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The Forgotten Exile: Tracing the Shadows of the Circassian Genocide
In the serrated Caucasus Mountains, a story lies buried beneath centuries of snow and stone, its echoes faint but insistent. The Circassian genocide of the 19th century, a cataclysm of dispossession and slaughter, remains one of history’s great unspoken tragedies.
A people whose culture once flourished in these rugged highlands were uprooted, cast into the turbulent seas of empire, and scattered across the Ottoman world. For the Circassians, this was not merely a displacement; it was an obliteration.
The Circassians, indigenous to the northwest Caucasus, were a mosaic of tribes unified by language, customs, and a martial ethos celebrated in their oral traditions. By the mid-19th century, they found themselves ensnared in the long, brutal process of Russian imperial expansion.
For over a century, Russia had sought control of the Caucasus as part of its southward push toward warm-water ports and regional dominance. The Circassians, known for their fierce resistance, became the final obstacle to this ambition.
By the 1830s, the Russian Empire had begun a systematic campaign to subjugate the Caucasus. The Circassians, who fought with tenacity in their mountain strongholds, were outnumbered, outgunned, and ultimately, out-strategized.
The Russian army, under generals such as Alexei Yermolov and Mikhail Vorontsov, deployed scorched-earth tactics designed to extinguish resistance. Villages were razed, crops burned, and entire populations forcibly relocated. For the Circassians, survival meant surrender or exile.
The climax of this long war came in 1864, a date etched into Circassian memory. On May 21 of that year, Russian forces staged a grim pageantry of conquest, parading their victory at Kbaada (modern-day Krasnaya Polyana).
The cost of that triumph was staggering: hundreds of thousands of Circassians were dead, and those who remained faced a grim ultimatum—emigrate to the Ottoman Empire or face annihilation.
The exodus began with harrowing urgency. Fleeing Circassians made their way to the Black Sea, where Ottoman ships waited to ferry them to new lives in foreign lands. The journey was one of unimaginable suffering.
Crammed into overcrowded ships, weakened by hunger and disease, many perished before they reached their destinations. Those who survived the voyage arrived in Ottoman ports destitute, displaced, and disoriented.
The Ottoman authorities, for their part, were ill-equipped to manage the influx. While the Circassians were welcomed as potential assets in the empire’s ongoing struggle against Russia, their sheer numbers overwhelmed the available resources.
Refugees were resettled in distant provinces—Anatolia, Syria, Jordan, and the Balkans—where they were often met with suspicion or hostility by local populations. Many struggled to adapt to the unfamiliar climates and landscapes, while others succumbed to illness or despair.
The Circassian diaspora became a mosaic of scattered communities, each carrying the weight of their exile. In Turkey, they established villages where their language and traditions could endure, though over generations, assimilation into Turkish culture eroded some of these connections.
In the Levant, Circassians became guardians of Ottoman frontiers, serving as soldiers and settlers in strategic regions. In Jordan, their descendants would play a key role in the formation of the Hashemite Kingdom.
But what of those left behind in the Caucasus? For the Circassians who remained, life under Russian rule was one of subjugation and erasure. Their lands were colonized by Russian settlers and Cossacks, their villages renamed, and their cultural heritage suppressed. Even the memory of their displacement was obscured, relegated to the margins of history.
The Circassian genocide, as it is now increasingly recognized, was more than a moment of violent conquest; it was an act of cultural annihilation. In the 20th century, Soviet historians downplayed or outright ignored the events of 1864, framing the Russian conquest of the Caucasus as a tale of progress and modernization.
It was only with the collapse of the Soviet Union that Circassians began to reclaim their history, calling for recognition of their suffering and the right to return to their ancestral lands.
Today, Circassians are a global people, their population estimated at around five million, with the largest communities in Turkey, Jordan, and Syria. In recent decades, efforts to preserve and revitalize Circassian culture have gained momentum.
Language classes, traditional dance troupes, and community festivals serve as acts of defiance against the forces of assimilation and forgetting. But these efforts are not without challenges. In the Caucasus itself, the Circassian population remains a minority, struggling to assert its identity in a region still marked by the scars of imperial conquest.
International recognition of the Circassian genocide remains a contentious issue. While Georgia recognized the genocide in 2011, Russia has steadfastly refused to acknowledge it, framing its actions in the Caucasus as a necessary measure of state-building. For Circassians, this denial is an enduring wound, compounding the loss of their homeland with the erasure of their historical truth.
In the mountains where the Circassians once thrived, the landscape holds the whispers of their history. Ancient stone towers and burial mounds stand as silent witnesses to a civilization that refused to yield.
Yet, for all the resilience of these physical remnants, it is in the memories and stories of the Circassian people that the essence of their culture endures.
The Circassian genocide is a story of loss, but also of survival. It is a testament to the resilience of a people who, despite the efforts to erase them, have endured. Their music, their dance, and their adages—etched in the fabric of their diaspora—are acts of resistance, refusing to let the world forget what was taken.
Chechens, Ossetians were ethnically cleansed from their homeland by Tsarist Russian Autocracy. / Source: https://mojust.org/
As the world grapples with its dark histories, the Circassian genocide remains a stark reminder of the human cost of empire. In acknowledging this tragedy, we are not merely righting a historical wrong; we are recognizing the indomitable spirit of a people who, against all odds, continue to assert their existence.
In the words of a Circassian proverb: “A tree without roots cannot stand.” The Circassians, scattered as they are, remain rooted in their history, their identity, and their unyielding will to endure.
By Branko Miletic
