Circassia as the Western Key to the Caucasus
People have long spoken about the future of the North Caucasus in many different ways. Some envision its further evolution within Russia — under the current system or through deeper federalization of the country. Others argue for independent national states. Within diaspora and emigré circles, projects for Caucasian unions and confederations persist, and from time to time the experience of the Mountainous Republic is recalled. Religious and political movements put forward their own blueprints, extending to reorganizing the region on a supranational Islamic foundation.
Today, no one can say with certainty which of these scenarios will come closest to reality. We can evaluate these projects through probabilities and understand which resources will matter under each scenario. In particular, the likelihood of establishing a single theocratic state across the Caucasus appears the most minimal. Personally, we believe in the revival of Circassia. Yet, in our view, over the medium term, the preservation of the North Caucasus within Russia is substantially more probable.
By the medium term, we mean roughly the next five to ten years — the horizon on which it still makes sense to proceed from existing institutions, the balance of power, and observable trends. Yet history has demonstrated more than once that political structures can shift far more rapidly than even specialists anticipate.
It is therefore far wiser to debate not prophecies regarding the inevitable collapse of Russia, but a different question: If, at some juncture, the structure of the Russian state changes significantly — through federalization, the weakening of the center, the sovereignization of regions, or another systemic crisis — what will determine the viability of the North Caucasus? Which territories, peoples, communications, and ties to the outside world will prove to be system-defining? It is precisely here that the subject of Circassia emerges.
This article concludes our series on Circassian geography. In our first piece, we addressed Black Sea Circassia, Shapsugia, and the coastline. Then came Adygea and the Kuban, the western and lowland domain of the historical Circassian space. Finally, in the article on Kabarda, Kabardino-Balkaria, and Karachay-Cherkessia, we sought to reveal another dimension: Circassian geography does not terminate at the sea; it extends deep into the Central Caucasus.
It now makes sense to bring these pieces together. For us, this is not merely a geographical exercise. Behind these territories stand the history of our people, its losses, the surviving fragments of our homeland, the diaspora, and the possibility of a future. For us, as Circassians, it is crucial to view Circassia not solely through the prism of what was lost in the 19th century, but through what has survived and can still be forged into a political, intellectual, and economic resource.
There is a well-known, yet contentious formula: without Circassia, freedom for the North Caucasus is impossible. Taken literally, it is overly categorical. Chechnya could theoretically become an independent state without the restoration of historical Circassia. The same could be said of Dagestan or Ingushetia. But if the question is framed differently — can the North Caucasus, without a robust Circassian western space, achieve a stable system capable of autonomous maneuvering? — the answer is no longer so self-evident.
The Caucasus Must Be Seen as More Than a Collection of Republics
We are accustomed to looking at administrative maps. On them are Kabardino-Balkaria, Karachay-Cherkessia, Chechnya, Dagestan, North Ossetia, Ingushetia, Adygea, Krasnodar Krai, and Stavropol Krai. Such a map serves a bureaucrat well, but for a strategist it is insufficient. Administrative boundaries are vastly younger than geography itself and shift far more quickly.
A physical map reveals a fundamentally different system. The Greater Caucasus stretches for approximately 1,100 kilometers from the Taman Peninsula and Anapa to Absheron. On one side lies the Black Sea; on the other, the Caspian. To the north spread the Kuban and Terek-Kuma plains; to the south lies Transcaucasia. The Caucasus Mountain Range simultaneously divides these spaces and connects them through a limited number of mountain passes and communication corridors.
In our view, it is precisely here that the key to understanding Circassian geography is found. Historical Circassia sits at one of the paramount crossroads of the Caucasus — between the Black Sea coast, the Kuban plain, the foothills, and the Central Caucasus. Through its western reaches, the Caucasus touches the sea; through the plains, it connects to the Kuban and the steppe expanses; through Kabarda and adjacent territories, it joins the internal depths of the Central Caucasus.
Therefore, the concept of a “western gateway” captures only part of the reality. The Circassian space represents the convergence of several strategic axes, each bearing distinct economic, political, and strategic weight. Taken together, they explain why the Circassian question can never be reduced solely to the coastline, nor to the contemporary administrative boundaries of three republics.
The Issue Is Not the Sea, but Freedom of Choice
The simplest argument runs as follows: the North Caucasus needs an outlet to the Black Sea. This is true, but incomplete.
Access to the sea does not, in and of itself, guarantee independence, prosperity, or security. Nor is the Black Sea an entirely open space: transit from it to the Mediterranean passes through the Bosphorus, the Sea of Marmara, and the Dardanelles. Dagestan possesses the Caspian, through which it can interact with Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, and Iran. Routes also exist through the South Caucasus.
The primary advantage of the western axis lies elsewhere: it creates room for strategic choice.
The fewer supply lines, foreign trade channels, and connections to the outside world a state possesses, the easier it is to exert pressure upon it. A small country almost completely dependent upon a single neighbor must inevitably defer to that neighbor’s will. Can one speak seriously of genuine strategic autonomy if trade, transport, and external communications rely upon a single corridor?
The Western Caucasus endows the North Caucasus with an additional major axis — not as a replacement for the Caspian, Russian, or South Caucasian routes, but alongside them. For our nation, this is particularly vital because the path from the Black Sea to the Mediterranean passes through Turkey, home to the largest segment of the overseas Circassian diaspora. Here, two assets converge — the geographical and the human. In any long-term framework of relations between the Western Caucasus and Turkey, the Circassian factor can hardly be ignored: the historical, familial, cultural, and civic bonds spanning both shores are simply too profound.
This does not mean, of course, that Circassians can dictate policy to Ankara. But the presence of the largest diaspora in the very country through which the Black Sea corridor extends objectively broadens the possibilities of the Circassian world.
The same logic applies to economics. When looking at historical Circassian territory through the lens of modern economic geography, a clear corridor emerges: Black Sea coast — Kuban — foothills — Central Caucasus — interior regions of the North Caucasus. Given proper infrastructure, this constitutes a potent transit belt.
Geography alone does not produce an economy. A port without roads, rail networks, capital, and security offers little. But a region’s location determines the scope of the possible. For the interior territories of the North Caucasus, the western axis offers supplementary access to Black Sea trade, Turkey, and beyond into the Mediterranean; for the Circassian space itself, it offers the prospect of standing not on the periphery, but at the nexus of major flows.
The 19th Century: Why the Coast So Troubled the Empire
The significance of this position was well understood as early as the 19th century.
Following the Treaty of Adrianople in 1829, Russia maintained that the accord had formalized its sovereignty over a substantial portion of the eastern Black Sea coast. Yet Circassian societies were not party to that agreement, and diplomatic claims were far removed from practical control. Much of the Western Caucasus continued its resistance, while the sea remained an active channel for external contacts.
Hence the international dimension of the Circassian question. As early as the 1830s, Seferbey Zaneqo sought to integrate resistance inside Circassia with foreign policy — primarily with the Ottoman Empire and Britain. The British diplomat David Urquhart recognized in Circassia an integral front in the broader contest against Russia’s advance toward the Black Sea and the Middle East. James Stanislaus Bell, John Longworth, and other travelers and political figures ventured to the region.
Urquhart undeniably romanticized the Circassians and overestimated British capabilities. Yet his actions demonstrate how swiftly geography could elevate a regional conflict into an international affair.
This is demonstrated with particular clarity by the episode of the schooner Vixen. In 1836, Russian naval forces seized the British vessel off the Circassian coast. By 1837, the incident was fiercely debated in the House of Commons: British parliamentarians argued over the legality of the Russian blockade, the sovereign status of Circassia, and trade rights along the coast.
Britain had no intention of liberating Circassia. What mattered was another reality: the presence of the coastline prevented the war from being hermetically sealed off from the world. Foreign vessels could call at Circassian shores, events reverberated in European newspapers and parliaments, and Russia was compelled to reckon with the international dimension of the conflict. Here, perhaps, is where it becomes clearest why the sea held not merely commercial, but profound political significance for Circassia.
For us, this history is also essential because it restores a sense of historical scale: 19th-century Circassia was not an obscure margin caught in an isolated skirmish. Its destiny was debated by diplomats, military leaders, journalists, and parliamentarians of the era’s greatest global powers.
What Russian Strategists Understood
It is even more compelling to examine the dilemma through the eyes of the opposing camp.
The Russian general and military writer Rostislav Fadeyev regarded the Caucasus as one of the cornerstones of the empire’s southern strategy. His assessment was starkly candid: a state resting simultaneously upon the Black and Caspian Seas cannot remain indifferent to the Caucasian isthmus, which, in his words, “commands these seas.” From control over the Caucasus, Fadeyev derived the security of Russia’s southern borders and the expansion of Russian power across Asia.
We cite this imperial view not as an enduring truth, but as testament to the weight that the victorious power placed upon this terrain.
Following the capture of Shamil in 1859, the Russian imperial army was able to concentrate immense force upon the Western Caucasus (Circassia). By the 1860s, the imperative had shifted to permanently reshaping the politico-military landscape of the entire region. General Nikolai Yevdokimov became a central figure in this culminating phase. In his memorandum of September 5, 1862, he characterized the eviction of Circassian communities from the mountains to the plains and to the Ottoman Empire as a matter of “paramount state urgency,” directly tying it to the conclusion of the war, the subjugation, and the colonization of the Western Caucasus (Circassia).
In our view, the conclusion here is unmistakable: the Russian Empire was not merely seeking to crush several highland societies, but to fundamentally reconstruct the territory so that the western flank of the Caucasus could never again operate as an autonomous domain connected to the outside world.
The political conditions of the 19th century cannot be mechanically transposed onto the 21st. But geography alters far more slowly than political regimes.
Military Resilience: The Problem Is Not Just Invasion
The military resilience of a small state or alliance is not measured solely by battalions and arsenals. Space, communications, and the ability to prevent an adversary from cutting off individual sectors are equally decisive.
Mountains provide formidable defensive terrain, but they simultaneously restrict maneuver. A few severed corridors can transform a natural fortress into an inescapable trap. Hence, within any prospective North Caucasian architecture, the Circassian space would provide crucial strategic depth: linking highlands to plains, interior districts to the seacoast, and the Central Caucasus to the Western Caucasus. For a small political entity, mortal danger stems not solely from outright occupation. Cutting off supply channels, trade routes, and primary communications is often sufficient.
Modern warfare operates very differently from the Russo-Caucasian War of the 18th and 19th centuries. Yet the underlying principle endures: the fewer independent channels of communication and room for maneuver a system possesses, the easier it becomes to dictate terms to it from outside.
Not a Hierarchy of Peoples, but Mutual Indispensability
Previously, we attempted to articulate a neat formula: Chechnya as political resolve and martial experience; Dagestan as the Caspian and the eastern gateway; Circassia as the Black Sea and the western gateway. Today, that framework strikes us as far too simplistic.
Peoples are not machine components engineered for a single function. Chechnya is far more than warfare. Dagestan is far more than the Caspian, and Circassia cannot be reduced merely to its coastline. What matters most is this: these distinct elements cannot substitute for one another.
Dagestan’s access to the Caspian cannot replicate the Black Sea corridor. The Western Caucasus cannot replace Dagestan with its Caspian and Azerbaijani connections. The Chechen space possesses its own distinctive political, human, and historical capital. The same holds true for Ossetia, Ingushetia, the Karachays and Balkars, Georgia, Azerbaijan, and Abkhazia.
In the previous installments of this series, the Center for Strategic Studies of the civic organization “Khabze” systematically examined the Black Sea Coast, Adygea and the Kuban, and subsequently Kabarda and the Central Caucasus as facets of a single, broader geographical matrix. This article synthesizes those observations into a unified whole.
For our people, there is also a vital positive dimension to recognize. Despite the catastrophe of the 18th and 19th centuries, despite administrative fragmentation and the immense scale of the diaspora, the Circassian factor has not vanished. The nation endures, as do areas of compact settlement, republics, our language, our historical memory, and our connections with the wider world. This is far from all that once existed, yet it is far from negligible.
In statecraft, one does not need to be the strongest to hold systemic importance. Small nations can rarely impose their will upon others, but they can occupy positions where no enduring regional system can function effectively if constructed against their fundamental interests.
Thus, for us as Circassians, the goal should not be to proclaim ourselves hegemon of the Caucasus, but to achieve an internal coherence, institutional maturity, and quality of relations with neighbors that makes one thing abundantly clear: initiatives that take legitimate Circassian interests into account will always prove more resilient than projects designed in opposition to them.
The Diaspora: A Defeat That Reshaped the Geography of a Nation
One cannot analyze the strategic posture of Circassians by looking at the Caucasus alone. The mass expulsion and exile of the 19th century shattered the ancestral territorial integrity of our people. Substantial Circassian communities took root across the Ottoman Empire, and subsequently throughout modern Turkey, Jordan, Syria, and other states.
Here arises a bitter historical paradox: defeat stripped the Circassians of most of their ancestral territorial unity, yet it simultaneously transformed the nation into a transnational community.
Today, the Circassian world exists across two simultaneous dimensions: the Caucasus — the land, the language, the populations of the republics, and the historical homeland — and an external network of people, families, and civic bodies distributed across several sovereign states. Consequently, declaring that “the diaspora is our resource” explains little on its own. The real resource lies not simply in raw numbers, but in the nature of the societies into which these communities are integrated.
Turkey is of paramount importance. Over a century and a half, Circassian communities have woven themselves into Turkish society, the military, the civil bureaucracy, commerce, academia, and culture. Different generations of the diaspora have held varying attitudes toward the homeland, assimilation, and repatriation; yet the sheer presence of so massive a community creates an organic human bridge between the Caucasus and the leading Black Sea power.
At the same time, ethnic origin does not automatically produce a “Circassian lobby.” A general of Circassian descent serves his state first; a politician operates within the discipline of his party; a businessperson pursues commercial interests. We perhaps measure the diaspora’s strength by headcount far too often, whereas in practice, the quality of its leverage and relationships matters vastly more.
The real potential resides in access — access to languages, universities, media, parliamentary politics, commerce, state institutions, expert circles, and international bodies. With sophisticated coordination, this can translate into investments, academic research, international advocacy, educational initiatives, and political engagement. Our people already possess an international human infrastructure. It does not need to be invented from scratch.
Yet the diaspora must bolster the agency of the homeland, not supplant it. The people in Nalchik, Maykop, Cherkessk, and the Circassian villages of Krasnodar Krai will bear the direct consequences of any decisions concerning the future of the Caucasus. Hence, external communities are best understood as amplifiers of the historical homeland’s capabilities.
Caucasian Integration: The Question of Legitimacy First
In discussions regarding the future of the Caucasus, there is a recurring impulse to immediately sketch supranational structures: a new Mountainous Republic, a Caucasian Confederation, a unified state, or a politico-religious union.
We approach such concepts with measured caution. Not because integration is unneeded — on the contrary, without close cooperation, no small North Caucasian territory can attain lasting stability. Rather, a more fundamental question arises: Who precisely, and on what legitimate authority, earns the right to decide for dozens of distinct peoples what their shared future ought to be?
If a new Mountainous Republic is proclaimed by a cohort of emigré intellectuals, why should Circassians, Chechens, Ossetians, or Dagestanis feel bound to accept it as their own? If an armed movement declares the entire Caucasus a single Islamic state, why should military victory entitle it to dictate the destiny of every nation? Even the most meticulously drafted confederal constitution crafted by scholars does not inherently command civic legitimacy.
For us, as Circassians, an all-Caucasian framework can never serve as a substitute for our own political agency. To us, the sequence must proceed in reverse: first, a people must be afforded the liberty to determine its own political status and form legitimate representative institutions. Thereafter, such self-determined entities may negotiate what authorities they are prepared to exercise collectively — defense, common markets, freedom of movement, infrastructure, and foreign policy alignment.
The historical Mountainous Republic of 1918–1920 merits serious study as a pioneering attempt at North Caucasian unification. Yet it does not constitute an off-the-shelf constitution for the 21st century. Integration is most durable when entered into by actors fully capable of saying both “yes” and “no.”
Horizontal Agreements Are More Vital Than a Common Adversary
Historically, the Russian state system derived immense advantage in the Caucasus from the region’s fragmentation.
One should not attribute every administrative border to an elaborate conspiracy by Moscow. Borders shifted under the influence of manifold historical forces, and friction between Caucasian peoples was by no means always engineered from abroad. Yet the political effect is undeniable: the Circassian population is partitioned among multiple federal subjects; Karachay-Circassian and Kabardino-Balkarian relations bear their own distinct historical legacies; a painful territorial dispute persists between Ingush and Ossetians; the republics possess differing elites, budgets, and economic interests.
Within such a matrix, Moscow functions not merely as an authority from above, but as an indispensable arbiter. And an arbiter is most needed precisely when local players do not trust one another.
This is why we regard with skepticism the belief that a common adversary is all that the Caucasus needs to achieve automatic unity. Here lies one of the most uncomfortable yet unavoidable realities of the future Caucasus: If the external power that has acted as final judge for centuries were to recede, the underlying questions would remain — minority protections, mixed territories, land tenure, borders, refugees, water rights, transit corridors, and energy networks.
Preparing for the future, therefore, consists not in cultivating animosity toward Russia, but in establishing horizontal rules of engagement among the peoples of the Caucasus themselves. For our nation, this is critical. A Circassian project feared by all its neighbors is strategically fragile. A project in which neighbors discern mutual advantage is an entirely different proposition.
Where the Limit of Historical Rights Lies
Historical Circassia of the 19th century and the Northwestern Caucasus of the 21st century do not represent the same social reality.
Across ancestral Circassian lands today stand major cities, transport grids, industrial enterprises, and private property. Millions of people of diverse ethnicities have lived there for generations, and for the vast majority, this land is their only home. Therefore, historical maps can serve as evidence of collective memory, but never as an off-the-shelf administrative blueprint. If contemporary Circassian political thought seeks to advance from the sphere of nationalist rhetoric into the realm of realpolitik, we must answer not only “what was done to us?”, but an equally critical question: What order do we offer to the people who inhabit these lands today?
It is vital for our nation to grasp that the right to memory, language, repatriation, political representation, and the determination of our future does not demand the negation of the rights of others. The capacity to offer reliable guarantees to others is one of the hallmarks of political maturity.
What Truly Needs to Be Built
Perhaps it is time to set aside grand cartography and sweeping manifestos, and ask ourselves about far more practical matters.
We view the reality as follows: what Circassians need least of all today is another grandiose state blueprint on a map. Not because national statehood is forever precluded, but because the map is merely the final story of the building.
The first priority is thorough knowledge of our own resources: demographics, economic capacity, land tenure, infrastructure, migration dynamics, professional talent, civil society organizations, the vitality of our language, the structure of the diaspora, and inter-republic institutional linkages. Political agency begins with the capacity to understand oneself without mythmaking.
The second is connectivity. Numerous personal contacts exist among Kabardino-Balkaria, Karachay-Cherkessia, Adygea, the Shapsug population of Krasnodar Krai, and the diaspora, but these do not yet constitute a unified institutional ecosystem. We require professional and academic networks, joint research endeavors, media platforms, economic ventures, and exchanges of expertise.
The third is relations with our neighbors. Not perfunctory declarations of “Caucasian brotherhood,” but serious deliberation over the hard issues where alliances typically fracture: territorial boundaries, minority rights, security guarantees, property ownership, linguistic freedoms, and transit access.
This brings us to the core issue: Why should other peoples of the Caucasus have any interest in a strong Circassian entity?
Appeals to antiquity are insufficient. A Chechen, Dagestani, Ossetian, or Ingush must perceive what he stands to gain: an additional foreign outlet, a more secure western flank, enhanced transit possibilities, access to a global Circassian network, and a reliable partner dedicated to common rules and determined that no single external hegemon shall dictate the fate of the Caucasus.
In our view, framing the matter in this way is far more fruitful than repeating the customary demand that our historical significance simply be acknowledged. Our agency then ceases to be merely an internal ethnic aspiration and becomes an organic component of our neighbors’ interests.
The mature strategy of a small nation consists not in proclaiming its indispensability to everyone, but in engineering a system of mutual benefit such that one’s weakening becomes disadvantageous to all around. That is the art of politics.
Here, a more personal reflection is warranted. We, as Circassians, need not begin every conversation about ourselves from a stance of defeat. Yes, the modern geography of our people is largely the outcome of the 19th-century catastrophe. Our nation is divided, a substantial portion lives outside the homeland, and our language and demographic trends evoke deep concern. Yet Kabarda and Adygea remain; the Circassian presence in Karachay-Cherkessia and along the Black Sea coast endures; a vast diaspora thrives; historical memory persists; and the very name of Circassia lives on.
This is more than enough reason to look forward with hope, not merely with trepidation. One cannot dwell perpetually in trauma.
The Western Key
We may now return to the formula with which we began.
Is an independent Chechnya conceivable without Circassia? Yes. Is an autonomous Dagestan conceivable? Theoretically, yes. But the core inquiry of this article is not whether every individual nation possesses the capacity to raise its own flag.
The question concerns the structural viability of the entire system.
A weak Circassian factor implies a less cohesive Western Caucasus, fewer external options, and greater incentives for an outside power to once again step in as an indispensable arbiter. A strong Circassian factor does not resolve every dilemma, but it fundamentally shifts the balance of possibilities.
It is precisely for this reason that we view Circassia as one of the western keys to the Caucasus.
Not the sole key, nor the singular axis around which all others must revolve. As you will recall, we began this journey on the Black Sea coast, traversed Adygea and the Kuban, and advanced into Kabarda and the Central Caucasus. Looking now across this expanse in its entirety, a reality becomes apparent that was less visible in each separate article: Circassian geography unites the sea, the plains, the foothills, the Central Caucasian heartland, and an immense global diaspora.
This is an inherently powerful strategic posture. Yet historical territory does not generate influence automatically; a vast diaspora does not become an effective lobby by itself; favorable geography is sterile without economic vigor; and memory is no substitute for living institutions.
This is why we are increasingly uncomfortable with the question: “Why must the Caucasus reckon with Circassians?”
The question is better posed as follows: What must we, as Circassians, accomplish so that no serious architecture of the Caucasus can ever be constructed without our participation?
The answer does not lie in striving to overpower our neighbors. We must become sufficiently organized, constructive, trustworthy, and globally connected that a strong Circassia serves the vital interests of other nations as well as our own.
When that is achieved, our seat at the table will not need to be begged for. It will be the natural consequence of the architecture itself.
Perhaps this is precisely how we should view our position today: without self-delusion, yet free from the habit of viewing our own history solely as a record of defeat.
History bequeathed to Circassians a burdensome legacy, but alongside it — a pivotal geographic location, a living nation, an expansive diaspora, and the opportunity to weave the fractured fragments of our homeland back into an enduring network of connections.
We believe in the revival of Circassia not because history owes us what was lost — history owes nothing to anyone. We believe in it because our people still possess an ancestral land, talented and industrious individuals, national memory, and the relationships and resources from which that future can be built.
Adyghe lhepqyr pseusch!
Center for Strategic Studies of the Circassian Socio-Political Organization “Khabze”