Image by Giorgi Ninos, used with permission.
She sits alone in the white room when our call starts. Natia Bunturi’s eyes bear the weight of recent events when she was directly targeted by riot police during a protest. The sound of the warm crackling of a wood fire seems to embody the peaceful rhythm of her village nestled among the majestic Caucasus Mountains. “On this land, I live; here, I build a house and stage; here, I warm myself with firewood; here, I have animals and a vegetable garden.” Hearing this, I realized she simply wanted to live peacefully in her own country. Yet, not only did Natia have to abandon her comfort to protect her values, but she was also punished for standing up for her rights.
“Beautiful eyes,” she had spoken, staring into the blue eyes of a riot policeman. “Kind eyes.” These words of unexpected tenderness, spoken in a moment of fear and confusion, now haunt her. “I regret saying it,” the ballerina admits. “They didn’t deserve my kindness.”
This moment is the paradox of Natia Bunturi: a dancer of breathtaking grace and now a protester hardened by the harsh realities of police violence. For nearly four decades, Natia dedicated herself to the delicate but tough discipline of ballet. Today, she stands on the front lines of Georgia’s fight for its European future, defiant against a government many say has betrayed its people.
The protests started on November 28, 2024, in response to Prime Minister Irakli Kobakhidze’s announcement that European Union (EU) accession talks would be postponed until at least 2028. This decision devastated a nation where over 80 percent of citizens support EU membership. Tens of thousands flooded the streets of Tbilisi, demanding snap elections, as they believed this decision was the peak after the controversial results of parliamentary elections held on October 26, 2024. Among them was Natia, dressed in thermals and sturdy boots, ready to face the water cannons and tear gas.
Natia’s journey began in the harsh economic landscape of 1990s Georgia. “I am a ’90s kid, and I have gone through these difficult times,” she shares, painting a picture of a childhood full of challenges but, at the same time, strength. Her talent later carried her to the United States, to Philadelphia’s ballet scene, but her heart always belonged to Georgia. “I’d watch the changes from afar — the Rose Revolution, the rebuilding of our Opera House — and I knew I had to come back,” she says.
For years, Natia performed on the stage of Tbilisi’s opera and ballet theater, showing the graceful beauty of her art. But ballet, she believes, is more than art. “It’s discipline. It’s a sacrifice. It’s learning to endure pain and keep moving. That’s what Georgians are also doing now.”
When the Prime Minister made the shocking announcement [of postponing EU accession plans], Natia felt a profound sense of betrayal and anger.
“I still hoped that something would change; I still thought until now that, despite challenges, we were moving towards our common goal as a country.” The government’s decision struck at the heart of Natia’s identity, aspirations, and belief in a better future for her country.
“I may be a ballerina,” she declares, “but I am also a citizen of Georgia. How can I protect my identity and profession if I do not protect this country?”
The decision to join the protests was not just a reaction to the government’s announcement. She had witnessed first-hand the struggles of the Georgian people and their resilience in the face of economic hardship and political turmoil. She had seen the hope that flickered in their eyes when Georgia embarked on its path toward European integration, and she felt the collective heartbreak when the government’s decision seemingly extinguished that hope.
Natia traded her pointe shoes for protest signs. This was a transition from the stage to the streets, a gesture of her unwavering commitment to her country’s European future. Her graceful movements are now replaced with the determined steps of a freedom fighter in the streets of Tbilisi.
“The people are so tired and tortured, many of them stand on their beaten feet and still go to the rallies; this is also a supernatural, patriotic force,” she says. “It’s like in ballet,” Natia explains. “You get tired and can’t breathe, and you get nauseous, but that’s where you get stamina; these people are experiencing that, too.”
One of the most poignant moments in Natia’s interview is her recollection of the moment the police confronted her. She remembers looking into the eyes of the riot police officers, seeing their humanity even as they prepared to inflict violence upon her.
“They had masks on, but I could see their eyes,” she says. “You know how much a person’s eyes can tell you? One of the policemen had blue eyes, and I was telling him, ‘You have beautiful eyes,’ ‘You have kind eyes,’ ‘You seem like good people,’ that’s what I was telling him.”
One can easily understand that these words are spoken in a moment of vulnerability and fear. But Natia’s action could say more; it was an attempt to appeal to the riot police officers’ sense of compassion. But her words were met with violence:
“Without warning, one of them hit me. Twice. Paralysis suddenly struck me at that moment. I didn’t even know how to react because it was unbelievable.
“I was probably naive, foolish, because it all turned out the other way, and I regret that I said anything good because my positive words do not suit their actions,” she reflects. “I wish I had just kept quiet; unfortunately, they simply did not deserve any good words from me.” As for her regret, it is a powerful reminder of the dehumanizing nature of violence.
Natia’s future vision is one in which the people can determine their destiny. She dreams of a Georgia that is genuinely democratic and European. “Georgian people are very tolerant and deserve a government that disregards expensive possessions and luxury cars,” she says. “We paid a high price for freedom and will not tolerate even the smallest mistake from a high-ranking official who enters parliament in the future,” she says.
Natia wants the world to know that the Georgian people are not giving up on their European dream. She expects those watching what’s happening at the southeast edge of Europe to take action so that people like her and others continue to make changes locally to make changes globally.
“I want to tell the world that these people are heroes; they will do anything for freedom, and the world needs to see who is standing here. These are sincere people, and they are fighting for the best future, truth, justice, and equality.”
Natia’s words are a call to action for the international community. She urges the world to stand with the Georgian people in their fight for freedom and democracy.
“To those who can resist the regime from the outside, I would ask them to take this step,” she pleads. “Illegal prisoners, political prisoners … Their release is significant while there is still time because the system is poisoning the lives of hundreds of talented, freedom-loving young people. Help us hold this regime accountable. Political prisoners and illegal arrests, oppressions, must end,”.
As Natia gathers her strength for another protest, her stamina is just as she described it in ballet. “We will not get tired,” she says. “I will put on thermal clothes. My boots, soaked by the water cannon, are finally dry. I’m heading back outside. It must have an end!”
In Natia Bunturi’s eyes, Georgia’s struggle is one of resilience and hope. Like the steps of a perfectly executed dance, for Natia, every movement matters.
This post was originally published on this site
