The Minutiae
It is in the minutiae that we find the flow of history.
It is in the minutiae that we find the flow of history.
13:30~
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.
~ 10:00 ~
Between the damp cold, the grey sky, and police on every corner, it felt like I had stepped out of my apartment into a dystopian drama. The police presence increased the closer I got to the city center. By the time I made it to Freedom Square, the roads were empty and security vehicles dominated the space. One had what looked like water cannons mounted on its roof.
Once past the security line, I walked up the middle of Rustaveli Avenue. The usual traffic-logged road was now dominated by leaves. A siren wailed, and a woman’s voice repeated a message in monotone detachment. The closer I got to Parliament, the louder the siren became.
Just as the idea that I had slipped into an apocalyptic alternate reality took root in my brain, I saw the protesters. Coffees in hand, people grouped under umbrellas, tents, and around fires. They smiled, laughed, and chatted. Though I didn’t know anyone, the mutual camaraderie broke the tension, and I relaxed into the crowd.
Many of the people there had been there all night, and some of those had also been at the overnight protest near Tbilisi State University. For many Georgians, it had been a long, cold week of protests, and yet there was a lightness to the atmosphere. Then I noticed the gas masks.
A striking girl with long wavy hair, wearing black leggings and a bomber jacket, had a gas mask hung around her neck along with professional-looking headphones. For a moment, I dismissed the gas mask as a fashion choice, but then I saw them everywhere.
Clipped to backpacks, dangling from necks, and tucked into bike helmets, everyone had a gas mask and some form of eye protection. One elderly woman, who reminded me of my own Ukrainian grandmother, looked like she had borrowed her gas mask from *Blade Runner*. Registering the ominous layer underneath the scenes of camaraderie, my stomach clenched. I was not prepared for whatever was about to happen.
~ 12:11 ~
I had to go to the bathroom. Thankfully, Georgia is quite liberal with its facilities, and there were bathrooms and porta-potties in the nearby park. There is always a park nearby. After using the bathroom, I tried to stave off the cold by walking. Following the road up the left side of the Parliamentary building, I was met by a wall of police.
They filled the street, using their bodies to prevent access to the back of the building. Protesters met them there, standing face-to-face with the police. I tucked myself into an eddy in between the two lines.
Many of the police wore full face masks, giving them an anonymous and intimidating presence. However, the police at the front of the line were bare-faced and relaxed. Several of them chatted with their protesting counterparts. In another reality, they could have been waiting in line together, commiserating about the inconveniences of government bureaucracy.
This scene induced emotional whiplash, as my growing anxiety was halted by a reminder that the police are citizens of Georgia as well. Being police does not mean they do not sympathize with the protesters. Not to say that everything is rainbows and butterflies—police have used excessive force against protesters throughout the week.
~ 13:00 ~
A cacophony drew me back to the front of the building, where a large screen and speakers were set up. On the screen, a video feed of Parliament showed members of the Georgian Dream party taking their seats. A voice, announcing the names of parliamentarians, boomed from loudspeakers. With every name, the crowd shouted, blew on horns and whistles, and made various gestures of displeasure. The proceedings finished, and the feed was cut. As one, the crowd surged forwards, up the steps of parliament. They were brought to an abrupt stop by the metal wall-like barricades that blocked the building’s entrance.
~ 14:15 ~
The initial energy subsided, but people were still taking out their frustration on the barricades.
High above us, a window opened from inside the building. The crowd made the most of the opportunity. They shouted, “FUCK YOU,” and accompanied it with dozens of raised middle fingers. The belligerence was inspiring and cathartic. There are few universals stronger than the desire to scream, “Fuck You,” at an abusive authority figure.
While all this was happening, a stray dog, that stood as tall as my waist, pressed himself against my legs and looked up at me. Obediently, I patted his head and scratched behind his ears. In response, he wagged his tail and sat on my feet.
The dog and I watched as several people threw paint-filled balloons at the building, splattering the pillars of Parliament with black. A sound like a gunshot went off, followed by cheering from the protesters. With a can of spray paint, one woman expressed herself in writing all along the front of the building. A contingent of young men, wearing gas masks and gloves, marched past me making their way to the barricade. As they went, I heard a single male voice sing the line, “You’ve got me suicidal, suicidal,” from ‘Beautiful Girls’.
~ 15:00 ~
Enticed by something in the crowd, the dog left me. I shivered in the damp cold as protesters took turns beating on what now seemed like an impenetrable wall. Though they were still there and still making a stand, the energy had died. The depressing reality became too present to ignore. The barricades would continue to hold. Georgian Dream had control of Parliament and Georgia’s future in the EU is all but lost.
~ 18:45 ~
The sky had turned from grey to black, and Rustaveli Avenue was once again full of traffic. Only a few discarded posters were left as evidence of the protest. Two city workers shoved one of the blue protest tents into a garbage truck. Its crumpled form was painful to see. I took this sight to be the official end of the protest and went home.
For the moment, Tbilisi’s month of protests seems to have come to an anticlimactic and depressing end. However, protest is only one tool out of hundreds. As the leader of the opposition coalition, Tsutskiridze said, “Nothing ends today. Today a new stage begins.”
