I initially thought my writing streak would be reserved for events significant enough to merit an essay. Yet, it seems that these days, there’s always something noteworthy as the situation in Georgia evolves at a breakneck pace, stirring new emotions daily. A few years ago, I deleted my social media accounts, hoping to shield myself from the incessant flow of trivial information. Despite that, I still find myself inundated with news, not through digital feeds but through overheard conversations on the streets, and the palpable tension in the air. In Georgia, it’s impossible to avoid the current realities.
In my last entry, I covered the general threats posed by the proposed legislation. Yet, just before I posted that piece, a news interrupted my thoughts: a violent skirmish involving supporters from opposing factions, each resisting the “Russian Law.”
As I write this, another shocking incident unfolds – Ucha Abashidze, a blogger and active protestor, has been detained in a manner more befitting a high-profile cartel leader than a civic activist. All this happens as the voices on the television narrate the chaos; my mother’s gasps and astute observations offer a poignant backdrop, casting light on the many layers of this unfolding drama.
It is curious that on the very day Ucha Abashidze labeled the government an “Authoritative Regime,” he was detained in a manner befitting such a description. As opposition politicians vehemently decry this act as a slide into dictatorship, their urgent warnings do not resonate with everyone. While Generation Z chants “Get Angry” and “Don’t Give Up,” many of our mothers – likely from the Boomer generation – critically analyse every word uttered by these leaders.
These divergent reactions both confuse and anger me. I am baffled by how the shadows of the Nationalist party’s cursed legacy continue to loom over our current reality, and I am angered by the subconscious barrier that prevents me from empathising with my mother’s views. She doesn’t seem to perceive the urgency that I feel; she doesn’t realise that every new regulation steering us toward a Russian-dominated path makes me anxious not to relive the reality she experienced.
To me, Russia remains a looming threat, not just a geopolitical entity but a symbol of a past that could once again become our present. The stark difference in how our generations perceive these developments not only drives a wedge between our perspectives but also strains the emotional connection between us. The thought that I might wake up in the Georgia of her youth – a time and place she and many others recall so vividly – distances me from her experiences and from the very essence of her generation’s struggles and resilience.
In these turbulent times, the generational divide in our household mirrors the larger societal split. As I ponder the future, I also reflect on the past, striving to bridge these divides. Can we find common ground, or will these ideological gaps widen, isolating us further in our respective historical and emotional silos? My hope is that by documenting these days of discord and transformation, we might begin to understand not just the political landscape but the personal terrains that shape our views. Perhaps, through these writings, we can forge a dialogue that transcends generations, offering a pathway to mutual understanding and respect.
The gap between generations continues to widen with each passing day, and it’s increasingly evident in our conversations. Discussions that should be casual and free from political undercurrents are now laden with declarations of political affiliations and confirmations of where we stand. Today, a close family friend inquired whether my sibling and I were attending the protests to support “the gays,” echoing a narrative I briefly mentioned in yesterday’s essay, but which has now surfaced in a broader, more divisive context.
How can a government that professes to be pro-European incite and manipulate its citizens into believing that being true to oneself is immoral or incorrect? Many parents, burdened with the deep-seated belief that one’s natural identity is not only wrong but also contagious, are now convinced that the ongoing protests in the streets of Tbilisi are endorsing these so-called ‘deviations’. This manipulation highlights a stark contradiction in the government’s stance, fuelling discord and misunderstanding among its people.
This widening rift is not just a clash of politics; it’s a battle of values and visions for the future.
As young people, we stand at these protests not just in defence of specific rights, but for the broader principle of acceptance and equality. Our presence is a plea for understanding, a call to recognise that diversity in all its forms strengthens rather than weakens our society.
As we navigate these turbulent times, the challenge lies in bridging this generational gap, in translating our visions for a progressive Georgia into a language that resonates across ages and ideologies. Only then can we hope to foster a truly inclusive society where every individual, regardless of how or where they were born, is valued. Our protests are more than just a reaction to a policy or an event; they are a manifestation of our commitment to a more equitable world – a world that we hope to build together, across generations.
In these charged moments, as we stand shoulder to shoulder – figuratively for some, quite literally for others – it’s painfully clear we’re not just squabbling over the usual political theatrics. No, this is a full-blown cultural skirmish, a battle royale for the very soul of Georgia.
While the older generations might prefer a more… sedate approach, we, the youth, are busy rewriting the script. We’re not just protesting a law; we’re loudly, disruptively demanding a complete overhaul of what it means to be ‘Georgian’ in a world that no longer subscribes to the dusty textbooks of yore.
Dialogue, they say, is key. Sure, if by dialogue you mean trying to explain to your boomer relatives over a tense dinner why embracing diversity is not the apocalypse.
This isn’t just about making peace between different shades of opinion; it’s a Herculean task of dragging some of those opinions into the twenty-first century, kicking and screaming if necessary. These conversations, strained with the effort of bridging ideological chasms, are less about finding middle ground and more about not flipping the table in frustration.
Amid this turmoil, I find the act of writing not just a method of documentation but a form of resistance. It is a way to assert the truth in a time when narratives are weaponised and reality is contorted by official lines. Each entry I make is a testament to the resilience of ordinary people caught in the swirl of power plays and political upheaval.
The stories I gather are not just of conflict and strife but of the human spirit’s unyielding urge to seek freedom and justice.
This preservation of our experiences, I hope, will serve as a beacon for future generations who might navigate similar challenges. They will know that their forebears were not merely passive witnesses to their times but active participants in the shaping of their destiny. Through these writings, perhaps we can offer not only insight and understanding but also a spark of inspiration for those who will one day read about these turbulent times in the history of Georgia.
So here we are, writing our own narrative with a mix of idealism, impatience, and a dash of youthful arrogance. It’s a narrative punctuated by protests, passionate debates, and the occasional eye roll. What we’re forging in the streets and across dinner tables isn’t just a new path for Georgia, but a bold declaration:
