The Conflict Continues

Not only Soviet veterans like Ivauri, but many others who tried to voluntarily stop the opposition demonstrations were met with verbal abuse and physical attacks—some were even seriously injured. Feeling helpless, these groups turned their desperate eyes to Moscow. For the first time, they fervently hoped the Soviet government would intervene and deliver justice.

Meanwhile, in the South Ossetian and Abkhazian regions, the situation grew even more horrific. Georgians, incited by extreme nationalists, gathered in Abkhazia. They slandered the Abkhaz people, spreading vile rumors about their "beastiality" in Georgia. Fueled by these lies, enraged crowds gathered, shouting calls for brutal "revenge" against the Abkhaz. Thugs reappeared on the streets, beating and smashing everything in their path. Abkhaz homes were set ablaze. Women, clutching their children, stood in front of the burning houses, crying in heartbreak.

District police tried to hold back the angry youth, but the mob quickly swelled to several thousand. Outnumbered, the police were powerless to stop the violence. The riots spread into the suburbs—smashing, looting, and robbing the homes of South Ossetians and Abkhazians. Fear gripped every soul. Then the mobs escalated, hurling Molotov cocktails and torches through windows, setting homes aflame.

In response, Abkhaz authorities took emergency action. Hundreds of elderly, women, children, and disabled people were evacuated to the district party committee building, where a temporary shelter was set up in the meeting hall. But the frenzied mob was not satisfied with burning houses. They launched a direct assault on the party committee building, demanding the surrender of all Abkhaz inside.

Kadyrov, the first secretary of the district party committee and chairman of the district executive committee, realized the building could not be defended. To buy time and protect those inside, he bravely volunteered to serve as a hostage and negotiate with the Georgians outside.

Despite warnings from those around him, Kadyrov smiled calmly at the terrified crowd of elderly, women, and children. His steady voice sought to reassure them, "I am a member of the Communist Party. When danger comes, I must lead from the front to ensure your safety. Please believe me—the police and army will come to rescue you. Do not be afraid."

Among a group of leaders afraid to face death, it took immense courage to make such a choice. Fully aware of the dangers, Kadyrov looked back one last time at those he wished to protect. Then he raised his hands and stepped forward into the torch-lit Georgian mob, shouting in Georgian, "Don't be impulsive. I am the first secretary of the district committee. I am here to negotiate."

But his identity earned him no mercy. Someone shouted, "Burn this Georgian traitor to death!" The mob seized him, pressing him to the ground and beating him mercilessly.

"You can hit me, but don't make things worse for the elderly and children inside," Kadyrov pleaded weakly, clutching his head as they kicked him. His words were drowned out by the angry slogans.

The crowd threatened to tear him apart and burn all the Abkhazians inside alive. Kadyrov, battered and swollen, his eyes nearly shut and five teeth knocked out, tried to reason with them again, only to be beaten further.

The riots raged on. The non-Georgians on Georgian soil had seemingly plunged into the darkest hour before dawn.

An even more heinous crime followed. The thugs stopped a car fleeing the violence in Orazi Village—four Abkhaz inside, including a girl under sixteen. They brutally beat the four, then set the car on fire. They abused the girl for hours, then dragged the nearly dead victims into the wilderness, tied them up, doused them with gasoline, and burned them alive to erase any trace.

When Ryzhkov heard of the riots, he dropped everything and rushed to the refugee zone, despite the unrest. Since the Fergana incident in Uzbekistan, he had been the first to appear on the front lines whenever disaster struck. The Soviet people might faintly recall that during those riots three years prior, the Oriental Pravda had run two contrasting photos: Gorbachev smiling and waving to Germans from a balcony in Bonn, and Ryzhkov standing in front of a burned Meskheti house in Fergana, stunned by the devastation.

Amid the cries of women and children, Ryzhkov arrived at the refugee camp, where the Abkhaz committee awaited negotiations.

"Has the motherland abandoned us? Has it abandoned the Abkhaz people?" the female representative asked, her first words piercing Ryzhkov's heart.

He shook his head, struggling to say, "No."

"Then why did no one save us during the Tbilisi riots three years ago, when Georgians threatened to kill us? Why was no one there again when the riots flared once more?" Her calm tone cut like a blade.

Indeed, Gorbachev's deliberate inaction had let the Tbilisi incident spiral out of control three years ago. This time, conflicting views within the central leadership delayed any rescue. Ryzhkov longed to assure her that Moscow was doing all it could—but he could only choke out an apology.

The woman, who had lost her five-year-old child in the riots, replied with quiet resolve, "I don't want the motherland's excuses. I only ask that Moscow stand up and give fair judgment for the innocent dead. That is the debt the motherland owes us."

Returning from the refugee camp, Ryzhkov appealed fiercely to Moscow, "We must send troops to restore order. We cannot wait any longer." Every riot was a painful symptom of the Soviet Union's decline and eroding public support.

In Moscow, Yanayev slammed Ryzhkov's report and the gruesome photos on the table at the Central Emergency Meeting. Facing the silent crowd, he warned, "Every second we delay will lead to more tragedies, deaths, and massacres. Do you really want to continue sitting here in silent protest while innocent people die?"

The room remained quiet—no one dared to agree or disagree. After revealing his plan for dealing with the member states, Yanayev's order was the only sound: a chilling silence of heavy breathing filled the room. The plan was too extreme to openly support, and no one dared oppose it because Yanayev would not listen.

Ignoring the anguish on the ground, Yanayev commanded General Rogionov, commander-in-chief of the Caucasus Military District's special operations, "Immediately send troops into Georgia. The Georgian Ministry of Internal Affairs will assist you. From now on, you are the supreme commander of the Caucasus Military District until martial law is lifted."

Rogionov worried aloud, "If armed conflict breaks out, how will we handle it? The Ministry of Internal Affairs is more experienced in riot control, but if it escalates, I need your authorization."

Yanaev responded loudly, in front of everyone, "If civilians block your path, run them over with armored vehicles! They are not the people we protect—they are enemies of the Soviet Union! Traitors to communism!"

Behind closed doors, Yanaev and Rogionov had already drafted a lightning strike plan targeting Georgia's President Zvyad—aimed to swiftly end the unrest at its root.

"President Yanayev," Shenin protested nervously, "if we do this, we'll face moral condemnation, and the West will eagerly exploit our human rights failures."

"Let the West criticize us verbally," Yanayev snapped. "Since the Soviet Union was founded, they've attacked our human rights every day. Their newspapers twist our image. We will suppress these traitors ruthlessly. Why? NATO talks, but it sent planes and tanks to liberate us!"

Yanayev's fury was the same as when confronting the Baltic states' leaders—his eyes burning with hatred for the nationalist extremists threatening the union.

"For anyone who seeks to destroy our unbreakable union, there will be a communist trial!"

His fiery gaze promised to burn the enemies of the state to ashes.

"We will neither forgive nor forget!"