“First of all, I will say this: in 2008 it was Russia that started the war…

“One moment, one moment. I told you from the very beginning — you may only speak in relation to the case.” – Judge, Koba Chagunava

“I am speaking in relation to the case. On April 9th, 1989, it was not so-called ‘foreign forces,’ as our self-proclaimed and illegitimate government dares to claim — it was Russia that carried out a massacre in Georgia, on Rustaveli Avenue. And you are fining me for protesting the absurdities of this illegitimate group? You are fining me because my 21-year-old brother was unlawfully thrown into prison and accused of nonsense? You are fining me because I demand freedom for prisoners of conscience — while I have every legal right to do so?

On top of this, I find it completely unacceptable that a sanctioned judge is the one presiding over my case.

“Stick to the facts… the facts… If you continue, then it means you do not wish to use your right to speak in relation to the facts.”

“What I wanted to say is this: I am not afraid of your fines, nor of anything else. You cannot intimidate me. It is not the people who should fear an unjust court — it is the unjust court that should fear the power of the people.”

This post isn’t for the people already standing on Rustaveli.
It’s for those who think the ones on Rustaveli
are “radicals.”

This is Eto.
I don’t know her age.
All I know is that she is very, very young.
And every day,
as we walk from the Public Broadcaster towards Rustaveli,
we see her—
standing between police cars,
shining her phone flashlight, smiling at us ♡
That’s how she greets us ♡♡

I don’t know where this girl found such determination.
Every single day,
without missing a beat,
she stands there, unwavering,
between two police cars,
greeting everyone who arrives.

The other day, someone approached her and said:
“My relative is a police officer, and he told me about you—
how there’s this one girl whose persistence amazes them.
He told me your story, and I came to meet you myself.” ♡
Even the police are telling stories about her ♡

She told me she wanted to stay the night on April 9
alongside the parents of political prisoners.
But she thought,
“I won’t be able to stand for that long.
Maybe I’ll just go,
stay for a little while,
then head home and come back at dawn.”

So she went.
But when she saw the parents preparing for the night,
she couldn’t leave. She stayed.

That night, when the police shift changed once, then again,
at midnight an officer approached her:
“You’re back again?”
She replied: “I never left.”
He was stunned.

She stayed all night.
“I don’t know how I managed,” she told me.
“At one point people came and brought me tarragon soda, cheese, and bread.”

Then a police officer came over and said:
“You know, we get paid extra for night shifts—
I bet you get something too, huh?”
I laughed and said,
“Yep, I get tarragon, a little cheese and bread. Pretty sweet deal, right?”

But then I realized—he was serious.
I had been standing there for 8 or 9 hours straight,
fully, deeply feeling that I was protecting my country—
and he asked me how much I was paid.
I thought,
what could they possibly pay the others,
those who’ve been standing there so long?
Is there a price for such willpower?

Another shift came at dawn.
One of them,
not usually the kind to be soft—
often rude, treats citizens badly—
he came and asked,
“When did you get here?”
I said: “I never left.”
By then it had been 26 hours.
He raised both hands,
his eyes widened,
and he just walked away.
Couldn’t say a word.

I don’t know how I managed to stand in one place for 26 hours.
Maybe it was the presence of the prisoners’ parents,
maybe it was love for my country

Yes—this is what Eto told me yesterday,
as we headed home.
We met by chance in the metro.
I said:
“I know you from afar—thank you.”
I wanted you to know too

Photo taken from Dato Simonia’s Facebook—
it captures Eto’s inner strength,
her love for her country,
and her incredible resolve.