In a move that has sent ripples through Georgia’s already charged political landscape, the ruling Georgian Dream party has proposed legislative amendments that would criminalize verbal insults directed at public officials. The government’s justification? To enable authorities to serve the people “without obstacles” and to curb alleged sabotage from foreign forces. The opposition’s response? An alarm bell ringing against creeping authoritarianism.
But Georgia is far from alone in this experiment. Across history and cultures, regimes have sought to codify “respect” for authority, often using legal frameworks to silence criticism. The question that looms large is whether such measures genuinely protect public order or, instead, stifle democratic discourse under the guise of dignity.
The Political Anatomy of an Insult: Why Power Fears Ridicule
Throughout history, the political insult has been a weapon of both dissent and satire. From ancient Rome to modern-day social media, mocking those in power has been a fundamental exercise of civic engagement.
Ancient Rome: The poet Juvenal’s Satires mocked imperial excess, but his criticisms were tolerated—until they weren’t. The emperor Domitian’s crackdown on dissent led to a culture of fear, where satire could result in exile or worse.
Absolutist France: The monarchy sought to suppress scandalous pamphlets (libelles) that ridiculed Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, yet these very texts helped fuel the French Revolution.
Soviet Union: The USSR criminalized “anti-Soviet agitation,” ensuring that a joke about Stalin could mean ten years in the Gulag.
The lesson from history? The more fragile a government’s legitimacy, the more desperately it seeks to outlaw criticism. In stable democracies, public officials endure satire and scorn as part of the political process. In insecure regimes, they criminalize it.
Deep State, Deep Paranoia: The Rise of Conspiratorial Governance
Mamuka Mdinaradze’s reference to “Deep State”—an ill-defined but ominous enemy—mirrors global trends in populist rhetoric. The term, which originated in Turkey to describe clandestine military influence, has been co-opted by authoritarian leaders worldwide to delegitimize political opponents.
Turkey: Erdogan has used “Deep State” to justify purges against journalists, academics, and opposition figures.
United States: Donald Trump mainstreamed the term, painting intelligence agencies and political opponents as shadowy saboteurs.
Russia: Putin’s regime regularly invokes “foreign agents” to justify media crackdowns.
In Georgia’s case, this narrative serves a dual purpose: first, to frame dissent as treasonous, and second, to rationalize the expansion of state power under the guise of national security. The criminalization of political insults fits neatly within this framework—if critics are agents of a sinister plot, their words become a form of sabotage, rather than a legitimate expression of discontent.
From Protest to Prison: The Mechanics of Repression
The proposed legal changes go beyond mere fines for offensive language. They escalate penalties for protest-related offenses, increasing administrative detention up to 60 days and criminalizing calls for direct action. The implications are chilling:
China’s “Picking Quarrels and Provoking Trouble” Law: Used to target dissidents under the vague pretext of maintaining social order.
Belarus’s 2020 Crackdowns: Protesters faced lengthy prison sentences for “disrupting public order” by demonstrating against election fraud.
Russia’s “Insulting the Authorities” Law: Fines and imprisonment have been imposed for online posts mocking officials, reinforcing a culture of self-censorship.
In all these cases, laws ostensibly designed to “protect order” have functioned primarily to suppress opposition. Georgia’s new measures appear to be following the same trajectory.
The Irony of State Dignity: Who Protects the People from the Protected?
A government that demands legal protection from verbal offense implicitly admits its vulnerability. But in democratic societies, dignity is earned through accountability, not enforced through punitive measures.
Germany’s Approach: While German law criminalizes defamation against the president, it is rarely enforced, and politicians endure sharp satire as part of the democratic process.
France’s Abolition of “Insult Laws”: In 2013, France scrapped its controversial law against insulting the president, recognizing its chilling effect on free speech.
United Kingdom’s Satirical Tradition: From Private Eye to parliamentary heckling, ridicule is considered a fundamental aspect of political engagement.
By contrast, in Georgia’s proposed framework, dignity is no longer a moral quality—it is a state-enforced monopoly. The very people entrusted with wielding power are shielded from scrutiny, while the public is left unprotected from overreach.
Silencing the Future: What’s at Stake for Georgia?
Georgia’s democratic trajectory has long been contested, oscillating between aspirations for European integration and post-Soviet authoritarian reflexes. The current legal shift signals a decisive tilt towards the latter.
The European Court of Human Rights has consistently ruled that public figures must tolerate higher levels of criticism than private citizens. Criminalizing political insult would put Georgia at odds with European legal norms.
Media and Civil Society Backlash: Georgian journalists, activists, and opposition figures have already condemned the proposal as a direct attack on press freedom and civic engagement.
Public Protest as a Last Line of Defense: Given the government’s history of suppressing demonstrations, new restrictions risk escalating tensions rather than containing them.
At its core, the move to criminalize insults against officials reveals a government unwilling to engage in the messy, uncomfortable, but essential dialogue that defines a true democracy. A state that fears words is a state that fears its people. And a state that fears its people is already on the path to losing them.
Will Georgia follow the path of democratic resilience, where power is questioned, satire thrives, and the dignity of leadership is proven through actions rather than legal shields? Or will it retreat into the ranks of states where authority is sacrosanct, and criticism is a punishable offense?
The choice is not merely legal or political—it is cultural. It is about whether Georgian society embraces the enduring strength of free speech or succumbs to the fragile ego of power. History has shown that in the battle between censorship and criticism, repression may win battles, but free expression wins the war.
By Ivan Nechaev
