Author : Nana Trapaidze
In recent years, the question of Georgian cultural-political identity has once again become topical. The liberal vector is being replaced by a conservative one. For change to be effective, it must manifest on a symbolic level. Therefore, the symbolic manifestation of the national habitus has become a political issue. In the collective consciousness, a symbol is effective only when it is perceived as familiar. The archetypal image of the Georgian national habitus is not from the distant past; it belongs to the Soviet era—our perceptions of the physical appearance of our historical ancestors were essentially created by Georgian Soviet cinematography. Georgia’s current president is such a symbolic-archetypal figure who, beyond this personal physical manifestation, has shifted the general emphasis of his predecessors’ inaugural speeches. In his inaugural address, the focus was placed on the idea of family, the tradition of the supra1 (feast), national sentiments, religious foundations, and the significance of peace.
Peace is a Russian imperial paradigm within a colony. It is entirely distinct from the democratic humanism of peace. The essential harm of colonial peace was, and remains, that it absorbs the possibility of cultural authenticity—and consequently, all the resources that should form the authentic content of identity and the experience of its creation. As a result, we have developed a deep-seated mental rejection of anything genuine or true that has an unfamiliar appearance. This non-acceptance, like a hidden passion, cannot be declared openly; it must be disguised. Within this context, certain ethno-cultural toposes were formed as masks, tasked with the carnivalizing distortion of reality and its establishment within a symbolic register of unity. One such widespread practice was, and remains, the Georgian Supra —viewed as an expression of ‘selfhood and embrace’, or rather, an embodiment of identity and unity.
The ‘academic’ carnival of the Supra found expression in the tradition of celebrating the defence of a dissertation—the so-called ‘dessertations’. However, the Supra shares a more familiar bond with ‘Academy’ through the concept of the ‘Academy of the Supra’. In general, Georgia possesses alternative social toposes to the formal Academy: these are the Supra and the ‘Street’. If the Supra was considered the ‘Academy of the Soul’, the Street was regarded as the ‘Academy of Life’. The deficit of political thinking, characteristic of the Soviet era, underwent this kind of cultural and institutional mutation within the academic sphere. Georgian society continues to reap the consequences of this mutation even today. Often, the existing reality—both in social relations and within state structures or educational institutions—remains close to the roots that engendered cultural degradation. However, there are other signs as well: the ‘Academy’ is returning to its proper sphere of meaning. Today, we encounter numerous academies manifesting in various forms—academies of thought, speech, knowledge, and more.
The ghosts of the Soviet past still haunt our reality, yet signs of change are emerging. To illustrate this, I would highlight the sociology of the 2024 mass civil demonstrations. First and foremost, these protests were not characterized by the ethnocultural homogeneity typical of the past. This time, they were distinguished by a vibrant diversity of social groups. Even the calendar of these civil demonstrations spoke to this fact—ranging from the march of teachers to the march of fishermen. A humorous element was introduced into this process through ‘regional marches’ which served as an allusion to the multifaceted structure of national integrity—to a national diversity upon which the awareness of a civil society’s state unity can be built.
The Supra, as a traditional topos of cultural-social unity, also appeared in a transformed state during the protest processes of the past year (2024). It emerged outdoors, moving beyond the gastronomic spaces of the home and the restaurant to express a new symbolic meaning. While the traditional Supra united relatives, in-laws, and neighbours within a micro-social circle—albeit remaining open and kind toward ‘unexpected guests’ (with its ritual ‘penalties’2)—the New Year’s ‘Supra’ on Rustaveli Avenue reversed this proportion. The stranger and the passerby became the dominant figures, while the relative and the close friend became secondary. This 2025 New Year’s protest performance of the Supra seemed to be a representation of a ‘Civil Family’, one that senses its peace and development depend on the acceptance and respect of every single member.
The modern face of historical unity is the merging of diverse identities. Such a society, as Jörn Rüsen writes in his book Evidence and Meaning: A Theory of Historical Studies: ‘unites events, people, and facts from the past in such a way that they become connected to both personal and social identity. [...] The formation of historical identity is a political issue. It is fraught with power claims and conflicts and represents a constant disturbance in human cultural life. Identity does not happen on its own. It requires serious effort to facilitate the (personal) relationship between the individual and society, as well as the (social) relationship between societies, so that their interaction is real and effective. In our identity, all these elements are pre-determined, created within the circumstances of human life, and fixed in the depths of our subjectivity. As soon as they are ‘absorbed’ into us, these elements lose their potential for conflict and transfer that potential into the formation of the human self.’ (Rüsen Jörn, Evidence and Meaning: A Theory of Historical Studies, translated from German by Diane Kerns and Katie Digan, Berghahn Books, 2019, 204-205).
Unity and the Hybrid Human
Gen Z emerged as the primary subject of the 2024 protest demonstrations, though they did not remain the active core of the ongoing processes. This has led to much discussion and even a certain degree of skepticism regarding them. Therefore, it is crucial to deliberate on the socio-cultural origins of Gen Z.
Gen Z (the generation born between 1995–2010) is a generation formed amidst the collapse of the traditional family. Their psycho-emotional experience is a blend of personal pain and uncertainty caused by the disintegration of the patriarchal order. In the general picture, this generation grew up shaped by the psycho-emotional deprivation of emigrant parents, an education system in ideological crisis, and an informationally diverse, uncontrolled virtual space. If we observe the dynamics of protest activity, we see that it is sporadic. This can be explained in various ways. However, I would like to draw attention to a factor that is, on the one hand, a product of our current socio-political reality and, on the other, may itself be contributing to changes within that reality.
This factor lies in the tension between Gen Z’s freedom—a freedom not consciously granted to them, but one into which they were simply thrust, as into an empty space where they find themselves alone—and the existing socio-political norms. The interaction between these two forces creates an internal ‘obstructive knot’. If this knot is not addressed through timely political engagement—namely, by recognizing young people as cultural and political subjects responsible for transmitting national identity and sustaining the living continuity between generations—it risks hardening into a historical obstacle. For it is the youth who carry the vital core of that connection across time.
If the generation of the 90s, despite the conditions in which they lived (or perhaps because of them), had an inherent driver—survival—the challenge for Gen Z is to be viewed as the potential for cultural renewal. For this, it needs to articulate its own needs and aspirations in a language with a broad social range. In other words, protest is empowered by the won and experienced content of freedom; for this, it is not enough simply to dislike something, even intensely. The driver is never dissatisfaction alone. This is not enough; the driver can only be the vision of fulfilment. Today, society, as the subject of these visions, cannot be replaced by a leader—neither new nor old. The absence of a leader is also defined by the political significance that society, as a subject, possesses today. This significance of society is a reliable result of the socio-political development of recent decades, and this result is being put to the test today.
To put it differently: this is a generation for whom the shared semantic root of ‘Parent’ (Mshobeli) and ‘Homeland’ (Samshoblo) has become existentially detached. Their parents, for the most part, do not live in the homeland; in this sense, they have their personal homelands abroad. These youths are free in both the positive (internal) and negative (rupture) senses of the word—parent and homeland each live their own way, and the new generation lives its own. These ‘paths’ lead nowhere without each other—or rather, they lead beyond history. It is a matter of existential significance that they intersect—that a point of contact be found for these counter-positioned states of the new generation’s freedom as a given fact.
The fact that this intersection remains unachieved is one of the layers of a deep cultural-political crisis. The solution requires a political agreement on the issue of national unity—on what truly unites us when we say ‘We’. The growing trend of civil tension in the most recent period confirms that the public perception of this unity is not only weak but also contradictory. There is no consensus on values, no shared vision of cultural-political identity, though we do see civic attempts at its creation. It is significant that the society participating in this process is not homogeneous—it unites people of different ages, social backgrounds, and cultural groups. It includes even those who lived in the Soviet Union. One could say that on both sides of the position, at both physical and non-physical levels, attitudes and fears inherited from this (Soviet) experience are concentrated.
This is some kind of a sign that the current crisis has causes far deeper than the recent political reality: today in Georgia, the process of disentangling the ‘Soviet’ and the ‘National’—which were once fused within Stalinist nationalism and later underwent even deeper mutations—is underway. This signifies the rupturing of a socio-cultural body that was, in its own way, functional. This is precisely why it is so painful and carries the significance of an existential struggle—a matter of ‘to be or not to be’.
Georgian ambitions regarding statehood and independence are, in reality, being put to the test today. Indeed, why do we need something that only demands protection and keeps us constantly on the brink of war, if there is no underlying national and cultural necessity for it? It is a sad question, but not a rhetorical one. In other words, the question can be posed as follows: who do we wish to be—an ethnocultural phenomenon, or a nation?
Ethnocultural identity is constructed upon the image of the ‘other’ as an enemy and functions through beliefs and perceptions directed toward that image. It creates a closed, provincial, and socially segregated microcosm—much like the one that existed within the Soviet Union, characterized by the simple tranquillity of everyday life. National identity, however, is a political ambition. On the one hand, it finds the necessity of being a nation within the depths of cultural memory; on the other, it views itself as a sovereign participant within the context of the modern world. Here, the mythology of the ‘other’ as an enemy is useless, and it is replaced by the mechanism of internal cultural integration.
How is this possible? It is possible if authenticity becomes a matter of individual presence at the centre of the universe. This possibility is embodied in Rüsen’s ‘Hybrid Human’—as a new identity capable of alternating between personal and social aspects and taking its place at the centre with all the traits that constitute its identity and possess historical meaning. The complex challenge of the modern global world is for the individual to find new ways of being different from others. In such a case, ‘the subject finds its temporal place in life, where past and future intersect in memory and expectation. Here, the internal time of the human subject is defined. We can say: in this historical subjectivity, the human being itself is time’ (Rüsen 2019, 210).
Yet, here Rüsen expresses a logical expectation that this new hybrid identity will not resolve the conflict between ‘Us’ and ‘Others’, because ‘hybrids differ from each other at an even higher level of complexity’ (Rüsen 2019, 210-211). Rüsen does not leave this question open but resolves the dilemma through a new perspective. This involves overcoming the cultural relativism of ‘mine’ and ‘other’ through humanism: ‘Stay human—always and everywhere.’ Above all, we must preserve the human dimension of historical culture, which is embedded in the mental claims of historical knowledge. The formation of identity, by placing oneself at the centre, should be directed toward those human qualities that belong to us all. This justifies or confirms the historical-philosophical notion of the cultural evolution of humanity within the context of the pragmatics of identity formation. The category of equality, embedded in the concept of universalized humanity, lessens the pain of ethnocentric degradation, which views the ‘other’ as a ‘degraded human being.’ But what should we do with the shadows of negative historical experience if we can no longer cast them off by emphasizing our difference from others? We must integrate these shadows into our self-image. When we do this, our attitude toward the ‘other’ changes fundamentally. Negative historical experience no longer shifts into the conceptual space of difference from others. On the contrary—and this is decisive—it is transformed into an ambivalent attitude generated in relation to one’s own historical self-image. In this ambivalence, ‘self’ and ‘other’ find themselves on equal footing. We see something of ourselves in the other—thanks to the common human quality that unites us. We recognize our own humanity in the face of the other and perceive within them their own peculiarity and individuality. When this happens, the ethnocentric asymmetry between ‘us’ and ‘the stranger’ is transformed into balance’ (Rüsen 2019, 211).
Political philosophy deliberates on the empirical possibility of this humanistic model. However, the issue also possesses a sort of meta-political undercurrent, which is manifested in Georgian literary thought and exists as a cultural alternative and internal resource for Georgians. I am referring to classical Georgian literature and, in particular, its two greatest figures: Shota Rustaveli and Vazha-Pshavela. Through these authors, Georgian political consciousness created models of the individual and social unity in literary forms that express a hybrid identity. A human being is simultaneously a historically formed entity, possessing a different historical habitus and cultural identity across various times and spaces; yet, at the same time, the individual possesses a meta-historical identity. This identity may emerge within the situational contradiction between ‘I’ and ‘we’—a confrontation that lacks any social, class, religious, or cultural precondition. Aluda Ketelauri3, as well as Jokola4, situationally find themselves on the other side of a cultural rift, a side previously alien even to them: they discover in the ‘other’ that similarity, that shared mark, which is carried not by a historical but by a ‘universal human’. Meanwhile, they rebel against that specific difference within their own kind which had previously gone unnoted, concealed by the historical form of mutual likeness that bound their society’s unity together. When we recognize our own humanity in the face of the other and perceive within them their own peculiarity and individuality, the narcissistic asymmetry between ‘us’ and ‘the stranger’ is not merely balanced; rather, an impulse is generated—a cultural affect. It is not dictated by simple pragmatic logic—the mere desire not to be alone—but, on the contrary, it is precisely this loneliness, as an experience of truth, that impels one to share it with the other. The most open manifestation of this sharing is care, through which the narcissistic impasse is overcome by caring for the other. This may be called politogenesis, by which I refer to the evolutionary process of collective human identity, where self-awareness based on ethnic and blood-kinship principles is transformed into a consciousness of political communion. This transition implies the replacement of the ethnic principle with an identity founded upon decision, solidarity, empathy, and civic responsibility. In this context, religious or ethnic difference is no longer an insurmountable barrier. On the contrary, it becomes a prerequisite for modern political unity—a unity that stands upon consciously recognized diversity and a commitment to a shared order of values.
Georgian literature is rich with this content. This is the wealth in which the political spirit resides, and we often use it as a compensation for political reality and as an objective source of hope. The Georgian asymmetry—being culturally rich yet politically poor—is a historical given, built upon those paralyzing causes and methods which, if left unexamined, will forever leave us as puppets on the world political stage. We remain exotic dolls imitating imaginary doubles, because we do not know, and do not wish to know, how to live as ourselves.
1. Supra is a traditional Georgian feast and a part of Georgian social culture.
2. In the traditional Georgian Supra (ritual feast), ‘penalties’ are a playful yet strictly regulated custom. If a guest arrives late, breaks the sequence of toasts, or fails to finish a glass when required by the toastmaster (Tamada), they are ‘fined.’ This penalty usually involves drinking a large, specified amount of wine. While it serves as a humorous social lubricant, it also functions as a disciplinary tool to maintain the ritualistic order and collective rhythm of the table, ensuring that even the ‘stranger’ is quickly integrated into the group’s shared state of mind.
3. Aluda Ketelauri: The protagonist of the eponymous epic poem (1888) by the canonical Georgian poet and philosopher Vazha-Pshavela (1861–1915). In the poem, Aluda is a distinguished warrior from a traditionalist, highland community governed by rigid customary laws and a binary ‘us vs. them’ worldview. The narrative follows Aluda’s internal transformation after he refuses to mutilate a fallen enemy—a ‘stranger’ (an Ingush Muslim)—recognizing instead the enemy’s inherent bravery and shared humanity. By honoring the ‘other’, Aluda breaks the sacred communal code, leading to his eventual excommunication and exile. In Georgian intellectual discourse, Aluda Ketelauri serves as the archetypal ‘sovereign subject’ who transcends ethnocentric limits to embrace universal humanism.
4. Jokola: A central character in Vazha-Pshavela’s epic poem ‘Host and Guest’ (1893). Jokola, a Kist (Muslim highlander), invites a stranger into his home, only to discover that his guest is Zviadauri, a renowned enemy who has killed many of Jokola’s kinsmen. Despite the demands of his community for blood vengeance, Jokola defends his guest at the cost of his own social standing and safety, upholding the sacred law of hospitality as a manifestation of universal human dignity. Like Aluda Ketelauri, Jokola represents the tragic collision between archaic communal law (them) and the emergence of an individual moral conscience (subjectivity), serving as a quintessential example of ‘hybrid identity’ in Georgian literature.
