"They came after us like we were enemies of the

state. All we did was show up."

My name is Giorgi. I came to this country with

nothing but a dream and the willingness to work

for it. I learned the language, followed the laws,

built a life from scratch, and became an American

citizen. This country gave me everything and I

loved it back with everything I had.

On January 6th, 2021, I drove to Washington D.C.

because I cared. Because I believed. Because that

is what Americans do when something matters to

them — they show up.

I had no idea that showing up would cost me the

next four years of my life.

What happened to the January 6th community

breaks my heart every time I think about it.

Ordinary people — veterans who served this

country, grandmothers who had never seen the

inside of a courtroom, hardworking parents and

immigrants who believed in America deeply enough

to travel hundreds of miles just to be heard —

were treated like terrorists.

Doors kicked in at dawn. Families traumatized.

Careers erased. Bank accounts frozen. Names

dragged through the mud on national television.

And then the courtrooms — where the verdict

often felt written before anyone said a word.

Some of those people lost their businesses. Some

lost their marriages. Some lost their lives. Real

people. Real families. Real consequences — all

for the act of showing up for something they

believed in.

I was one of them.

For years after that day I woke up every morning

not knowing if today was the day they would come

for me. I watched friends and strangers get

arrested one by one. I carried that weight in

silence through every ordinary moment of my

daily life — at work, at dinner, in the middle

of the night when sleep would not come.

When they finally did come, the cost was

staggering. Not just financially — though that

damage was real and lasting. But the kind of cost

that does not show up on any balance sheet. The

anxiety that moved in and never fully left. The

relationships strained under the pressure. The

version of yourself you were working toward that

suddenly felt very far away.

I did not crumble. But I will not pretend it

did not hurt. It did. Deeply.

In January 2025, President Trump pardoned me.

I cried when I found out. Not just for myself —

but for every single person in this community

who had been waiting for someone in power to

finally say out loud what we already knew.

What was done to us was wrong.

The pardon gave me back my name. But rebuilding

the life that was dismantled takes time, money,

and the kind of support that does not come from

a government document.

I am still climbing back. Still paying off the

debt this ordeal created. Still putting the

pieces back together one day at a time. And I

am doing it with the same stubbornness and

faith in this country that put me on that road

to Washington in the first place.

If you believe that what was done to the January

6th community was wrong — if you believe that

Americans who showed up out of love for their

country deserve a real chance to rebuild their

lives — then please consider helping.

Not out of pity. Out of solidarity.

Every dollar helps cover the real ongoing costs

of getting back on my feet — legal fees, debt

from the prosecution, and building forward

toward the future I know is still possible in

this country.

And if you cannot give — please share. Let

someone who can give find this page. That alone

means the world.

We are still here. We are still standing. And

we still believe in America — even after

everything it put us through.

That has to count for something.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for caring.

And God bless you and this great country.

— Giorgi Mamula / Mamulashvili

United States Citizen

Pardoned by President Trump

January 6th — Brooklyn, New York