the wider world. They needed a partner to reflect on what is going on, someone who can look at events from the outside and comment on it, and maybe workshops around questions of empowerment. People also need to hear of examples of what people have done elsewhere to resolve similar conflicts.

I spent four days each week at the University of Ingushetia and three days over the weekend in Vladikavkaz. In this way I carried some messages across the no-man's land of the Prigorodny District. In Vladikavkaz I was in contact with pupils of the upper form of one of the two English specialist schools. These were the same age as the university students in Ingushetia. I had worked with these pupils two years ago and they were delighted when I came to them. "You taught me that I am unique. I will never forget that," said one of them.

My contact with the headmistress of this school goes back three years; she has developed in her school some very thoughtful peacebuilding lessons. The philosophy lesson the 11th graders had on the first Saturday I was there, was part of this. All in excellent English. They had brought autumn leaves to the lesson and this inspired their conversation. Towards the end, they presented me with some of the leaves. I thanked them and said I would like to take them with me to Ingushetia and give them to the students there. They were happy for me to give the leaves to the students in Ingushetia. On some of the leaves they wrote kind words of friendship.

When I came to the students in Ingushetia and gave them these leaves a heavy silence fell over the class. I felt at first quite sad that I had brought the leaves. Suddenly, I realised how deep the pain is, and how easily the coping cover is broken. One student asked, did they really say they wanted friendship with us? I don't believe they mean these kind words. (With all the misinformation that has gone out from Ossetia the Ingush do not feel they can believe these words of friendship). I said that I understood that it is difficult for them to believe, and I agreed that most Ossetians would not say these words, but that these students meant their words sincerely. When I shared what had happened in Ingushetia with the students in Vladikavkaz, they had a long discussion. In the end a 17-year-old boy said, "I don't know why my parents fought the Ingush, but I don't feel any hostility towards them." This was a brave statement and one which can give us hope for the future. It is, however, only one tiny, tiny step in a potentially explosive situation.

Towards the end of my stay, women's groups were being convened by a fine woman who had been to the women's conference in Beijing. These women were looking for facilitation skills and empowerment workshops. I was sorry that I had to leave before a workshop could be arranged. Such groups are needed to help the return of the displaced people to the Prigorodny District.

It is dangerous for the Ingush to return, although Russian President Boris Yeltsin has issued several decrees. The Ossetians living in the villages to which the Ingush are being returned do not want the Ingush to come back and throw stones at them and their buses. They burn houses that are being rebuilt, and, on the day before I left, an Ingush woman had been killed in a market. All the policing is done by Ossetians. The displaced people are caught in the middle. If they stay in their temporary accommodation in Ingushetia, they will starve when the food aid is no longer handed out. If they return, their lives are in danger.

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