The Staged Violence – How Georgian Dream Uses Its Own People as Extras

A Country in a Permanent State of Provocation

What happened in Tbilisi on October 4 was no coincidence. It was a carefully choreographed performance in which the ruling party Georgian Dream once again proved that it doesn’t shape political reality—it scripts it. A state that uses its citizens merely as extras for its own television footage: that’s Georgia in 2025.

For months, observers, journalists, and human rights organizations have warned of growing violence within state structures. And yet, the government continues to sell every escalation as “necessary law enforcement.” October 4 was meant to be—at least in the eyes of those who took to the streets—a day of hope. But it ended up as a masterclass in provocation, reminiscent of Soviet-era productions: same methods, same direction—only better cameras.

“For us, who have been protesting for more than 300 days…”

An activist who joined the protest that day told tiflis24.de what many felt but few dared to say publicly:

“For all of us who have been taking part in these protests for more than 300 days, the main goal was, of course, a change of government—and for Georgia to return to the path of European integration. On October 4, hope was born that the government would actually fall. That hope came from the clear statements of the organizers, who assured us that this would be the day of change.”

The bitter irony is that this very hope was weaponized by the government. While the people believed they were opening a new chapter in history, Georgian Dream was already writing the script for its next episode of victimhood.

Hope as a Trap

The government knows exactly how to manipulate emotions. It has learned from the past protests—learned not how to listen, but how to use them. While the West still speaks of “civil society,” Georgian Dream sees it only as a stage for discrediting its opponents.

That people followed the call of the organizers on October 4 was not a sign of weakness—it was proof that Georgians still believe in political change. And that faith was cynically exploited.

“I don’t know what made the organizers so certain,” the demonstrator said. “Maybe no one would have believed it if it hadn’t come from Levan Khabeishvili himself.”

The mention of the opposition leader is crucial. What happened on October 4 was not only a state provocation—it was a deliberate attempt to discredit the opposition altogether.

A Script of Escalation

In the hours before the protest, the atmosphere in Tbilisi grew increasingly tense. Eyewitnesses reported an unusual number of uniformed officers in plain clothes, cameras set up at key points, and men loitering at the edges of the crowd—all wearing the same earpieces.

Anyone familiar with the Georgian Ministry of Internal Affairs knows: there are no coincidences there.

The government needed footage—not of peaceful protest, but of “violent radicals.” So violence had to happen. And if it didn’t occur naturally, it would simply be produced.

“They Wanted to Film the Violence”

The activist describes the moment vividly:

“As we stood in front of the parliament, something felt off from the very beginning. There were police officers without badges, men in civilian clothes, cameras pointed directly at us. It was as if they were just waiting for someone to throw a stone. Later, we learned that this was exactly the plan: they wanted to film the violence to blame it on the protesters.”

This isn’t a conspiracy theory—it’s Georgian political routine. In a country where the government sustains itself not through legitimacy but through fear, every camera becomes a weapon.

You don’t need imagination to picture the scene later that night inside the government building: “Here—look, the boy with the flag, we can use that as an attack. And here—the woman screaming, that’s perfect for the sound.”

Violence as State Policy

Violence in Georgia has long become a form of communication—a political aesthetic meant to demonstrate power. Each scream, each tear, each bruise is part of the message: Georgian Dream directs the show.

While Prime Minister Irakli Kobakhidze drones on in his monotone press briefings about “national security,” his apparatus follows one simple logic: whoever protests, forfeits their rights.

The question is no longer whether the government uses violence, but how artfully it choreographs it.

The Manufacture of Fear

The scenes of October 4 were textbook examples of how fear is produced: tear gas, water cannons, batons—and the ever-present television camera. Later that night, state TV aired the headlines: “Chaotic scenes in central Tbilisi – Police prevent violent coup attempt.”

That’s how easily history is written in Georgia—when you own the media.

But it wasn’t a coup attempt. It was a desperate effort by citizens to be heard—a call for Europe, for dignity, for an end to deception. Yet in the world of Georgian Dream, dignity is just another Western export, imported or banned depending on the political weather.

Between a Democracy Facade and a Police State

The government likes to portray itself as a defender of stability. In truth, it defends only its monopoly on instability.

When it says “stability,” it means “control.” When it says “control,” it means “fear.” And fear, in today’s Tbilisi, is patriotism.

The protests of October 4 were born from exhaustion—a society tired of watching reform promises dissolve into PR exercises. But this time, people dared to believe again.

The Stage Called Europe

“We wanted to show that Georgia belongs to Europe,” said the activist. “That we’re no longer afraid. But in the end, the TV made it look like we were the aggressors.”

It’s the old Georgian propaganda trick: Europe as both enemy and goal. When convenient, the EU is cited. When not, it’s accused of “geopolitical bias.”

While Brussels carefully drafts statements of “concern,” Georgian Dream laughs. It knows too well that Europe no longer draws red lines—at least not for them.

The Inner Logic of Lies

The government operates by one rule: if reality doesn’t fit the story, rewrite reality.

On October 4, that logic was in full display. Peaceful citizens became “violent extremists” on television. The police, caught on camera beating protesters, were recast as heroes of order.

“It’s hard to tell the truth when the microphone always belongs to the liars,” the activist said quietly. “But we know what really happened.”

That single sentence captures the tragedy of the country.

From Victim to Culprit

In Georgia, joining a protest means risking not just injury, but your reputation. The government has learned that repression works not only through force, but through humiliation.

Thus, the protest became a symbol of the perversion of political communication: the victim as culprit, the culprit as savior.

And while the government broadcasted its version of events across every channel, Western embassies—polite as always—“observed.”

A Masterclass in Manipulation

October 4 will be remembered—not for its violence, but for the precision with which it was planned.

It followed a perfect dramaturgy: expectation, hope, escalation, justification. And the moral conclusion? Georgian Dream as the “responsible force” that “maintained peace.”

The problem is: many believe it.

Because after years of propaganda, people have forgotten how to tell truth from illusion.

The Silence That Followed

When the demonstration dissolved, Tbilisi fell silent. Not the silence of exhaustion—but of disillusionment.

“We went home, not because we gave up,” said the activist. “But because we realized they wanted violence. And we refused to give them that image.”

That refusal—not to play the regime’s theater—is perhaps the quietest, yet most courageous act of resistance.

The Real Goal: Intimidation

The October 4 events had one goal: to teach people that resistance is futile—not just because of police batons, but because of meaninglessness.

The government no longer needs mass arrests to demonstrate its power. It only needs to make people believe that no one is listening.

That’s the most dangerous form of violence—the violence of indifference.

Repetition Is Guaranteed

Anyone who thinks October 4 was an exception hasn’t been paying attention.

Every new protest will follow the same cycle: hope – mobilization – provocation – violence – reversal of blame.

As long as impunity reigns, as long as prosecutors fear truth more than law, nothing will change.

And while Europe continues to “express concern,” Georgians are left realizing that democracy without consequences is just decoration.

A State Against Its Own People

Georgian Dream has managed to monopolize the term “the people.” Anyone who doesn’t fit their definition becomes an enemy.

This government doesn’t need ideology—it needs enemies. And when there are none, it invents them: journalists, activists, students.

What happened on October 4 wasn’t an accident. It was a state turning its citizens into props.

And Europe Watches

The EU will once again be “concerned.” The Council of Europe will “monitor the situation.” Washington will “call on all sides to show restraint.”

In Tbilisi, they laugh—and keep going.

One day, perhaps soon, Europe will realize that silence does not create stability.

Until then, Georgia remains a country dismantling itself in slow motion—with a smile for the cameras.