Sergei Kiriyenko, one of the Kremlin’s top officials overseeing Russian domestic politics as well as newly occupied territories in Ukraine, has been handed a new addition to his portfolio: Georgia’s breakaway province of Abkhazia. The tiny Black Sea region recently saw its leader ousted amid mass protests against his willingness to increase Russian influence over the self-proclaimed state. Kiriyenko’s task now is to ensure that a figure more amenable to the Kremlin wins Abkhazia’s snap presidential election on February 15.
Arriving at the end of last month for his first visit in his new role, Kiriyenko—who was born in Abkhazia’s main city, Sukhumi—played the part of a prodigal son returning home. Cameras followed as he reminisced about his childhood in Abkhazia, sipped coffee at a popular beachfront café, and laid flowers at the graves of former local leaders. But behind the staged warmth was the very intervention many in Abkhazia had feared: direct Kremlin involvement in the upcoming election. Kiriyenko’s team swiftly threw its weight behind one of the candidates: acting president Badra Gunba.
Following Kiriyenko’s visit to Abkhazia, Gunba was promptly flown to Moscow for high-profile meetings with Russian ministers, where long-standing bureaucratic roadblocks affecting Abkhazia’s development suddenly evaporated. His return home was equally theatrical: he flew into the region’s long-defunct airport, slated to reopen this spring after thirty years of neglect. The message was clear: vote for Moscow’s candidate, and prosperity will follow.
Kiriyenko’s unsubtle intervention comes at a time of renewed political upheaval rooted in Abkhazia’s turbulent history. In the 1990s, war with Georgia left the region devastated and without proper governance, and the consequences continue to be felt today. In 2008, in the aftermath of its own short war with Georgia, Russia recognized Abkhazia’s independence, along with that of Georgia’s other breakaway region, South Ossetia, and began providing military, political, and financial support. Yet despite Moscow’s investments, Abkhazia remained unrecognized by most of the world and failed to develop a functional state, prompting recurring crises roughly every five years.
The latest unrest erupted in November 2024, when hundreds of protesters stormed the presidential administration, furious over a plan to grant Russian businesses preferential investment rights: a long-standing demand from Moscow that locals feared would allow Russian companies to dominate their economy. The protests forced the resignation of de facto president Aslan Bzhania, the third Abkhazian leader in a row to be ousted by street demonstrations.
The protesters’ victory was short-lived. Days later, Moscow retaliated, cutting off Abkhazia’s electricity, citing unpaid bills. For the region’s 200,000 residents, that meant just two hours of power a day. Food prices soared, schools and hospitals struggled to function, and the broader economy ground to a halt. Moscow had already frozen direct financial transfers months earlier, leaving local civil servants unpaid since September.
By December, desperation had set in. Pro-government figures released videos of children pleading for assistance. Just before the New Year, Moscow relented and restored electricity—but not before making an example of the opposition. Two key protest leaders had their Russian passports revoked, effectively trapping them in Abkhazia, since Abkhazian passports are not recognized by the rest of the world.
For opposition candidate Adgur Ardzinba, the lesson was clear: defying Moscow carries consequences. Still, he pressed ahead, traveling across the country’s crumbling roads to reach remote villages, where political campaigns are waged not through glossy advertisements but through grueling interrogations by local elders.
Gunba, by contrast, began as an unlikely frontrunner. His role as vice president under the disgraced Bzhania had tainted his credibility. Even Bzhania, after stepping down, briefly considered a comeback—before a series of Moscow meetings and the sudden appearance of compromising material convinced him otherwise. His silence has fueled speculation that if Gunba wins, Bzhania may remain the power behind the throne. But with Kiriyenko’s backing, Gunba’s fortunes have shifted.
Kiriyenko has signaled that Russia is done waiting. During his visit, he assured Abkhazians that Moscow was ready to ease some of their economic struggles, but issued a pointed reminder: the region’s chronic problems could be solved only under Russian oversight.
Moscow has played this game before. For years, it has sought to erode Abkhazia’s autonomy, pressing for legal reforms to allow Russians to own property in the region, demanding deeper integration, and, when those efforts failed, resorting to economic blackmail.
In the early 2010s, Vladislav Surkov, who was then tasked with overseeing Abkhaz affairs for the Kremlin, took a more direct approach. He sought to co-opt Abkhazia’s elites through bribery and coercion. Leaked emails later revealed that some were offered lucrative government posts, others hard cash. It bought influence, but not control. Protests flared, and yet another Moscow-backed president was forced out.
After Russia’s annexation of Crimea in 2014, Surkov tied Abkhazia into Moscow’s broader ideological agenda. Sukhumi played along, offering token gestures of loyalty. But behind closed doors, Abkhaz leaders resisted. When Moscow pressured them to recognize the Russia-backed breakaway regions in Ukraine, for example, they persistently refused until Russia’s full-scale invasion. Among local elites, there was quiet talk that the Donbas conflict undermined their own struggle for independence.
Since then, any pretense of partnership has vanished. Moscow now treats Abkhazia as just another Russian-controlled territory, with key decisions made by Kremlin officials rather than local leaders. The message is simple: obey or face the consequences.
By putting Kiriyenko in charge, Moscow appears to have lost patience. Rather than negotiating endlessly with Abkhazia’s restless elites, the Kremlin is trying to install a leader who will not just follow orders, but convince the population that resistance is futile.
History suggests that Moscow’s heavy-handed approach may backfire, with the 2004 election offering a cautionary tale. That year, shortly after Georgia’s Rose Revolution that deposed the country’s last Soviet-era leader, the Kremlin sought to install Raul Khajimba, a former KGB officer, as Abkhazia’s leader. But locals bristled at the overt interference. Even a personal endorsement from Vladimir Putin proved toxic: Khajimba lost, and the resulting standoff nearly led to violence in Sukhumi.
Two decades later, Abkhazia is more dependent on Moscow than ever. Its economy is collapsing, its leadership divided, and its people increasingly disillusioned. The region has cycled through leaders, but the fundamental question remains: is Abkhazia fighting for independence, or merely negotiating the terms of its subjugation?
