One Hundred Days of Protests: Georgia on the Crossroads between East and West

Zurab Natroshvili, a Georgian restaurateur in his late 40s, wears a brightly embroidered silk coat as he pours organic red wine and homemade chacha from a crystal carafe into exquisite glasses at his private restaurant in Tbilisi. Antique furniture, classical music, and modern wall art distract from the drumbeats and chants of mass protests shaking the streets—but not for long. 

Everything here is symbolic. “Bina” means “apartment,” fitting for a restaurant located on the eighth floor of a residential high-rise in Tbilisi. “37” evokes both the horrors of Stalin’s 1937 purges, which wiped out Georgia’s elite, and the forced unity of the USSR, where a Tbilisi-Moscow train ticket cost 37 rubles—a number that became a euphemism for “Go back to Russia!” for intrusive neighbors and unwelcome guests. 

Generations of Georgians see Russia—with its history of annexations and aggression—as an existential threat, and for good reason. For centuries, the Russian Empire, the USSR, and now Putin’s Russia have sought to control Georgia to reinforce regional dominance, secure strategic corridors, and expand political and economic influence in the Caucasus. Georgia’s proximity to the Black Sea and its position between Russia and the Middle East make it vital for military strategy and energy transit, particularly through pipelines and ports. Today, Russian forces, stationed in the Abkhazia and South Ossetia, occupy 20% of Georgian territory.

The irony is stark, as hospitality is at the core of Georgia’s national identity. “Any article about Georgia should start with stumarmaspindzloba, a sacred code in our DNA,” Zurab said. “We, Georgians, believe that guests come from God.”

Although Russia has proven that not all guests have divine origins, this tradition shapes not just the Georgian character but also its economy, which relies heavily on hospitality.

Zurab’s striking outfit is a nod to Georgia’s rich history. The first recorded silk caravan from China to the Mediterranean passed through its mountains in 568, with archaeological finds confirming trade in the late 6th and early 7th centuries.

Georgia’s strategic location made it a key hub on the Great Silk Road, a role it continues today as part of the Middle Corridor, which connects China, Central Asia, and Europe while bypassing Russian-controlled routes. That geopolitical detail interfered with Zurab’s life plans; the political, as always, becoming personal.

A spacious dining room opens onto a terrace with sweeping views of sunset-lit hills—and a wine-making facility built in the country’s ancient tradition. Georgia, in the Northern Caucasus and once the kingdom of Colchis in Greek mythology, is the birthplace of wine. 8,000-year-old clay jars—qvevri—fragments and grape seeds were found near Tbilisi. Winemaking never stopped, though Soviet rule (1920–1991) prioritized factory production over tradition. In the early 2000s, natural wine made a comeback, and Zurab was there to pursue the opportunity.

Zurab wasn’t always a winemaker. A successful businessman, he briefly served as an adviser to the Health Minister but resigned, calling Bidzina Ivanishvili’s government “pro-Russian and corrupt.” Ivanishvili’s party, Georgian Dream, entered politics in 2012 with pro-European rhetoric but has since shifted toward pro-Russian sentiment and authoritarian rule—unsurprising, given that Ivanishvili built his career and fortune in Russia.

In 2015, Zurab left his top management role in the pharmaceutical industry to follow his passion, and in a year, his family had renovated 600 square meters in an ordinary apartment block and opened Bina 37. To produce organic, sulfate-free wine, he fermented grapes in 43 traditional qvevris buried in sand and perlite right on the terrace.

Zurab began hosting events for up to 160 guests, pairing his organic wine with traditional Georgian dishes. Khachapuri, cheese-filled bread, come in many shapes—for instance, the Adjarian khachapuri looks like a boat, with an egg yolk drowining in melted cheese symbolizing a sun floating on the Black Sea. Khinkali dumplings look like small sacks with the odd-numbered folds—19 or more.

“We had about 20 dishes a la carte. It took three years of my life in the kitchen,” said Zurab.  “Going outside to buy meat and greens at the market was an adventure. I loved it. Try our churchkhela, please.” 

Once carried by warriors, the chewy candy—walnuts or hazelnuts in solid grape juice—resembles a DNA string. Wine-red, amber and emerald garlands glisten in the sun at the street markets alongside pomegranates, tarragon, and mint. Soft and supple at first bite, it crunches at the core.

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‘We Could Smell Tear Gas’

In three years, the family opened a second restaurant near Freedom Square in Tbilisi, a bustling hub for tourists and locals. Business thrived as foreign investment and tourism peaked—until the evening of June 19, 2019. As the new restaurant hosted a friend’s anniversary with a lavish feast, Soviet-style special forces in black balaclavas appeared at the doors.

“We could smell tear gas at the restaurant,” said Zurab. “I told my staff that was the end.”

“Gavrilov Night” became a turning point in modern Georgian history. The ruling party, Georgian Dream, invited a Russian diplomat to preside over Parliament, but the people refused to accept Sergei Gavrilov—or Russia. Russians—once again—abused Georgian hospitality.

A powerful protest broke up in front of the Parliament building. During the violent crackdown, the government used rubber bullets and tear gas against civilians, leading to serious injuries and loss of eyesight for some. The protests continued for three months, scaring away tourists. Georgia’s economy, dependent on the hospitality industry, was hit hard—and so was Zurab’s business.

COVID-19 delivered another blow. Meanwhile, Russia blocked wine exports, exploiting Georgia’s import dependence. The lingering influence of Soviet-era trade left the country’s economy struggling to recover, and the political crisis escalated again in spring—fall  2024.

The Georgian government, by this point controlling all state institutions, including judiciary, media, and electoral bodies in the country, adopted the controversial “Russian law” requiring media and NGOs to register as “pursuing the interests of a foreign power” if more than 20% of funding came from abroad. More protests shook the country.

During the October 2024 election, Georgian Dream ran on the offers of stability and the weaponization of fear. 

“They used the images of destroyed Ukrainian cities to sway voters,” explained Zurab. “‘Look at what had happened to Ukraine. Do you want a war?’ they said.”

Georgian Dream presented pro-European opposition as a threat to Georgian identity and Orthodox Christian heritage, shared with Russia—the LGBTQ issue becoming a scarecrow. Opposition parties, united under the Coalition for Change, suffered not only from the smear campaigns orchestrated by the state-controlled media but also from internal divisions and the lack of public trust. 

After Georgian Dream won the election and a parliamentary majority in November 2024, protests first seemed unlikely—until Ivanishvili appointed unqualified soccer player Mikheil Kavelashvili as Presdent. Russia’s immediate greetings added fuel to the fire. Next, the Prime Minister announced halting EU integration talks until 2028. Policies favoring Russian nationals, such as relaxed citizenship processing and the removal of Georgian language requirements for public servants, intensified public outrage. 

Students, professors, business owners, and artists stepped out into the streets to protest. The self-proclaimed government used the police, special forces, and Russian- and Byelorussian-style hired thugs, titushki, to suppress the movement. Georgian Dream raided opposition leaders’ and protest participants’ houses and institutions. Zurab, like many others, received a warning not to join the protests and not to post on social media. The next day he was at the rally, posting about it on Facebook. 

“I will not be pushed over or blackmailed,” he said.

Thousands of Georgians feel the same way. As the sun disappears and darkness creeps in, hundreds of protestors fill the streets in Tbilisi, Batumi, and other cities, drumming, singing songs mocking the Georgian Dream, chanting, and waving flags.

For 75 nights, Georgians risk new Draconian laws—up to ten years prison sentences and astronomic fines—and special forces with “torture vans” to fight not just the aggressive neighbor with imperial delusions or land disputes. It is a battle between democracy and totalitarian terror; the Enlightenment and Middle Ages mentalities.

“Ivanishvili underestimated the scale and persistence of the protests,” said Zurab. “Now, with a stalemate on its hands, Georgian Dream might be provoking and pushing for Maidan-like violent protest to invite the Russian troops to enter officially for ‘protection’ of the illegitimate government and the Russian ex-pats living in Georgia.”

These protests, lasting for 100 days by March 7, 2025, can shape the future of Georgia’s four million citizens, as well as the course of democracy in the Caucasus and around the world. Bina 37, a space where the new and the old intertwine, awaits a celebration of freedom.