Introduction
Combating organized crime is one of the most difficult and, at the same time, one of the most essential functions of the state. This is an area in which state inaction can be no less dangerous than excessive enforcement that goes beyond legal boundaries. If the state is unable to combat organized crime, it risks losing its monopoly over the use of force, public order, and legal authority. Yet if it conducts that fight at the expense of the law, by disregarding procedural safeguards and expanding the boundaries of criminal liability, the state itself damages the very legal order it claims to protect.
It is precisely within this tension that Georgia’s practice in recent years concerning cases related to the so-called “thieves’ world” must be assessed. On the one hand, there should be no illusion that the phenomenon of the “thieves’ world” is merely symbolic or cultural. Georgian legislation treats it as a criminal system based on power, influence, intimidation, coercion, unlawful arbitration, and the pursuit of material benefit. On the other hand, this is also an area in which there is a particularly strong temptation to replace legal analysis with political demonstration, and proof of specific conduct with assumptions based on a person’s social circle, acquaintances, contacts, or general reputation.
The problem that must now be discussed openly, professionally, and in legal terms is not that the state is fighting organized crime. The problem is that, in the practical implementation of that fight, the distinction between different forms of criminal conduct is increasingly being lost, the standard of proof is being weakened, courts are losing their function of critical scrutiny, and in a number of cases liability is effectively being based not on proven conduct but on a construction created by the prosecution. If this tendency becomes entrenched, the state will face not only the risk of individual unjust convictions, but also the danger of systemic discrediting of the criminal justice system.
This article addresses precisely these issues: what Georgian legislation on the “thieves’ world” actually requires; what constitutes membership; what the status of a “thief in law” means; what amounts to a “thieves’ gathering,” support, and referral to a member of the “thieves’ world”; where the boundaries between these offences lie; how those boundaries are distorted in practice; why the current judicial approach is particularly problematic; and why systemic criticism does not mean that defence has lost its purpose. On the contrary, the more formalistic the practice becomes, the greater the importance of strong, intellectually rigorous, and strategically structured defence.
Why This Issue Is of Fundamental Importance
Cases concerning the “thieves’ world” are not merely one particular category of criminal cases. In practice, they serve as a test for the entire criminal justice system. It is precisely in such cases that one can most clearly see how real the presumption of innocence is in practice, whether the principle of individual criminal responsibility actually functions, whether courts genuinely scrutinize the prosecution’s arguments, and to what extent criminal liability may be extended to situations in which no clearly defined act and no corresponding legal elements have actually been established.
When the state alleges that a particular person is a member of the “thieves’ world,” it is not merely expressing a negative assessment of that individual. It is bringing an extremely serious criminal accusation, carrying severe punishment, property-related consequences, social stigma and, in practice, often a form of public conviction in advance of the judgment.
In such circumstances, every word of the law, every element of the offence, and every evidentiary requirement must be interpreted not expansively, but precisely. The more serious the accusation, the higher the required standard of proof must be. This is not merely a theoretical proposition; it lies at the core of the logic of criminal law.
The issue should therefore be framed as follows: when the state fights organized crime, where does the legitimate application of criminal law end, and where does an expansion of liability begin that no longer serves the protection of the legal order, but instead serves statistical, demonstrative, or politically desirable results?
A credible answer to this question is possible only if it is grounded not in emotion, but in the wording of the law, the analysis of the constituent elements of the offence, the applicable standard of proof, and a realistic assessment of judicial practice.
The Normative Framework: What the Law Actually Says
The Law of Georgia on Organized Crime and Racketeering defines the “thieves’ world” as an association of persons who have agreed to carry out activities of the “thieves’ world.” Two important conclusions already follow from this definition.
First, the law is not referring merely to a group of people, acquaintances, or informal relationships. It refers to an association.
Second, that association is united by an agreement to engage in particular activities. In other words, the legislature envisages an organized, purposeful, and functional criminal structure rather than random social contact.
The same law links the activities of the “thieves’ world” to intimidation, threats, coercion, the obligation of silence, “thieves’ gatherings,” “thieves’ disputes,” the involvement of minors in criminal activity, the commission of crimes, incitement to crime, the use of criminal influence, or other unlawful conduct aimed at obtaining a benefit for oneself or another person, or acquiring or granting power or influence.
Accordingly, from the outset the legislature connects the activities of the “thieves’ world” with active, purposeful, unlawful, and result-oriented conduct. Nothing in this definition permits a connection with the “thieves’ world” to be interpreted as mere acquaintance, communication, or presence in the same social environment.
Of particular importance is the way the law defines a member of the “thieves’ world.” Under the law, this is a person who recognizes the “thieves’ world” and actively participates in its activities, as well as a person who recognizes the “thieves’ world,” has a connection with it, and in respect of whom there is a combination of clearly expressed indicators showing that, through his or her conduct, the person demonstrates readiness to participate in the activities of the “thieves’ world.”
This formulation is of fundamental importance. It leaves no room for the proposition that membership may be established solely on the basis of acquaintance, communication, or relationships.
On the contrary, the legislature requires either active participation or, at a minimum, a combination of clearly expressed indicators confirming readiness to participate, demonstrated through conduct.
Thus, “membership” is not an abstract status. It is a behavioural and normative category.
The concept of a “thief in law” is defined even more clearly. It refers to a person who, in any form, manages and/or organizes the “thieves’ world,” or who, by using the methods of activity of the “thieves’ world,” manages and/or organizes a certain group of persons.
Here the law is not concerned merely with participation, but with management and organization. The legislature therefore itself draws a qualitative distinction between a member of the “thieves’ world” and a “thief in law.”
A “thieves’ dispute” is the assessment of a person’s conduct or the consideration or resolution of a dispute, in any form, including through electronic communication, by a member of the “thieves’ world” or a “thief in law,” for the purpose of carrying out the activities of the “thieves’ world.”
A “thieves’ gathering”, in turn, means the assembly or connection of two or more persons in any form, including through electronic communication, for the purpose of considering or deciding matters relating to admission into the “thieves’ world,” termination of membership, change of status, or any other issue connected with the activities of the “thieves’ world.”
Here again, the central element is not the mere fact of a meeting or communication, but its purpose.
Ordinary communication is not criminalized by this provision. What is criminalized is communication endowed with a specific criminal purpose.
The Systemic Logic of Articles 223¹–223⁴ of the Criminal Code
Read together, Articles 223¹–223⁴ of the Criminal Code of Georgia establish a clear, hierarchical, and differentiated system.
Article 223¹ establishes criminal liability for membership in the “thieves’ world” and for holding the status of a “thief in law.”
Article 223² concerns participation in a “thieves’ gathering.”
Article 223³ concerns support for the activities of the “thieves’ world.”
Article 223⁴ concerns referral to a member of the “thieves’ world” or a “thief in law,” as well as obtaining a material benefit or advantage as a result of such referral.
The substantive logic of this system is clear.
Article 223¹ concerns structural involvement. The severity of the sanction itself reflects the legislature’s assessment that membership and the status of a “thief in law” represent the highest level of danger within this framework.
Article 223² criminalizes organized criminal communication or collective activity in a particular form.
Article 223³ does not require structural membership. It concerns support, meaning facilitating conduct of a lower degree of intensity.
Article 223⁴ is of an entirely different nature: it does not concern organizational participation, but rather the use of criminal authority, influence, and “thieves’” arbitration for one’s own interests.
This means that the legislature deliberately differentiated criminal liability according to the degree of a person’s involvement. This is precisely where the systemic significance of these provisions lies. If these distinctions are erased in practice, what disappears is not merely the boundary between individual offences, but the entire architecture of criminalization constructed by the legislature.
What “Membership” Means in Legal Terms and Why It Must Not Be Interpreted Expansively
The most serious and, at the same time, one of the most frequently misapplied categories is membership in the “thieves’ world.” As already noted, the law links membership to recognition of the “thieves’ world,” active participation in its activities, or clearly expressed indicators demonstrating, through conduct, a readiness to participate. Three elements deserve particular attention.
The first is recognition. This does not mean merely that a person associates with certain individuals. Rather, it means that the person recognizes the system in normative, value-based, or behavioural terms.
The second is connection. However, connection taken on its own is not sufficient.
The third and most important element is active participation or a combination of clearly expressed indicators. It is here that the nature of membership becomes particularly clear: it requires conduct demonstrating a person’s functional involvement or, at the very least, a readiness to become involved that is manifested through his or her actions.
An important theoretical conclusion follows from this: membership is not merely a status-based category; it is also, and fundamentally, a behavioural category. It cannot be established solely on the basis of a person’s social environment.
Criminal law is the law of conduct, not the law of social circles, reputation, or friendship.
The fact that a person was present in a particular vehicle, knew a particular individual, had telephone contact with someone, or maintained friendly relations with that person may have some investigative relevance, but such circumstances cannot, in themselves, constitute the objective elements of a criminal offence.
Otherwise, criminal law is transformed into liability by association, which is incompatible with both the principle of individual criminal responsibility and the principle of personal culpability.
It is precisely here that one of the most serious legal errors occurs in practice: “membership” is often no longer treated as active and proven involvement, but rather as a label that can be attached to an individual on the basis of a general perception created around that person.
Such an approach not only contradicts the wording of the law; it undermines the foundations of criminal-law doctrine itself.
The Status of a “Thief in Law” as a Form of Management and Organization
The legal concept of a “thief in law” is even more stringent and specific. The legislature expressly connects this status with management and organization.
This means that the provision concerns the functionally highest level within the system.
In a case involving such an accusation, the following questions must be asked: What exactly did the person manage? In what manner did he or she organize it? Over whom did the person exercise influence? What specific acts demonstrate this organizational role?
If there are no answers to these questions and the case rests merely on abstract references to a person’s authority, name, social circle, or the assessments of third parties, what exists is not proven status as a “thief in law,” but rather an impression reinforced by the powerful terminology of the accusation.
This is particularly important because, in practice, categories carrying strong social, media, or symbolic significance are also the easiest to use for political purposes.
An allegation that someone is a “thief in law” carries considerable public weight. For that very reason, its legal application must be exceptionally precise, verifiable, and evidence-based.
Otherwise, the accusation ceases to function as a legal concept and becomes a rhetorical instrument.
A “Thieves’ Gathering”: Not Merely a Meeting, but Purpose-Specific Criminal Communication
Article 223² is also frequently interpreted in an overly superficial manner.
From a legal perspective, a “thieves’ gathering” does not simply mean that several individuals were physically present together or communicated with one another. The legislature expressly identifies the relevant purposes: admission into the “thieves’ world,” termination of membership, change of status, and the consideration or resolution of matters connected with the activities of the “thieves’ world,” including the management or disposal of financial or material resources.
Accordingly, a “thieves’ gathering” is a purpose-specific institutional act within a criminal system.
The legally decisive issue is therefore not the mere fact that a gathering or communication occurred, but the establishment of its purpose, substance, and context.
If these elements have not been established, there may simply have been a meeting, contact, acquaintance, or even a suspicious relationship, but not necessarily the offence defined by this provision.
This is precisely where one of the most serious problems in current practice arises: the relevant purpose is often not proven as a specific legal element. Instead, the investigation or the court is satisfied with the mere fact that a meeting or communication occurred.
That distorts the provision, because the legislature did not criminalize the mere act of meeting.
Moreover, participation in a “thieves’ gathering” does not automatically amount to membership in the “thieves’ world.”
In a particular case, the prosecution may seek to rely on participation in such a gathering as one indicator of membership. Legally, however, the two categories are not identical.
If this distinction disappears, Articles 223² and 223¹ effectively merge in practice, with the more serious offence “absorbing” the less serious one.
Supporting the Activities of the “Thieves’ World”: Lower-Intensity Conduct That Cannot Simply Be Converted into Membership
Article 223³ is particularly significant because the legislature expressly draws a line between structural involvement and conduct that facilitates the activities of the “thieves’ world.”
The first paragraph concerns public support expressed orally, in writing, or through other means of expression, but only where such support creates a clear, direct, and substantial danger that the activities of the “thieves’ world” will be carried out.
This wording establishes a particularly demanding threshold.
The legislature does not provide that every favourable or approving statement constitutes a criminal offence. It requires a danger that is simultaneously clear, direct, and substantial. This amounts to a threefold legal safeguard.
The second paragraph concerns other active conduct where the person is aware of the activities of the “thieves’ world” and, through active conduct, facilitates their implementation.
Here again, the central concept is active facilitation.
Passive presence, incidental communication, or mere social association does not fall within the wording of this provision.
Of particular importance is the statutory note providing that the offence does not include supplying a member of the “thieves’ world” or a “thief in law” with food, clothing, or items permitted by law in a penitentiary institution; taking an immediate action necessary to preserve life; or performing professional or official duties.
This exception is not accidental.
It expressly demonstrates that the legislature did not intend to criminalize every form of interaction with members of the “thieves’ world” or “thieves in law.”
If judicial practice disregards these boundaries, it contradicts not only the spirit of the provision but also its explicit wording.
For precisely this reason, it is legally unacceptable to treat conduct that could, at most, fall within the category of support—or may fall outside the scope of Article 223³ altogether—as direct evidence of membership.
That is not interpretation. It is the destruction of the normative hierarchy established by the legislature.
Referral to a Member of the “Thieves’ World”: Use of Criminal Influence, Not Membership
Article 223⁴ provides another example of how carefully differentiated the statutory system is.
It criminalizes referral to a member of the “thieves’ world” or a “thief in law” for the purpose of having a “thieves’ dispute” conducted, obtaining a material benefit or advantage, or exerting influence over any person or decision-making process.
Significantly, the legislature does not even require the intended result actually to occur. It does, however, require proof of the referral itself and its specific purpose.
This provision does not concern structural membership. It concerns the instrumental use of criminal authority and influence.
Accordingly, in practice, the existence of such a referral must not automatically be transformed into evidence of membership.
The rationale of the referral offence is fundamentally different: a person may not belong to the criminal system at all, but may nevertheless attempt to use that system for his or her own interests.
If this distinction is also erased, Article 223⁴ loses its independent function and is effectively absorbed entirely into Article 223¹.
Such an interpretation is not only doctrinally incorrect; it also contradicts the legislature’s clearly expressed intent.
The Main Distortion in Practice: Blurring Distinct Forms of Conduct and a Constant Drift Toward the More Serious Charge
One of the most visible problems in current practice is that the differentiated system created by the legislature often disappears in real cases. Support, referral, participation in a gathering, and membership are legally distinct forms of conduct, yet in practice there is a tendency for almost every suspicious, ambiguous, or indirect circumstance ultimately to be directed toward an allegation of membership.
This approach is particularly dangerous because the more serious offence always creates a stronger public effect. But criminal charges cannot be constructed according to their severity or political convenience. They must be based on which elements of which offence have actually been proven.
If the legislature created Articles 223³ and 223⁴ as separate offences, this necessarily means that not every suspicious circumstance or contact-based case can be brought within Article 223¹. Otherwise, the remaining provisions lose their independent meaning.
Against this background, the error becomes especially clear in cases where a person who displays no signs of management, organization, or active structural involvement is nevertheless presented as a member merely because, according to the prosecution’s theory, he or she happened to be in the “wrong” social environment.
Such an approach is not merely excessively harsh. It is legally incorrect.
The Crisis of the Standard of Proof
Every criminal case ultimately depends on evidence. In cases concerning the “thieves’ world,” this issue is particularly acute because the alleged criminal conduct is often covert, informal, and difficult to prove.
But this is precisely where one of the central principles of criminal law becomes most important: the more difficult a fact is to prove, the less permissible it is to replace proof with assumption.
In practice, however, the opposite tendency is increasingly visible.
Where a specific act should be proven, a general context is presented instead. Where a particular element of the offence should be established, an impression takes its place. Where detailed legal analysis should be carried out, a formal conclusion appears that the “totality of circumstances” is somehow sufficient.
But a “totality” means nothing in itself unless it covers the legal substance of each required element.
In a membership case, there must be proof of recognition, connection, active participation, or clearly expressed readiness to participate.
In the case of a “thieves’ gathering,” the purpose of the gathering must be established.
In the case of support, there must be active facilitation or a clear, direct, and substantial danger.
In the case of referral, both the fact of the referral and its purpose must be proven.
If these elements are not established separately and convincingly, the constituent elements of the offence are absent, regardless of how powerful the prosecution’s overall narrative may appear.
The Role of the Court: Why the Current Trend Is Particularly Dangerous
In criminal proceedings, the court is not merely a formal body for confirming the prosecution’s case. Its function is to act as a safeguard against possible overreach by the prosecution.
It is the court that must draw the line between an investigative theory and a legally established fact. It is the court that must say that a serious social or political context cannot substitute for proof of the elements of an offence.
Yet one of the most serious aspects of the present problem is that, in a number of cases, courts no longer perform this filtering function effectively.
There is a visible tendency for courts to assess prosecution material not through a critical lens, but through a presumption of trust, while defence arguments are either considered superficially or are not given the legal weight they deserve.
Against this background, an even more troubling phenomenon emerges: at times, the court appears to fill the weak points in the prosecution’s case itself.
This occurs when the court attributes evidential significance to circumstances that are in fact insufficient to prove a particular legal element, but nevertheless derives from them the conclusion that the element has been established.
At that point, the court is no longer merely assessing the prosecution’s case. It is strengthening it.
This is especially problematic in cases that already carry a high degree of public and political sensitivity. The true test of independent justice arises precisely when public expectations push the system toward a harsh outcome.
If, in such a case, the court abandons rigorous legal analysis, it ceases to perform its constitutional function.
Unequal Treatment of Expert Evidence and the Problem of Equality of Arms
Another systemic problem concerns the way expert evidence is assessed.
In criminal proceedings, expert reports often play a decisive role, particularly where the prosecution’s theory depends on technical, scientific, or professional conclusions. In such circumstances, the court’s principal obligation is to assess expert evidence not according to its institutional origin, but according to its methodology, reasoning, internal coherence, and reliability.
In practice, however, prosecution expert reports—particularly where they are prepared by a state institution or by a body institutionally connected to the prosecution—often appear to enjoy a presumption of greater credibility than alternative expert opinions submitted by the defence.
Where two expert reports conflict, courts frequently fail to conduct a genuine comparative analysis. They do not examine methodological differences in sufficient depth, do not determine which conclusion is better supported, and do not meaningfully consider the degree of institutional independence.
Instead, they tend simply to trust the prosecution’s expert evidence more readily.
Such an approach seriously undermines the principle of equality of arms.
This concern is even greater where the prosecution expert report has been prepared by a body forming part of the same state system that participated in the operation, arrest, investigation, or subsequent development of the case.
In such circumstances, judicial scrutiny should be more rigorous, not less.
If that does not happen, expert evidence itself risks becoming an instrument of institutional advantage.
Defence Passivity as a Factor That Strengthens the System
Any serious discussion of this issue also requires acknowledgment of an uncomfortable but professionally necessary truth: sometimes part of the problem lies with the defence itself.
In multi-defendant cases involving numerous lawyers, it is easy to create the impression that the proceedings are saturated with defence representation.
But quantity does not equal quality.
If a lawyer merely attends hearings formally but does not break the offence down into its constituent elements, challenge the internal logic of the prosecution’s case, expose evidential gaps, confront expert evidence, or properly record procedural violations, that lawyer’s presence often creates only an appearance of balance.
In such conditions, the prosecution’s task becomes easier, while the court has less incentive to provide a genuinely reasoned response.
Passive defence is not a neutral phenomenon.
In a system already showing a tendency toward an accusatory bias, passive defence strengthens that tendency.
This is precisely why the importance of strong defence increases in cases where the system is inclined toward formalism.
One important qualification must, however, be made.
The fact that courts may currently give insufficient attention to defence arguments does not mean that defence has lost its purpose.
On the contrary, strong defence produces two kinds of results.
Sometimes it directly affects the outcome of the case.
Even where success is not achieved at first instance, it records violations, exposes logical gaps, and creates the necessary foundation for appeal, cassation, and, where appropriate, proceedings before an international court.
Poorly conducted defence loses the case twice: once before the national court, and then again later, when the material needed to substantiate an appeal or international complaint no longer exists.
The Evolution of Practice Over Time: From Legal Standard to Formalism
Professional experience and years of observing cases in this category reveal another important point: the current situation has not always existed.
There was a period, approximately from 2013 until 2020–2021, when courts scrutinized the elements of these offences more rigorously, approached findings of membership with greater caution, and made it considerably more difficult for the prosecution to satisfy the standard of proof required by law.
This is significant because it demonstrates that the problem lies not only in the legislation itself.
The problem also lies in the transformation of judicial practice.
If the same statutory provision was, during one period, interpreted with greater precision and through a strict element-by-element analysis, but later began to receive a broader, more formalistic, and more prosecution-oriented interpretation, then it is not the text of the law that has changed. What has changed is the way the legal system approaches that text.
When this shift is accompanied by large-scale prosecutions, a high degree of public visibility, weakening of the court’s critical role, and reduced effectiveness of defence arguments at the domestic level, it is entirely natural for the impression to arise that legal analysis is gradually being displaced by broader criminal-policy or political objectives.
To say this is not anti-state.
On the contrary, it is an attempt to defend the rule of law.
Risks Facing the State
If the current approach continues and becomes entrenched, the state will face several very serious risks.
The first is the loss of legal certainty. If a citizen can no longer understand where ordinary contact ends and membership begins, or where support ends and structural participation begins, criminal law loses its predictability. Such a system no longer tells citizens what conduct is prohibited; it merely signals that, in a certain context, almost anything may be transformed into a criminal offence.
The second risk is the further erosion of public trust in the courts. Society may temporarily approve of harsh repression, but in the long term the same question inevitably emerges: was the guilt of the particular individual actually proven? If the answer becomes unclear, the authority of the judiciary is weakened not only in this category of cases, but across the entire justice system.
The third risk is the discrediting of the fight against organized crime itself. When genuinely high-risk figures are placed in the same category as individuals whose involvement has not been adequately established in legal terms, the state weakens its own central message. Society begins to suspect that the campaign is aimed not only at the core of the criminal system, but also at statistically expanding the number of persons associated with it. Ultimately, this harms even a policy objective whose legitimacy is not, in itself, in doubt.
The fourth risk concerns international legal consequences. Cases in which courts treat defence arguments formally, fail to ensure equality of arms, provide inadequate reasoning, and do not genuinely scrutinize prosecution evidence may ultimately become grounds for state responsibility at the European level as well. This is not an abstract risk. It is a very real possibility for a system that gradually distances itself from the standards of a fair trial.
The Importance of Strong Defence in Such a System
Despite all of this, one point must be stated clearly: problematic judicial practice does not mean that strong defence is powerless. Such a conclusion would be both incorrect and professionally damaging.
On the contrary, the more the system tends toward formalism, the more valuable becomes a lawyer who is capable of reading the law structurally, breaking offences down into their constituent elements, distinguishing and testing the evidence, challenging expert conclusions, recording procedural violations, and managing the case through a multi-level strategy.
Strong defence first and foremost prevents the prosecution’s theory from passing through the proceedings untouched. It forces the court, at the very least, to confront the legal problems directly. It creates the written submissions, motions, lines of examination, and documented contradictions that may ultimately determine the future course of the case.
Sometimes the result is achieved at first instance. Sometimes it comes before a higher court. In other cases, the proceedings may acquire an international dimension.
But in every case one principle remains unchanged: strong defence is never wasted. It either changes the result directly, or creates the foundation upon which the result may later be changed.
Accordingly, when we criticize the courts, prosecution practice, or the manner in which expert evidence is assessed, this does not amount to denying the value of defence.
Quite the opposite: it is an attempt to preserve the professional space in which the role of a lawyer can still be decisive.
In a legal system in which everything is declared predetermined in advance, justice dies. But where the defence continues to demand element-by-element analysis, insists on the proper standard of proof, and reminds the court of its responsibility, there remains a possibility of restoring the rule of law.
Conclusion
Georgian legislation concerning the “thieves’ world” is built on a relatively clear and differentiated model.
It distinguishes between membership, the status of a “thief in law,” participation in a “thieves’ gathering,” support, and referral.
These distinctions are not accidental. They reflect the legislature’s intention that criminal liability should be determined according to the person’s actual conduct, purpose, and degree of involvement.
The problem today is not that such provisions exist. The problem is that their application often loses this differentiation.
When membership becomes synonymous with contact, a “thieves’ gathering” becomes synonymous with an ordinary meeting, support is equated with everyday social interaction, and the court becomes an institution for confirming the prosecution’s version, the law gradually moves beyond its own boundaries.
The state has not only the right, but also the duty, to combat organized crime.
But it is precisely the seriousness of that duty that requires the fight to be conducted within the law, not at the expense of the law.
A strong state is not one that criminalizes everything.
A strong state is one that, even in the most serious cases, preserves the standard of proof, the principle of individual criminal responsibility, and the role of an independent judiciary.
If this balance is lost, the damage will affect not only individual defendants, but also the legal credibility of the state itself.
If the balance is restored, however, the fight against organized crime can become genuinely effective, legitimate, and sustainable.
Sources / References
Law of Georgia on Organized Crime and Racketeering — Articles 1–6, with particular reference to the definitions of the “thieves’ world,” activities of the “thieves’ world,” a member of the “thieves’ world,” a “thief in law,” a “thieves’ dispute,” and a “thieves’ gathering.”
Criminal Code of Georgia — Articles 223¹, 223², 223³, 223⁴ (text provided by the user).