Betrayal disguised as reform: Who was behind Georgia’s defense collapse? (EXCLUSIVE)
Modern Georgian history is riddled with episodes where so-called reforms led not to renewal, but to disarmament, and talk of modernization masked the systematic dismantling of statehood. One of the most alarming examples is the deconstruction of the civil defense system, which began in the 2000s and culminated in the military crisis of August 2008. Today, years later, Georgia is once again trying to address the issue of accountability—political, legal, and historical. News.Az speaks with Dimitri Lortkipanidze, former member of parliament and participant in the temporary investigative commission on civil defense dismantling.
Dimitri Lortkipanidze, former member of the Georgian Parliament and participant in the temporary investigative commission on civil defense dismantling
– Mr. Lortkipanidze, do you believe the parliamentary commission investigating the dismantling of Georgia’s civil defense system could set a precedent for restoring political accountability across the post-Soviet space—or will the truth once again be traded away in political bargaining?
– When a state removes its armor in times of growing threats, it is not a mistake—it is a choice. That choice was made in Georgia between 2004 and 2008, when under the guise of “liberalization” and “reform,” a systematic dismantling of civil defense infrastructure began. This wasn’t just about budget cuts. It was a controlled demolition of the last line of protection for the population—strategic food reserves, emergency supplies, and underground shelters. What was meant to guarantee survival became subject to sale and privatization.
It would be naïve to believe this was due to incompetence. It was a deliberate policy, rooted in the broader neoliberal project of “de-statization,” where even national security is treated as a commodity. Just as external pressure was mounting and the country was preparing for possible conflict, the very foundation of national resilience was being taken apart.
The state, which was supposed to serve as a shield, became a broker. In the name of “market rationality,” food depots were liquidated, underground shelters handed over to private hands, and bomb shelters destroyed—along with any sense of civic duty or institutional responsibility.
Certain names must not be forgotten. Lado Gurgenidze, who lacked any strategic vision or basic understanding of civil defense; Kakha Bendukidze, who turned strategic reserves into disposable inventory; Gia Getsadze and David Kezerashvili, officials for whom national security was less important than the interests of shadowy buyers. These were not mistakes—these were betrayals. And betrayal must have consequences.
Today, the Georgian Dream party is making what might be its final attempt to restore a sense of historical justice. The initiative to form a parliamentary commission is not just a procedural move—it is an effort to reopen a wound that has been hidden for too long under the false dressing of reformist rhetoric. If the investigation is conducted with integrity, it can become an act of political cleansing and legal reckoning.
It is telling that the opposition—whose fingerprints are all over the collapse of the civil defense system—is refusing to participate in the commission. Is this a principled stance? More likely, it’s fear. Fear of the mirror that will reflect the truth. Their boycott is not a protest against “political manipulation,” as they claim. It’s fear of the facts, the archives, the witnesses—and perhaps, future prosecution.
Parliamentary regulations are clear: the commission’s work does not depend on the opposition’s participation. It will have access to experts, documents, testimony, and—most importantly—the mandate of public trust. If it fulfills its mission, its findings will carry not just political, but legal weight. And from there, the matter will move to the prosecutor’s office.
Whether this becomes the end of an old story or the beginning of a new chapter of accountability depends on willpower—on the belief that in post-Soviet Georgia, one can build not fear but protection, not erasure but justice.
– Can a country that has abandoned its instinct for self-preservation in pursuit of economic reform hope to survive a real crisis?
– When sirens sound in the sky and panic grips the streets, the most terrifying realization is that you are completely alone. Not because the enemy is too powerful—but because your country is utterly unprepared: morally, technically, and institutionally.
The case of Lado Gurgenidze, a prime minister who, during an actual war, was unaware of his responsibility to coordinate civil defense, is not just an example of managerial blindness—it’s an X-ray of the state, exposing a gaping void where a rescue system should have been.
Since 2004, Georgia has methodically shed its protective shell. Civil defense—the mechanism of rapid response in a national emergency—was dismantled by self-proclaimed reformers. Bomb shelters became luxury residences; food storage facilities were turned into logistics centers. The panic buttons were replaced with air conditioning remotes in corporate offices. Defense mechanisms gave way to the gospel of the market, where saving lives became a service and safety—a profit margin.
Deputy ministers, cabinet members, economic “gurus”—those who orchestrated Georgia’s version of perestroika were, in effect, unraveling sovereignty, mistaking it for an open market. When the hour came that required immediate response, the chain of command wasn’t broken—it no longer existed.
Georgia didn’t lose the war. It never had a chance to participate in it. The country wasn’t defeated—it was preemptively disarmed from within.
We cannot treat this as a darkly comic anecdote. It is a symptom of systemic decay. Under the applause of “strategic partners,” the country’s most basic mechanisms of defense were deliberately destroyed. And if we don’t say this out loud now—there may be no one left to save tomorrow.
– Would you consider the dismantling of the civil defense system—including the privatization of shelters, elimination of alert systems, and destruction of food reserves—not as a series of technical missteps, but as a political strategy to absolve the ruling elite of responsibility in times of war or crisis?
– We didn’t just request the involvement of experts—we demanded the truth. That’s why inviting Colonel Jumber Khuburzania was a deliberate step. His findings weren’t just opinions—they were a meticulously documented analysis of a dismantled defense shield. His report included international standards, domestic laws, and concrete examples of criminal negligence: the privatization of 407 protective facilities, destruction of food reserves, and dismantling of the siren system that could have saved lives.
However, the 2008 commission, unlike the current one, lacked investigative powers. It collected information but was, in essence, symbolic—lacking the authority to press charges or seek justice. And that too was by design: legal paralysis was not a failure—it was a tool.
At the time, accountability was not ignored—it was deliberately removed. Legal inertia became the shield for those who, under the banner of modernization but in service of private interests, dismantled the state’s protective infrastructure. The prime minister did not know his civil defense responsibilities. Security ministers admitted they “did not expect an attack.” A general without proper training declared he was “left alone.” This was not a tragedy of errors—it was a strategy of erasure.
Today, the new commission has the power not only to report, but to uncover the truth. The task before us is historical: to reconstruct not just the timeline of criminal negligence, but the very fabric of responsibility. Because back in 2008, no one was punished—and that was not an oversight. It was the system, calibrated for impunity.
Photo: iStock
– Can we speak of a systematic deconstruction of Georgian statehood ahead of the August 2008 war? To what extent did foreign influence drive the abandonment of fundamental national security functions?
– August 2008 was not merely a military crisis—it was the collapse of Georgia’s institutional integrity. What some might see as an error in governance was, in reality, something deeper: a collective surrender in the face of challenge, a manifestation of deliberate helplessness embedded in the very structure of power.
Civil defense had been rendered obsolete. Sirens, shelters, and strategic reserves were sold off, leased out, or forgotten. When national security is dismantled by a country’s own officials, and state leaders don’t even know their basic responsibilities, it’s not negligence—it’s betrayal.
This helplessness was not accidental. It fit neatly into a model of “guardianship governance,” where the key resource wasn’t sovereign control but deference to external “partners.” In such a script, there was no room for evacuation plans or protected populations—because the “shield” of sovereignty had been replaced with the glossy cover of Western patronage, sold under the illusion of immunity. But when the moment of truth arrived, that cover proved empty. Georgia was not a player, but a pawn in someone else’s game.
And even after the military defeat, the greatest symbol of loss was not diplomatic failure—but the silent inability to protect its own people.
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