For over 400 days, Georgians have taken to the streets every day to protest against growing Russian influence, rigged elections and the country’s increasingly anti-European drift. In response, the ruling Georgian Dream party has introduced tougher repressive laws, tightening control over media, courts and public spaces.

Currently, Georgia has a higher per capita number of political prisoners than Russia, exceeding 100. Most arrests took place after the mass protests of November–December 2024 and again after October 4, 2025. Many detainees come from vulnerable social backgrounds or have serious health conditions, which further increases public sympathy.

Repression and propaganda on the rise

Yet instead of easing repression, the number of political prisoners has continued to grow. Alongside arrests, Georgian Dream has launched aggressive propaganda campaigns to discredit prisoners and, increasingly, their families, employing intimidation, fines, and financial pressures as punitive measures.

Families under pressure

In response, parents and relatives of those arrested during the pro-European demonstrations started a new civic movement: ‘For the freedom of prisoners of conscience’. Each member of this movement brings with them a unique story of resilience and bravery.

One of the most harrowing stories is that of Marina Terishvili, mother of prisoner of conscience Giorgi Terishvili. She has already lost a son, killed during a demonstration on 2 February 1992, during the Georgian civil war, fuelled by both internal political conflict and Russian interference. Now, his second son is facing imprisonment.

Marina Terishvili

A mother’s testimony

“In 1992, people were fighting for freedom and my son sacrificed his life for it; the fight continues to this day and now my [other] son is detained,” says the mother of the prisoner of conscience.

Giorgi Terishvili was arrested on charges of participating in ‘gang violence’ during the ongoing protests. “Giorgi is being punished for his love of his homeland,” says Marina Terishvili. According to her, Giorgi participated in the demonstrations alone and did not even know the other detainees.

A punishment that goes beyond the individual

“What could have kept him at home, knowing where this government is dragging the country on the spilled blood of his brother? He attended every protest to honour his brother’s soul. He went to these protests alone, sometimes with his son, and I also went with him,’ she says.

Marizi Kobakhidze, mother of another prisoner of the regime, Tornike Goshadze, was fined GEL 5,000.

“When I visited my son in prison, they handed me a 5,000 GEL fine,” she explained.

Marizi Kobakhidze

Pride and resistance

“I will be proud of my son, while the children [of government authorities] will be ashamed of their mothers and fathers“.

Tornike Goshadze reiterates his determination in a letter sent from prison. He asks her mother to smile and writes that although she once dreamed of leaving the country, her main wish now is to stay in Georgia, even if it means remaining behind bars.

“I cannot be at peace even on the moon, knowing what condition my country and my people are in,” he writes.

Repression extends to family members of dissidents

The repression also extended to brothers and sisters.

Elene Devidze, sister of prisoner of conscience Mate Devidze, discovered that her bank accounts had been frozen for a purpose of which she had never been officially informed.

Elene Devidze

Mate Devidze, a 21-year-old musician, was arrested on 19 November during a protest calling for new elections on Melikishvili Avenue in Tbilisi. He was charged with assaulting police officers during the demonstration. The seriousness of the charges has been widely questioned by observers and human rights defenders.

A collective punishment

One of the most striking examples of collective punishment is the detention of Zurab Tsetskhladze, father of prisoner Zviad Tsetskhladze. A Tbilisi City Court judge found him guilty of blocking Rustaveli Avenue and sentenced him to seven days of administrative detention.

Zviad Tsetskhladze, a 20-year-old law student and activist, was arrested in early December 2024. He is the founder of the student movement ‘Dafioni’, which played a leading role in youth protests against the so-called ‘Russian law’.

Zurab Tsetskhladze

Arrests without evidence

His arrest did not occur during a demonstration. According to his lawyer, Zviad was stopped by plainclothes officers while walking with a friend. The subsequent search of his flat was carried out without his lawyer being present. No objective evidence was presented to prove that he organised or led violent actions.

Seeking hope under the falling snow

One of the most tragic episodes occurredon Epiphany, 19 January 2026, one of the most important holidays in the Christian calendar. On that occasion, the illegitimate president Mikheil Kavelashvili announced the pardon of 159 prisoners, but no official list of names was published.

From the early hours of the morning, relatives of political prisoners gathered near the prisons in Tbilisi and Rustavi, hoping that their loved ones would be among those pardoned.

Waiting in the cold

Meanwhile, both cities were covered in snow and temperatures had dropped below zero. Despite the intense cold and the total lack of information, people remained outside the prisons, waiting for a signal or confirmation.

Malkhaz Amaglobeli, brother of Georgian journalist Mzia Amaglobeli, stands outside Rustavi women’s prison, waiting and hoping for news of his pardon. Mzia Amaglobeli, arrested in January 2025 for slapping a police officer and sentenced to two years in prison, is the winner of the Sakharov Prize for Freedom of Thought 2025, the European Union’s highest award for human rights.

According to OC Media, pardons had also previously been granted on holidays, but none had concerned prisoners of conscience. Nevertheless, a fragile hope still held out.

A promise of clemency betrayed

However, information about the pardoned prisoners was not made public and, for the entire day and night, family members and journalists waited in front of the prisons.

“I went in front of the [gate of the] prison. Hopeless, but I went anyway,’ said Marizi Kobakhidze, mother of prisoner of conscience Tornike Goshadze.

In the end, no political prisoners were released. As a result, Epiphany became not a moment of mercy but a demonstration of power. The episode served as a tool of psychological pressure and a test of public reaction. The public display of “mercy” on a major religious holiday was also an attempt to restore political legitimacy, highlighting that freedom depends not on law or justice but on the authorities’ discretion.

The message was clear: the state holds the power, and society must wait for its decisions. Targeting the families of prisoners of conscience is part of a broader strategy aimed at stigmatizing and marginalizing the entire protest movement. By shifting pressure from detainees to their relatives, the authorities seek to weaken solidarity and discourage collective resistance.