Every night for more than two weeks, tear gas has clouded Tbilisi, the capital of Georgia, as riot police chase pro-Western demonstrators through alleyways and courtyards. Water cannons sweep across crowds and videos circulate online that show officers beating protesters.
Luka Dzidziguri, 23, one of the protesters, recalled one of the early demonstrations. After protesting all night, he was heading home around 7:00 a.m., exhausted, only to be confronted by police.
“They beat me, punched me, insulted me,” Dzidziguri told The Free Press. “They poured water down my neck and pulled a hat over my head so I couldn’t see anything. There were at least five of them. They punched me in the teeth, split my lip. My mouth filled with blood, but with the hat on, I couldn’t spit it out—I had to swallow it.”
Many protesters describe similar ordeals. Police have gone beyond targeting crowds and beating people on the streets to raiding activists’ homes and arresting opposition members.
Mikheil Zakareishvili, 36, another protester, spent two nights in a detention center outside Tbilisi. The overcrowded facilities in the capital have forced authorities to transport detainees to outlying cities. Zakareishvili’s face bears the marks of his encounter with law enforcement, with both eyes darkened by bruises.
“I smiled at something, and one of the policemen yelled, ‘Why are you laughing? Fuck you!’ and punched me,” Zakareishvili said. “They threw me down with others and beat us.”
The anger ignited on November 28, when Prime Minister Irakli Kobakhidze of the ruling Georgian Dream party declared that Georgia would not pursue European Union membership until at least 2028. The statement, widely perceived as a pivot toward Russia and a betrayal of the nation’s pro-Western aspirations, sent shockwaves through the country.
“Until now, we were moving toward Russia in practice while maintaining rhetoric about moving toward Europe. Now, even the rhetoric is gone,” Zakareishvili said. “Kobakhidze’s statement felt like an insult, conditioning us to bow our heads and accept being a Russian vassal.”
Despite more than 400 arrests and 300 cases of physical assaults, the protests persist. Over 70 journalists and camera crew members have been targeted, with no policemen held accountable. Government-affiliated thugs, often labeled as titushky, have brutally attacked demonstrators and journalists, with police standing by. In response, protesters have united to set up groups dubbed “defenders” to protect themselves.
Even with the threat of violence, Zakareishvili, like thousands of others, returns to Rustaveli Avenue, the heart of the demonstrations. The protests draw men and women of all ages, although young people from urban areas form a noticeable core. Many arrive with friends or family, returning to the same spot each evening. The arts community has gone on strike, businesses from banks to bars have condemned the government’s actions, and downtown hotels and restaurants have opened their doors to shelter demonstrators.
These protests have no clear leaders, no speeches, and no podiums. Each evening, people simply gather in the streets, often waving Georgian flags. When authorities respond with riot shields, water cannons, and tear gas, demonstrators counter with fireworks, lasers, and whistles, shouting “You are Russians!” at the riot police.
When the police withdraw, the protesters return to reclaim the space. Most now carry gas masks and saline to treat tear gas burns. Facebook groups coordinate rides, collect donations, and share information. On the streets, bonfires provide heat in the cold December air and people cook meals for one another. A crowd decorated the Christmas tree that the government unveiled in front of Parliament with photos of those assaulted in the custody of the riot police.
Even within the ranks of Georgian Dream, cracks are beginning to show. Five ambassadors abroad, including the Georgian ambassador to the U.S., have resigned in protest. Over 700 public servants have signed a letter of dissent. Strikingly, the head of the planning unit responsible for dispersing demonstrations has stepped down.
During an interview with Aka Zarkua, executive editor for the Georgian publication RealPolitika, at a hotel near the protests, a police dispersal suddenly caught us in its wake. Tear gas filled the air as hundreds fled, coughing and rinsing their eyes with saline. “Slow down!” voices called, keeping the crowd moving in an orderly retreat to prevent a stampede.
As I said goodbye to Zarkua, I saw a 22-year-old man carried to an ambulance after being struck in the head by a gas canister. As he regained consciousness, the man, who called himself Jimmy, spoke with me. “Every day, it’s hard for me to wake up, fearing that they’ll do something worse,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “Life has to mean something, and right now, it’s worth fighting for this—to crumple up the regime and throw it into the trash where it belongs.”
Since Georgian Dream took control of the government in 2012 under the leadership of billionaire Bidzina Ivanishvili, it has pursued a foreign policy of strategic ambiguity. Publicly, it has professed a desire for integration with the West, seeking closer ties with the European Union and NATO to align with the aspirations of the country’s largely pro-European population. But the party also has cultivated warmer relations with Russia, justifying this approach as a means of maintaining stability in a country that spent decades under Soviet occupation and fought two wars with Russia in the 1990s and 2008. The government’s main message to a war-weary public has been that it guarantees security.
However, Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in February 2022 brought that strategic ambiguity to an end. “The awakening of the West turned the situation around, forcing the Georgian Dream to remove its mask and take a clear position,” said Otar Kakhidze of the Tbilisi-based Liberty Institute, a think tank and advocacy group. “This led to the realization that they are on Russia’s side in this conflict.”
Since the start of the war in Ukraine, Georgian Dream has adjusted its rhetoric. They have repeatedly accused the West of attempting to drag Georgia into the war, branding critics at home and abroad as part of a “global war party,” a term that one ruling party member equated with “Freemasons.” As the October parliamentary elections approached, the party intensified its rhetoric, unveiling banners that contrasted peaceful Georgian towns with war-torn Ukrainian cities.
The party has cultivated rural areas with public-sector jobs and infrastructure projects, bringing money into small towns where many still live without a toilet. Its base also includes those who distrust the opposition, which is still associated with Mikheil Saakashvili, whose polarizing presidency after the 2003 Rose Revolution is remembered for modernizing but heavy-handed reforms. Throughout its tenure, the government has forged alliances with pro-Russian, ultra-conservative groups and the influential Orthodox Church to frame pro-democracy activists and civil society groups as threats to traditional values.
“Ivanishvili has a simple but persuasive message—the West and its subservient opposition are for ‘they/them’; I am for you, the forgotten man,” said Levan Ramishvili, a professor at Tbilisi’s Liberty University. “Western civilization would be a good idea, but it’s a pipe dream while we live in a world where life is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.”
Georgian Dream emerged victorious in October even as the legitimacy of elections was widely questioned. Criticized by the United States and the European Union, the government faced a backlash as opposition groups protested what they claimed was a fraudulent vote.
Yet, the political opposition has struggled to present itself as a credible alternative, with public trust eroded by their reliance on questionable funding, internal divisions, and tactics mirroring those of the ruling party.
After the election, Georgian Dream proceeded to inaugurate a one-party parliament after the opposition boycotted the process. Emboldened, the government used this moment of perceived strength to announce it would no longer pursue EU integration.
But with the growing unrest, the government backpedaled. Kobakhidze claimed that the comments about delaying EU integration were misunderstood—that it was a postponement, not a rejection. His rhetoric, however, has failed to quell the protests.
For those in the streets, this struggle is not just geopolitical. It is a battle for Georgia’s identity. American and European flags wave alongside Georgian ones at the protests, a rare sight in today’s divided world. I approached a man wearing a Soviet-era gas mask and asked why he had joined. “Why do you think?” he replied. “We need to take back our country and avoid Russification.”
The protesters I spoke to share a common fear: If they fail, the Georgian dream will grow even more illiberal and brutal. Yet they remain hopeful. “In front of a strong America, Ivanishvili will fall,” said Kakhidze, standing outside Tbilisi’s neo-Moorish opera house. A poster advertising the 1923 opera Dusk had been overwritten to read, “Georgian Dream’s Dusk.”
As the protests carried on into the early morning hours, I decided to head home. A taxi driver offered me a free ride. “I am just trying to do my part,” he said.
Ani Chkhikvadze is a journalist from Georgia.