From the rolling hills of the Jordanian countryside to the bustling streets of Istanbul, from the quiet villages in the plains of Syria to the riverbanks in the heart of New Jersey, the haunting sound of the Circassian accordion weaves through the air. It calls out to communities scattered across the globe, a familiar melody pulling them toward community halls and cultural centers. Inside, young men and women dressed in magnificent golden and black costumes move as one, their feet tracing patterns on the floor that their ancestors once danced on Caucasian soil. With solemn precision, they perform movements passed down through generations—movements that tell an ancient story of honour, grace, and profound loss. In every corner of the diaspora, from Amman to Ankara, from Moscow to Munich, the dance continues, a living thread connecting a displaced people to a homeland most have never seen, yet all carry in their hearts.
{A Serial Guide to the Circassians and Their Culture}, Volume 1,
Number 1, 1998. Edited: 18 September 2014]
The Anatomy of an Exile: A History Forged in Fire
To understand the Circassians, one must first understand the Caucasus, a majestic and impenetrable mountain isthmus between the Black and Caspian Seas. For millennia, this region was a mosaic of distinct peoples, languages, and cultures. Among them were the Circassians (who call themselves Adyghe), a people known for their warrior ethos, their deep respect for nature, and a complex social code called Adyghe Khabze—a blend of etiquette, ethics, and customary law that governed every aspect of life.
In the early 19th century, this fiercely independent nation found itself in the crosshairs of the expanding Russian Empire. The Tsarist drive southward was a quest for warm-water ports and imperial dominance, and the Caucasus was the final obstacle. What followed was not a simple conquest but a brutal, decades-long Russo-Circassian War (1763-1864). The Circassian mountaineers, armed with little more than their intimate knowledge of the terrain and an unyielding love of freedom, mounted a fierce resistance against the world’s largest army.
The war culminated in a catastrophic defeat. In 1864, after the final Circassian stronghold was subdued, the Russian Empire initiated a campaign of mass expulsion. General Nikolai Yevdokimov, the architect of the victory, famously stated, “The Circassian people… must be cleared from the plains so that they may either die or go to the sandbar of the sea.”
They were forced to choose: relocate to the inhospitable swamplands of the Kuban region or be exiled to the Ottoman Empire. The vast majority chose exile. In a horrific ethnic cleansing campaign that modern historians widely recognize as genocide, over 95% of the Circassian population was uprooted. estimated 1.5 to 2 million Circassians, only a fraction remained in their homeland. The rest were crammed onto rickety ships in the Black Sea ports. Disease, starvation, and squalid conditions killed as many as half of them before they even reached their destination. This forced diaspora, known in Circassian as “L’hepe” (The Exile), remains the central trauma of their collective memory.
A Culture in Suitcases: The Threads That Bind
Scattered across the Ottoman Empire (modern-day Türkiye, Syria, Jordan, and Kosovo) and later venturing further to Europe and the United States, the Circassians carried their homeland with them. Stripped of their land, they clung all the more fiercely to their culture.
The cornerstone of this identity is the Adyghe Khabze. This unwritten code is far more than a set of rules; it is the soul of the Circassian people. It dictates everything from the deep respect shown to elders to the fierce protection of guests, who are considered a sacred trust. It emphasizes modesty, courage, and, above all, honour. A central tenet is Adygag’e—literally, “Circassian-ness”, a concept encompassing the ideal moral and ethical character to which every Circassian should aspire.
This philosophy is perhaps most beautifully expressed in the Circassian sword dance. Performed at weddings and national holidays, it is not mere entertainment. The dancer, swirling on the balls of his feet in a magnificent, floor-length cherkesska coat, mimics a warrior on a horse. The rapid, precise movements with the swords are a physical manifestation of Adyghe Khabze—grace under pressure, controlled power, and a readiness to defend one’s honour. For a diaspora people, the dance became a way of re-enacting the heroism of their ancestors and passing that spirit to the next generation.
The very attire worn by the dancers is a symbol of their identity. The cherkesska, with its rows of empty cartridge-holders (hazer) on the chest, is a constant reminder of a martial past. The food, too, is a tangible link. Dishes like libzhe (chicken in a creamy sauce) and haliva (a sweet pastry) are prepared according to recipes passed down through generations, their aromas conjuring a homeland most have never seen.
The Long Road Home: Politics and a Fragile Renaissance
For over 150 years, the primary political goal of the Circassian diaspora has been the right to return. In their ancestral homeland, now a patchwork of Russian republics (Adygea, Kabardino-Balkaria, Karachay-Cherkessia), the remaining Circassians lived as a minority in their own land, their culture suppressed during the Soviet era.
The 1990s brought a cultural and national revival, but the issue of the genocide remained a political minefield. For Russia, acknowledging the events of 1864 as genocide would have profound legal and political consequences. For Circassians, recognition is the first step toward historical justice and a prerequisite for any meaningful right of return.
The issue was thrust onto the world stage in the lead-up to the 2014 Sochi Winter Olympics. Sochi, the gleaming host city, is the very heart of the historic Circassian homeland and it’s Circassian name is ” Tshache” , the site of the final battle and the last Haqos (traditional council) in 1864. For Circassians worldwide, the celebratory atmosphere of the Olympics was a painful irony. They launched an international campaign to “Circassianize” the Games, demanding recognition of the genocide and using the global platform to tell their story for the first time. While they did not achieve their main goal, the campaign was a watershed moment, uniting the far-flung diaspora and introducing their cause to a new generation.
A Future Tethered to the Past
Today, the Circassian world is a global village, connected by the internet. A Circassian coder in New Jersey can learn the Adyghe language via an app developed by a linguist in Nalchik. A dancer in a Turkish folk troupe can watch videos of the traditional Qafe from a festival in Jordan and compare the steps.
Yet, the challenges are immense. In Türkiye, which holds the world’s largest Circassian population, assimilation is a constant pressure. In Syria, the once-thriving Circassian community has been shattered by a decade of civil war, leading to a second, painful displacement. In the homelands within Russia, cultural expression is cautiously navigated within the bounds of state policy.
The Circassian story is a microcosm of the modern world’s most pressing issues: the brutal legacy of imperialism, the struggle for human rights, and the challenge of preserving unique identities in a globalized age. It is a story written in the mountains of the Caucasus, scattered across the deserts of the Middle East, and now being digitally inscribed on the global stage. They are a people whose past is a landscape of unimaginable tragedy, but whose present is a determined act of remembrance. Their future depends on the answer to a single, vital question: can the memory of a lost homeland be enough to build a future for a nation without a state? For the Circassians, the answer, woven into every dance step and whispered in every Adyghe lullaby, is a defiant and hopeful yes.
Hamzeh Bayouqwa
April 2026
Hamzeh Bayouqwa frequently writes about Circassian history on X.
Cover Image: Routes that were used to resettle Circassians to the Ottoman Empire
Additional photos below:
