Recently, the Foundation for Philosophical Orientation launched an essay contest asking a provocative question: “Is the left-right distinction still useful for political orientation?” I briefly considered writing a submission—after all, the first prize was $10,000. I had a few things on my mind, and yet I couldn’t find anything incisive about this matter, which tends to antagonize people in the blink of an eye.
I forwarded the link to a couple of philosopher friends who I thought were more suited for delivering proper punches in this kind of contest. “Hey, don’t you want to win ten thousand dollars?” I asked half-jokingly. One of them, who now considers himself a former leftist (and is completely into AI theory and business), replied without hesitation: “Oh, I can answer that question without any prize money. Simply: no.”
I was amused by this straightforward, blunt answer, yet it didn’t really surprise me. While both sides have their ardent defenders, there are also people who might shrug their shoulders at the debate, maybe because they have lost hope of taming the global market (which is creating more and more insecurities and inequalities), or simply because they never really cared about or understood this debate. As for the latter case, to invoke the example of my homeland, working-class people in Georgia (I’m speaking specifically of those who have spent a considerable amount of their lives in the communist Soviet Union) aren’t primarily mobilized by leftist discourse. It’s rather religion (the Orthodox Church, which became the most powerful institution in the country after the collapse of the Soviet Union) that ignites their hearts; or, when it comes to the economic situation, they can’t afford to care whether the money comes from liberal economics, which might devastate the country’s natural resources and landscapes. In other words, survival mode is pretty much on nonstop, and that makes them vote, not so rarely, for stability—that is, for the ruling party. Yet, I won’t linger here on this situation, which is not specific to Georgia; similar tendencies can be found, for instance, in the countries of South America.
In the fall of 2024, as I obtained my Ph.D. in philosophy (from German and French universities), I was still entertaining some hopes of returning to my homeland and making myself useful there as a philosopher. Yet my hopes weren’t long-lived. In November of the same year, Georgia officially halted its course towards the EU. Protests broke out, which were contained with violence, not only with physical force (from the police) but also with the help of absurd laws implemented at breakneck speed. Thus, Georgia swayed from brittle democracy towards autocracy, also “facilitated” by the fact that quite a few opposition leaders ended up in prison.
In February 2025, I joined the newly founded Movement for Social Democracy. As it happens, socialism has a tarnished name in Georgia, due to its relation to Soviet-style communism. Yet many people, and not only left-leaning souls, felt that a fresh and much-needed air had blown with the emergence of this movement, which managed to talk with people about the necessity of Georgia’s course towards the EU in the context of socioeconomic rights that needed to be urgently addressed. Thus, the movement contested the reality brought about by liberal politics and economics that “made elite power unquestionable,” contributing to the brittleness of democracy. Furthermore, the movement invoked (both theoretically and symbolically) the first republic of Georgia, which existed rather ephemerally (1918–1921) on a very progressive note, until it was invaded by Bolshevik Russia and coerced into the Soviet Union.
I always considered myself a liberal, not necessarily in the political sense but, how should I put it, as a liberal soul. I have always placed value on individual freedom, creativity, and peculiarity (call it outlandishness even); and I have always been aware of the danger coming from groups (of all sorts) who tend to mobilize themselves, with cruel intentions, towards individuals or minorities. Furthermore, when the Left starts to talk about the people (versus the elite), I don’t necessarily get chills; or I get unpleasant chills. While I do recognize socioeconomic injustices and the need for the cultivation of empathy and care, I’m always aware of the above dangers looming in highly volatile situations. The famous phrase from The Communist Manifesto (1848), “all that is solid melts into air,” expressing its own historical kairos (i.e., crunch moment), should be kept in mind together with the equally famous words from Antonio Gramsci (jotted down in prison) that in this period of transition (interregnum) all sorts of morbid phenomena appear.
Why then did I join the Movement for Social Democracy? For some of the reasons I gave above. Furthermore, let me add two more, which should contribute to the elucidation of my evolving worldview. Firstly, the emphasis on the ideal of individual thriving (encompassing all sorts of freedoms and opportunities) cannot be sustained without the nigh-infinite resources which we— apparently—do not have on this planet; secondly, while liberal economics and politics incite an exodus from tribalism and closed-off communities (which can be, for the right reasons, exciting), they don’t offer people equally strong ties with each other—that is, a communal sense that is much needed. Drifting on the tides of the global market and falling easy prey to corporations won’t bring people together, or it will do so only temporarily until there is a bitter backlash and people feel like jumping back into their good old (mummified) skins; and that has also been termed the rise of right-wing populism. In other words, the sense of uprootedness that people experience in modern societies can in no way be seen as normal. Moreover, science, which has been seen as an essential motor of this globalized thriving, can’t really offer (besides the obvious benefits we derive from it) any real comforting worldview: We should have noticed by now that nobody’s waiting for us in the cosmic dark waters. And in the meantime, it feels like we’re sitting on a ticking bomb.
This brings us back to earth and to the conundrum of how we should live with each other. This is obviously more than a ten-thousand-dollar question. It concerns all of us. And it concerns me on pretty much every level: as a philosopher (living in Germany) trying to navigate the post-Ph.D. phase and find steady employment; as a citizen of Georgia, a society suffering under now-consolidated autocracy; and simply as a human being on this planet, trying to make sense of these trying times together with my fellow beings (and animals, I should add). Thinking, and especially thinking along the lines of a deeply dividing question, is a matter of delicate balance, as one tends to swing in all possible directions. I can only hope that my own movement was useful and encouraging for those who might be brooding over similar questions.
Gigla Gonashvili
Gigla Gonashvili holds a Ph.D. in philosophy (completed as a cotutelle between the University of Wuppertal and the University of Toulouse - Jean Jaurès), specializing in phenomenology and post-structuralism. He is a frequent contributor to the Institute of Art and Ideas (IAI) and writes on the intersections of European philosophy, aesthetics, and contemporary politics.
