Voices of Resistance

The spirit of protest against political oppression runs deep in contemporary Georgian poetry, tracing its roots to ancient oral traditions and medieval Georgian literature. Given my country’s turbulent history – persistently targeted by world empires – this thread of resistance is unsurprising. It is fitting, then, that among the globally selected sounds for NASA’s Voyager Golden Records – launched in 1977 to tell Earth’s story to extraterrestrials – there is a symbol of Georgian resilience: the polyphonic folk song Chakrulo, now recognised as UNESCO intangible cultural heritage. If some advanced space-faring civilisations ever encounter Voyager spacecraft, they will hear our defiant battle cry against a conqueror:

Let me sharpen my fiery sword,
Enemy, I’ll make you reap,
All the spite that you have sown.

When Chakrulo was sent into space, Georgia was still under Soviet control, forcibly established in 1921, as lamented by symbolist Kolau Nadiradze (1895–1990) in his pivotal poem February 25: ‘On horseback, head held high, waving a red flag, / Death and its scythe slowly ambled into town...’ (translated by Matt Janney). Fourteen more years would pass before the Soviet Union collapsed and Georgia regained its statehood in 1991, at the cost of innocent lives and the torment of dissidents. Two key figures in this fight for liberty were tragically fallen poets who wielded poetry as a weapon, defying Soviet censorship and leading the national liberation movement: Georgia’s first president, Zviad Gamsakhurdia, and the unyielding dissident Merab Kostava, who authored lines that still resound at demonstrations:

Embrace the danger, never fail your kin,
Be fearless, as if no flesh were within.

Thus, contemporary Georgian poetry was born of the struggle for national independence, baptised on Rustaveli Avenue amid fervent cries against foreign oppression. Protest became both the birthmark and solace of Georgian poetry, especially as the years ahead proved perilous.

Russia’s aggression did not end with the fall of the Soviet Union. Wars with Georgia led to the loss of Abkhazia (1993) and Samachablo (2008), with over 300,000 displaced and thousands killed. This devastating toll has found expression in Georgian poetry, such as the poignant piece by award-winning poet and journalist Eka Kevanishvili, Onions of Tamarasheni Village Made Me Weep. Based on a real-life interview with an internally displaced person from Samachablo, the poem portrays the grappling post-traumatic stress of Georgian internally displaced persons. A decade after the war, the interviewee, Valia Aidarashvili, is struck with fear at the sight of the journalist’s microphone, anxiously asking if it will shock her.

... And now, on this arid land, in a house far from home,
Valia Aidarashvili was afraid of my microphone.
The same Valia who had told me,
‘Children will multiply, but the homeland is one.’
The same Valia who had seen smoke rising from her village
and walked a long, long road through the war…

Russia’s Creeping Occupation persists, with kidnappings, torture and murders of Georgian civilians near the occupied zones, steadily expanding the Russian-occupied territory inch by inch. One of the most shocking incidents was the 2023 killing of Tamaz Ginturi by Russian forces as he attempted to enter his village church. This heinous act inspired the renowned contemporary Georgian poet Rati Amaglobeli – a resistance movement leader and founder of SABA literary award – to immortalise Ginturi’s martyrdom in his poem Church Door:

Before he left his wife a widow, his child fatherless,
he climbed to the churchyard and reached for the lock.
A deafening crack split the air –
those who had locked the door now were shooting.
It was Russia,
with a whip in hand and crucifixion bolts...
Yet, the church door swung open,
and with it, the sky above,
and facing a force far too great,
he unbolted our hearts, where he’ll abide.

While foreign aggression persists, domestic unrest also fuels protest poetry. Georgia has endured civil war, a coup and corrupt regimes, from the Rose Revolution to the current anti-Western, authoritarian rule of the oligarch-led Georgian Dream Party, accused of dragging our country back under Russian influence. Naturally, decades of politically unstable independence have led to disillusionment, encapsulated in award-winning poet and translator Zviad Ratiani’s Negative. 20 Years Later. The poem, featuring the much-quoted line ‘We, who shall never come out again’, speaks of collective self-blame, asserting that:

We’ve ruined Georgia with our naive, exemplary love.
How we believed in those tortured, mad few,
who concealed their humps beneath white plumes,
and yellowed tusks in their beards.
They perished solemnly, awaiting an unseen sign,
and burst into flames as we chanted.
In the end, sweeping their ashes, we scattered,
never to come out again.

In 2017, Ratiani himself had to flee to Germany after being assaulted by Georgian police in a a raid. But contrary to his lines, Georgian writers did ‘come out again’ in his support, marking a new era of literary protest that is still ongoing. Besides, as I write, my country faces one of its most globally recognised crises – a vehement uprising against the government for passing the authoritarian Foreign Agent Law, dubbed The Russian Law for its potential to suppress dissent.

In the spring of 2024, the law ignited months of protests with the largest turnouts in modern Georgian history. Once again, these demonstrations were led by the poet Rati Amaglobeli, who, echoing the legacy of Gamsakhurdia and Kostava, wielded his rebellious poetry as a tool of resistance. As he writes in To Stauffenberg: ‘A poet brews the lightning in a pot of words, and with it, blasts all tyrants and despots.’ Amaglobeli has even produced a cycle of impromptu Demonstration Poems, one of which was chanted by thousands at the rallies:

Georgia, you’re rising up,
Your roar is heard.
To mend your heart,
To light your dark,
To sing together, victorious –
Georgia, you are us!

Social media undoubtedly play a crucial role in this uprising, as with any large-scale protest nowadays. Facebook has emerged as a poetic hotline, with 84-year-old Besik Kharanauli, a Nobel Prize nominee and Georgia’s most revered contemporary writer, unexpectedly leading the charge. Kharanauli, instrumental in popularising free verse in Georgia, has recently employed both rhymed and unrhymed verse to mobilise thousands online, advocating for Georgia’s European future. Many of his lines have found their way onto rally posters, such as:

We’ve tied the knot on destiny’s rope.
Georgia, your ship’s off to Europe.

One of Kharanauli’s most popular protest poems was inspired by the 2023 viral video of Nana Malashkhia, a Georgian woman braving a water cannon while waving the European flag. In Georgia’s still-patriarchal society, this heartfelt acknowledgment of female power by Kharanauli, the patriarch of contemporary poetry, is particularly impactful:

Now men are weary, weakened and bent,
Women, your moment has arrived!
You’ll ring the bells that once fell silent,
And lift the sabres high...
Lead us onward, cast off your shawls,
Dispel the dark clouds above.
Georgia, hear the rustling reeds’ call:
The time for women has come.

This is how, in critical times, poetry draws on pithy and straightforward language, labelled by award-winning writer and translator Shota Iatashvili, as ‘principally banal slogans that ignite and extinguish revolutions’. In his 2023 poem Art is Alive and Independent, Iatashvili reflects on the power of such slogans:

Shout them loud,
Scrawl them on the nearest wall,
And watch a wave sweep through the sleeping land.
I love these beginnings,
Even when they prove futile,
Even when they fade too soon.
They’re still worth it, for they spark
The illusion of righteousness in many,
And rouse dormant energy in idle souls...
There’s merit in the bustle,
For bustle is the root of all things.
But unless you shout the banal truth to the crowd –
There will be no bustle at all.

The title of Iatashvili’s poem echoes the slogan artist Sandro Sulaberidze sprayed on Georgia’s National Gallery during his 2023 protest performance against the Ministry of Culture. This act of defiance led to state investigations and the dismissal of exhibition curators, yet the public outcry that followed ultimately forced authorities to drop all charges against Sulaberidze. This victory, however, was just one in a broader battle against the Ministry of Culture’s coercive practices. Since 2023, over 100 Georgian literary figures have boycotted the ministry, refusing to participate in state projects. The tension between artists and the ministry has inspired its own crop of poems.

The revealing Devaluation by award-winning translator and poet Lela Samniashvili explores the abuse of power and its impact on cultural heritage and human lives. In it, the Borjgali, a central symbol of Georgian culture, morphs into a bloodstained swastika that

Craves homeland for its dinner,
And seeks to wash down every morsel.
Despair hammers at its entrance,
But the servants never answer.
Too bad, for the Master’s burden
Is the servant’s burden too,
While servants only count
In the making of tombs.

The conflict between creative freedom and state authority is further explored in Natia Giorgadze’s untitled poem, which explicitly criticises the dismissive hostility of the minister of culture. It begins with a metaphorical attempt to awaken a crow and a hyena – symbols of the minister’s artistic incompetence and insatiable appetite for power – underscoring how independent voices are systematically ignored:

How fortunate that the lady from the ministry ignores me,
How fortunate that she is not Roman.
‘I sing of arms and the man’
To release the sea in my yard,
To gather people and become a queen...
May her majesty faint,
She doesn’t have a heart
Yet we bestowed her with power.

Governmental abuses have led to numerous public petitions which have also been ignored. The resulting frustration in activism is masterfully captured in Petition by social media influencer, journalist and poet Nana Akobidze:

My name is Petition.
I once had another name –
The name of an ordinary person.
But now, I’m something more:
A name filled with Nos and exclamation marks,
A name weighed down by doubt and wasted days.
And these days stretch longer than a lifetime.
On these days, we march the streets...
‘Go and stand there –
Miss one more day of your life,’
I say to myself before stepping out,
‘Add one more to your signed days.
Just click – it will auto-fill.’

The profound estrangement between the establishment and the people is the theme of another haunting poem, Yes, General, by award-winning children’s writer and poet Lela Tsutskiridze, depicting a homeland as a former soldier still clinging to power:

My country is like a retired General,
Who has long forgotten he was defeated –
In every battle, whether against enemies or its own citizens.
But it remembers one thing well:
It is still a General,
And it still commands that we stand at attention.
And before we raise our hands to salute –
Fingers poised like triggers at our foreheads –
It demands that we shout, until our voices break:
‘Yes, General!’

Contemporary protest poetry cannot be separated from the disobedience texts that predate the Georgian Dream Party’s rise to power. Many poets now championing Georgia’s European future were once vocal critics of former President Saakashvili’s authoritarianism. Amaglobeli, for example, regularly marched against the regime, and his satirical Confession of an MP became one of the most popular texts exposing governmental corruption. Another key figure, the late Zurab Rtveliashvili (1967–2021), a neo-futurist poet and Dada-King-President of Tbilisi’s avant-garde performers, sought asylum in Sweden after frequent arrests for protest-driven street performances. In 2006, he was beaten while reading his Poetic Appropriation outside the Tbilisi Court House, refusing to stop reciting:

… My rules for dressing obey no law,
I stopped dancing
And
Whispering in the street,
To those who cannot comprehend,
I reply in poems
I pound them
As if with a hammer
On a golden
Treasure chest!

(Translated by Natalia Bukia-Peters and Victoria Field)

Other notable texts from that era include Prayer of the Poor by popular songwriter and performer Erekle Deisadze, which criticises the collusion between religious and political authorities while ordinary people suffer:

It’s your fault if you’re still hungry
And instead of bread you’re fed a prayer,
As a kiss from the president’s Palace
Floats to Trinity Cathedral...

From birth, they force upon your face –
The stinking mask of a patriot.
‘O, my blood, shed in every place’
From now, you shall be shed no more.

Saakashvili’s government also saw the publication of the controversial collection of pseudo-religious hymns, Akathist, by two times SABA Award-winning poet Paata Shamugia, who offers a provocative take on the psychological and physical toll of political turmoil, portraying it as a perverse kind of intercourse:

Abhor politics – this educational methadone,
A substitute for ritual in a civic eucharist.
Yet, it seems, the rejection of politics is a ritual itself,
One from which there is no escape...
Oppress and be oppressed,
A kind of social sex,
A perversion played out with ideological tools...

Come out into the streets,
Unsheathe each other’s hearts,
And fly them like banners.
We give you thanks, O Lord!
May your blood rise like a tsunami,
May the cities be swept away,
As terrified citizens wade through red rivers.
And may this be the cost of rejection.
We give you thanks, O Lord!

Shamugia continued to engage in political critique with his 2022 poem A General Skills Test for Senior Students, which offers three severe solutions for handling corrupt elites:

If your country is on the verge of socio-economic collapse,
while the political elite are well-fed and happy,

a. Overthrow the political elite.
b. Overthrow them brutally.
c. Fuck them.

Impunity, as another facet of current political injustice, is powerfully dissected in the disturbing poem by writer and translator Bela Chekurishvili. Parent’s Status protests against the state’s repeated failure to prosecute murderers:

Being the mother of the murdered
Carries a unique status here –
An unpaid debt, lingering shame
That in the afterlife,
A mother cannot bring her child
The news of the murderer’s capture.
For parents lose every fight here,
As we stand between the slain and the slayers.

Finally, I must mention Andro Dadiani, a well-known performance artist and poet who, for years, has operated under this pseudonym to avoid homophobic attacks. His choice has become even more topical since the recent passage of an anti-LGBTQ law that censors explicit homosexual references in art. Dadiani’s poem As I’m Walking on Rustaveli Avenue transports us back to the heart of the demonstrations on Tbilisi’s central avenue, starkly contrasting its festive decorations with the country’s dire poverty. The poem then appeals to God with a bitter irony:

… Lord, leave the patriarchal residence,
Dress as Santa Claus
and walk the streets of this numb city
whose shadow hasn’t inched forward in years.

It has been an immense joy to translate the works of these courageous authors who, alongside many others, relentlessly fight against both Russian influence and domestic oppression. Their efforts validate Seamus Heaney’s assertion that ‘The poet’s voice is a counter-move against the forces that drive the world in destructive directions’. With less than a month until parliamentary elections that will shape Georgia’s future, contemporary Georgian poetry stands as a testament to the power of words in the face of adversity, capturing the spirit of a nation that refuses to be silenced. I believe this struggle will end in victory, as it always has – an enduring truth exemplified in the poem of Tea Topuria, an internally displaced writer and journalist from Russian-occupied Abkhazia, one of the war’s many victims:

First, there were tears, then came the blood.
Then tearless, bloodless, we became,
all learning to walk on, headstrong,
even as the road ended.
We stepped with wrath, with fear, with death,
no path, no sign to follow.
But where others failed, we endured
and made it to now.

All poems mentioned in this essay have been translated by the author of this essay, unless otherwise noted.