(Translation by Elene Grdzelidze)

Back in the middle of the 19th century, Georgia was much more fragmented and unequal than today. It was a society consisting of a huge mass of illiterate peasants (mostly serfs working the lands of their lords and the church), a sliver of urban population (large parts of which, particularly in Tbilisi, were not ethnically Georgian), and a relatively large proportion (up to 5%) of nobility, organized according to a rigid hierarchical system and controlling much of the country’s land.

The beginning of Georgia’s national revival in the second half of the 19th century was as much about reasserting the nation’s autonomy vis-à-vis the Russian empire as it was about i) breaking the traditional feudal divides within the Georgian society, ii) modernizing the Georgian language (bringing the language of literati closer to the vernacular spoken by the ordinary people) and iii) educating the “dark peasant masses”.

LET’S SPEAK THE SAME LANGUAGE!

It is quite characteristic that the national movement was led not by revolutionaries but rather by men of letters united in the “Society for the Advancement of Literacy Among Georgians” (“ქართველთა შორის წერა-კითხვის გამავრცელებელი საზოგადოება”). Founded in 1879 by Georgian nobles such as princes Dimitri Kipiani (the first chair) and Ilia Chavchavadze (succeeding Kipiani in 1885), this group strived “to promote a cultural renaissance among the peasantry of Georgia”. Tolerated by the imperial authorities, it involved virtually all Georgian intellectuals, including the famous educator and author of “Mother Language” (დედა ენა) Iakob Gogebashvili.

Not unlike members of the contemporaneous Russian Narodnik movement, the founding fathers of Georgia’s modern nationhood held a romantic view of Georgian peasantry, seeking, on the one hand, to enlighten the peasant masses, and on the other, to bring Georgia’s aristocracy and literati closer to their own people. Quite telling in this regard is the story of Akaki Tsereteli, a prominent member of the national movement and the author of Suliko. Born in 1840 into a noble family related to King Salomon I of Imereti, Akaki was raised by peasant nannies and grew up surrounded by peasant youth in the village of Savane. This is how he reflected on this educational experience in his autobiography “My Adventures” (ჩემი თავგადასავალი):

“Wet-nursing and sending young men to the village was a historical practice in our country: kings and princes gave their children to dukes (“eristavi”), dukes and noblemen (“didebuli”) sent their offspring to counts (“aznauri”), and counts entrusted them to the peasants; quite often princes would send off their children to be raised by peasants. Do not think that parents of the time were heartless and loved their children any less than they do today!... The reasons and grounds were different here: this practice of “raising and being raised” enhanced the link between different ranks; after religious ties, not even blood relations were as strong as the connection between “milk siblings”. … it was due to this practice that relations and attitudes between the higher and lower ranks were much more noble and kind-spirited in our country than anywhere else. …God bless this custom!... if there is anything good and kind in me, it is all thanks to the fact that I was sent to the village and grew up with the peasants’ children.”
(Translated by Elene Grdzelidze)

Akaki’s emphasis on the bonding function of common upbringing and education resonates with the philosophical writings of Jean Jacques Rousseau who considered the teaching of language and education to be critical for the creation of modern nations. In his "Considerations on the Government of Poland" (1772) Rousseau wrote: "It is education that should put the national stamp on men's minds and give the direction to their opinions and tastes which will make them patriots... National education is the privilege of free men who share common interests and are united under the law".

It is against this philosophical backdrop that one should perceive (and appreciate) the role of Akaki and other members of the “Society for the Advancement of Literacy Among Georgians” in shaping modern Georgian nationhood. And it is against this backdrop that we should be assessing the successes and failures of Georgia’s contemporary public education system.

GOING TO DIFFERENT SCHOOLS AND SPEAKING DIFFERENT LANGUAGES

The utter collapse of Georgia’s government and economy in the early 1990s has left the country’s education system in shambles. With no public funding to pay for teachers’ salaries, no heating, and only occasional supply of electricity, the system continued to exist in name but was no longer able to perform any of its vital functions. The market responded through the emergence of private schools in Vake and other relatively affluent districts of Tbilisi. By 2012, Tbilisi had 122 private schools (41% of the total), catering for the needs of 29,000 children from better-off urban families (17% of the total school population in Tbilisi).

With about 60% of privately schooled children in 2012 (29,000 out of 51,573), Tbilisi dominates the national scene. Kutaisi and Batumi, the only other cities to have a sizeable population of privately schooled children, lag far behind.

Judging by available data, about 9% of Georgia’s youth – the country’s future elite – are privileged to study in private schools. Many of these are truly wonderful institutions, offering superior infrastructure, excellent instruction in English and other foreign languages, math, natural sciences, history and geography, arts, and music. Classes are typically very small, with two instructors per up to 20-25 kids. In addition to traditional “lecturing”, private schools often emphasize “soft” skills – teamwork, public speaking, and debating. In short, anything a happy Georgian family can only wish for its children.

High-quality private institutions are a great alternative to the faltering public schools. They are not a problem but rather a solution. Nevertheless, in the absence of a viable public schooling alternative for 91% of Georgia’s population, the country’s nation-building project may be at the risk of unraveling. Not because of external aggression, but as a result of division into social classes that go to different schools and speak different languages.