How Georgian Dream Stole the Public Defender’s Office

For nearly three decades, Georgia’s Public Defender has served as a vital watchdog for human rights, exposing violations, identifying the responsible parties, and urging officials to take corrective action. According to its mandate, the institution is meant to be politically independent. And for most of its existence, through five different ombudspersons, it largely was.

But over the past two years, that independence has come under serious doubt. Public dissatisfaction has grown, with many claiming the office, once a critical counterbalance to government power, has become loyal to it instead. Levan Ioseliani, the current Public Defender, has been widely criticized for abandoning the bold and outspoken stance of his predecessors. On issues of national importance, citizens say, he has remained silent.

Frustrated Georgians now mockingly search for their ombudsman on Facebook, posting comments like: “Where is he? Wake him up!” or “He’s like Givi in the Blue Mountains—we have to knock and shout, ‘Givi, it’s us!’ Maybe then he’ll answer.”

Ioseliani’s first day on the job was met with boos, thrown eggs, and chants of “Servant! Servant!” Two years on, he still hasn’t won over the public. Critics accuse him of either ignoring human rights violations entirely or responding with vague, abstract statements that lack names, blame, or urgency. The “name and shame” principle, once a hallmark of the institution, has disappeared.

So if the Public Defender no longer listens to the people, who does he listen to? Who steered the institution away from accountability and toward quiet compliance? To answer that question, we examined Ioseliani’s team, who his deputies are, what backgrounds and connections they bring, and how the institution has changed under their watch.

Over the course of two months, we reviewed every report, recommendation, and social media post produced by the Public Defender’s Office from 2021 to 2025. We interviewed former employees, current and former members of advisory councils, and other experts. Before diving deeper into findings, we revisit the process that brought Levan Ioseliani into power, an appointment made not with consensus, but through political convenience.

A Politically Convenient Appointment

Ioseliani was elected in 2023 during a heated political climate. The ruling party needed to fulfill one of the EU’s 12 accession recommendations: appointing an independent Ombudsperson. But after failing to reach consensus on any of the qualified candidates, parliament installed Ioseliani without a public competition and without opposition. He was the only nominee—and faced no rivals.

Ioseliani is a lawyer by training but lacks experience in human rights. He entered politics in 2014 as campaign chief for opposition figure Aleko Elisashvili and was later elected to parliament via the "Citizens" party, which was viewed as cooperating with Georgian Dream. Just one week into his term as MP, he became Deputy Speaker of Parliament—a role he held until being appointed as Public Defender.

Weakening the Office from Within

Under Ioseliani, the structure and public engagement of the Public Defender’s Office have fundamentally changed. Unlike previous administrations where deputy ombudspersons were vocal and visible, Ioseliani’s team has retreated from the spotlight. His deputies rarely appear in media, make few if any public statements, and have minimal background in human rights work.

Tamar Gvaramadze, the first deputy, is the only holdover from the previous administration. While she has a background in law and academia, former staff allege she now acts as a gatekeeper, reviewing all recommendations and reports, effectively controlling the work of other deputies.

Irine Chikhladze and Elene Gudushauri, appointed later, also lack direct experience in human rights. Chikhladze, once connected to top Georgian Dream figures, had previously worked in public utilities and in various administrative legal roles. Gudushauri had been a low-ranking legal specialist in Tbilisi City Hall and a former employee of a legal firm owned by a Georgian Dream MP.

Critics say these appointments reflect an intent not to strengthen the institution but to control and neutralize it.

Unprecedented Silence: What Changed Under Ioseliani’s Tenure?

When speaking about Levan Ioseliani’s time as Public Defender, former insiders and civil society members often use the same phrases: “for the first time in history,” “an anomaly,” “something we’ve never seen before.” And they’re not exaggerating. For the first time in the institution’s 28-year existence, the Ombudsperson presented an annual report to Parliament without holding a follow-up press conference.

“This institution was always proudly critical. That’s what set it apart,” says former deputy ombudsperson Giorgi Burjanadze. “Now, the report was just uploaded to the website like an afterthought—timid, as if to say ‘I’ve done my duty’ and then vanished. In a year rife with torture allegations, election fraud, and human rights abuses, how can you not speak out?”

The changes go beyond tone and visibility. For the first time in its history, the Public Defender’s Office received a 40% budget increase. Ioseliani’s own salary nearly doubled. Meanwhile, internal tensions grew so visible that staff began making public statements independently of the Ombudsperson—distancing themselves from his muted leadership.

Perhaps most telling: the ruling Georgian Dream party, which traditionally clashed with the institution, now openly praises it. During a January 2025 session of the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe (PACE), MP Givi Mikanadze used Ioseliani’s own words to argue that there was no credible evidence of election fraud in Georgia—presenting the Public Defender as proof that democracy is thriving.

“The Public Defender, by nature, should never be loved by the government,” says Burjanadze. “If the government loves the ombudsman, that’s a sign something is wrong. Ioseliani has held the post for over two years, and there hasn’t been a single critical remark from Georgian Dream. He’s regularly featured on pro-government media and even welcomes their coverage.”

A Decline in Criticism, A Rise in Vagueness

An analysis of the Public Defender’s website and social media from 2018 to 2025 reveals a clear pattern: under Nino Lomjaria, the office was frequently vocal—criticizing government agencies by name and demanding accountability in high-profile cases such as the murder of Davit Saralidze (Khorgasali Street stabbing) and Tamar Bachaliashvili’s suspicious death.

Lomjaria personally stood with peaceful protesters and called for investigations into police misconduct. In contrast, Ioseliani’s statements rarely name individuals or institutions and lack the urgency or directness once associated with the office.

One stark example: during the violent crackdown on anti-Russian protests on November 28–29, 2024, which included documented cases of torture and excessive police force, Ioseliani waited a full week to respond. His December 5 briefing condemned mistreatment but opened with vague rhetoric:

“Polarization and conflict have reached dangerous levels. Georgia is a small society, and division spreads through all layers… While responsibility lies primarily with the government, the media also plays a significant role in shaping public opinion.”

He did not revisit the events in detail until four months later, in the 2025 parliamentary report.

The Numbers Tell the Story

The Ombudsperson has no punitive power but can issue critical assessments and recommendations. These typically come in the form of briefings, annual reports, policy proposals, and special reports.

Our review of all public-facing documents from 2021 to 2024 shows a clear shift. Since Ioseliani took office, the number and depth of critical reports have declined. Key topics—such as LGBTQ+ rights and police misconduct—have been deprioritized or excluded entirely. The language has grown softer, often avoiding blame or concrete recommendations.

For example, in 2021, Lomjaria’s report on the violent dispersal of Pride Week explicitly named Prime Minister Irakli Garibashvili as bearing responsibility and demanded an immediate investigation.

“The Public Defender once again urges the Ministry of Internal Affairs and the Prosecutor’s Office to investigate all crimes committed on July 5 promptly and effectively to prevent a sense of impunity,” it stated.

In 2023, when far-right mobs attacked the “Tbilisi Pride” festival at Lisi Lake—and police failed to intervene—the incident was noted in Ioseliani’s report. But there was no mention of accountability or investigation:

“Events of July 8 once again show that protecting the LGBT+ community cannot rely solely on police forces, which are often insufficient in the face of widespread discrimination and violence.”

Although his latest report, released on April 2, 2025, used strong language such as “torture” and “inhuman treatment” in reference to violence against citizens and journalists, there was no accompanying press conference. A modest working session with media representatives had been held behind closed doors a week earlier, on March 24.

A Widening Gap Between the Ombudsman and Civil Society

Perhaps most troubling is the growing distance between the Public Defender and civil society organizations—once its most trusted allies.

LGBTQ+ groups, once heavily reliant on the institution’s protection, say they have been all but abandoned. Tbilisi Pride director Tata Jaqeli recalls two brief meetings with Ioseliani, both of which left the community feeling unheard and unsupported.

“In our first meeting, we presented our concerns and asked critical questions, but his answers were generic and detached,” she said. “In the second meeting, we were each given five minutes to speak. He then talked for ten minutes about how he couldn’t take a firm stance on the anti-LGBT bill. He said he needed to maintain a cooperative tone with the government.”

Jaqeli concluded: “We used to see the Public Defender as a last line of defense. Now the bridge is completely burned. Maybe if we’re physically attacked again, we’ll turn to him—but only then.”

Eka Tsereteli, director of WISG (Women’s Initiatives Supporting Group), echoed the concern. “We had a chance to meet Ioseliani after his appointment, but it was disappointing. He wasn’t sensitive or willing to help,” she said. “He made it clear his priority was socio-economic issues and saw no role for himself beyond that. When we met again to discuss the anti-LGBT bill, it was pointless. He had no grasp of the gravity of the situation.”

According to her, the office has gone from a partner to a threat—part of the state’s authoritarian drift.