Winter fairy tale. About Georgia
A long time ago, an evil wizard whose name has long since been forgotten cast a spell on Georgia, willing that everything in the country – even New Year street decorations – should unfailingly become a subject of petty political haggle.
Tbilisi always made sure to preen itself for New Year, but the first time it underwent a really massive transformation to look festive for the holidays was six years ago, when light garlands brightened up its central avenues, spiraling around the sycamores on the sidewalks, draping along walls of the buildings, hanging over the driveways, reflecting spectacularly off the shiny surfaces of the cars and buses that passed under them.
The sight of the city so magically transformed filled Tbilisi residents, when they first beheld it, with awe. But the enchantment was not to last long. “Wait, wait, wait! cried, on the spur of sudden inspiration, some politician. “All this foofaraw has cost money, hasn’t it?! And it’s going to run up a huge electricity bill – it’s outrageous, the way the lights blink and flicker! It’s stretching the budget! And on and on he fumed, aghast at the lights, agog for love of the poor and disenchanted electorate.
And so they started to count the bulbs. They counted, and miscounted, and recounted them. They bickered fervently. They shouted at one another from the rostrum of the city council. They argued in the parliament. And the only result of the exchanges was that their dislike for one another grew.
The holiday season had fizzled out by the time, and the garlands were taken down and packed away. Only to become subject of renewed bickering the next year. And the next. And the year after that. And so on. Every New Year found the political opponents cutting at each other’s throats over garlands, Christmas tree toys, confetti and fireworks.
The number of critics who thought the festive illumination was overly expensive multiplied by the year, as more and more ordinary citizens subscribed to the idea of a Thrifty Little Christmas and a Thrifty New Year.
And then, finally, the triumphant day came when the power ended up in the hands of those who’d advocated for astuteness. But, only a few months later, for some impenetrable reason, the “Spartans were – oops! – untangling the old mass of garlands and blowing the dust off the faded Santa Clause figures.
They still found it possible to declare the New Year fairly economical, reasoning that the decorations were not new, but left over from the previous rulers. They said not using the bulbs would be an unpardonable wastefulness.
The point made, the New Year look of Tbilisi’s central parts remained unchanged for another couple of years: the same strings of bulbs on the sycamore trees, the scintillating wire angels on the lawns, and expansive ‘chandeliers’ hung over the driveways.
Things are different this December. The bulbs have finally been replaced – a deed that the city authorities confess has cost them a million laris. The unexpectedness of this has left the public at a loss for words. But the stupor must be dissipating, as virulent discontent has already been voiced here and there.
With the New Year just around the corner now, I’ve been wondering – will the bad political spell go away, if we make the right wish on the New Year’s Eve?
