Doing Empirical Research in Abkhazia and Transnistria Between 2020 and 2024: Challenges and Creativity
In 2014, while working as a trainee at the European Union (EU) Delegation to Moldova, I first heard about Transnistria. My colleagues described it as a de facto state – legally part of Moldova under international law, but outside the control of Moldovan authorities. At the time, Moldova was preparing to sign an Association Agreement with the EU, and I was tasked with monitoring Transnistrian media and authorities’ statements about the agreement. My role involved identifying myths and drafting EU counterarguments in a myths buster report. Intrigued by what it meant to live in a state labelled as de facto, I decided to visit Transnistria.
Six years later, when discussing potential PhD topics with my future supervisor, Prof. Ine Lietaert, we considered Ukraine as a possible research focus. When I mentioned Crimea and the daily realities of living in a territory framed as a de facto subject of the Russian Federation, I recalled my visit to Transnistria. This sparked Ine’s interest as a migration scholar, particularly in the ways contested borders shape (im)mobility and social services. In the spring of 2020, amid the first wave of the COVID-19 pandemic in Europe, we drafted a PhD proposal examining how de factoborders function and how they affect access to social services in Abkhazia and Transnistria.
In what follows, I reflect on the challenges of conducting qualitative data collection in both Transnistria and Abkhazia during the COVID-19 pandemic and Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine after February 24, 2022. I first discuss the difficulties of conducting fully online data collection, as experienced by many researchers during the pandemic. I then share insights from field research in Transnistria and explore how Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine further shaped the research trajectory. Finally, I conclude by outlining some of my attempts to gain access to Abkhazia and how I mitigated the lack of physical access.
Starting an online data collection
In February 2021, while still in lockdown, my supervisor encouraged me to begin data collection for the first study: Examining bordering practices and their impact on the provision of social services by Civil Society Organisations (CSOs) in Transnistria and Abkhazia. I was reassured to have the support of Tamar Zvidadze, a Georgia-based research intern. Together, we mapped CSOs providing social services in Transnistria and Abkhazia using desk research, searching for relevant keywords in English, Georgian and Russian. This method proved quite fertile and thanks to the strong online presence of many CSOs and prior documentation by INGOs, donors, and international organisations (IOs), we mapped 61 CSOs in Transnistria and 46 in Abkhazia, numbers that exceeded our initial expectations. One of the most valuable resources was a registry of CSOs operating in Transnistria, compiled by the OSCE.
In the second stage of the study, we aimed to interview local CSO representatives, as well as international organisations and donor representatives working in Transnistria and Abkhazia. While I reached out to CSOs and international representatives working in Transnistria, Tamar focused on Abkhazia. Our response rate was roughly one-third, yet one pattern stood out: only one Abkhaz CSO representative responded to Tamar’s email invitation of which I was in copy. A discussion with an Abkhaz staff member from an international organisation helped us understand the reluctance of Abkhaz CSO representatives to take an online interview with a Georgian researcher. Strikingly, when I resent the invitations without including Tamar – something we discussed and agreed upon – several Abkhaz CSO representatives responded positively. These interviews turned out to be particularly insightful, and, with respondents’ consent, all were recorded.
Although research interviews via phone or Skype were already common before COVID-19, the pandemic further accelerated the use of technology to connect with research participants. Platforms such as Zoom and Teams facilitated conversations but erased the setting where the participants were immersed. I could for example not see the Transnistrian and Abkhaz CSO premises, which could have provided additional contextual insights. We conducted 23 interviews with respondents based in Chișinău and Tbilisi, as well as in Ribnitsa, Tiraspol and Bender for Transnistria and Gal/i (names of places differ between Georgian ‘Gali’ and Abkhaz versions ‘Gal’), Ochamchire/a and Sukhum/i for Abkhazia. Meanwhile, Tamar and I worked remotely from Bruges, Belgium, and Tbilisi, Georgia. Inevitably, we encountered occasional technical issues (see picture below). However, 21 out of 23 respondents gave permission to record, and the audio and video quality was generally high. On average, interviews lasted for 1h30 with the longest conducted with Abkhaz CSO and IO representatives, extending to 2h.
Image: Reporting about failed connection with an Abkhaz CSO representative (Source: Gaëlle Le Pavic)
Collecting data in Transnistria
As COVID-19 restrictions eased in October 2021, I returned to Moldova to conduct follow-up discussions with donors and IO representatives in Chișinău. I also travelled to Transnistria, visiting the three locations where CSO representatives were based. Upon entering Transnistria, I had to stop and show my passport to acting border guards stationed in containers. Since they were not authorised to stamp foreign passports, I received a ‘migration card’ on a piece of paper (see picture) after answering a few brief questions. However, I soon encountered a restriction: when I attempted to purchase a local SIM card, the only ‘communication centre’ (центр связи) in Bender refused to sell one to me upon seeing my French passport.
Image: The migration card documenting the entrance to Transnistria on October 16, 2021. (Source: Gaëlle Le Pavic)
During the follow-up discussions, I relied on dissemination briefs that I had shared with interview participants in September 2021. These briefs synthesised the research findings and were tailored separately for Abkhazia and Transnistria, carefully considering the sensitivity of terminology. While academic literature often refers to Abkhazia and Transnistria as de facto states, using this term in an interview invitation would likely have ended the conversation before it even began. This became clear during my very first interview with a former Moldovan representative of an international organisation (IO) working in Transnistria, who firmly stated that “there is no such thing as a de facto state.”
Many interviewees provided feedback on the briefs. When I met them in person, I noticed that some had highlighted and underlined sentences, reinforcing certain patterns in our discussion. One recurring theme was the strained relationship between CSOs and the Transnistrian authorities. The 2018 NGO law severely restricted access to foreign funding, and a list compiled by the Transnistrian authorities discourages CSOs from collaborating with certain (Western) donors. However, in specific cases – such as efforts to combat human trafficking – Transnistrian authorities encourage CSO cooperation with IO and (Western) donors.
The example of the billboard advertising a hotline (see picture below) in Ribnitsa, Transnistria, showed an unusual coalition of actors: the American authorities, the International Organisation for Migration (IOM), a Czech NGO and a local organisation. Between 2006 and 2019, the hotline operators received over 15.700 calls and identified over 300 life-threatening trafficking cases. However, technical barriers initially hindered its effectiveness: phone dials differed between the Moldovan-controlled territory and Transnistria, leading to connection issues and higher call prices. It was only after the CSO operating the hotline negotiated with donors that a free, universally accessible number was introduced within Transnistria.
Image: Billboard in Ribnitsa, Transnistria, 2021, advertising a hotline if ‘invited to work abroad’ – ‘do not end up in slavery’ – ‘know about the migration rules’ – the service is provided for free, every day, anonymously from 9am to 9pm. (Source: Gaëlle Le Pavic)
Such examples illustrate how (contested) borders manifest in everyday life – what academic literature frames as bordering practices, or the materialisation of borders through ideology, discourse, political institutions and social attitudes. As I concluded my first study (published in an open-access article), I also laid the groundwork for my second one, which examines the internal functioning of CSOs providing social services in Abkhazia and Transnistria. To gain deeper insights, I secured agreements with two CSOs to host me as a volunteer for three months – the first stay was scheduled in Tiraspol, Transnistria, from March to June 2022.
When Russia’s war in Ukraine hits very close
When Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine on February 24, 2022, my thoughts immediately turned to those under the bombardment – some of whom I knew personally. I reached out to them and regularly checked their presence on social media as a sign that they were still alive. As the all-out war unfolded, I intended to support Ukrainians, as much as was possible from Belgium: making donations, joining demonstrations and signing petitions. Inevitably, I closely monitored the situation in Transnistria, where the authorities declared their support for peace and refused to ally with Russia to open another front.
In such circumstances, data collection was far from a priority. Yet, academia often demands that researchers ‘mitigate risks’ and develop ‘contingency plans’ in the face of changing circumstances. I had no such plan and decided to volunteer in Moldova to support the thousands of Ukrainians arriving there. With the Moldovan airspace still closed, I travelled from Bucharest to Chișinău on March 15, 2022, by marshrutka. Through friends and acquaintances, I quickly found a place to volunteer – a former bar located in a basement. Most volunteers were Moldovans, along with two American students who had come to Chișinău to study Russian. Russian served as the lingua franca, with only one person speaking to me in Ukrainian. We distributed food, hygienic items and clothes. I had to conduct quick registrations, checking the passports and noting down basic information such as name, phone number, household size, and the entry date which had to be after February 24, 2022. While I engaged in this volunteering primarily as a concerned citizen, my role as a researcher made it impossible to ignore how social work and (geo)politics are constantly intertwined.
Despite Transnistria’s long-term alignment with Russia, the de facto state authorities established shelters for Ukrainians fleeing the war and approved an internationally funded cash support programme, implemented locally by Transnistrian CSOs. As of July 2024, the previously mentioned hotline had received over 1000 calls from displaced Ukrainians in Transnistria. Several factors facilitated Ukrainian relocation to Transnistria, particularly for those from the nearby Odesa region: geographical proximity, migration policies, social networks, and linguistic ties. However, estimates of the number of displaced Ukrainians vary significantly. While Transnistrian authorities claim 185,200entries and over 172,500 registrations, international organisations estimate 8,000–10,000, and local experts suggest a lower range of 5,000–6,000. Transnistria’s pre-war population comprised 28% Ukrainians, 32% Russians, and 30% Moldovans.
Negotiating access to Abkhazia, researching the contested border vicinity
First time I attempted to enter Abkhazia in October 2021, applying for an online visa but the Abkhaz authorities denied my request – officially due to COVID-19. Instead, I stayed in Zugdidi, the main city of Samegrelo, Georgia, and visited CSOs that collaborated with Abkhazia-based organisations, often operating in the Gal/i district. With a Georgian CSO representative, I went to the main crossing point between Georgia and Abkhazia, named after the Enguri/Ingur River. Our first stop was a Georgian police station, where my passport and her ID were checked. We then continued on foot, passing another checkpoint manned by a Georgian police officer armed with a Kalashnikov.
At the far end of the bridge, we had to stop. The Abkhaz flag was visible on the opposite side – a sight that visibly angered my companion, who had been born in what is today Abkhaz-controlled territory but was forced to flee during the 1992-1993 Abkhaz-Georgian war. Strikingly, very few people crossed the bridge that October Friday evening. At the time, parliamentary elections were taking place in Georgia, and just as in October 2024, restrictions were imposed on movement across the Enguri/Ingur. These restrictions meant that Georgians living in Gal/i, despite being entitled to vote in Georgian elections, were effectively prevented from doing so.
In August 2022, I returned to the Samegrelo region, meeting (again) with the CSO representatives and reflecting on possible ways to enter Abkhazia as a researcher. I first attempted to reapply for a visa through the online form available on the Abkhazia’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs website. To support my application, I reached out academics from Abkhaz State University (ASU), and one agreed to help me. Meanwhile, a Georgian colleague of mine connected me with the only Georgian professor (as of 2022) permitted to cross to Abkhazia and teach – a continuation of Soviet-era academic ties that date back to when ASU was the State Pedagogical Institute of Sukhum/i, founded in 1932. While awaiting a response, I remained in contact with Abkhaz CSO representatives I had previously interviewed online. Many of them emphasised growing tensions in Abkhazia against the backdrop of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine and the controversial Pitsunda deal, in which Abkhaz authorities ceded a Soviet-era dacha in Abkhazia to Russia.
In April 2022, several Abkhaz CSO representatives, activists and citizens signed a petition calling for the bloodshed in Ukraine to an end. This led to retaliatory measures from the authorities, including interrogation, asset freezes, and travel bans at the Russia-Abkhazia crossing point in Psou. Nonetheless, one Abkhaz CSO representative advocated for my entry request with the Abkhaz authorities – but to no avail. Meanwhile, a Georgian I met in Samegrelo offered to facilitate my crossing informally through acquaintances in the Gal/i district. However, I refrained from illegalised or undercover crossing, as I did not want to endanger my respondents and myself. I also met with several representatives of international organisations, many of whom were receptive to my research. One representative even offered to mention my request informally to the Abkhaz authorities, yet ultimately, I received no response.
Not being able to physically access Abkhazia led me to reflect further on the porosity of contested borders, who can navigate them, and who remains confined to one side. Data collection can be considered sensitive, especially when researching social services, as such studies can reveal shortcomings of the de facto authorities’ governance. The question of (non-)access is inscribed in the politicisation of research in (post-)conflict areas and highlights the saliency of contested borders, at a time when the one between Georgia and Abkhazia is less easy to navigate for various actors including residents and representatives of international donors and researchers. Given these restrictions, I explored Samegrelo more in-depth, focusing on social services for survivors of Domestic and Gender-Based Violence (DV/GBV). Some of these survivors crossed from Abkhazia, where services operated only during limited working hours, and no around-the-clock shelter existed due to low social acceptance – reflected in the absence of an Abkhaz law against DV.
Additionally, I spent significant time in Rukhi village, the last settlement under Georgian control before the Enguri/Ingur crossing point. There I regularly visited a pension house operated by a local CSO, which was recently opened in 2022 with the support of an international organisation. Adjacent to it stood a medical dispensary – in dire material conditions – and a big hospital (see picture below), constructed in 2011 with the stated purpose of simplifying healthcare access near the occupation line according to the Georgian authorities. However, despite its size, the hospital remained largely empty, functioning only as a COVID-19 quarantine and treatment centre. Many interviewees pointed out that its remote location and lack of financial incentives discouraged doctors from working there. Only a small annex of the hospital – in deteriorating conditions – remained in use, hosting a Methadone Maintenance Treatment (MMT) for drug users. Several patients crossed daily from Abkhazia to access methadone, as the substance is forbidden in Abkhazia and can only be dispensed in single doses in Georgia.
Image: Empty hospital in Rukhi village (Source: Gaëlle Le Pavic)
On the day of my departure from Zugdidi, I was invited to organise a focus group discussion with methadone users residing in Abkhazia. About ten participants attended, and with their permission, I recorded the conversation. It quickly became evident that their eagerness to speak with me stemmed from a hope that I could help facilitate access to multiple doses of methadone. Having to commute daily from Abkhazia to Georgia for treatment imposed a heavy burden: high transportation cost (approximately 600lari/200euros per month); significant time loss, affecting social relationships and limiting economic opportunities; in addition to deteriorating health conditions, making travel increasingly difficult.
Faced with these hardships, methadone users had already lobbied local doctors, yet, they were not in a capacity to provide multiple doses, the Abkhaz authorities, and the Georgian Ministry – most likely the Ministry of Internally Displaced Persons from the Occupied Territories, Health, Labour and Social Affairs of Georgia. Yet, their efforts had yielded no results. Although I made it clear that I could not provide them with multiple methadone doses, I sought to support their advocacy through my academic work. I published an Insight brief highlighting their case and later presented it to a Tbilisi-based international organisation. Surprisingly, none of the officials I met were even aware of this issue.
To sum up, collecting data in Abkhazia and Transnistria between 2020 and 2024 was challenging, yet a lot was possible. Given the impossibility of entering Abkhazia, I relied on a mix of online interviews complemented by digital ethnography. Thanks to the trust of Abkhaz civil society representatives, I was able to analyse the complex relationship between an Abkhaz civil society organisation – fictitiously named ‘Abkhaz Social Point’ – that are more in detail described in a book chapter.
A key takeaway from this research was the importance of ‘giving back’ to research participants. Beyond the do-no-harm principle, engaging in reciprocal knowledge-sharing proved invaluable. When drafting dissemination briefs, I invited interviewees and focus group participants to provide feedback, ensuring that their voices were truly reflected in the research. This process not only validated their perspectives but also generated even more data. One recurring discussion among interviewees was the terminology used to describe Transnistria and Abkhazia. While these territories are often labelled de facto states in academic literature, many residents and (international) practitioners reject this term. This highlights how the formulation of research topics and objectives directly influences field access and the knowledge production process.
Since access to Abkhazia was denied, I deepened my research in the Samegrelo region, particularly on the socio-spatial consequence of the contested border. Currently, I am analysing these dynamics through the lens of Henri Lefebvre’s (1974) ‘Production of Space’ framework. In an upcoming blog post for the Conflict and Cooperation in Eastern Europe project (KonKoop), I examine the physical and social materialisation of the Georgian-Abkhazian contested border which remains a debated object, as reflected in the diverse terminology used to name it: ‘Administrative Boundary Line’ (ABL) preferred by IO, ‘border’ for Abkhaz and ‘Occupation Line’ becoming the dominant narrative in Georgia. More nuanced, in-depth research is needed to explore the complex meanings and implications of these perspectives.
Author: Gaëlle Le Pavic
