Georgia. Putting out more flags

Mikhail Saakashvili is using his international connections, as well as traditional tokens of authority, to put Georgia back on the map

IS HE a gallant knight, raising high the standard of his ancient land and marching forth to restore its honour - or a New York-trained lawyer who began working life as a slick yuppie with an apartment near Central Park? Both roles come easily to Mikhail Saakashvili, the 36-year-old Georgian president who wants to transform his country from a truncated state, living on past glory, into a regional power with links to the West.

Not that he ignores past glory: he began his presidency six months ago by receiving a blessing at an 800-year-old monastery, founded by Georgia's greatest king. He has introduced a new state flag, and he flies it all the time. But this month he showed his cosmopolitan side: working the phone lines to Washington and Moscow to stem conflict in a remote area of the Caucasus.

At the height of the crisis, Mr Saakashvili recalls, he was conferring several times a day with people like Colin Powell, the American secretary of state, and Condoleezza Rice, the national security adviser, looking for their support in his dealings with the Kremlin. The net result, apparently, was that fresh conflict in South Ossetia, the breakaway region and potential war zone, was temporarily kept at bay, while Georgia's honour - and Georgian hopes of restoring some sovereignty in the region - were left intact.

It looks all too possible that fighting in South Ossetia's straggling villages will intensify: Mr Saakashvili raised the stakes again on July 20th when he threatened to renounce the ambiguous 12-year-old deal under which Georgians, Russians and local Ossetians have kept the peace - on the ground that it barred Georgia from securing one part of its legal territory.

But so far Mr Saakashvili's handling of this obscure but sensitive trouble-spot has been in keeping with his style: an opportunistic but also judicious promotion of Georgia's national cause. This involves playing to Georgian strengths, including ties with western institutions: links with NATO were reinforced at the recent Istanbul summit (to Russia's fury), while the European Union has helped put together a $1 billion aid package.

At critical times - for example, when dozens of Georgian servicemen were detained and humiliated in Tskhinvali, the “capital” of South Ossetia - the president has shown restraint. But when Georgians found 160 helicopter-borne missiles in a Russian convoy - described by Moscow as “spare parts” for its garrison - the propaganda value of the find (and of Moscow's blustering) was well exploited.

What Georgia most wants to do now is control the mouth of the tunnel which leads from the Caucasus mountains (and the Russian region of North Ossetia) to the disputed zone. Once the smuggling, from which Russian soldiers and a few thousand Ossetians make a handsome living, is brought under control, it should be possible to bring the restive province to heel - albeit with a generous dose of autonomy. Or so the Georgians' theory goes: they want international (perhaps EU) help with monitoring the tunnel.

Western governments generally approve of the Georgian president but fear that his government may lack a clear strategy for coping with the risk of a major flare-up in South Ossetia - or in Abkhazia, the other place where Russian-oriented separatists have fought their way to secession. Mr Saakashvili scored a triumph in May when he asserted control over Ajaria, the south-western area that had been the fief of a local strongman. Now America and its allies are discreetly urging the president not to get carried away; they recognise Georgia's frontiers, but hope its government will avoid giving Russia rude shocks. When America recently trained 3,000 Georgian soldiers, it was laid down that they should not be sent to Abkhazia, which could easily become a flashpoint.

Most of the time, Mr Saakashvili shows little need of western mentors; his approach to the “national question” has been a model of sophistication when set against the jingoism of Zviad Gamsakhurdia, Georgia's first post-Soviet leader.

That is just as well. Compared with South Ossetia, which might be described as a smuggling racket with a patch of land attached, Abkhazia - a lush stretch of Black Sea coast, which Russian soldiers and politicians dearly love - presents a trickier problem. Its capital, Sukhumi, a place whose pine-scented air should be a magnet for tourists, is a slummy wasteland whose port is a free-for-all for shady business. With memories of a bloody 1992-93 war still fresh, local politicians insist that the defeated Georgians must not come back. “Those who fought against us, tens of thousands of them, may never return,” growls Nugzar Ashuba, speaker of the local legislature.

In the end, Georgia's hope of restoring at least notional sovereignty over Abkhazia may depend on patching up relations with Russia, to which Mr Saakashvili offers two things: an open door to Russian investment (as welcome as Russian soldiers are unwelcome) and border security - no free passage for stray Chechens.

If Mr Saakashvili can hobnob with the Russians as easily as he can charm the Americans and play the medieval prince, he will be a president for all seasons.

President Saakashvili is using his international connections, as well as traditional tokens of authority, to put Georgia back on the map.