Beaten for the Truth: My Story as a Journalist in Georgia

Covering the truth in Georgia has never been safe. Journalists here walk into stories knowing that police, private enforcers, or even ordinary citizens might turn violent against them. What happened to me on January 23, 2024 while covering an eviction is one of those moments I’ll never forget — not because of the bruises, but because it showed how fragile press freedom really is in my country.

The Bigger Picture: Why Evictions Matter

• Private lenders & fake documents → A widespread scam in Georgia. People in financial need are tricked with forged paperwork.

• Complicity of institutions → Corrupt police, courts, and even notary offices give these scams “legal” cover.

• The human cost → Families losing homes for just a fraction of what they’re worth.

This wasn’t just another eviction story. It was a story about systemic corruption and a rigged system designed to strip citizens of their homes.

From Control Room to Frontline

As executive producer of Sfero TV, my job was usually in the studio — managing shows, the newsroom, and production. But on that day, we knew our young reporters would be in danger. So I, along with our channel head and senior colleagues, grabbed microphones and cameras and joined the field.

It was a cold January morning, snow mixing with rain, when we arrived at the apartment. Families were preparing for resistance, protesters were gathering outside, and we positioned ourselves:

• Inside the apartment → Me and my cameraman, Giga Danelia.

• Front of the building → Another crew.

• Back of the building → A third crew.

We were determined to capture the full story, no matter what happened.

When the Violence Began

At first, it was the chaos we expected: pepper spray, people blocking doors, shouting, and pushing. I crawled out once to help a reporter who got hurt, then went back in with Giga. But when enforcement police finally tore down the door, the real nightmare began.

• I showed my press card.

• Giga held his camera and credentials.

• We were holding microphones with our logo.

None of it mattered.

Instead of respecting press, the police unleashed a storm of violence:

• Slurs & curses → Georgian has colorful ways of swearing, and they used every single one against us.

• Furniture smashed deliberately → They destroyed it only to push us into the rubble.

• Physical assault → I was buried under broken furniture and fists. Giga had a piece of wood crush his leg.

Picture by: Publika.ge

I lost my glasses and could barely see. Adrenaline kept me moving, but we were outnumbered. They tried to steal our camera and my phone — but as a journalist, I refused to let go. Twice they grabbed my phone, and twice I fought back.

Finally, we were pushed out, nearly arrested. The only reason we weren’t thrown into jail was the intervention of our late chief lawyer, Nano Tskhadaia, who saved us that day. (Rest in peace, Nano.)

What Came After

Despite the beating, blood, and trauma, we didn’t stop. That very same day, we went live on Sfero TV. I directed the broadcast, ran to the studio for comments, then back to the control room. The story exploded:

• Public outrage grew.

• Debate on private lenders reignited.

• Another planned eviction was stopped just two days later — police didn’t even show up.

For a time, the government froze evictions. It was proof that journalism works — but only when journalists are willing to take risks, even beatings, for the truth.

The Lasting Impact

That day left me with more than bruises:

• Depression & trauma followed.

• I saw firsthand how far authorities will go to silence the press.

• I also saw the power of truth — our coverage literally kept a family in their home.

And yet, this was only the beginning. Not long after came the second wave of brutality: special forces beating journalists during Pro-European protests. That’s a story I’ll tell in my next blog.

Why This Matters

Journalists in Georgia aren’t just threatened — we’re beaten, cursed, harassed, and nearly jailed for doing our jobs. Covering corruption means risking your health and freedom. But the alternative is silence, and silence is what authoritarian governments thrive on.

On day 259 of ongoing protests in Tbilisi, I’m reminded of that cold January day. We bled for the truth then, and we’re still fighting for it now.

Stay tuned — I’ll share the story of what it means to face riot police and special forces in the

streets of Georgia.