By Moreta Bobokhidze

Reading: 6 minutes

Recently, news broke that Georgian authorities were abolishing several courses at the country’s universities. Many people reacted with disbelief and protest. However, the situation is more tense, complex, and much more specific than the idea of “abolishing universities”. What is actually happening is a far-reaching restructuring of how universities admit students, what they are allowed to teach, and how key institutions are organized and these changes carry serious risks for academic freedom, regional access, and in the long‑term, the quality of higher education.

The first major pillar of the reform is the introduction of state determined admission quotas for public universities, formally justified as aligning education with labor‑market demand. Education Minister Givi Mikanadze has presented a new model in which student places at state universities are allocated on the basis of a government‑commissioned labor market study and institutional “specialization”, with quotas set centrally rather than emerging from student demand and university autonomy. On paper, this sounds efficient: the state claims to be preventing “overproduction” in some fields and shortages in others. In practice, however, such quota systems risk turning higher education into an instrument of workforce planning rather than a space for intellectual development. When the government decides how many lawyers, journalists, engineers, or social scientists the country “needs”, it narrows the range of individual choice and can misread future economic trends. Labor markets are dynamic and often unpredictable; rigid quotas based on a snapshot study can quickly become outdated, leaving graduates mismatched to real opportunities.

A second, highly controversial element is the “one city one faculty” principle for state universities. Under this model, each public university is assigned a narrow set of disciplines it is allowed to teach, with the government arguing that this will reduce duplication and reinforce institutional profiles. For example, Tbilisi State University is designated to host exact and natural sciences, humanities (excluding pedagogy), law, economics and business, and social and political sciences, while other universities are restricted to specific clusters of fields. This is not the abolition of universities, but it is a profound restriction of what a university is allowed to be. A university traditionally embodies breadth: the coexistence of multiple disciplines in one institution creates intellectual cross‑fertilization, interdisciplinary research, and a richer academic environment for students. When the state dictates that one university may only teach pedagogy and some STEM fields, while another is stripped of humanities or social sciences, it effectively dismantles that breadth. Ilia State University has already warned that such limits would “destroy” many of its internationally recognized programs, particularly in the humanities and social sciences. The risk here is not only academic impoverishment but also a narrowing of critical, reflective disciplines that are central to democratic life.

The third pillar is institutional restructuring, most dramatically the announced merger of Ivane Javakhishvili Tbilisi State University (TSU) and Georgian Technical University (GTU). The government presents this as a rational consolidation that will restore TSU’s “historical role” as the leading multidisciplinary institution and streamline resources. Yet the decision was announced abruptly and has already triggered student protests and public concern. Forced mergers of large universities are rarely neutral technical exercises; they reshape power, budgets, and identities. TSU and GTU have distinct histories, cultures, and academic missions, one rooted in classical research and humanities, the other in engineering and applied sciences. Combining them under political pressure risks diluting both missions, creating bureaucratic complexity, and weakening the specialized strengths that each institution has built over decades. Students and staff fear not only job losses and program closures, but also the erosion of institutional voice in academic and public life.

All of this is happening against the backdrop of accelerated legislative change. Parliament has already adopted amendments to the laws on primary and secondary education and on higher education under expedited procedures, providing the legal framework for these reforms to move forward. The speed and method of adoption are themselves a red flag. Education systems are complex ecosystems; when reforms are pushed through quickly, with limited consultation and little time for impact assessment, the likelihood of unintended consequences rises sharply. Teachers, students, rectors, and independent experts have repeatedly complained that they were not meaningfully involved in designing the changes, and that key decisions appear to be driven more by political calculations than by pedagogical evidence.

The risks of this reform package are therefore layered. At the level of individual students, centrally imposed quotas and restricted institutional profiles may limit access to desired fields, especially for those who cannot afford to study abroad or in private institutions. Regional inequalities could deepen if certain disciplines are available only in specific cities, forcing students to relocate or abandon their preferred paths. At the level of universities, the loss of curricular autonomy and the threat of mergers or program closures can undermine long‑term planning, discourage investment in research, and push talented academics to leave the country or move to more stable institutions. At the societal level, the narrowing of humanities and social sciences, combined with stronger state control over what is taught where, risks weakening spaces for critical thinking, public debate, and independent expertise.

It is also important to consider the symbolic dimension. Universities in Georgia have historically been centers of political thought, dissent, and civic mobilization. When the state redesigns the map of higher education in a way that centralizes control over admissions, disciplines, and institutional structures, it inevitably raises questions about whether the goal is purely efficiency or also the containment of critical voices. Even if the reform is not explicitly framed as political control, its effects may converge with that outcome: fewer autonomous institutions, fewer independent programs, and more dependence on ministerial decisions.