The stage was set, the crowd buzzed—but what unfolded next wasn’t in the festival’s program. Georgian singer Erekle Getsadze, mid-performance, transformed from crooner to provocateur, treating Russia’s tricolor flag like a prop in a political pantomime. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it into a bin, then pantomimed an act so crude it left no room for interpretation: he pretended to urinate on the symbol of the Kremlin’s power.
The Tbilisi Open Air festival, usually a celebration of music, became the epicenter of a diplomatic earthquake. Phones whipped out, videos spread like wildfire, and within hours, the digital mob demanded blood—or at least a lawsuit. Irony dripped thicker than stage smoke: Getsadze’s tracks still streamed on Russian platforms, including a major one owned by the very nation he’d just symbolically desecrated.
Critics pounced: “You can’t spit on the hand that streams you,” snarled one forum user. Yet others framed it as guerrilla art—a middle finger to Moscow’s lingering shadow over Georgia. The timing was combustible. Days earlier, ex-President Salome Zurabishvili had vowed to wrench her country from Russia’s “claws” with Western allies. Getsadze’s stunt? Either a calculated echo or a punk-rock coincidence.
One thing’s certain: in the age of viral outrage, a three-second gesture can eclipse a three-hour set. The flag may have landed in the trash, but the controversy? It’s just taken flight.
