Violence against the media is the ultimate expression—the ultimate sign—of weakness.
And what we witnessed yesterday wasn’t just violence; I would call it attempted murder. That’s how I truly see it, because there was a very real chance—just like in the case of Guram Rogava, and also Maka Chikhladze and Giorgi Shetsiruli—that this could have ended in a horrific outcome.
I don’t even want to speak about what that would have caused, because it’s already painfully clear. Everything is so obvious now, so undeniable, that I no longer have any doubts about what we’re dealing with.
If anyone still has their own interpretations, that’s between them and their conscience.
As for me, I’ve already said—we must all act according to the voice of our conscience. That’s the one thing we must rely on when making decisions, especially now.
This is the reality we are living in. This is our situation.

I wish a swift recovery to all those harmed.
And I want to say—Georgian media will always stand on the front line, covering every significant event that unfolds in our country.

That is our profession, our duty, and journalists must be untouchable, especially when reporting from the most dangerous frontlines, bringing vital information to the public.

I am deeply shaken—last night I had to watch those horrifying clips over and over again. We were standing just below the Conservatory, and somehow, I ended up in the very epicenter of that horror.

And now, I just want to say—I hope this is the last time we have to witness something like this.
May we finally begin walking down the path of progress, the one we all truly want.

We are all at risk now. We’re under threat of death.
My child is right here next to me, my third, the youngest… I’m speaking to their father now, and telling him—my other children are here too.
You should all know: there are armed provocateurs—“titushkas”—roaming around, looking for a reason to incite violence, so they can later blame it on us, as if we—the peaceful citizens here—were planning to hurt anyone.

Who are you addressing, when you say you’re speaking to the father of your children?

The father of my children knows very well who he is. It’s Shalva Ramishvili.
These are the children I raised in pain, in hardship. And now, they are in danger. Everything we went through because of this man was unbearable for them. And now he dares to preach from his safe distance? And to those of you who still believe this man—open your eyes. Show me even one government official who isn’t rich… How can you believe these people, my friends? We are all in the same boat. All of us.
We are oppressed by this system. I was a child on April 9th, and I was standing here.
I’ve been at every protest since then. But I never supported individuals—I stood for a system that had crushed our spirit. But now we must wake up. Please, I’m begging all of you—stand before your conscience. Don’t believe the propaganda. They’re lying. They run troll factories. I beg you, my beloved people—I love you all.
I love my coworkers too. And I call on everyone’s conscience—wake up. Now. Stand tall. I know that in every place, there’s at least one brave person. And one person can change everything. That’s how history works. One voice of truth has the power to break entire systems. That’s what moves humanity forward.
Please—wake up. Protect us. You no longer belong in those government jobs.
This whole system must stop. We need to end this misery they’ve forced us to live in for so long. Don’t listen to personalities. Look at the facts. Everything is out in the open now. There is cruelty happening—right now. I just came from there and saw how they were beating people… How can you believe someone who kicks a person that’s already on the ground? Have a conscience, people. A conscience. That’s the only thing you must answer to now.

You’re at the protest with your children, right?

Every single day. I haven’t eaten a full meal since all of this began.We’re all here—me and my children. I have an elderly mother at home, and she watches the TV and cries… There are honest people standing here, friends. Don’t be fooled. We are all peaceful.

I am standing here as a servant of God, as a citizen of this country, and as a mother who sends her children out every evening with the fear that they might encounter someone in uniform—someone who might beat them, injure them, break them, and send them back to me like that.I don’t want my children to live in a country like this. I want to be able to look you in the eyes and not feel fear. Do you know that every time I come to a protest, I’m afraid I’ll recognize someone among you — a relative, a classmate, a member of my congregation… I don’t want to live in a country like that. We come here for real peace. True peace is when you and I build a country together — a country where my children and your children can walk freely down this avenue. Every time you receive an order, remember: it’s not just my children standing in front of you — your children are standing there too. Listen to the voice of your heart. Listen to justice.
Listen to love. We are all children of God, children of this country. We are a small people — and without one another, we have no future. Have mercy on our children. And have mercy on your own.

Your superiors will throw you away just like they are already throwing us away. They won’t spare you either. You’re just tiny parts of the system, little cogs. No one will protect you—you’re pawns, just like we are. They’re making us fight each other. How do you not see that? I’m shocked—what did your families teach you at home? Don’t you have parents? Mothers? Fathers? Brothers, sisters? Did your mothers teach you to hit someone when they’re already down? What are your mothers’ names? One is called Marian, another Tamriko, maybe Salome – I don’t know, different names… Did they teach you this?

They didn’t, right? Then why are you doing it if that’s not what you were taught? It breaks my heart. And along with that pain, I’m angry—
What does the statue of Mother of Kartli symbolize? You know, don’t you?
You call us uneducated, but she holds a bowl in one hand and a sword in the other. Now our fireworks are our sword—because enemies must be treated as enemies, and friends as friends. You are not our friends. You are putting people into comas. That is not love. That is not Christianity. That is not manhood. None of this makes any sense. We are showing more courage than you are. And if you don’t want that to be true, then be the first to cross over. Take off these ridiculous black uniforms and come to the people. Life is better in a normal country. It truly hurts—I don’t even know what else to say, how else to speak…
I have no voice left. Aren’t you ashamed of what you’re doing? How much are they paying you for this? If you don’t beat me, the person standing next to you will in five minutes. So what’s the difference? You’re submerged in this system, your hands are dirty too. I know you have families, I know some of you have children, others have elderly parents… But how do you feed your children with that kind of money? What do you tell them? That you put people into comas? I don’t know what you’ll tell your kid when you have one… That you were “heroically defending Georgia”? Is this what defending Georgia looks like? Am I your enemy? Are you defending Georgia from me? From me—who stands here just to make sure this country is livable for both me and you? That’s what it comes down to in the end, right?

I can’t listen to you…

You can’t, because you’re ashamed of yourself.
And for those who don’t listen to these words, for those who stay silent—deep down, you’re ashamed too. At night, before falling asleep, there’s always that one pivotal second — What do you think in that moment? “What did I do today?” “What was I worth today?” Do you say, “I smashed someone’s head in, I’m a real man”?