Author: Nia Kuchava
Georgian cultural history contains countless stories—some told openly, others whispered; some recorded, others left incomplete. Many of these stories find their legitimacy in words, sentences, and written records. But what happens to those stories that remain hidden, denied the honor of remembrance? Despite their intrinsic value and the suffering of those involved, these narratives often fade into obscurity, buried in the repressed corners of collective memory. It is our duty to seek out such stories, hidden in the boxes and drawers of our shared unconscious, to confront them and experience the necessary stages of grief—mourning, sadness, anger, and, ultimately, liberation. This article examines the necessity of revisiting these historical experiences, of telling and retelling them, and ensuring they are neither forgotten nor erased.
In 1856-1857, Georgian peasants rose up against oppression in what became a significant yet often overlooked chapter of resistance. The uprising began in Samegrelo and soon spread to Imereti, Guria, Abkhazia, and other regions. The peasants had clear and specific demands: freedom from serfdom, abolition of the nobility’s rank-based privileges, fair wages, land ownership, and protection of fundamental human rights, including the inviolability of property. The movement in Samegrelo gained significant momentum under the leadership of Uta Mikava, a blacksmith elected as the leader of the rebellion. Mikava was affectionately called the “Peasants’ Caesar.” Under his leadership, the peasants took control of several villages and even laid siege to Zugdidi.
Mikava’s powerful words inspired the rebels: “Brothers and friends, our decision is firm. We will selflessly strive to destroy the fallen fortress of serfdom. Brothers, death is better than slavery.”
Faced with such a determined movement, the Georgian nobility appealed to the Russian Empire’s Caucasian administration for help. The Russian general assigned to negotiate with the rebels reported that their demands reflected the influence of progressive Western ideas, which he believed threatened the socio-political order of the empire. Ultimately, the rebellion was crushed under the leadership of the Governor-General of Kutaisi, Gagarin. Those peasants who survived the brutal suppression were exiled to Siberia, and condemned to endure harsh and inhumane conditions.
Yet, the spirit of rebellion did not die. Inspired by the events in Samegrelo, protests erupted in Imereti, beginning in the village of Dimi. The unrest continued to grow, and armed peasants presented a persistent challenge to the district administration. Governor-General Ivanov attempted to quell the uprising through negotiations, promising that the peasants’ demands would be met if they ended their protests. Trusting his words, the rebels disbanded, but their hopes were soon dashed. Like their Megrelian counterparts, the leaders of the Imereti uprising were arrested, shackled, and exiled to Siberia.
This wave of peasant unrest, which spread across Georgia for decades, was not merely an expression of economic or political discontent. It was the logical outcome of centuries of injustice, a reaction to the dehumanizing conditions of serfdom. The Georgian peasants’ demand for dignity, freedom, and basic human rights reflected a deep yearning for justice and recognition of their humanity.
The story of these uprisings is not just another page in the chronicles of 19th-century imperial oppression. It is a vivid testament to the resilience, awakening, and rebirth of a people striving to affirm their humanity. Being born into slavery often meant a nameless life and an unremembered death. Yet, the courage of those who resisted—despite being labeled untouchable, excluded, and voiceless—has left an indelible mark on history. Their struggle was not merely about meeting specific demands but about reclaiming dignity and the right to be heard in a society that sought to silence them.
These stories are not told often enough. They are not celebrated or quoted daily, nor are they fully understood. Knowing about these uprisings from history books is not the same as grasping the scale of the tragedy and the depth of the sacrifices made. The real tragedy lies not in the failure to achieve specific demands but in the persistent silencing and destruction of those who dared to fight for their humanity.
Understanding this history—this collective experience of resistance and resilience—is essential. It provides a foundation for understanding who we are, where we come from, and where we want to go. This heritage, though painful, must be embraced as we journey toward a more just and equitable present.