Cursing the president online has become a criminal offense in Azerbaijan, an ex-Soviet republic that is big on energy, but, critics say, short on freedom. On November 30, the Azerbaijani parliament amended the country’s criminal code to protect the long-serving President Ilham Aliyev from online insults, defamation and trolls.
Azerbaijan already had a ban in place against online defamation, but, ever solicitous about the country’s 54-year-old ruler, the general prosecutor’s office apparently felt the need to prohibit the online “defamation, and derogation of honor and dignity” of the president as well.
Violations of the new amendment will be subject to a fine of up to 1,000 manats ($570) or two years of community service or two years in prison, depending on the instance.
Those with an urge to rail against Aliyev (or any successor) are not advised to hide behind fake social-media profiles. The amendment stipulates that individuals using “fake profiles and nick-names” and allegedly defaming or insulting the president could face a 1,500-manat ($866) fine, two years of community service and even one year of imprisonment.
Walking down a Tbilisi sidewalk can be akin to taking on an obstacle course, with pedestrians forced to circumnavigate both parked and moving cars.
Last week, several car owners in the Georgian capital, Tbilisi, found large stickers emblazed with the message “I don’t care for the law. I park where I want,” attached to their vehicles’ windscreens. These stamps of shame were signed off by Stopxam, a Moscow-born movement of self-styled traffic cops that is spreading throughout Russia’s post-Soviet neighborhood. It has reached Tbilisi just as pedestrians begin to strike back against the cars which have long claimed the right of way here.
Drumming their fingers on their steering wheels and muttering an occasional curse, drivers trapped in Tbilisi’s increasingly congested district of Saburtalo often see a car speed past them on a sidewalk and then weasel its way into a lane. Many of the sidewalks in this city of some 1.1 million people and 400,000 cars now serve as a de-facto two-lane vehicular zone, with one lane used for parking and the other for getting in and out of traffic.
That can make walking on sidewalks a veritable obstacle course.
“I’ve got to learn pole vaulting,” bristled Elene Abuladze, a stay-at-home mom, as she tried to negotiate her stroller through cars on a sidewalk lining Chavchavadze Avenue, a main thoroughfare in the posh district of Vake. “I might as well take my son for a stroll in a junkyard. I swear, cars have more rights than humans in this city.”
Obnoxious driving and parking plague much of the post-Soviet world, but Georgia appears to be in a class by itself.
A screen adaptation of the South Caucasus’ famous love story, Ali and Nino, promoted by the Azerbaijani government, strikes many local viewers more as a travel commercial for Azerbaijan than as a faithful reenactment of the most enigmatic book to come out of this region in the past century.
Set during the Russian Empire’s twilight years, British director Ali Kapadia’s new take on Kurban Said’s 1937 novel follows the story of a passionate relationship between a spirited, young Muslim nobleman from Azerbaijan, Ali Khan Shirvanshir, and a Christian aristocrat, Nino Kipiani, from neighboring Georgia.
In the original novel, Ali Khan Shirvanshir’s choice for a wife echoes, as Said puts it, Azerbaijan’s own choice between “progressive Europe and reactionary Asia.” Shirvanshir, for instance, agrees that his wife will not have to wear a veil, yet his father initially objects to the wedding as unsuitable for a Muslim man.
But in the movie, the gaping cultural divide between the two star-crossed lovers (played by Palestinian actor Adam Bakri and Spanish actress Maria Velverde ) is reduced to a few cherry-picked, zingy one-liners. Shirvanshir's cunning Armenian friend Melik Nachararyan ("a fat man with sheep's eyes"), who, in the book, kidnaps Kipiani and is killed by Shirvanshir, becomes a debonair, decent man (played by Italian actor Riccardo Scamarcio), struggling to reconcile his love for Kipiani with his loyalty to his Azeri friend.
Viewers at one movie theater in the Georgian capital Tbilisi, the fictional Nino Kipiani’s hometown, felt they were left with a syrupy, placid melodrama.
A real-estate development company in the South Caucasus state of Georgia, a close US ally, has announced plans to proceed with a long-stalled Trump-Tower project; a claim that, if realized, could raise further sticky questions about the dividing line between business and government under a Trump administration.
Plans for a Trump Tower in the popular Black-Sea casino mecca of Batumi, a town of about 130,000 people, have existed since 2010. The Trump name was expected to appear on both a 47-storey Batumi skyscraper complex and, eventually, a residence in the capital, Tbilisi.
Now, just over a week after Trump's election as US president, the Batumi skyscraper-to-be appears back on the table.
In a November 16 interview with the Georgian news agency Interpressnews, a senior executive at the Silk Road Group, the Trump Organization's original partner in the deal, stated that the company plans to proceed with the project.
“We have six years of stable relations with the Trump Organization. Together we are looking into the situation,” said Giorgi Marr, who oversees the Group's real-estate operations.
The nature of this partnership is unclear. In 2011, Trump's special counsel, Michael Cohen, told EurasiaNet.org that the two hold a licensing agreement, but neither the Silk Road Group nor he would elaborate about a closer association.
In US elections, very little is reported about the inner workings of polling stations, though in some other countries, such as ex-Soviet Georgia, that’s where all the fun and drama happens. Here, media coverage of voting imparts many curious facts -- for instance, which polling-station official has a good singing voice, who could use anger-management therapy, and, also, why tangerines are bad for democracy.
In the November 8 US presidential vote, humans and machines toiled through the night, tallying and testing ballots, but as far as the lay man is concerned, all these labors have been abridged into infographics, maps and charts. In Georgia, where there is far less trust in the electoral process, polling stations were closely watched during the October parliamentary elections for funny business and funny matters.
The result led to the birth of a few stars.
In perhaps the most unlikely scenario for an election, one middle-aged polling-station worker decided to put her soprano voice to good use and broke into song during voting at a station on the outskirts of the capital, Tbilisi. “I love you tonight,” she crooned in English, captivating both the rest of the election commission and, later on, internet users, by her rendition of the dolorous theme song from Franco Zeffirelli’s 1968 take on “Romeo and Juliet.”
On the cusp of what appears a new era of unpredictability in international affairs, countries in the Caucasus, that sensitive borderland between East and West, are wondering what to expect from Donald Trump, the United States’ choice for president.
In what many see as schadenfreude, Moscow is the only place in the larger region where politicians unabashedly hail Trump. The State Duma, in fact, met the news of Trump’s victory with a standing ovation.
“Man to man, I don’t envy Bill Clinton because his old lady, for whom he trailed around all the states like a threadbare backpack, will be going through the roof over losing,” predicted Sergei Mironov, leader of the social-democratic Fair Russia.
“Our dear Trump, congratulations on your victory,” chimed in the Liberal Democratic Party’s Vladimir Zhirinovsky, an ultranationalist known for his ebullient pre-election endorsement of Trump. “Babushka Hillary should go have a rest,” he advised.
Like some human Stretch Armstrong doll, former Georgian President Mikheil Saakashvili might have to stretch pretty far to play a political role in both Ukraine and Georgia after resigning from a key Ukrainian governorship on November 7.
At least one spectator, Russia, is likely to enjoy the sight, however. Particularly if the longtime nemesis of Russian President Vladimir Putin splits in the middle.
“How much can you lie and cheat?” the 48-year-old governor asked in a diatribe about Ukrainian corruption aimed both at his onetime university classmate, Ukrainian President Petro Poroshenko, and the president's political pals.
Poroshenko appears to have no regrets at seeing him go. He told reporters in Slovenia on November 8 that he hoped the Ukrainian cabinet approved Saakashvili’s resignation if he is bent on joining the country’s opposition. “We are a democratic state . . . “ he asserted, Interfax-Ukraine reported. The cabinet is expected to discuss the matter on November 9.
Russia’s state-run or associated press – in other words, most of it -- can barely contain its glee at the news, seeing it as a precursor of Saakashvili's general political evaporation. “A farewell tour or escaping from a sinking ship,” proclaimed a Vesti.ru headline about Saakashvili’s resignation.
The debate is part of a larger effort by liberal Georgian opposition parties to reinvent themselves after the Georgian Dream nabbed an overwhelming 76.6-percent parliamentary majority in the October polls. Among this crowd, only the United National Movement (UNM) gained a sizable number of seats (27) in the 150-seat legislature.
As the UNM, which ruled Georgia from 2004 to 2012, scrambles to figure out what went wrong, the outspoken, 48-year-old Saakashvili, now a regional Ukrainian governor without Georgian citizenship, has become the chief suspect.
The UNM has been synonymous with “Misha” ever since, as a brash, young political upstart, he led the party to power in the wake of the 2003 Rose Revolution. Four election seasons later, however, many see him as the party’s main drag.
Ahead of the October 8 vote, Saakashvili grandly promised to return to Georgia if the UNM wins, but, clearly, that prospect did nothing to attract additional voters.
You know it’s time for change when you’ve had an armed standoff in the capital city with hundreds calling for your resignation. And so, Armenian President Serzh Sargsyan, two months after a showdown in Yerevan between police and anti-government gunmen, has replaced his prime minister and several key ministers, ordaining the new cabinet to carry out a “great change.”
But how great that change will actually be is open to debate. Dubbed a government of millionaires by some, the updated cabinet features a few ministers known for their business successes, but others object that it’s still the same old crowd.
The change, noted one analyst, is that this cabinet’s alleged “millionaire ministers” – Prime Minister Karen Karapetian, Health Minister Levon Altunian and Agriculture Minister Ignati Arakelian – come from outside the government and, therefore, are not seen as having recently used an official post to feather their nests.
“The difference is that at least some of the members of [the] new government, including the new prime minister, have not been part of the government institutions, so their assets are not seen as illegitimate by the public,” commented Mikayel Zolyan, a policy analyst with the Regional Studies Center, a Yerevan-based think-tank.
The provenance of a few of the new ministers’ wealth is linked to Russia. Most notably, 53-year-old Prime Minister Karapetian, a former deputy energy minister, held executive positions with Russia’s gas giant Gazprom structures: first, in Yerevan, and then in Moscow.
Not surprisingly, earlier this month he announced that Armenia’s ties with Russia would grow still stronger.
Georgia’s opposition parties are scrambling to piece together their future after the October 8 parliamentary election left the governing Georgian Dream ruling the roost.
Some are turning to emotional eating. Outgoing Georgian Parliamentary Speaker Davit Usupashvili, whose Republican Party failed to make it back into parliament, has said that, in all likelihood, he would dunk his head into a bowl of food.
“When Irakli Gharibashvili stepped down [as prime minister in December 2015], I advised him to … shove his head into satsivi and ponder the future. Now, I have pretty much the same advice for myself,” commented the already relatively rotund Usupashvili. (Satsivi is a spicy walnut purée traditionally served with turkey on New Year’s.)
He might be joined by other opposition politicians, both old-timers and newbies.
United National Movement (UNM) candidate Sevdia Ugrekhelidze, for one, could bring to the table her self-described outstanding khachapuri-baking skills. In a televised pre-election debate, she invited her Georgian Dream rival in a Tbilisi district to have a piece of her rendition of Georgia’s trademark cheese pastry to help digest his loss. But the reverse happened.
Overall, with a total of 67 seats in the 150-seat parliament, the Georgian Dream left the UNM (including Ugrekhelidze) in the dust (with 27 seats) and will get a supermajority if it prevails in pending runoffs for another 51 seats.
The only other opposition presence, the nationalist Patriots' Alliance of Georgia, has a mere six seats and is unlikely to join forces with the UNM on any issue.