Whatever the three former presidents or their representatives say or do not say holds no value – PM Armenpress
Day: December 24, 2024
Minimum wage increases in Azerbaijan
Starting next year, Azerbaijan’s minimum wage will rise by 65 manat (around $38) to reach 400 manat (approximately $235). While the increase is welcome, some economists argue that the new amount remains insufficient given the country’s current prices.
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On 23 December, Azerbaijani President Ilham Aliyev signed a decree on “Enhancing Social Welfare.”
According to the decree, starting 1 January 2025, the minimum monthly wage in the country will be set at 400 manat.
The Cabinet of Ministers has been instructed to submit proposals within one month to raise the minimum labour pension from 280 manat (approximately $165) to 320 manat (approximately $188), effective 1 February 2025.
Additionally, the Cabinet has been tasked with aligning the monthly salary scales of public sector employees funded by the state budget with the new minimum wage. This process must be completed within a month, and proposals for increasing social benefits and pensions are to be submitted to the president within three months.
The decree also directs the Cabinet to address other issues arising from these reforms.
‘Salaries of 300,000–400,000 public sector workers will increase’
Economic analyst Rashad Hasanov told the Voice of America that raising the minimum wage to 400 manat in the new budget year represents a 16% increase.
“This will increase the salaries of approximately 300,000–400,000 public sector workers because the methodology for calculating salaries in the public sector differs. In this sector, salaries for certain unskilled positions are determined based on the minimum wage. When this figure changes, other indicators also change,” he explained.
According to Hasanov, the approved subsistence criterion for 2025 is set at 285 manat (approximately $167).
“Until now, the minimum pension was 280 manat, which is below the minimum subsistence level. Raising the minimum pension to 320 manat is a necessary step.”
As of 1 November 2024, the number of employed workers in the country’s economy stands at 1,773,300. Of these, 881,700 work in the public sector, while 891,600 are employed in the non-public sector. Reports indicate that the working-age population in the country is three times higher.
Who will benefit from minimum wage increase?”
Economist and MP Vugar Bayramov wrote on his Facebook page that the increase in the minimum wage will lead to salary growth not only for low-income workers but also across all levels of the unified pay scale.
“According to the decree, monthly tariff (position) salaries of employees in sectors funded by the state budget will be adjusted and increased.
Salaries will also rise for non-civil servants working in social services, as well as in the fields of science, healthcare, culture, youth and sports, agriculture, ecology and environmental protection, housing and utilities, transport and communications, land reclamation, water management, and aquaculture,” the MP wrote.
‘Salary increases to apply across all levels of unified pay scale’
Vugar Bayramov highlights that salary increases will apply across all levels of the unified pay scale:
“Employees in these sectors who do not hold civil servant status are funded from the state budget based on the unified pay scale. This scale consists of 19 levels. Currently, salaries for the first four levels are below 400 manat, ranging from 345 to 389 manat (approximately $202–228). The highest level salary is 1,125 manat (approximately $660). The increase in the minimum wage will lead to salary raises across almost all levels, regardless of whether the current salary is above or below the minimum level.”
Will teachers and doctors see salary increases?
“Currently, enterprises under the Ministry of Health are regulated by the unified pay scale, so their salaries will increase. However, the Ministry of Science and Education and TƏBİB (the Administration of Medical Territorial Units) have separate salary schemes based on qualitative criteria. Still, as lower salaries in both sectors are expected to rise, salary increases cannot be ruled out for some employees in these sectors, as pay is determined based on the differences between grades. The new salary levels under the unified pay scale will be approved by the Cabinet of Ministers,” the MP noted.
‘This increase is not enough’
The increase in Azerbaijan’s minimum wage has been anticipated since mid-year. During discussions, many independent economists argued that the minimum wage should be raised to at least 500 manat (approximately $294). They cited inflation and current price levels as the basis for their viewpoint.
Economist Zohrab Ismayil also told Radio Liberty that the current increase is insufficient:
“For Azerbaijan’s current situation, the rise in the minimum wage can be considered a positive step. However, overall, if we compare pensions and salaries in our country with those in the Baltic states or other countries like Turkey, it’s very low. At this rate, it will take us decades to reach their current levels.”
The economist emphasized that the prices of basic goods in Azerbaijan are close to European levels, while salaries are significantly lower.
On November 28, Prime Minister Irakli Kobakhidze’s announcement that Georgia was withdrawing from EU accession negotiations sparked popular protests of a kind never before seen in Georgia. It started in Tbilisi, of course, but within days the protests had spread throughout Georgia: Batumi, Kutaisi, Gori, Khashuri, Ozurgeti, Akhaltsikhe and other cities. The number of people joining the protests also increased. Most importantly, they spread to civil servants, professional groups and businesses. People of all ages, political views and social classes took to the streets to protest against the change in foreign policy announced by the ruling party.
From the very first day of the protests, a range of ‘special measures’ were used to disperse peaceful demonstrators: tear gas canisters, rubber bullets, water cannons, truncheons, beatings, etc. The time frame for the use of special measures has been shrinking, with the police starting to use them in the last few days before the rallies even really got going.
On a par with the police forces are the unidentified groups of men in black, lightly equipped but carrying rubber bullet guns, with their faces covered, without insignia (it is noteworthy that the faces of almost all the police have their faces covered with black masks or medical masks, making it impossible to identify the perpetrators of human rights violations).
These units of men in black accompany the special forces and the riot police and attack demonstrators who resist the crowd. By the 5th day of protests, there is mounting evidence of police brutality on an unprecedented proportion, both during the arrests in the streets, as well as after the detentions. The stories that have emerged have only made the protesters angrier, as they now see even more clearly the future that awaits Georgia, as it drifts towards authoritarianism, in the model of Belarus or Russia. No policeman has yet been charged with violence.
The youth have come to the forefront of the resistance’s, with their energy, uncompromising nature, risk proneness, creativity and resourcefulness. They started using fireworks to defend themselves, formed groups that use the water bottles to neutralize the tear gas canisters, and created an application to track the movements of the special forces, riot police and “men in black” in the streets of Tbilisi.
An integral part of the story of resistance is what the demonstrators go through while exercising their constitutional right to demonstration and expression. These stories have resonated in Georgian society and caused an outcry among citizens. These stories, it seems, despite intimidating the citizens, provoked even greater citizen participation in the rallies.
The majority of these testimonies have been recorded by RFE/RL Georgian Service in the Georgian language.
Data Kharaishvili
RFE/RL- Georgia Office spoke to several individuals the victims of police brutality during the recent rallies. Data Kharaishvili’s who was detained at night on December 3 says he was trying to escape the special forces, when he dropped the phone, he turned back and that was the firs time that he was first kicked in the face by special forces. He says those were the Special Tasks Department employees, subordinated to notorious Zviad Kharazishvili, who is sanctioned by the US Department for human rights abuses. He says he was cursed at, the police ripped an earring out of his ear and snatched his mobile phone watch. He was among those who would be severely beaten in the police van. According to him Zviad Kharazishvili himself was present and was filming the beatings on camera, while his people were forcing the detainees to praise their boss, or otherwise they would receive more beating.
“When they opened the minivan door, there was a man inside who was being brutally beaten by a special forces officer. He was also being insulted with profane words as they yelled at him, ‘Speak up!’ It turned out that the man was mute. One of the special forces officers told the other, ‘I think he’s mute, leave him alone.’ But the response was, ‘To hell with that!’ and they didn’t stop, yelling, ‘If he’s here, he has to speak!’ he recalls. He then said: “When they threw me inside, they turned their attention to me. Periodically, the door would open, and two or three angry men would jump in, beat us and kick us. ” He says the detained were hit mostly in the face. Data says it’s still unclear how badly his eye is injured, as he can’t open it yet.
Gela Megrelidze
Gela Megrelidze was arrested by special forces in front of the Parliament of Georgia on December 1st, around 1 am. He recalls the night of his arrest: “Water canons were already being used on Chichinadze and Chitadze streets, and people had fled that way. There was almost no one left near the Parliament… I was sorting through my cameras and physiological solutions. Suddenly, the iron gate of the Parliament opened, and riot police rushed out, attacking the two remaining skinny persons.” He was shoved into a minibus. “There, everyone beat me and insulted me, he recalls calling it a “standard story” adding that the riot police took his phone, camera, and charger. He said while beating him the special forces and riot police repeated the GD propaganda that he was a foreign agent acting on somebody’s order, and that he wanted a war.
He further recalls: “When they transferred me to the main police department on Kakheti Highway, I saw people who were severely beaten, covered in blood, sitting at a table to sign the arrest protocols, and blood was dripping onto the table.” The protocols all had the same thing written in them: ‘I was on Chichinadze Street, trying to break through the police cordon, cursing, throwing stones…’ I had never been on Chichinadze Street. Most of the people didn’t sign these protocols, and they were taken directly to the pre-trial detention facility.”
Luka Dzidziguri
Luka Dzidziguri was arrested on December 1st, between 6 and 7 am on Rustaveli Avenue. He was at the rally with his friend and was about to head home when the police once again deployed tear gas to disperse the demonstrators. The young men took shelter in a yard, where they stayed for 15-20 minutes until the smoke cleared. Afterward, they packed their masks and other protective gear into their backpacks and returned to Rustaveli Avenue.
He was arrested by young men who were then joined by and older man who upon arriving started mocking him, saying they have arrested a revolutionary and asking him how many fireworks and stones he threw.” Without provoking the police, he was punched in the face with his fist. My lip split, and my mouth filled with blood.
Then they started searching my bag, finding a syringe, physiological solution, spare pants, and a bottle of drinking water. When they saw the syringe, they asked if I was a drug addict. Then I heard the sound of the water bottle opening, and suddenly they poured it down my neck, saying, ‘Here, catch a cold now.’ One of them said, ‘Pour some more on him, it’ll feel better.’ They emptied a two-liter bottle on me,” Luka recalls. Before the special forces handed Luka over to the patrol police, they beat him several more times.
“When they were hitting me, the older man started shouting at the younger ones, telling them to calm down and stop what they were doing. But before I could think that he was trying to help me, he said, “If someone’s going to hit him, it’s going to be me, you know I hit the hardest” and suddenly he hit me in the back of the head so hard that I lost strength in my legs and nearly passed out.
When they saw I was falling, they told me to get up, and then kicked me in the back. During all this time, the hat was still covering my face, and I couldn’t see anything. When they realized I couldn’t stand, they said, ‘Take him away,’ and they put me into some vehicle, where I still had the hat covering my face and couldn’t see anything.
They took me to the Dighomi police station. There, one boy was so badly beaten that his face was unrecognizable. I think his name was Saba. He was immediately transferred to the clinic. Both of his eyes were swollen shut, and he couldn’t see at all,” Luka recalls.
Zviad Maisashvili
Zviad Maisashvili story’s is the one that truly shook the Georgian society and prompted even more youngsters to protest. On the night of the protest, at 11 pm, Zviad arrived at rally with his brother, just as the special forces were using water cannons to disperse demonstrators on Chitadze Street. At the same time, a police cordon moved forward on Rustaveli avenue from Freedom Square.
“This cordon pushed the crowd toward us, and we had to retreat. Suddenly, police officers came out from Chitadze Street and ran onto the Rustaveli Avenue sidewalk. I was in the area where one man was dragged away, another was being beaten, and a journalist was lying motionless in front of me. I narrowly escaped being arrested. They were spraying pepper spray everywhere, and it was hard to breathe. Everything was happening at once, and we couldn’t move forward,” recalls Zviad Maisashvili.
Due to the uncontrollable situation, he fled towards the Rustaveli metro station. He had no protective equipment, having only worn a face mask to the protest. The demonstrators had already set up barricades. The special forces had quickly occupied the area in front of the parliament.
“Where I was, it wasn’t the epicenter of the protest, and most of the people were already heading home. We heard that the police were coming from the upper streets to encircle the demonstrators. We started to move forward a bit, but my brother got left behind, so I turned back to find him. When we looked up, we saw the police coming down. Everything happened in seconds, and we ran.
Within moments, other officers surrounded me and started kicking my legs. I screamed, ‘Don’t hit me,’ but they kept hitting me, and I blacked out. That’s all I remember”.
Zviad Maisashvili was physically attacked by around ten police officers in front of the Rustaveli Theatre. The incident was broadcast live by the party member, Teona Chalidze. The footage shows him lying on the asphalt, helpless, when one of the policemen kicks him in the head with his heel when he was lying down, and almost immediately another policeman kicks him in the face. After that, Zviad fell unconscious.
He credits people who came to his aid and managed protect him from being detained- Nanka Kalatozishvili and Giorgi Bakhutashvili [well known actors in Georgia]. “They who helped me to a car, and I was taken to the clinic. When I woke up, I was already in a medical facility,” says Zviad, recalling the attack.
Tornike Chelidze, Avtandil Shavgulishvili and Demetre Khurtsilava
Tornike Chelidze, Avtandil Shavgulishvili and Demetre Khurtsilava were protesting the change in Georgia’s foreign policy path in front of Parliament. The Ministry of Internal Affairs has charged them under Part 1 of Article 173, which pertains to disobedience or insult toward law enforcement officers.
“I was standing peacefully. Five people came, dragged me, and beat me. Four men pulled me along. Along the way, many police officers saw me and hit me. I didn’t throw any stones, nor did I insult anyone”, said Avtandil Shavgulishvili during the trial, adding he was verbally abused all the way as well.
“What did I do wrong? I asked, and they hit me in the head. They told me, ‘Don’t act like a fool,’” stated Demetre Khurtsilava in his testimony.
Tornike Chelidze recalled that he was arrested by the special forces while leaving the protest to go home—he was pulled out of his car. All three of them testified that they were brutally beaten during their arrest. However, Judge Lela Tsagareishvili did not allow the lawyers to discuss the beatings issue, stating that it would not be addressed in this session and would only address the “disobedience” and “insults” to police officers.
Tornike Beradze
Tornike Beradze was beaten by police upon detention. “While being beaten, the detainees were spat on, cursed and shouted at as well as threatened with rape. The lawyer of the Legal Aid Network recalls that the beatings didn’t stop even after he put in a police minibus with other detainees – these minivan-type vehicles are used by the police to collect detainees for transfer to police precincts.
“The minibus was a nightmare, there were all these beaten people sitting there, there was a pool of blood in the minibus – I saw an empty seat, I sat down. The person sitting next to me gave me a piece of cloth, he had also been beaten. When I started to clean my face, the door opened and the special forces officer had entered hit me again in the face. Then the door opened again and my brother and my friend were brought in.
I was sitting closest to the door of the minibus, which opened three times in total, and everyone who entered hit me in the face. “The last time I covered my face with my hand and they kicked me,” Tornike recalls of the time before he was taken to the police station.
Salome Zandukeli
Salome Zandukeli recalls being beaten by special forces on the night of December 1-2 on Besiki Street: “Probably about 20-25 of the riot police were chasing us. When I turned around, the first thing that came to my mind was to start filming a video, but that irritated one of them so much that he ran at me and told me to turn off the phone. When I didn’t turn it off, he ripped it out of my hands, threw it on the ground, and slammed me against the wall. They were shouting terribly vulgar words at us. They were hitting us on the head. Several special forces officers were attacking two girls. Some of them chased the some guys, and I don’t know what happened to them. I was screaming ‘You’re from the same place as me, what’s wrong with you?” but nothing helped.
Salome Zandukeli recalls that her and her friend then ran out of the building and took refuge in one of the bars on Rustaveli Avenue. But within three or four minutes, the whole avenue was surrounded by special forces and, fearing a raid, they turned off the lights in the bar, locked the door and turned off the TV. “Had they come inside, I don’t know what would have happened to us,” Salome Zandukeli shares.
Gia Jvarshishvili
Activist Gia Jvarshishvili was arrested on the night of December 1-2 on Rustaveli Street. He had his hands up to show he is not aggressive, but was forced to pull hands down and attacked. He recalls: “They were swearing at me…They took me to the detention vehicle, and before that, they made me pass through their famous corridor, where around two hundred people were cursing at me. As soon as I lost sight of them, they shouted to the others, ‘This one threw a Molotov cocktail,’ and upon hearing that, another furious special forces officer started chasing me”.
“Suddenly, I felt unbearable pain and realized something had happened to me. At that moment, I didn’t know I had a broken rib. They forced me to stand up, but I collapsed from the pain and crawled to the back of the minibus. It seems this was a special vehicle, as it didn’t have windows. It was very spacious inside… At some point, I found it hard to breathe. I heard someone say, ‘Don’t let him die’ (followed by more cursing).”
Zivad Ratiani
Zviad Ratiani who was detained on the night of November 28-29 says with his detainment aired live as he was dragged into the crowd of the police. The police started beating him relentlessly, leading him down the street. As Zviad recounts, they continued to push him to the car, while the officers were furious and continued hitting him, especially once the cameras were no longer in range.
“They didn’t stop until they threw me into the car, and then, as we were temporarily stopped on Kakheti Highway, they kept insulting and beating me nonstop,” he says.
In the car, Zviad was alone with the police officers. One of them, sitting in the front, deliberately punched him in the head and body. With his hands tied, Zviad could only turn toward the back seat to avoid the blows to his face.
“They mostly insulted me and said they’d break me. They said, ‘We’re dragging you now, and we’ll see how you crack,’” Zviad recalls. “But they couldn’t break me.”
At the temporary stop on the way to the detention facility, as Zviad recalls “they brought in a severely beaten-up guy and made him sign a statement saying he had fallen down the stairs. Then they turned to me and said, ‘See how the nice guys behave? You should act the same way,’” Zviad recounts. “I responded as necessary. After that, patrol police transferred me to the Zahesi temporary detention facility, where the beating stopped.”
Irakli Pipia
Anthropologist Irakli Pipia was arrested on the night of 2 December at around 11pm on Rustaveli Avenue, in front of the Marriott Hotel.
Irakli went to the protests every day and stood stubbornly in front of the police cordon. He did not talk to the police, but during the dispersals he retreated with the others and then returned.
On 2 December, he gave an anthropology lecture at the Medical University and then joined a march of teachers and lecturers from Ilia University towards Rustaveli Avenue.
On that day, the police also began to disperse the demonstrators earlier than usual – starting at 10am, they gradually cleared the area in front of Parliament and pushed the demonstrators down towards Republic Square.
When the riot police cordon opened and a group of unidentified masked men in black came to the fore, Irakli was standing in front of the Tbilisi Marriott on the corner of Chanturia Street.
“When the masked men started approaching the demonstrators, people tried to pull me away, but at that time I didn’t believe that the regime could be so inhumane. They saw me standing in front of them, doing nothing wrong. I stood there until the last second, he says, not shouting, not throwing anything, not trying to run, “I just knew that I had to stand there, that being there was the right thing for me to do”.
He says the masked men grabbed him, the police lines opened and they immediately dragged me inside. By then, he says, the police had already started beating and insulting him, all the while asking him why he was there and whether I would come back.
He says the police searched him on the spot and took his mobile phone, a torch and other personal belongings, putting them in their own pockets. This was not a search, Irakli says, this was a robbery, and “this person knew that no one would ever force him to return the items.”
“After they took my backpack, which contained a tablet, a notebook and other personal belongings, and put me in a minibus that was already full, I counted 9 people there,” he says.
His account of what happened next is similar to that of other detainees: “In this minibus, masked people came in turns to beat us. At the same time, these people who were beating us were taking pictures of us and apparently posting them on a shared chat – probably so that the beatings could be linked to their names, maybe for a bonus calculation… They would ask us for our names after taking the picture and then they would type something into the phone, probably for the person they were sending it to. There was a boy in the car whose hand they tried to break over the knee,” Irakli recalls the first minutes of his detention. Nodar Aroshidze ended up in the same minivan with him.
Nodar Aroshinadze
Historian of architecture Nodar Aroshidze was detained at around 11pm on December 2 as he stood face to face with riot police on Rustaveli Avenue with angry citizens. The riot police were slowly advancing, while the demonstrators were retreating towards Republic Square. The police began breaking up the rally relatively early in the day.
The masked men, presumably from the Special Tasks Department (led by Zviad (Khareba) Kharazishvili), appeared in front of the riot police stationed at the exit of Chanturia Street, between the Marriott Hotel and the National Gallery.
“It was a day when there were many people on Rustaveli Avenue. The masked men started moving slowly towards us – it was not a chase, which could have made me instinctively run away to save myself. When I was on the front line, there was obviously a chance that we would be arrested, and that was exactly what I was thinking at the time: what can you do against this force that can do anything?
He continues: “I was standing there in silence, doing nothing, when they came and threw us on the ground. After beating us during the arrest, they took us to the riot police… and through them to a van-like minibus parked in front of School #1”.
Before they put me in that minibus, they searched me,” he says. “They took everything – my documents, cigarettes, lighter, phone, personal belongings, I had a wooden cross on my heart, they also tore off everything I had, they took absolutely everything and threw me into a minibus,” Nodar recalls.
“In the mini-bus they beat me so badly that I started having spasms and they hit me so hard on the back that I couldn’t breathe. One of them opened the door, which had been closed for a while, and said, ‘Come on, breathe,’ and when I breathed, he said, ‘How are you? Are you all right? ‘ and when I looked up to indicate that I was OK, he hit me again.
Nodar recalls: “I felt like I was losing myself and started praying for my own peace. When the next group came to beat me, they didn’t understand what I was doing, they watched me and started beating me twice as hard, saying: ‘Well, see if this prayer helps you’. Nodar says his stay in the “detention van” lasted at least 10 minutes, during which time 5 groups of masked people took turns entering to beat the detainees. Some of the masked men also searched the protesters, and when they didn’t find anything in their pockets and bags, they became angry. One man had only his car keys, and they took them away,” Nodar recalls.
After the “detention car”, his story continues in another car that took him and another detainee, a young man under 20, to the detention centre.
“Here they tied our hands and started beating us again. I felt sick again, I asked for water, they gave me a bottle, but when they saw that I couldn’t drink it well, they poured half of it on my face and then hit me on the head with it,” Nodar recalls, explaining that this is not the behaviour of an angry person who might not be able to control his emotions. In his estimation, what he and other detainees experienced was deliberate inhuman treatment.
“I was there in the last few days, I saw the dispersals, I saw what an inhuman, cruel treatment was taking place, but somewhere in the bottom of your heart you still have hope, that you are a good citizen, why should they treat you like this, but in the end, you realize that you are an ordinary despendable item for this system and it is destroying you from within. In reality, one day someone may not like you and you will be gone,” he says.
“When they were beating me, I didn’t have time to fear death, I only thought that I shouldn’t stop breathing, that I had to survive somehow – the rotation of the people who were beating us changed so quickly that we hadn’t digested the first pain, as we started thinking about what the next rotation … was going to do”.
“I also started praying because I realized that I had to keep it together. There were a few people with me who couldn’t take that kind of abuse, they would react or swear, and that didn’t make it any better or any worse, nothing matters to them, they’ll hit you anyway. They treat you like an object to be destroyed immediately, it was a thirst for blood,” says Nodar.
Nodar tells his story on the third day after his arrest, when he returned home after 48 hours in hospital. At the time, he still had difficulty taking deep breaths and speaking for long.
Lazare Maghlakelidze
Lazare Maglakelidze is studying Applied Computer Science and Artificial Intelligence in Italy — he is a student at Rome’s Sapienza University. He came to Georgia for the summer holidays, then decided to register as an election observer and stayed for the entire semester. Since the beginning of the pro-European demonstrations, he has been on Rustaveli Avenue. Members of the special forces detained him on the morning of December 2, when the protest had nearly dispersed, and the remaining demonstrators were heading home.
“When they arrested me, the first thing I did was lie on the ground and cover my head with my hands. While I was on the ground, I was kicked several times. They emptied everything from my pockets — my wallet, phone, everything. I was wearing a backpack they couldn’t take off, so they tore it apart. To be honest, there wasn’t anything particularly valuable in the bag — just some pants, a raincoat, a jacket, water, snacks, a charger, and a phone battery. After they robbed me, they made me stand up and took me to where their vehicles were parked,” he recalls.
“During the transfer, they kept saying to each other, ‘Don’t hit him yet; there are cameras,’ and they were looking for one of those minibusses they use for beatings. You’ve probably heard about them — most of the seats are removed to create space for beating people inside. This isn’t some spontaneous decision by an individual officer or an improvised plan. Every special forces officer knows that anyone arrested must be taken there, beaten, and, so to speak, ‘processed.’ They were asking each other, ‘Where is it?’ and pointing directions, ‘Take him there and wait.’ Every officer knows exactly what to do.
When the [special forces officers] hear about the detainees, they start laughing and joking around: ‘We’ll whip you into shape, shove a baton up your #a*s, r*pe you with it,’ and so on. The insults and vulgarities are so constant they barely even register anymore,” Lazare recounts.
“Two officers were holding me by the arms and hitting me in the face. I can’t say how many times or for how long they hit me — at some point, I lost consciousness.
Later, I met a guy at the clinic who, it turns out, was there with me, including in the vehicle. He told me that at some point, they were just holding my limp body while every passing officer punched, kicked, or hit me in the face. What I remember is that I regained consciousness and was trying to take off my raincoat. They said, “Oh, he’s alive again,” and started beating me once more. Eventually, they threw me into the minibus and tossed three other men in with me. Inside, we endured another round of beatings while they lectured us about manhood and humanity.”
He further recalls the special forces officers telling him: “What kind of men are you? If you want war, go fight in Ukraine. Are you patriots, huh? You love #fuc*kig in you’re a*s, don’t you? Now see what happens to you.”
“One of them kept hurling these horrific insults at us all night — I’m not even talking about the usual cursing,” Lazare recounts, struggling to piece together the events after his detention.
He can’t recall how long they kept him in the vehicle. Shortly after being thrown in, he lost consciousness again.
“I think I got somewhat lucky. Seeing how much blood was pouring out of me, they might’ve thought I’d die if they hit me more. Blood was streaming heavily from my nose and mouth. That raincoat, which is waterproof, started dripping blood when I eventually managed to take it off.
Later, they handed us over to the police. The patrol officers took photos of us and probably sent them to their superiors to show they didn’t treat us leniently and that we were already badly beaten,” Lazare recounts.
The next part of his story is from the police department. When they removed his handcuffs and started filling out the report, the officer who had brought him in from Republic Square was rebuked by what appeared to be his superior for being too lenient.
He says: “He put the handcuffs back on me and said, ‘If it were up to me, I’d tighten these so much they’d break your hands.’ Then he decided to fill out the detention report himself. In the report, he wrote that I had thrown rocks and explosives at the police. I’ve never lit an explosive in my life, let alone thrown one, and I’ve never thrown a rock at a police officer. I’ve never thrown anything at a police officer, not even a bottle. When I pointed this out to him, he asked, ‘So you were just there at the protest for no reason?’
After the report was completed, Lazare requested an ambulance. “Not because I was feeling terribly unwell, but because I wanted to talk to someone normal,” Lazare explains.
“At the clinic, the doctor clearly told the accompanying police officers that there was no point in waiting for me because they wouldn’t be able to take me back. The head injuries were too severe,” Lazare recalls.
Avtandil Titvinidze
Avtandil Titvinidze was detained on the morning of November 30, around 7 a.m., in front of the Marriott Hotel on Rustaveli Avenue. A small entrepreneur from Gori, he attended a protest in Tbilisi for the first time on the evening of November 29. Avto arrived at Rustaveli Avenue in the evening and stayed until morning.
“Suddenly, chaos began, with people shouting that the police were coming from behind. There was no prior warning; they just started dispersing us directly. A large number of police officers descended from above [streets]. I wanted to head toward the Marriott Hotel because I had left my car there. Near the hotel, at the recessed area of the TBC Bank branch, about 40-50 of us were squeezed into that spot. They dragged people away one by one. A girl fainted, people were shouting for an ambulance, but no one cared.
Two riot police officers suddenly opened the cordon and told us to disperse and go home. I obeyed, crossed the road, and was knocked to the ground shortly after. There are photos showing how I was separated from my friends and thrown to the ground. I didn’t resist; there’s footage of me following along without resistance, though I had already been beaten by then. But at that point, I had no facial injuries. Near the Parliament building, someone jumped out and struck me on the nose with a baton. Along the way, others hit me too—whoever wanted to, did. All of them were masked, every single one of them,” Avto recounts.
“The first person in the minivan got the worst of it. His face was completely smashed; everyone was hitting him, and he suffered a lot. I briefly met him later in the courthouse basement, but I don’t know his name. Watching the photos of detainees from this protest, I noticed that many of those who were severely beaten—people I saw myself—are missing from the photos.
I’ve seen people with completely black eyes, including their pupils. I think these people are being coerced into staying silent and not speaking out. They’re being intimidated or persuaded in different ways—some with ‘patriotic appeals,’ like saying the EU isn’t worth it and that we, as Georgians, should understand each other. It’s a constant game of good cop and bad cop,” Avto says.
Avto endured a long ordeal after his detention, starting from a temporary detention cell to a clinic. Despite requesting a doctor from the moment he was handed over to a criminal police unit, he received medical care for his facial injuries only two days later.
“At the police department, I refused to sign anything because I wasn’t provided with a lawyer, doctor, or even a chance to make a phone call. Six officers pressured me to sign documents. Later, they took me to the yard, put me in a car, and left me waiting for about four hours. When no doctor was brought, I stuck my head out of the car window and started shouting. A crew from Channel One [GPB] was nearby, and to prevent them from filming my shouting, the police moved the car to a hidden spot. The car window was broken, and they wouldn’t move me until they fixed it, fearing I’d yell again.”
“I had a bloody tissue I kept using to clean the blood off myself—it was completely red. They didn’t give me any painkillers, water, or anything,” Avto recalls of the time between the department and the isolation cell.
Even after refusing to sign the detention protocol, Avto faced continued pressure from the police after being transferred to isolation.
“They threatened to tie my hands, leave me on the floor, and not let me go to the restroom. They locked me in a room, saying they’d force me to take photos and sign the papers. At one point, they took me to a doctor’s office where there were no cameras. First, they stood watching me, then told me to strip. I stripped. Then they said to pull down my underwear. I complied. They asked me to squat, and I did. When they saw I wasn’t afraid, they told me to get dressed and sent me back.”
When asked if he considers himself a victim of torture, Avto answers:
“No, I don’t see myself as a victim. I surprised even myself. I understood the country needed this, and that was it. The more they got tired, the more mistakes they’d make. I didn’t talk to them. Whatever they said, I just asked for a doctor. Sometimes my heart raced, sometimes I felt short of breath, but I didn’t feel like a victim,” he says.
Avto is not the only protester brought to court so severely beaten that no medical attention had been provided. On December 6, a 20-year-old detained at pro-European protests was hospitalized after spending 35 hours in Digomi Detention Facility, pleading for a doctor.
On December 13, the court found him guilty and fined him 2,000 GEL.
“Apparently, riot officers were instructed to detain me. They couldn’t even remember what I was wearing or the color of my backpack. In every video, I’m seen wearing a green backpack, but at the [court] hearing, one officer said it was red, and another said it was green.”
“A lot of time has passed, and they still couldn’t even find the bag, they couldn’t even explain what they were supposed to say. They couldn’t explain how they pointed me out either, but I already came prepared, I knew it was going to be a game — the judge was correcting the police witnesses like a mother, whenever they couldn’t say something. ‘Is that how it was?’ ‘No, it wasn’t like that, it was like this,’ he would help them,” recalls Avto about his impression of the testimonies given by the police in court.
Saba Kevkhishvili
The Social Justice Center (SJC) reports that among those arrested during protest demonstrations was Saba Kevkhishvili, who was severely beaten by law enforcement officers.
Kevkhishvili was arrested on December 1 during a pro-European rally. Information about him was published by the Social Justice Center on December 9.
According to the center, Saba Kevkhishvili was assaulted by special forces officers on the morning of December 1, after the unlawful dispersal of a mass peaceful assembly on Rustaveli Avenue.
“As a result of the brutal physical retribution carried out by masked special forces officers, he sustained injuries to his face, including fractures to the nose and jaw bones, as well as orbital fractures and a concussion,” stated the organization.
The SJC shared a video showing Saba Kevkhishvili being beaten by the special forces and a confrontation with the officers, which, according to the organization, preceded his arrest and the violence inflicted upon him.
Before Saba Kevkhishvili’s arrest and the physical violence against him, special measures, including large amounts of tear gas, were used to disperse the peaceful rally. To demonstrate the peaceful nature of the protest, Kevkhishvili separated from the protesters and moved toward the special forces officers on Rustaveli Avenue, holding the flags of Georgia and the European Union.
In the live television footage, one of the special forces officers spoke to Saba Kevkhishvili and asked what he was protesting against, after which Kevkhishvili showed him a video on his mobile phone of another protest participant, Zviad Maisashvili, being beaten with extreme brutality. Following this episode, the special forces officer, who was likely the leader of the group, makes the decision to arrest Kevkhishvili.
According to the Social Justice Center, Saba Kevkhishvili also says that after his arrest, he was placed in a minibus near Kashveti Church, where several special forces officers relentlessly and alternately beat him in the face, head, and entire body.
“While the violence was ongoing, they threatened him, cursed at him, and asked if he would return to the rally. During his arrest, his mobile phone and personal belongings were taken from him,” the Social Justice Center reports.
Brothers Nika and Tengiz Svanidze
The City Court, after a verbal warning, released Nika Svanidze, who was arrested on December 7 along with his brother and cousin during a protest.
The court charged 20-year-old Nika Svanidze with disobedience, minor hooliganism, and insulting law enforcement officers, under Articles 166 and 173 of the Administrative Code. The majority of those arrested at the protest faced the same charges.
Police officer Guram Begalishvili, who was called as a witness, stated that Nika was arrested because he had insulted the government and, despite the Ministry of Internal Affairs calling for the protesters to disperse, he stayed at the protest.
In court, Nika Svanidze said that he, his brother, and friends were standing near the opera building away from the special forces, and had not even heard the call to disperse.
“We were at every protest, and it drained our energy. We decided to go home… Our car was parked near McDonald’s. On the way, we heard that the special forces were at Republic Square, but the road near Rustaveli Metro was empty. We thought that maybe the protesters had gone home. At some point, someone cursed at the special forces. That’s when everyone started moving. They came from the front and the back. They arrested us.”
He then recalls: “The masked officers arrested me, I don’t even know who they were. I tried to say that I didn’t insult anyone. At that moment, they physically confronted me,” Nika Svanidze testified before Judge Koba Chagunava.
Tengiz Svanidze’s trial 25 took place in mid-December, and he also received a verbal warning.
He recalls that on December 7 events at around 2:30 AM, he and his brother were returning home when someone in the crowd cursed at the officers. He suspects it was a provocateur.
He says he was insulted, threatened and told ‘If we take you in the ‘marshrutka,’ [minivan] you’ll see what happens.’ They hit me in the ribs. But they were beating others much worse than me. Those images, where they are jumping on the cameraman’s head, I saw that three times that night,” Tengiz Svanidze told Radio Free Europe.
Tornike Chelidze
Tornike Chelidze was arrested by special forces on the second night of pro-European protests, on November 30th, in the early morning hours.
Tornike teaches Georgian at a private school in Tbilisi. His students had not seen him since November 30th, until December 7th as he spent the days first in the Mtskheta and then in the Samtredia pretrial detention centers.
During this time, there was a trial at the Tbilisi City Court, where Tornike met around 30 other detainees from the protests. These detainees are kept in the basement of the court while waiting to be transported back to detention centers and penitentiary institutions after the trial.
Tornike was initially at the end of Chichinadze Street (one of the Rustaveli avenue by streets), where members of the special forces were lined up. He recalls that the masked officers were using loudspeakers to insult the protesters.
When some of his friends decided to go home, Tornike, who had been standing still and got cold, walked them to Metekhi Bridge. Around 2 AM, when he returned, another group of special forces had appeared near the Rustaveli Public Library, which controlled the way uo to the Parliament.
“I asked if I could pass through to get to Rustaveli, and they told me, ‘Where do you think you’re going? Get the f..k out of here.’ I went down to call a taxi to go home, and at that moment someone shouted, ‘Run, they are chasing us.’ Suddenly, I jumped into an unknown passerby’s car, hoping to escape the beating, but they saw me and dragged me out.”
He then recalls: “While they were dragging me, they hit me in my hands and legs, and even after that, they continued beating me until they brought me to a patrol car about 15 meters away. Once in the police car, they put handcuffs on me, and I was taken to the main department.”
One there the beating stopped Tornike says: “The police and the guards are not as vicious as the special forces – you could tell some of them didn’t like the violence either.”
After a few minutes of interaction with the members of the special forces, he had one side of his body bruised, he had a cracked rib on the other side. There were no longer any traces of black eyes. Due to the beatings on the head and the pulling of his long hair, his hair is still falling out.
He was taken to Mtskheta detention center (40 min from Tbilisi) as the detention centers in Tbilisi were all full. Judge Lela Tsgareishvili sentenced him to 7 days in jail on December 2, along with two other persons, who said they were subjected to the beatings by the police. The judge didn’t consider this, saying that she was not there to hear another case.
From the court, Tornike was taken by bus to western Georgia along with about 15 prisoners and about 40 police officers – this time he ended up in the Samtredia (Western Georgia) pre-trial detention center, as the Tbilisi detention centers were still unable to accommodate those detained during the protests. Some of those on the bus were left in Kutaisi, while others were taken further afield – in Poti, Zugdidi and Batumi (all wester Georgian cities).
The hardest part of being in jail was being along, he says, having no information, and having the loved ones worry about him. “When I returned home early in the morning, I spent a long time getting dressed, then talked for a while, had a cigarette on the balcony, and went to bed. He doesn’t intend to appeal, as he sees no point.
More to Follow…
On what was so special about the December 19-22 protests
It’s been four full years since I started writing a regular Dispatch newsletter, but I never really felt like an actual dispatcher until recently. To get that feeling, you have to stand on Tbilisi’s Rustaveli Avenue, somewhere in front of the parliament, around 7 p.m., and wait. The marches arrive one after the other, often at short intervals, sometimes almost merging. Accurate coverage requires constant vigilance and focus – asking around – “Who’s that now?” – doesn’t help: others are as confused as you are. At some point, one may need to designate someone to coordinate the traffic to prevent any unnecessary collisions or merges.
The Georgian protests are in their fourth week, and the days are only getting busier. Over the weeks, the resistance movement has found the flexibility to transform, expand, and explore. At times, it seems that Georgians are heading somewhere together – to an unknown destination – but they are doing so by taking two opposite paths at the same time. Every step into the future is made by rediscovering the past. The pains of dying come alongside the labors of birth.
What began as professional guild marches soon drew in social, demographic, and minority groups. But nothing beats the amazement – and significance – of the “regional marches” that Tbilisi witnessed last week. What was so special about them?
Here is Nini and the Dispatch newsletter, to reflect on how Georgia’s protest movement has changed, and why this process may have historic significance.
Not surprisingly, it was the Megrelians who initiated it. Those from the Samegrelo region of western Georgia are known for their determination, strong identification with their native land, high tolerance for pepper, and low tolerance for anyone who underestimates them. But when the “March of the Megrelians” was scheduled for December 21, it was a matter of reputation for those from the nearby Guria region, known as the fastest of all Georgians, to get there first. So the Gurians marched down Rustaveli Avenue as early as December 19, showing off the best of their humor, politically charged rebellious culture, and pointed curses aimed at predictable targets.
The Guria march was only a harbinger of things to come. The trend culminated on December 21, when several other regional (and not only) marches were announced. Svans, from the mountainous region of Svaneti in western Georgia, brought their stern and rich aesthetics in all its beauty. Adjarians, from the place that stretches from sunny beaches to mystical mountains, came with their music, dance moves, and flair. And then those from the humble but beautiful Racha, despite being known for their measured demeanor, were quick enough to disown their wayward son – Georgian Dream Prime Minister Irakli Kobakhidze.
The Rachans were joined by the Kartli people, famous for producing a disproportionate number of decorated martial arts athletes, some of whom, to their disappointment, end up trading their warrior spirit for seats in parliament. Those who tried to reconnect with their warrior mentality were people from historic mountain provinces of eastern Georgia, including Khevsureti. A single Khevsuri is equal to 50 men when duty calls, according to one banner.
Things got more complicated with the Imereti people, known for their strong wits but with weaker regional bonding. Perhaps overexcited by all this regional self-expression game, the proud natives of Kutaisi, the region’s historical capital, rushed to announce a “Kutaisi march,” leaving their Imereti pals befuddled. In the end, however, the Kutaisi and Imereti marches converged, channeling all their characteristic sense of fun to show the rest of the country that they had little in common with that one Imereli villain – Georgian Dream founder Bidzina Ivanishvili.
The Megrelians showed up in impressive numbers, coming with their families and countless banners in their unique Megrelian language – which not everybody on Rustaveli Avenue understood, but everyone agreed with. And there was a small march of Meskhi people from the historic province of Meskheti (or Samtskhe) in southern Georgia. They arrived at Rustaveli Avenue to find that the epic scenes on display there were straight out of the pen of that one great medieval “Meskhi” poet whose name the avenue bears: dazzling scenes of hundreds of men and women, professionals and amateurs, joining hands to walk down the avenue together in Khorumi, the Georgian martial folk dance, looked more like something you’d read about in Knight in Panther’s Skin, Georgia’s most famous epic poem authored by Shota Rustaveli, than something you’d witness in the real world.
And that wasn’t all: two more regions were scheduled to march the next day. These included the Lechkhumi people, from the historic region bordering Racha, who have historically combined humility with courage, and a march from Kakheti, a wine-rich and historically wealthy region in eastern Georgia. That wealth has made them a favorite target of invaders for centuries, but the people once known as Georgia’s fiercest warriors have recently faced barbs that they are too easily sold out for the government’s grape subsidies.
The people of Kakheti had no trouble proving everyone wrong: the next day, they showed up with an “army,” countless “mature audience only” banners showcasing the best of their frank-speaking reputation, and enough resolve that they almost ended up installing President Salome Zurabishvili as Georgia’s monarch. At least they helped Zurabishvili, who also hails from Kakheti, onto the stage of the municipal Christmas market near her residence, against the objections of municipal workers and in dramatically comical scenes that (again) looked quite out of this world.
Pardon us for being pathetic
The march of the regions easily turned into a kind of competition in which each participant was happy to lose. And forgive me if I, too, recount these events in a tone more befitting a medieval bard. But these marches did astound the Georgian protesters for a reason.
The idea was never to amplify mutual prejudices or create a toxic sense of national pride, and neither did it seem to have been the outcome. Even the initiators of the spontaneous events were dazzled by what this half-joke initiative had turned into. While the Georgian Dream likes to complain about how protesters use bullying (read: shaming) tactics to attract more supporters, recent weeks have shown that this is no longer the dominant strategy of those standing on Rustaveli Avenue. There is a growing realization that something more needs to be done, more fellow citizens need to be won over, and more people need to be charmed out of the all-consuming propaganda tool at GD’s disposal. And beauty seems to be a better charmer than the threat of isolation. Fear of missing out may be a better weapon than fear of backlash.
And the main enemy against whom these weapons must be used is probably the deepest root of all evil in contemporary Georgia: geographical alienation. This alienation has been growing over the past decades. The Georgian center and periphery have been developing unevenly, and the rulers, instead of addressing this problem, have chosen to exploit it to their political advantage. Anger at one’s own misery has been directed at those who were perceived as not suffering the same fate rather than against those who caused it. The problem is acknowledged – “Do you know what’s happening in the regions?” – one asks with dismay. But even as it is accepted, it has barely been countered.
Yes, the gaping differences are obvious. If the Tbilisi authorities had to cancel the Christmas celebrations because the demonstrators refused to give up their venue for non-stop protests, the demonstrators in Kutaisi, also a scene of permanent rallies, had to stand with stern faces, with posters of beaten demonstrators, while their friend and acquaintances tuned into the Christmas concert – a rare festive occurrence in those parts. Some other communities had less trouble inaugurating their Christmas trees. And while the municipal Christmas markets in downtown Tbilisi are rather desolate, struggling to attract both vendors and visitors, those outside the capital have yet to find spaces to channel their discontent.
Nothing feeds alienation, like the feeling that big things are happening somewhere and you are not a part of it. And nothing beats alienation like being allowed to join or at least be represented. After all, any one of us could be just like a proverbial grumpy neighbor, annoyed by the sounds of a distant party while secretly yearning for an invitation.
Last week’s regional marches were an important push to break through that wall, offering a glimpse of what it takes to win and what we have to lose. The protests have also featured a variety of other spontaneous events, like recurring chants of polyphonic music, focusing on re-embracing the country’s culture and traditions without excluding anyone. Still, it will take time – and hard work – to transform the Georgia of bubbles into the Georgia of people(s). And more such events – like a march by Georgian Armenians and Azerbaijanis – are planned in the coming days as the country continues to explore what unites them.
Much remains to be explored. On December 21, I, too, joined my fellow disorganized Imereti natives in their march with a certain childlike excitement. I felt it was perhaps the most important demonstration I have ever participated in.
Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it tomorrow! Dispatch will be back in a week with a review of the most dramatic and open-ended year the country has seen in a long time.