Author: Feral

Five minutes past seven. Dozens of protesters milled about in front of Parliament. Young people draped in Georgian flags huddled on benches looking at their phones. Circles of middle-aged adults talked while sipping hot liquid from paper cups. In a slow but continuous stream, people joined the protest, filling the available space.

Coffee in one hand, phone in the other, I settled in to read the news. Notifications and messages flooded my screen. A hot irritation crept up the back of my neck- I had missed something big. While I was watching reruns of random Thanksgiving episodes, police were trying to break up a protest with water cannons a few blocks away.

The thunderous sound of people throwing themselves at the metal barricades made my knees quiver. Some had pipes, others metal-plated gloves, but most had bare hands. In waves, the people of Georgia pounded on the barricades, trying to make their voices heard.

In this year of elections, I am coming a bit late to the table. However, my timing feels relevant. While all eyes are on the American election and the potential fallout of a Trump presidency, they are missing the drama in my corner of the world.