The Silent Barrier Facing Georgia’s Ethnic Minorities
"The LORD said, 'If as one people speaking the same language, they have begun to do this, then nothing they plan to do will be impossible for them. Come, let us go down and confuse their language so they will not understand each other.'"
– Genesis 11:1–7 (New International Version).
What is written in upper paragraph, is one of my favorite excerpts from Marek Nedelka’s book “National Letters”. For those who want to understand better, how does the language we speak and the letters/alphabet we read affects our mindset and the identity, I couldn’t recommend anything better to read.
Meanwhile, in Georgia, ethnic minorities from rural areas are silently kept away from mastering the state language. Language is more than words. It is the foundation for communication, understanding, being heard, integrating — and simply living in the society. Without a common language, people remain isolated, voiceless in the civic process, and vulnerable to manipulation. In Georgia, thousands of ethnic minority citizens — Armenians, Azerbaijanis, and others — continue to face systemic barriers in learning the state language, a problem as old as independence and yet one that remains unsolved.
The 1+4 Program: A Step Forward, Yet Incomplete
One of the few structured efforts to address this gap is the 1+4 Georgian language program, introduced in 2010. It allows students from ethnic minority backgrounds to spend one preparatory year studying Georgian before starting their chosen degree. For many, it has been the first real opportunity to access higher education in Georgia.
Giuli Shabashvili, Associate Professor at Tbilisi State University and Director of the program, explained:
“The goal is to teach students the language so they can study at their desired faculty and participate in public life in one year. We teach them to read, write, and engage in intensive language practice. The program has had a real impact on integration.”
Public relation manager of 1+4 program Tina Izoria underlined, that year by year, the number of Azerbaijani and Armenian students is growing. From 247 students in 2010 the number grew to 1231 in 2018, according to the latest data published on their website.
The program applies to any student of ethnic minority background, but majority of the students are Azerbaijani, and Armenians. But despite its positive impact, program’s structure and accessibility raise serious concerns. Only around 200 Armenian-speaking and 200 Azerbaijani-speaking students with the highest entrance exam scores receive full state funding. The rest must pay 2,250 GEL for the year — a prohibitive cost for many rural families.
According to Tigran Tarzian and Aitaj Khalilli, activists from Armenian and Azerbaijani communities, the quality of the program varies greatly between universities. Students and activists agree: Ilia State University is considered the most effective, while others fall short of preparing students for academic or even everyday communication.”
A School System That Fails from the Start
The problems begin long before university. In Armenian- and Azerbaijani-majority areas like Samtskhe-Javakheti and Kvemo Kartli, Georgian is often taught as a second language in schools, using outdated methods and materials. Tarzian mentioned, that there is a chronic shortage of qualified Georgian-language teachers — many leave within months due to poor working and living conditions.
Tarzian from Ninotsminda recalls:
“In my time, the books gave us basically nothing. Teachers struggled to teach grammar; literature was simplified. After 12 years of school, many still could not speak Georgian. Today, some young people learn from private tutors — but that’s only for those who can afford it.”
Aitaj Khalilli, another community activist from Gardabani, Azerbaijani inhabited town, points out a deeper injustice:
“Kindergartens are built in Georgian-speaking villages, but not in minority areas. Without equal access to early education in both the native and state language, the gap will never close.”
The Consequences: Isolation and Marginalization
Language is the main tool for civic participation — without it, people cannot submit written requests to municipalities or hold officials accountable. In many minority-populated areas, communication with local government remains purely verbal. No written record means no official recognition of problems — allowing authorities to claim that “no requests were received” and, therefore, “no problems exist.”
Aitaj Khalilli pointed that, according to the research, 70% of residents in these areas never file written applications. As a result, basic infrastructure problems — water, roads, gas — go unresolved for years.
During elections, this language barrier becomes a tool of manipulation. In Kvemo Kartli and Samtskhe-Javakheti, candidates make empty promises, knowing many voters cannot access alternative information sources in Georgian. As Tarzian put it, “The government prefers people who can be managed — and language ignorance makes that easier.”
The “No Policy” Policy
From my own perspective, the roots of this problem go even deeper.
I am from Gali, in Abkhazia, a region mostly inhabited by Georgians. There, our right to study in our native Georgian language at kindergartens, schools or university is restricted by local authorities. Before moving to Georgia-controlled territory, I believed such barriers could not exist here — that in the heart of Georgia, there would be no obstacles for ethnic minorities to learn the state language.
But here I discovered something worse than a bad policy: a “no policy” policy. The state simply avoids addressing the issue at all. This absence of a plan prolongs existing problems, creates new ones, and even manufactures “solutions” to problems that don’t exist. In the case of language, this passive approach has left generations without the basic tools for participation in their own country.
Beyond Stereotypes
Many Georgians assume minorities avoid learning the state language out of laziness or lack of respect. Activists reject this claim outright.
“It’s the opposite,” says Tarzian, an activist from Ninotsminda. “We ask — even beg — to be taught. But when authorities see it as a trivial issue, they deny us the same right to learn the state language that the majority takes for granted.”
This ignorance feeds prejudice. “The Armenophobia, Azerophobia, and other ethnic biases that still exist are fueled by the simple fact that communities cannot communicate with each other. When people don’t share a language, they don’t share stories, struggles, or solutions.” – expressed Tarzian.
Steps Toward a Solution
The solutions are not complicated — but they require political will, the missing piece in every conversation on this issue.
Guarantee free and universal access to Georgian language education for ethnic minorities, from kindergarten through adulthood. Language is not a privilege — it is a right and a state obligation.
Invest in teacher recruitment and retention in minority regions, offering competitive salaries, housing, and training.
Adapt curricula to local needs, moving from centrally designed programs to regionally responsive ones.
Ensure bilingual early education so children master both their native language and Georgian from the start.
Create accountability mechanisms so local governments respond to written and verbal requests, regardless of language ability.
Strengthen and standardize the 1+4 program, removing cost barriers and ensuring consistent quality across universities.
Why It Matters
Without a shared language, social integration becomes impossible. Economic opportunities are lost, political participation collapses, and mutual mistrust grows. With it, communities can connect, collaborate, and build a more united future.
Language is the bridge between cultures, the channel for ideas, and the tool for building trust. It is how we ask for help, tell our stories, and stand up for our rights.
To deny a person the chance to learn the language of their own country is to keep them standing on the wrong side of that bridge — watching others cross, but never joining them.
Georgia’s ethnic minorities do not ask for special treatment. They ask for equal access to the most basic tool of citizenship. And until the “no policy” policy is replaced with a genuine commitment to integration, the promise of a united, inclusive Georgia will remain only words — spoken in languages too few understand.
