‘We left Russia, but Putinism followed us’

Russian immigrants on why they’ve joined the mass protests against Georgia’s ‘foreign agents’ law

On Tuesday, Georgia’s parliament approved its controversial bill on “transparency of foreign influence” in its third and final reading, bringing it closer than ever to becoming law. The vote followed weeks of demonstrations against the bill, which opponents refer to as a “Russian law” for its similarity to Moscow’s own repressive law on “foreign agents.” Barring any unforeseen changes, Georgian media outlets and other non-government organizations that receive more than 20 percent of their financing from foreign donors will soon be required to register as “foreign agents.” The issue has sharply divided Georgian society: proponents say the bill is an important transparency measure, while experts and politicians both in Georgia and abroad have warned that it will give the government grounds to restrict the activities of anyone who opposes the ruling Georgian Dream party, weakening the country’s democracy and putting its prospects for E.U. accession in doubt. But not all of the bill’s protesters are Georgian: many of the Russians who fled to Georgia after facing repressions back at home feel they have a duty to support the movement against the new law. They spoke to Meduza about their experiences.

These accounts have been edited and abridged for length and clarity.

Anton

Programmer

I left Russia in January 2023: it was clear it was time to get out of there. There weren’t any felony cases against me yet, but they seemed likely to appear soon: I already had a misdemeanor charge for taking part in anti-war protests, and the police had already shown up at my home. After that, my colleagues decided that I was involved in “anti-government activity,” so they reported me to our company’s security department, which started calling me in for “chats.” I didn’t wait around to see how this would end — I quit my job and fled the country.

I go to protests in Georgia because democracy is clashing with dictatorship — right here, right now. Russia is encroaching. I now have constant deja vu: there’s the anti-Western rhetoric, the persecution of activists, they’re passing the same “foreign agents” law, and they’re even arresting Russians who live here [and who have protested]. They’ve started herding state employees to pro-government rallies. I saw a procession of these buses going across all of Georgia, and then I looked a bit closer at the passengers themselves: many of them are just poor, unhappy, downtrodden people who don’t even know for themselves what they’re doing there.

Georgian Dream, the ruling party, has gone fully off the rails — it’s like they’ve been possessed by Putin! We left Russia, but Putinism followed us. What’s going on? We at least need to put a stop to it here, to do something here even though we failed back home. Either we defend Georgia now, or we’ll all have to evacuate to some other country. So far, the local authorities haven’t started handing us all over to Moscow.

These protests are different from protests in Russia in that there’s more you can do here [in Georgia]. You don’t have to get rallies approved, you just have to notify the authorities. Occasionally, things get thrown at the police — one time, they even tipped a garbage can over the fence. Barricades are erected calmly; even if the police try to storm them, they don’t do it very actively. It’s all just unthinkable for Russia.

Sometimes we just march, and people show support by honking at us or shouting in Georgian: “No to the Russian law!” They dance and sing. Some songs are tried-and-true — everyone already knows them by heart.

If the protest takes place outside of the parliament building, chaos erupts next to the side entrance: tear gas and pepper spray, rubber bullets flying, water cannons, batons. The police throw smoke grenades, try to grab people from the crowd, and use hired thugs.

A lot of people suffer from the tear gas. It’s crucial to have a respirator, goggles that don’t let gas through, or even a gas mask. I also take water and saline solution with me, a power bank, and a raincoat to protect me from the water cannons.

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Sometimes I go to rallies as part of a first aid group and rinse the eyes of people hit by tear gas with saline solution. It’s important not to do this while still in the gas cloud — it won’t be effective. First, you have to close your eyes and somehow feel your way out of it.

There are plenty of Russians in the first aid groups: a lot of medical professionals came here to avoid mobilization. Plus this is the safest and most legal way for emigrants to take part in the protest; it would be pretty odd if Russians were trying to break into the Georgian parliament.

A lot of Russians are afraid to go to protests, not so much because of the tear gas but because of the chance that they’ll be charged with a felony and deported to Russia. It’s very risky: they’ve installed more cameras in public spaces, and these can be used to identify protesters. You have to wear a mask and discreet clothing. Now that my humanitarian visa to Germany has been approved, things have gotten easier for me: now I have the chance to go to Berlin rather than to Moscow.

In any case, I may have to leave earlier than planned. As soon as the protests subside, people may start getting knocks on their doors, just like in Russia.

Artemy Maslov

Musician

On May 11, I went to a protest in low spirits. Earlier protests had made it clear that the police had begun using force; everything was unfolding along the Russian model. But then I saw how many other people showed up, and it gave me new hope. I’ve never felt as much unity as at Georgian protest rallies. It’s not even my country or my people, but I’ve never felt anything like it in Russia.

When I lived in St. Petersburg, I’m ashamed to say, I never went to very many protests. If I’d realized five years ago that there was going to be a war, I’d have put in more effort. But Russia already had a feeling of hopelessness, while the people here still have some power — they can still change things! When we march through Tbilisi, people make heart signs and wave at us from their windows. The professors here support their students and the parents support their children. Many people go to protests as a whole family: grandpa, grandma, mom, dad, children of all ages, and the dog. Change is impossible without that kind of unity and support.

I’ve been in Georgia for exactly two years and three days: I’m studying and working part-time as a concert promoter, and I’ve launched my own post-punk and goth rock solo project here called podwall. I love this country — I never felt as at home in Russia as I do in Georgia. And I care about influencing the course of events here, so that Georgia doesn’t turn into “Russia’s backyard.”

Georgians are currently fighting against the same people we lost to. We have the same enemy: the Putin regime. And we’d better join forces if we want to beat it.

As an immigrant, of course, I’m scared that I’ll get detained, but it’s even scarier to stay home and watch from the sidelines as this black hole, this Russian epidemic, swallows up the country I love. I’m also being careful: I don’t throw rocks at the police, I don’t break surveillance cameras, I don’t even make posters. I have my first aid kit with me, and I go to rallies with my friends who give out masks and saline as volunteers. But depending on how far things go, I might even risk my own safety.

I saw how they fired water cannons at protesters from the parliament building and threw smoke grenades on May 2. Meanwhile, the protesters started disassembling the pieces from a nearby construction site, passing the wooden boards to one another in a chain — ultimately those daredevils barricaded one of the parliament doors and began guarding the rest. All around us, people were holding Georgian and E.U. flags. They even made a fire to warm up.

There have also been rallies in support of the “foreign agents” law, but government employees are bused in for those ones. In one of those buses, the driver even turned on the E.U. anthem [in protest against Georgia’s ruling party]. The difference is that the Russian playbook doesn’t work with Georgians. They don’t let themselves be deceived.

Kirill

One time, I was speaking loudly in Russian to my friend at a protest rally, and some young Georgians came up to ask what I was doing there. You could see that these guys were fired up, full of adrenaline. A person’s liable to lose their temper with anyone when they’re in that state, and this was back when the police weren’t showing up at the rallies. I responded in English: “Nobody knows better than my friends, Russian journalists, how this ‘foreign agents’ law works. If we didn’t have this kind of law in Russia, I’d be in my own country right now.” Their faces immediately changed; they realized where we were coming from, and they even thanked us.

I’m 25 years old. I was born in Russia, and I’ve never seen an example of a successful protest. I’ve always lived with the sickening feeling that things will only get worse. But in 2023, when I was already in Tbilisi, we went to protest against the [earlier version of the] “foreign agents” bill — and after several rallies, they withdrew it! I was like, “Wait, that can happen?” I felt unbelievably free and inspired. And when they brought the law back [for consideration], I started going to protests again.

I went to all of the major Moscow protests starting in 2017 — and it was always really scary. You get off the tram directly into the cordoned-off area, and you’re immediately surrounded by “cosmonauts” [police officers in riot gear], with nowhere to hide. In other words, it sucks. Here, you go out in the center of Tbilisi, and all you see is protesters. The police are mostly next to the parliament building, and there are a million ways to carefully get away from them.

To build barricades, protesters tear off pieces of temporary construction fencing. If you get tear gas in your eyes, you’re immediately surrounded [by medical workers and volunteers] who rinse out your eyes. If someone sees that you don’t have a mask, they’ll come up to you and give you one. At the salon where I get my haircut, they’ve started giving out respirators. All of the cafes let [protesters] duck in and catch their breath. You can go into a church and they’ll help you there. It feels like the entire city belongs to us.

Plus it just looks really cool. Going to a protest rally here is like attending a big, beautiful festival: everyone’s wearing cool clothes, holding beautiful flags and cool posters, singing songs, whistling, and dancing. Everyone around you shares your values, and you feel completely safe.

I’m in a precarious position here; my residence permit doesn’t guarantee anything, and of course I feel scared. They could stop letting me in and out of the country at any moment. So I’m trying not to ask for trouble and to just watch from the sidelines. I hope it works: compared to Moscow, there aren’t many police in Tbilisi.

We would have liked for this law not to have made it to the third reading, but it did. Also, people in masks began ambushing and attacking protesters at rallies. For Georgians, this is a new red line that the authorities have crossed. People are asking, “Is this violence, this ugliness, really happening in our country?” The atmosphere no longer feels like a festival.

Everyone understands the tragedy of the situation right now: that [Bidzina] Ivanishvili, [the Georgian oligarch who earned his fortune in Russia and who heads the Georgian Dream party] is quite strong and that he’s taken control of everything. People here feel like they’re standing at a crossroads — and if they don’t do anything and let this go, things are gonna get bad.

In Russia, we’d have gotten scared by now — I’ve always been terribly afraid of Russian police. The Georgians, meanwhile, are incredibly angry and not afraid at all. The problem isn’t that they’re copying the Russia law (though that also disgusts people). It’s that it’s dividing society into “us” and “them.” But it’s now the second year that they’ve tried to pass this law, ignoring society’s wishes, to which all of Tbilisi is reacting unambiguously: “How can they dare to act like this?” I envy the way they’ve managed to mobilize. It breaks my heart that Russia wasn’t able to do the same.

But even if this law is passed, Georgia won’t become like Russia — not even close. This is a different country. It doesn’t seem to me like there’s any risk of authoritarianism here. When Georgians share their fears with me that they’ll become just another “province of Russia,” I tell them no, that won’t happen.

Interviews by Lilia Yapparova