April 9th Massacre, 1989

The Massacre, April 9th, 1989

Jim arrived and being the smart guy he is, he reminded me that this is the anniversary of the Tbilisi massacre that sixteen years ago propelled Georgia into a new era of independence. In looking up the details in Peter Nasmyth’s excellent book on the Caucasus, ‘In the Mountains of Poetry,’ I teared up reading the story again. Instead of writing my own version, I’m going to copy what he wrote in honor of those who died this day fourteen years ago.

“...A gradual escalation of marches, strikes and various non-cooperations with the Soviet system, all climaxed on April 9th when sixteen women and four men on hunger strike on Government Building steps were butchered by an angry Soviet Army militia.

The strike had focused on the recent Abkhazian call to secede from Georgia -- the Abkhazians are one of the many nationalities living within Georgia’s boundaries, in their case within a small Autonomous Republic on the Black Sea coast. While the Georgians called to secede from the Soviet Union, the Abkhazians demaded to secede from Georgia. Georgians believed the Abkhazians had been put up to it by Moscow. When the Soviet Army’s ‘Special Forces,’ arrived on the Tbilisi streets to restrain the protest, it became another cause for protest.

As reported by his tour guide, “On the 8th of April, the Soviet Special Forces troops were sent into our city, and we had the horror of seeing Soviet tanks and soldiers on our streets like an occupying army.”

“Our people demonstrated, threw themselves in front of the tanks until eventually they withdrew. There followed a strange calm; they city came to a standstill and many people celebrated the disappearance of the Army on Rustaveli Avenue, yet at the same time we all sensed something awful was being planned.”

She paused; we could all sense a rising emotion. “Then our General Secretary came on TV telling us we were on the edge of a great catastrophe. We all thought he was just saying this to frighten us. But suddenly the tanks appeared again, this time heading up Rustaveli Avenue toward the Government Building. Nobody attacked them or resisted. Everyone just said ‘let them go,’ and stepped out of the way and began to sing songs. But the Special Forces troops were right behind, this time carrying shields and batons. They advanced in through the crowd and surrounded the hunger strikers on the Government Building steps with a cordon. Then all of a sudden they threw gas in the air, and began attacking the protestors -- most of whom were young women -- and beating them with spades.”

“The troops took out aerosols, sprayed them in their faces, broke ampoules full of poison under their noses. Many died right there and then in violent spasms, but without showing any visible wounds. When they tried to run away they found they were trapped inside the cordon and the soldiers chased them.”

“Meanwhile the men protestors and the Georgian police tried to prevent this and break the cordon; but without weapons -- the police had been disarmed two days before. They were attacked too, and many of our Georgian police ended up in hospital. These soldiers behaved like savages, almost as if they were mad. One 17-year-old girl was chased half a kilometre and killed with a spade outside the Iveria Hotel.”

As the feeling rose, her hands cupped the air before her, as if holding out the weight of the atrocity for us to see. “Afterwards our government came on the TV and said it was very sorry for what had happened, that sixteen people had unfortunately died accidentally within the crush of the rioting, that they weren’t killed and it was an unfortunate accident. But can you believe it!” she looked at us beseechingly. “It was so absurd, half of the city was there that night and saw it all with their own eyes. Nobody believed them.”

“After this, the commander of the Caucasian Army appeared on TV to announce martial law. For several days our streets were full of soldiers stopping everyone, at times threatening to kill us -- and everybody believed they would kill.”

“But when we all felt most helpless, about twenty cars with our boys and girls leaning out of their windows, began driving at great speed through the streets of Tbilisi their horns blaring, our old Georgian flags hanging out the windows. When they found the soldiers they drove up and down in front of them as a challenge. They said: ‘You are cruel but we’re not afraid of you. You can kill us but that’s all, you cannot break us!’ You know when I saw this I suddenly felt a feeling of joy. I suddenly sensed the spirit of our nation, a spirit that would stand up to even them.”

Looking around the small audience of rapt faces, I realized we’d all just taken several solid steps into that precious feeling Georgians hold for their country. The moment she stopped talking a chorus of questions rose up from the audience. She then explained that shortly afterwards Eduard Shevernadze, then Mr. Gorbachev’s righthand man, had arrived in Tbilisi to take control of the army. That the turbulence gradually subsided.

Someone asked her what had been the most memorable moment for her during the whole event. She thought for a moment. “I don’t relly know but I remember how at the darkest time when there seemed to be nobody willing to support us, when everyone seemed to have given up, a group of Georgian soldiers who had fought in the Soviet army in Afghanistan suddenly came to the TV station and said on air that next time they would put themselves between the protestors and the Special Forces. They said they would be prepared to die first. They gave out a telephone number that people could ring if there was trouble. And you know they really defended us.”

“They drove about the city at any time during the day or night and without weapons they fought these Special Forces, pushing them away from people. You know when I saw this happening, all these young people standing up and prepared to die, for the first time in the whole even I cried.”

Excerpted from ‘In the Mountains of Poetry,’ by Peter Nasmyth