When the Georgian Dream Blinked
As protests continue, the ruling party’s consolidation of control continues at a rapid pace.
“Go beat your children, not ours,” an elderly woman screamed, leaning over the barricade to taunt a black-masked security guard. He stood motionless, arms in pockets, only his eyes visible. “They are our children!”
Amid mass demonstrations in Tbilisi and across Georgia, Rustaveli Avenue has become the stage for the nation’s deep divisions. Tens of thousands surge in front of parliament every evening, holding aloft photographs of the injured as an indictment of the police and the anonymous black-clad security forces.
More than 450 people have been detained, many beaten and hospitalised, more than 60 journalists injured, cameras smashed or seized. Opposition politicians have faced arrests, criminal charges and potential extended sentences.
There are no speeches or activities, as there are no leaders and no plans – the only purpose is the sustained occupation of the avenue.
Young people, the backbone of the protests, mingle with older men and women draped in Georgian, EU, Ukrainian, and US flags. Groups hold aloft banners – doctors, teachers, IT workers, and more – and march with phone lights on, twinkling like candles.
“The party of Georgian Dream is choosing the future of this country, they have chosen the judges, they have taken over everything, they have scratched out our constitution,” said Christina, a young demonstrator. “They are beating my fellow citizens and my friends. But all Georgians are gathering here all night, and we will be here until the end.”
While the ruling Georgian Dream party was electing a new president, former footballer Mikheil Kavelashvili – a far-right politician who ran unopposed, with opposition lawmakers boycotting the chamber – demonstrators brought footballs, gathering in circles for mocking kickabouts.
Kavelashvili had been barred from leading the Georgian Football Federation because he lacks a university degree, a requirement absent for the presidency. His elevation was the personal choice of Bidzina Ivanishvili, the billionaire who controls Georgian Dream. Protesters insist Georgia is governed not by one party but by one man.
“Slaves, slaves, slaves,” chanted the crowd, to the parliamentarians and their protectors. “Puppet President,” read a placard.
The larger question remained: Who truly rules? Ivanishvili, whose wealth equals one-third of Georgia’s GDP, amassed his fortune in Moscow. Is he, in turn, controlled by Vladimir Putin? There is no direct proof, but the echoes of Russian tactics to crush civil society and capture state institutions, dominate discourse with anti-western messaging and block the population’s pro-European aspirations are unmistakable.
Even Moscow spokesman Dmitry Peskov drew the parallel, although asserting that it indicated western interference not Russian control. “The most direct parallel you can draw is the Maidan,” he said, referring to Ukraine’s 2014 protests that ousted its pro-Russian president. For both sides, the stakes are high.
The crowds in Tbilisi are leading the nation, hoping the rising groundswell will persist. Momentum appears to be building. Professional and cultural marches paralyse the capital’s traffic during the day. Cities and towns stage rallies. Restaurants provide tea and other refreshments, while bands stage impromptu concerts to enliven proceedings.
A letter from civil servants accusing the government of breaching the constitution by halting EU negotiations has attracted more than 550 signatories.
“Their thinking is still kind of Soviet Russian because they are obeying the Russian oligarch,” explained one signatory, Nino Lezhava, 33, a defence and security analyst working in parliament. Lezhava had considered resigning but decided that the letter would make a better form of protest.
“I knew that it would be painful for them if someone inside from their own institution would speak up against them,” she concluded.
Similar separate letters are circulating in the defence and justice ministries.
International pressure also mounts. EU foreign ministers agreed to halt visa-free travel for Georgian officials and debated sanctions against some ministers. The U.S. promises further measures. The OSCE’s final report on October’s elections is awaited, with hopes for a more forceful critique than its initial, more measured draft.
Yet Georgian Dream’s pace of control has put it well ahead of the opposition. Passed in the spring, the Foreign Agents Law – dubbed the Russian law – threatens civil society and the fragile media. Pro-government broadcasters dominate, while the three stations critical of government face imminent closure for a range of financial and other reasons.
Western engagement is seen as crucial, but with the EU distracted with its own political crises and US priorities uncertain under an incoming administration, no clear path forward exists. Some fear Georgia could be sacrificed to Russia’s sphere in exchange for Ukraine’s security in a potential peace deal.
A potential flashpoint was narrowly avoided on Saturday night, December 14. A Christmas tree was installed in front of the legislature, and the mayor had urged supporters to bring family and children to attend a festive tree-lighting ceremony at 7 pm, coinciding with the protesters’ daily rally.
The government issued a statement warning of possible deaths. Officials blamed demonstrators, citing injuries among security forces. Protesters, some wearing bicycle or construction helmets and carrying saline solution and other supplies for tear gas and pepper spray, understood the risks.
“One death, and the government is finished,” one said. “Are we afraid? Not at all, not even a little,” said another.
By evening, police formed a cordon on a side street leading to parliament. Security forces formed a line across the avenue. Fire trucks with water cannons loomed nearby.
“This is the first case in the whole world where the special forces help put up the Christmas tree,” scoffed Zura Buzaladaze, 45, a tech engineer.
Suddenly, the tree illuminated briefly as a test. Catcalls erupted, tension rose. The numbers of security personnel behind the barrier had steadily increased. Would this surreal celebration turn tragic?
This evening, the crowd was too large, and the lighting ceremony was cancelled. The moment passed uneventfully. Even for the ruling party, the risk was too high. Relief rippled through the crowd. Had the demonstrators forced a retreat? Could further climbdowns follow?
Some time after, President Salome Zourabichvili made her way through the crowd with minimal security, receiving acknowledgement but no special treatment. This is a citizens movement.
Born in France, Zourabichvili is an essential diplomatic figure, and met with President Emmanual Macron and President-elect Donald Trump at the recent re-opening of the Notre Dame cathedral. Her largely ceremonial term ends on December 29, but she has vowed to remain in office, declaring Kavelashvili’s presidency illegitimate. Whether she can resist government pressure to leave remains unclear.
By Monday morning, Rustaveli Avenue had been scrubbed clean. Traffic raced past the unpopulated route and the unlit tree as if nothing had happened. Graffiti was painted over, and posters removed.
Yet, by evening, the people would return, and the drama would begin again.
Sesili Bajelidze assisted with research and reporting.
