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.
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.
Traffic still dominated Rustaveli Avenue when a few protesters stepped onto the road. They edged their way to the middle of the nearest lane. Cars slowed and moved around them. Within minutes protesters claimed one full lane, then the next. People followed in their wake, holding ground.
The protesters made it to the center of the avenue, traffic thinned but cars were still coming. A white car pulled up in front of the protesters and a man on the passenger side stuck his head out of the window and blew a trumpeting horn. In response, the crowd cheered, blowing their own horns and whistles. Then the man raised his fist, middle finger extended, and shook it at Parliament.
With the man now halfway out the window, the car pulled a wide U-turn, cutting across the avenue. As the car turned, the man signaled for the oncoming traffic to follow him. Like ducklings, the rest of the cars swung around after the white car and Rustaveli Avenue was given up to protesters.
The sun set and the fireworks began. Sparkling explosions illuminated Parliament as fireworks bounced off its wall and soared through its pillars. Near me, a group stood in a circle and sang traditional Georgian songs. Up and down the street, people raised their phones in the air, camera lights glowing in the dark. The mass of people became a mirror of the night sky. It was impossible not to feel a rush of exhilaration.
I smiled at the young couple standing next to me. They smiled back and the woman asked me in English where I was from. I told her I was from the US. She nodded and said, “Fuck Russia.”
“Fuck Russia,” I agreed.
They told me they were from Tbilisi. I asked if they had been to the other protests. They said yes, they had been to all of them. This was the tenth night of protesting. The last nine nights had been cold, long, and violent.
I asked what they thought was going to happen. The woman shrugged and scrunched up her face. “Nothing,” she said.
“Nothing,” I repeated. “But you come every night?”
They looked at each other for a moment. “Sorry, I don’t know how to say it in English,” she said. “We have to try. I cannot… not come.”
I nodded.
After a pause, our conversation continued with a lighter tone. I was answering a question when the woman focused on something over my shoulder and hissed through her teeth. Closing my mouth, I followed her gaze. Three large men stood behind me. The couple leaned into each other and whispered in Georgian. Then the woman took hold of my elbow and led me away from the men.
“What was that?” I asked.
“Police,” the man said.
I raised my eyebrows, “They were police?”
“Or working for the police,” said the woman with a shrug.
I stayed for another hour or so. Aside from the plain-clothed (potential) policemen, the protest seemed like a repeat of the last few nights. As I walked home, I passed the lines of robo cops, trucks with water cannons, and clusters of policemen. I wondered what time they would start removing protesters and how many would be beaten tonight.
Wrapped in a blanket with my ever-present cup of coffee, I checked Telegram. In the hours after I left the protest, over ten people had been assaulted by groups of men wearing masks. Despite the excessive police presence, the attacks took place in the city center, near the protest. Some of the people assaulted were activists, others were journalists, and a few were random pedestrians.
Videos of the assaults circulated on social media and news sites. One of the most graphic was of a journalist and her cameraman. In the video, a group of masked men came up behind the journalist. As they passed her, one man reached an arm around her head, grabbed her face, and slammed her to the ground. The men swarmed the camera and the video blurred, but the journalist’s screams are still audible.
Another video taken from further down the street shows the cameraman on the ground being kicked by several men.
Around 22:00, a mob of men stormed the Coalition for Change offices. The Coalition for Change is a collection of pro-western parties. They dragged men into the foyer and beat them. Here is the video.
Reports of the attacks were often followed by warnings to stay away from the city center in the evenings, effectively discouraging people from protesting. At the same time, articles and posts pointed an accusatory finger at the government, by calling the mobs of masked men Titushky.
The singular: Titushka
The plural: Titushky or Titushki
The term Titushky originated in Ukraine during the EuroMaidan protests.
Groups of athletic men in tracksuits disrupted anti-government demonstrations, verbally and physically assaulting protesters. These antics escalated in May of 2013, when they attacked journalists and activists.
Men surrounded the activists, poured water on them, and spat at them. While filming the assault, a journalist was knocked to the ground and repeatedly hit in the head and stomach. Her husband, also a journalist, fell on top of her shielding her from the worst of the blows. They cried out for help, but nearby police did nothing.
Multiple pictures of the attack helped journalists identify one of the assailants as Vadym Titushko. Though Vadym was prosecuted and the government promised to protect the safety of citizens, such attacks continued to happen. When they did, the men who perpetrated them were called Titushky.
Aside from violence, the factor implicit in the label Titushky is government sponsorship.
In the case of the pro-government thugs at EuroMaidan, the government endorsement was obvious. Not only did Vadym Titushko and dozens of others openly speak about being paid, but people saw it. They saw the groups of men in tracksuits coordinating with the police. They watched the men help the Berkut (riot police) and witnessed police stand by while civilians were attacked. These men acted with an impunity that could only come from the government.
After the revolution, there were investigations into the government’s role in EuroMaidan. They concluded that the money that paid for the Titushky came from Serhiy Kurchenko, a billionaire with close ties to Yanukovych (the former president). Orders and coordination came from the former Interior Minister Vitaliy Zakharchenko, and were relayed through Viktor Zubrytsky. These men fled to Russia after Yanukovych abandoned the presidency, except Zubrytsky. He ended up in Ukrainian custody.
On December 7th, the black-clad men in Georgia acted with similar impunity as Ukraine’s track suited ‘hooligans’. Several victims said the police watched as the attacks occurred and the only arrests made were of protesters.
This video, taken in the city center the night of December 7th, added fuel to an already burning fire. Though it is difficult to tell what is happening, the police are interacting with a large group of men clad in black. While not definitive proof, it reinforces the suspicion that the police are working with these men.
On December 8th, a popular Russian language Georgian news Telegram channel, Nikolia Levshits, posted statements given anonymously by a policeman. According to this person; the police were told the men in black were undercover employees from other cities. They could be identified by an ID: a picture with a serial number and red seal. The policemen were instructed to not delay them and, if necessary, escort them to safety.
Whether true or not, these orders fit the police’s behavior. About an hour before the attacks occurred, I walked home through side streets from the protest. Police and police vehicles filled every intersection I passed. It is beyond believable that a group of 20 or more men marched up and down those streets without the blessing of the police.
Update: It has been just over two weeks since the events of December 7. Hundreds of protesters have been arrested since, but not one of dozens of men caught on camera abusing citizens.
I had mixed feelings walking home from the protest. The Georgian Dream government had promised to light the Christmas Tree in front of parliament at 19:00. Given the violence over the last month and the number of citizens currently held in custody, many Georgians find the idea of Christmas festivities inappropriate. Protesters, in particular, find the Parliament Christmas tree insulting.
So when 19:00 came and went, and the tree remained dark, it felt like a victory. This was topped off by President Salome Zourabichvili’s appearance. The crowd went crazy, shouting, “PRESIDENT, PRESIDENT,…!”
In contrast, the pro-Georgian Dream mayor of Tbilisi was caught leaving. His supporters followed him to his car, complaining about the cold and demanding to know why he had asked them to come out.
The further I got from the energy of the protest, the more the reality set in. There were moments of satisfaction for the opposition, but, Georgian Dream won the day. With the ease of an authoritarian regime, Georgian Dream voted in Mikheil Kavelashvili, a former Georgian Dream PM, as the new president, and passed a series of laws targeting protesters.
Using the pretext of protecting citizens, after the attacks on December 7th, Georgian Dream banned facemasks and face coverings at public gatherings. Temperatures in Tbilisi drop below -1°C at night, so nearly everyone wears some form of face covering. They also banned fireworks and lasers, all prominent features of the protests.
Between the Titushky and the new laws, the risk of violence and arbitrary arrest has significantly increased. It is hard to imagine how the protests will continue under these conditions.
The use of Titushky is not unique to Georgia or Ukraine. Serbia is also dealing with state-sponsored thugs disrupting their protests and delegitimizing the anti-government movement. Central Asia has an interesting twist on the typical Titushky, instead of athletic men, they use middle-aged women. These women break up protests and beat up opposition leaders just as effectively as men.
Doubtless, hundreds of other regimes have employed this tactic in hundreds of other ways. There is no denying its effectiveness, however, it comes with a huge risk. By openly failing to protect citizens, the state’s monopoly on violence slips and along with it, its legitimacy.
When the couple pointed out the police plants amongst the protesters, it occurred to me that if those men did anything provocative or violent, we were on our own. The police would not help, nor would the government. There is no power to appeal to. This realization feels like anarchy: if there is no chance for security or justice, then there are no rules.
This abandonment is encapsulated in the now common scene of middle-aged or elderly Georgians lecturing policemen. On one occasion, I watched as a man pointed to his black eye, demanding why the police had let him be beaten. A popular video shows a man asking the police to give him their guns and batons. If they will not protect him and his family, he will do it himself.
This perception of the disintegration of the rule of law flips the issue from a political one to one of survival. It does not matter if people believe the election was fraudulent or not, or whether they support EU integration. A government that does not protect its citizens is illegitimate.
Titushky are scary, but they are also a sign of weakness. If Georgian Dream is resorting to such methods, perhaps there is more hope for the opposition than it seems.