Since November 28, Rustaveli Avenue in Tbilisi has been closed daily due to ongoing protests. In the years following the restoration of Georgia’s independence, there has been no precedent for demonstrations of such scale and duration not led by political parties. This movement stands out for being driven by ordinary citizens who have taken the initiative and leadership into their own hands. Unprecedentedly, the protest has united people across professional groups and local communities in Tbilisi and other cities throughout the country - marking a unique moment in Georgia’s recent history.

The decision by the “Georgian Dream” brought people to the streets. According to Irakli Kobakhidze, Georgia has suspended negotiations on joining the European Union until 2028 - a move that directly contradicts the geopolitical aspirations of 81% of Georgian citizens. This announcement marked a critical turning point. While public dissatisfaction with the current government had long been simmering beneath the surface, this decision provided a catalyst, offering society an outlet through which to express its frustration.

At the heart of the current crisis lies a profound erosion of legitimacy, brought about by the actions of the “Georgian Dream”. Following the outbreak of the war in Ukraine, this party shifted its course, steering the country toward authoritarianism rooted in right-wing nationalism and conservative ideology. Over the past two years, the government has actively promoted a conspiracy narrative centered on a so-called “global war party”, accusing it of plotting a revolution in Georgia and attempting to open a second front against Russia. The Western policy of promoting democracy fundamentally contradicts the interests of regimes like that of the Georgian Dream government. As a result, such regimes often spread foreign conspiracy theories and label domestic critics as foreign agents.

For much of the Georgian population, the aspiration toward European integration remains the only tangible pathway for demanding democracy and social justice. As a result, the rallies initially centered on preserving Georgia’s pro-European course and defending the constitution swiftly evolved into a broader protest against the country’s accelerating authoritarian shift. From this movement, two central demands emerged: the announcement of new elections and the immediate release of detained activists and demonstrators.

The current wave of protest has adopted a mobile and flexible form. Unlike earlier demonstrations in Georgia - often centered around a “single decisive day” of mass mobilization - this movement has evolved into a civic routine. It mirrors recent protest movements in countries like Serbia and Slovakia, where similarly decentralized and networked structures have emerged and where the agenda is set by society itself.

The government’s response to the protests has been marked by repression and violence. Police forces have used tear gas and water cannons against demonstrators, while the systematic beating and verbal abuse of detained persons was documented. According to the Public Defender of Georgia, the level of police brutality during arrests may constitute torture. In parallel with the above-mentioned, the “Georgian Dream” has moved swiftly to tighten legislation - a series of laws were passed or amended in a short period, significantly restricting the right to protest. Additionally, an amendment to the Law on Public Service makes it easier to dismiss civil servants based on their political beliefs. Even before the new provisions took effect, politically motivated dismissals had already become widespread. Further restrictions include bans on the use of fireworks and lasers during demonstrations, the wearing of masks, and holding protests in enclosed spaces. Day by day, the regime is becoming increasingly authoritarian.

The struggle against authoritarian regimes across the post-Soviet space has a long history. While some protest movements have achieved victories and led to regime change, others have been met with defeat, resulting in the consolidation of authoritarian rule. In this article, I will analyze the experiences of the protest movements held in Belarus in 2020 and in Russia in 2012, whose lessons may hold critical significance for the Georgian protest movement.

Fear v Solidarity

Since the beginning of the year, the Belarusian government had been fueling protest sentiment. Its passive and dismissive response to the pandemic triggered the politicization of a large segment of the population that had previously remained apathetic. A growing sense that Lukashenko’s support was waning, along with the rise of credible alternative candidates, gave people hope for a peaceful transition of power. “It is unthinkable to steal victory from the majority”, declared Viktor Babariko, the most popular opposition candidate, shortly before his arrest.

Belarusian political culture has long been defined by a strong commitment to non-violence and respect for the law. Even during unsanctioned marches, the opposition traditionally waited for the green light from traffic signals. However, the laws of political physics cannot be fooled - if all the outlets for protest energy are slowly sealed off, that pressure will eventually erupt like an explosion. This is precisely what the Belarusian authorities were doing throughout the entire pre-election period.

In the 1990s through the 2010s, Belarusian opposition figures lived on a spectrum between imprisonment and exile and were largely unable to emerge as true leaders of public protest sentiment. However, during these elections, a new wave of figures entered the scene: banker Viktor Babariko, entrepreneur Sergei Tikhanovsky, and his wife Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya. It is noteworthy, that only Valery Tsepkalo had any prior affiliation with the state apparatus.

On May 21, 2020, the official signature collection process for the Belarusian presidential election began - and it quickly became clear that the election would not be an easy one for Lukashenko. Across major cities, people lined up in large numbers to support opposition candidates. For the first time in years, Belarusians genuinely believed they had a real choice.

Lukashenko responded with familiar tactics. Even before election day, more than a thousand people were arrested during various protests. Three of the most popular opposition candidates - Sergei Tikhanovsky, Viktor Babariko, and Valery Tsepkalo - were barred from registering and were prevented from appearing on the ballot. Two of them are imprisoned, while the third managed to flee the country. Numerous prominent bloggers and political figures also found themselves behind bars.

People signed up en masse to serve as members of election commissions; however, they were systematically excluded. Instead, the commissions were composed entirely of civil servants and individuals dependent on the state budget. Citing the pandemic as a pretext, authorities also barred independent observers from entering polling stations.

The wave of repression triggered by the surge in political engagement deeply angered the majority of Belarusians. For those who first engaged with politics or began reading about it, the masses received a stronger slap from the authorities than the official opposition had in recent years.

The opposition, however, rallied behind a common candidate, Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya, who was allowed to run in the elections. Lukashenko, however, did not believe that a woman could hold the presidency in his country. Despite this, Tsikhanouskaya became a powerful symbol of the growing protest sentiment. The trio, consisting of the wives of the barred candidates - Maria Kolesnikova and Veronika Tsepkalo - embodied the possibility of change in Belarus.

In such a campaign, protests were inevitable, even if the authorities had claimed that Lukashenko had won with a modest 60% instead of the usual 80%. However, the failures within the electoral system itself were telling - they were a clear sign of a significant shift in the atmosphere within Belarusian society.

Election commissions, filled with loyalists who had clear directives from above and without any independent observers, still published reports claiming Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya’s victory. Around a hundred photos of these protocols from across the country were shared online. Probably none of these people believed that their actions would lead to a change in the president. They simply believed that here and now, they had to stand on this side of history.

We will likely never know the true results of the August 9, 2020 elections. Widespread falsifications began at the district commission level, and a key symbol of this was the admission by the head of Vitebsk Election Commission No. 25, who openly confessed to directly assigning Tikhanovskaya’s votes to Lukashenko.

As soon as the official election results were announced, mass protests erupted across the country. These protests were not limited to any one group - whether it was the urban middle class, the poor, workers, nationalists, or football fans - everyone was involved. Demonstrations spread to over 30 cities, and nearly all of them ended in violent clashes with law enforcement. The police escalated their use of force wherever they encountered resistance, unrest, or large groups of discontented people. For the first time in the country’s history, rubber bullets and tear gas grenades were deployed. Military special forces and border guards were also called in to disperse the protests.

On the morning of August 10, the world was introduced to a new name: Okrestina.

Okrestina is the name of a pre-trial detention center in Minsk. On the night of August 10, 2020, law enforcement officers brought hundreds of people there. The released detainees spoke out about the horrific torture they had endured. In the following days, around three thousand people were subjected to the brutal conditions of Okrestina. The entire leadership of the center was later targeted by European and US sanctions “for inhuman treatment of citizens and the humiliation of their dignity”.

However, the people were not afraid. Accounts from hundreds of participants in those events reveal that they were filled with a sense of joy, even euphoria. They saw the sheer number of people united in their cause, and they shared a simple but powerful demand: to live in a democratic country.

Gradually, the protests became more organized: women’s and pensioners’ marches were held. People gathered in their neighborhoods, and workers at large state-owned enterprises began striking. Cars honked their horns day and night, while people lined the streets with flowers and folk songs echoed in shopping malls.

On August 23, a massive rally took place near Alexander Lukashenko's residence, the Palace of Independence. Looking back, it seems that this was the moment when the demonstrators came closest to success.

Periodically, protesters clashed with the police. They attempted to build barricades and threw bottles filled with incendiary liquid at law enforcement officers. However, the internet shutdown, the blockade of central Minsk, the absence of clear leadership, and the significant power imbalance between the police and citizens made it impossible to replicate the Maidan uprising from the very start.

By November, mass street protests in Belarus had lost their momentum. The pressure from law enforcement agencies was intensifying, and both administrative and criminal prosecutions of protest participants were actively underway. On November 11, 31-year-old activist Raman Bandarenka was killed in his yard, an event that sparked solidarity rallies - the last significant burst of protest activity in Belarus. These rallies were violently dispersed by a large number of law enforcement officers. They also dispersed the “Square of Changes” and the spontaneous memorial dedicated to the memory of Bandarenka.

How did the Lukashenko Regime Survive?

The main reasons for the failure of the revolution are quite typical - firstly, the unity of the ruling elite and secondly, the geopolitical context surrounding Belarus. Russia provided active support to the Lukashenko regime, while the West was unwilling to deeply engage in the crisis or provide substantial backing to the opposition.

In the 2010s, Alexander Lukashenko attempted to balance relations between Russia and the European Union, but the 2020 elections changed everything. His election results were rejected by both Europe and the United States, and the brutal crackdowns on protests eliminated any leverage for Lukashenko. He became a pariah in Europe.

On August 15, during a meeting with the Belarusian military leadership, Lukashenko declared that Russia “will assist the regime in repelling external threats at the first request”. Shortly afterward, Putin announced the creation of a military reserve prepared to assist Belarus. This support from Russia empowered the regime to act with greater aggression.

The regime viewed terror as an effective tactic - believing that fear, and the accompanying sense of helplessness, had to overcome solidarity. This reflects a fundamental trade-off when it comes to violence: if state violence inspires greater solidarity than fear, it can be overcome, and the regime may be forced to retreat; but if fear prevails, the regime is likely to escalate its repression. Lukashenko transformed into a Renaissance-style despot, even going so far as to forcibly land a Ryanair plane to detain opposition activist Roman Protasevich. The level of repression in Belarus - and the extent to which extreme methods were used to maintain power - was unprecedented. The entire security apparatus and ruling elite were complicit in sustaining this campaign of terror.

The Lukashenko regime in Belarus is marked by Stalinist-style control over the ruling elite. After coming to power, Alexander Lukashenko quickly asserted dominance over the security structures, creating a network of special services designed to monitor and check one another. He frequently rotated high-ranking officials to prevent them from building independent influence. This tight control, along with regular purges and personnel reshuffling, reflected the hallmarks of a strictly authoritarian system.

Another key factor was the limited privatization that followed Belarus’s independence, which prevented the rise of an oligarchic class - wealthy individuals capable of investing in regime change. The opposition struggled to access the financial resources needed to build an effective opposition movement with nearly all capital under the control of the ruling regime. Without financial and organizational support, changing the regime - even when the overwhelming majority of society is dissatisfied - is an uphill battle.

The events of 2020 demonstrated how Belarusians can come together, even under the harshest repression, and stand in solidarity against state violence. Solidarity was - and remains - the most powerful weapon against the Lukashenko regime. This is precisely why, to this day, regime propagandists attempt to undermine public support for political prisoners through their broadcasts, and law enforcement continues to detain people for even the smallest acts of solidarity. Yet despite the pressure, support for those persecuted on political grounds has not faded - even four years later.

When discussing the ongoing protests in Georgia, comparisons are often made to the events in Belarus: in both cases, citizens have taken to the streets to demand a democratic future, while authorities have responded with violence and repression. However, key differences are also evident. In Belarus, state violence and mass arrests began almost immediately and were quickly followed by strong international sanctions. In contrast, Georgia has seen a slower but steady escalation of restrictions.

Today, the same dilemma of fear and solidarity that confronted Belarusian society in 2020 is now facing our own. As Hannah Arendt once said, there comes a moment when a person must recognize their individual responsibility - so that, in the future, they won’t struggle to be alone with themselves or to face their reflection in the mirror.

In moments like these, there are time-tested methods that always make a difference: small acts that, despite their scale, have a real and tangible impact. It is through these actions that fear is overcome. Taking a principled stance and refusing to turn away from a moral challenge - refusing to act as if nothing is happening or as if nothing depends on you - is crucial. On the contrary, recognizing that we are all facing a profound moral test requires each of us to respond. In this case, each person should think about what kind of action, even on a small scale, can be taken that would have a positive effect on society.

“Two Russias”

On December 24, 2011, Moscow witnessed the largest demonstration of the “For Fair Elections” protest movement. These protests remain the last major uprising against the Putin regime. Unprecedented in scale and duration in recent Russian history, it even managed to briefly unite radically different factions of the opposition. Demonstrations began as a reaction to the Duma elections and carried on through the presidential campaign and its aftermath.

The pinnacle of the protests came on May 6, 2012, one of the most pivotal days in modern Russian history. The “March of Millions” took place in central Moscow, with tens of thousands of people participating. The demonstration ended in clashes between protesters and OMON on Bolotnaya Square, followed by numerous arrests, which later led to the “Bolotnaya Square Case”. Since then, no protests of such a large scale have taken place in Russia. Alongside government repression and internal divisions among the protest organizers, the movement faced a significant issue - one that ultimately played a crucial role in the destruction of Russia’s democratic process.

Perceptions of “Light” and “Dark” Russia

After the collapse of the Soviet Union, Russian politics became dominated by so-called “political technologies”: various elite groups leveraged the political system and media to push their personal agendas, while election campaign and public relations specialists openly referred to themselves as “political technologists”. This created a significant gap between rhetoric and reality, as every speech in the media or public action was treated as an expensive product, with the primary aim being to manipulate public opinion. The rise of political technological strategies fostered a deep mistrust of public life among the majority of the population. As a result, citizens became depoliticized, which further entrenched politics as a cynical and purely manipulative arena.

However, the Bolotnaya Square protests broke this cycle. These large-scale protests were unprecedented in Moscow since 1993. A massive rally, which was composed not of activists but of “ordinary people”, could not have been the result of a political-technological scheme or direct manipulation - the sheer scale of the protests made such a notion impossible.

Nevertheless, the protests quickly took on a familiar interpretation and perception. The Bolotnaya Square protests revived the ideology of “two Russias” - a simplistic ideological framework that divides Russian society into an active, educated, Westernized, pro-Western minority, and a passive, conformist, government-loyal majority. This division was reinforced through two primary strategies.

The first strategy involves identifying cultural markers that separate “the people” from a certain minority. For instance, journalist Valery Panyushkin contrasts the two groups based on gastronomic preferences - those who love pelmeni versus those who prefer oysters. He also offers other distinctions, such as placing Glenn Gould on one side and singer Stas Mikhaylov on the other. Political commentators have actively used such frameworks to construct cultural divisions. It is evident that the individuals who participated in the December 2011 manifestations represented a minority with a higher cultural capital in this context.

The second common strategy, on the other hand, was based on personal experience of interaction with “others”. These encounters typically resulted in one of two outcomes: either they confirmed the belief that “others” (the general population) were a hopeless mass, or they led to a cathartic moment of unexpected understanding. In both scenarios, “the people” were depicted as alien and unrecognizable subjects.

The proponents of the “two Russias” concept proposed two potential solutions. Some, like publicist Dmitry Olshansky, argued that it was simply a matter of waiting for the majority to become more “cultured”, which would eventually create the conditions for the establishment of a more progressive political regime. This is a strict approach to the problem of cultural division. Others disagreed with this viewpoint, yet still maintained the fundamental antagonism between the “people” and the educated minority. For instance, journalist Andrei Loshak wrote on the “cultural expansion” from Moscow to the provinces to enlighten the “people” about the true state of affairs. After this, he believed they would be ready to vote for the right candidate in the next elections. This neocolonial discourse replaced the “white man’s burden” with the burden of the Moscow intelligentsia. Those who favored the strict approach held an isolationist mindset, aiming to protect the intelligentsia and its values from “the people”. On the other hand, those who supported a softer approach viewed their role as educational, perceiving “the people” as a powerless, wretched mass that had been reduced to a state of barbarism.

Ultimately, both strategies reflect an unbridgeable divide between the majority and the minority, where the minority must either wait for cultural progress or engage in educating the people to raise their cultural level. However, more importantly, this assumption did not exist in a vacuum: it was countered by the regime’s propaganda machine, which capitalized on the signs of the culture war.

The Kremlin used all these examples of social stigmatization against the “cultural minority” itself. It accused the opposition movement of elitism and contrasted the cultural elite with “the people” who wanted so-called “stability.” Moreover, government propagandists created public figures who appeared to be representatives of the working class. One such figure was Igor Kholmanskikh, a factory manager who was often referred to by the media as a “worker”. Kholmanskikh began his political career by aggressively criticizing demonstrators while appearing on live TV with Putin.

Later, Aleksey Chadaev, the author of the book “Putin. His Ideology”, wrote in an article for Izvestia that “two Russias” do indeed exist: one Russia is oriented toward consumption, while the other is focused on creation. Interestingly, Chadaev included not only workers in the latter group but also entrepreneurs. In contrast, he characterized the citizens who participated in the demonstrations as mere consumers. Chadaev took the traditional liberal argument of “two Russias” and used it to challenge the very people who had originally proposed it.

In 2012, another notable protest took place in Kaluga, when workers at the Benteler Automotive factory, which supplied parts to the Volkswagen factory, went on strike. Their demand was the formal recognition of the regional auto industry trade union. After three months of negotiations, the strike ended successfully. In addition to the union’s recognition, the workers secured one of the most favorable collective agreements in their sector.

The workers at the Benteler factory were not just fighting for material gains; they were also advocating for the protection of their rights, particularly the right to organize and engage in collective bargaining. Similarly, people in Moscow and other major cities were demanding fair elections. The strike at the Benteler factory highlighted that the struggle for rights and dignity is not confined to the intelligentsia and that a synergy between social and political protests is possible.

What made the Benteler factory protest so successful? In simple terms, the workers achieved what is known as empowerment, through a process of self-organization supported by trade unions and left-wing activists. In contrast, the Russian opposition movement at the time was focused not on organizational work but on “explanation”, not on collective action, but on “cultural expansion”. The organizers of the Bolotnaya Square protests did not try to bridge the gap between different groups within Russian society and continued to talk about the “two Russias”.

The Road from a “Post-Political” Regime to Dictatorship

The 2011-2012 protests in Moscow and other major Russian cities marked the end of one of the logics of governance in Russia’s modern history. Until the early 2010s, Putinism was centered around a mass depoliticization, characterized by an emphasis on increased consumption, the enjoyment of “stability”, and a focus on personal life. During this period, Putin’s regime was not necessarily conservative but rather “post-political” (using Jacques Rancière’s terminology) - essentially focused on pure management, where the eruption of political sentiment and street protest slogans were seen as unfamiliar.

It was during this period that the strange symbiosis of neoliberalism and state capitalism was born - a defining feature of the entire Putin project: profitable companies linked to natural resources gradually came under direct or indirect state control. Meanwhile, the public sector, especially education, and healthcare, became subjects of constant “optimization”. In this context, in 2008, after the end of Putin’s first two terms, Dmitry Medvedev, an uncharismatic figure, was elected president, largely due to Putin’s proposal. The question arose: what does it matter who holds the title of president if the management style remains unchanged?

The “Bolotnaya Square” protests were not solely a reaction to the falsification of the Duma elections but also a direct challenge to the authoritarian nature of the regime itself. These protests represented a challenge to politicization, making the reproduction of the regime’s “post-political” and technocratic model impossible.

Accordingly, Putin approached the 2012 presidential campaign with a shifted focus: he framed the opposition protests as part of a broader plot by both foreign and domestic enemies intending undermining the country’s unity and imposing false values. In this narrative, Putin positioned himself as the defender of Russia’s “traditional family” values. Homophobia and patriarchy were elevated to the status of state ideology.

Despite his victory in the 2012 presidential elections, Putin’s support continued to steadily decline. The liberal opposition’s calls for free elections and the protection of basic civil rights resonated with the growing discontent driven by increasing poverty and social inequality. In this context, Putin’s aggressive response to the Maidan protests not only had foreign policy implications but also served a domestic political purpose. It set a dangerous precedent that caught the attention of a significant portion of Russian society.

The annexation of Crimea and the military invasion of eastern Ukraine led to the emergence of the “Crimean consensus” - a broad, passive approval of the regime’s geopolitical actions by the majority of Russian society. Domestic policy was overshadowed by foreign policy, where the national leader and supreme commander became the central figure.

The “Crimean Consensus” lasted until 2018, and then a new wave of politicization began to emerge in Russia. Protests against corruption, spearheaded by Alexei Navalny, widespread dissatisfaction with the neoliberal pension reform, and movements advocating for environmental protection and local self-governance in various regions of Russia marked a significant shift. The demand for the unification of political and social dissatisfaction resurfaced. However, to gain full control over society, repression, and geopolitical rhetoric alone were not enough - the regime needed a real war.

Lessons from “Bolotnaya”

What important lessons can be drawn from the Balotnaya protests? In my view, the Georgian protest movement has avoided the first mistake I discussed earlier. Despite the government’s repeated attempts to frame the protests as a rebellion driven by NGOs or a liberal minority, the sheer scale of the protests, the diversity of the social and professional groups involved, and the widespread nature of the demonstrations across the regions automatically undermined the propaganda efforts of the “Georgian Dream”.

Protests against rising authoritarianism in Georgia should take a second key lesson from the struggle for democracy in Russia. In Russia, there has been a consistent failure to connect political and social discontent. Similarly, the protests in Georgia have not yet fully integrated the social dimension into their broader political goals. The protest remains within the political (demand for democracy and struggle against authoritarianism) and foreign policy dimensions (defending the country’s pro-Western foreign course). Despite the active involvement of the lower middle class, hired workers, and students in the protest, any type of social demand (such as freezing bank debts) has so far been considered a hindering factor for the protest.

Incorporating a social dimension into the protest movement will help broaden its appeal and draw in a wider range of people. Citizens, who may be apprehensive due to fears of Maidan-style upheaval, civil unrest, or the threat of war, will feel a stronger connection to the demonstrators. The future of Georgia’s democratic development hinges largely on this ability to expand the movement.

Conclusion

The two protest movements examined ultimately ended in failure, and this setback had a profound effect on the future of the democratic movements in both Belarus and Russia.

After the defeat of the 2020 protests, Lukashenko’s regime evolved into a rigid dictatorship. Initially, in the 1990s, it began as an electoral dictatorship led by a social populist who claimed to represent ordinary, still-Soviet citizens. Over time, it transitioned into a bureaucratic phase, where professional administrators operated under the dictator’s political control. The regime even positioned itself at the center of peaceful global cooperation when it refused to recognize Georgia’s occupied territories and the annexed Crimea, and hosted the Minsk negotiations.

In recent years, however, Lukashenko has increasingly governed Belarus as though it were a conquered nation, and his regime is sliding into a state of entrenched social conflict. The primary focus of the regime has shifted away from maintaining the economy, consolidating sovereignty, or pursuing authoritarian modernization. Instead, its central objective has become the relentless persecution of citizens deemed unacceptable.

Within weeks of the invasion of Ukraine, Putin’s regime established a new political order in Russia: disorganized anti-war protests were met with unprecedented brutality, and military censorship was introduced, with violations punishable by up to 12 years in prison. Any form of dissent against the “special military operation” became an offence - whether through public protests, social media posts, or even casual conversations with colleagues. After the declaration of mobilization, repression, and the disposal of citizens’ “bodies” as soulless, manageable resources moved to a new level. Putin’s regime, which had previously been characterized by neoliberal authoritarianism, transformed into a brutal dictatorship focused on imperial conquest and the destruction of the entire country.

A portion of the Georgian population is currently engaged in a battle against the rise of authoritarianism. Failure in this struggle would lead to intensified repression and the stifling of any form of protest. Georgia would remain a peripheral country in Europe, with its citizens deprived of even the most basic mechanisms for safeguarding political and social rights. To avoid this bleak future, it will be crucial to learn the right lessons from the experiences of other post-Soviet countries in their struggles.