Georgia, Between Hope and Fear

I cannot help being anxious about what's happening to Georgia. My daughter is in Tbilisi with my grandson. Her husband, Sandro Kvitashvili, is the minister of health and social services. I don't know how dangerous his job is each day, whether he is on the streets, possibly exposed to gunfire. I don't know how he will cope with all the dead and wounded, how he is helping the refugees. All humanitarian activities are his responsibility, and Russia has blocked many of the routes necessary to transport goods. My daughter communicates with me online and assures me that Tbilisi is relatively calm. She thinks that she is not in danger. But there are frequent disruptions to our connections, and I would worry even if there were not.

Our family's ties to Georgia run deep. My father, Noé Jordania, was president of the first democratic republic of Georgia. He was forced into exile in 1921 when the Red Army invaded and incorporated Georgia into the Soviet empire. I was born in Paris and later moved to the United States; our family could not safely return to Georgia until the Soviet Union fell. Nevertheless, the country of my ancestors was never far from my mind.