Georgia: “This is Our Last Chance to Fight for a European Future”

On November 28, 2024, Prime Minister Irakli Kobakhidze announced that his Georgian Dream (GD) party had decided to suspend efforts to start EU accession until 2028. In a country where EU integration is overwhelmingly supported, the announcement ignited a massive wave of protests.

Within hours of Kobakhidze’s briefing, the streets of Tbilisi erupted. The city’s central Rustaveli Avenue filled rapidly, alive with anger and determination.

“This is our last chance to fight for Georgia’s European future. This is the final stand before totalitarianism takes hold,” I thought as I layered up against the biting November cold. Tbilisi nights in late autumn are unforgiving — long and dark. But by midnight, I was standing among 100,000 others on Rustaveli Avenue. Soon after, the security forces targeted us with fierce jets of ice-cold water.

“Are these the new water cannons the government bought after the spring protests? Are we witnessing their unboxing?” a friend quipped as he pulled me away from the icy blast. “And to think, we’re the ones who paid for them with our taxes. They’re good ones, though—I can’t complain,” he added with a bitter laugh. Georgians never lose their sharp, bittersweet sense of humour.

The people of Georgia have no intention of giving up.

The water cannon cars briefly cleared the avenue, but protesters returned the moment the vehicles moved on. Some didn’t even flinch, standing defiantly in the freezing spray. We weren’t going anywhere. We stood united, citizens demanding our European future.

By 3 am, the tear gas began. I was near Rustaveli Theatre when I felt it hit, burning my lungs and clouding my vision. The crowd surged, thankfully leaving no space to fall. A young man appeared in the chaos, carrying a large bottle of saline, helping us wash the stinging chemicals from our eyes. This wasn’t our first protest; we had learned how to endure.

By 5:30 am, I made my way home, my clothes drenched in pepper spray and tear gas. My eyes were bloodshot, my body exhausted, but my heart full with anger and hope.

Since then, I have spent nearly every night on Rustaveli Avenue. The protests have consumed the city, becoming the heartbeat of resistance. After the protests against the Foreign Agents Law in the spring, and the blatantly rigged elections in October, this was yet another assault by GD on the will of the Georgian people.

The violence rapidly escalated. On November 29, Aleksandre Keshelashvili, a journalist from the Publika outlet, was beaten and arrested while reporting on the protests. That same night, Guram Rogava, a reporter for Formula TV, was physically assaulted in what was clearly a targeted attack. These incidents marked the beginning of a systematic attempt to suppress dissent.

On the ground unidentified individuals dressed in black, wearing helmets and gas masks, move in coordination with the riot police. They chase us, beating and arresting peaceful protesters.

On November 30, my friend Nika, a 27-year-old tour guide and winemaker, was detained. We searched for him all night, calling civil society hotlines and scouring social media for leads. Finally, we learned he was being held in a pre-detention facility on the outskirts of Tbilisi. When he was released two days later, he returned home with a fine of 2,500 GEL (890 US dollars), his face split and swollen with bruises.

On the second day of protest, he told me, he had been standing peacefully with friends, one of them waving a Georgian flag.

“All of the sudden we were grabbed by eight people and were taken behind the line of special forces, where we were brutally beaten. I was targeted because I have an earring and dyed blond hair; they were punching me in the face,” he said.

“This torture continued in the car after I was arrested. We spend a night in a police custody and after our court hearing both of us were fined for not following the police orders. Police also accused us of throwing stones and verbally insulting them. None of this happened.”

The very next day after his release, my friend was back on Rustaveli Avenue, standing with the rest of us.

“Everyone can see my damaged face,” he told me. “[The authorities] think this is the way to scare people but they do not understand that the more people they beat up and the more people they arrest, the more people will come out in the streets.”

The statistics from the protests are staggering. In less than two weeks, more than 400 people have been arrested and over 100 fined. Dozens of journalists have been assaulted, some while broadcasting live. The homes of activists have been raided without justification, opposition party offices have been vandalised, and yet not a single police officer responsible for these abuses has been identified or held accountable.

But I still go to the protests, because this is where I see the real Georgia, one that cares — deeply and fiercely. Despite the mounting violence every day on Rustaveli Avenue, I witness unprecedented solidarity. People bring warm clothes, hot tea, coffee and homemade food. Some knit balaclavas and gloves for the protesters. Self-organised first aid groups tend to the injured, and young activists on the front lines neutralise tear gas capsules with salt water. Small cafes around Rustaveli open their doors, offering shelter to those fleeing police brutality. This is both the most heartwarming and heartbreaking experience of my life.

For Georgia’s younger generations, the fight for EU integration is deeply personal. Raised on the promise of democracy and closer ties to Europe, we view the government’s pivot away from the EU as a betrayal and a step closer to a totalitarian regime. The protests, for us, are about more than geopolitics — they are preserving the country’s identity. The people of Georgia have no intention of giving up.

Tamar is a 30-year-old civic activist in Georgia.