Tbilisi’s cultural scene faces a crisis as Georgia’s “foreign agent” law sparks protests, silences artists, and transforms music into acts of resistance
In recent years, Georgia has made its presence known in the global cultural sector. Its reputation has been shaped by its fast-growing creative scene, where artists, filmmakers, designers, writers, musicians, and curators have built a vibrant cultural ecosystem supported by independent galleries, residencies, and educational initiatives.
This has all happened in spite of a lack of governmental or institutional support and has been driven by the people’s resilience and creativity, according to Lisa Offermann, co-founder of LC Queisser, a Tbilisi-based gallery.
Since Georgia gained its independence from the Soviet Union in 1991, its people have fought to take back their identity and share their ancient, rich heritage with the world.
Now, however, the centre of this cultural movement is facing a crisis. The country’s capital, Tbilisi, has seen exhibitions close down, as the organisations funding them are shutting down. Artists are leaving the country, and the creative sector as a whole is being slowly dismantled.
The “Russian Law”
This can be traced back to 2023, when the country was taken over by a French oligarch and his political party, Georgian Dream. This party has since passed several laws that have made any kind of independent civic and cultural life impossible. The most threatening of them all, for artists and civic organisations, locally known as the ‘Russian law’, the Law on Transparency of Foreign Influence builds on Russia‘s infamous Foreign Agents Law.
This law forces organisations with significant foreign funding to register as serving foreign interests. This was followed by stricter legislation in 2025, which introduced prison sentences, alongside amendments to the Grants Law requiring state approval for foreign funding. Critics, including Human Rights Watch, say these measures are designed to suppress civil society, independent media, and free expression while maintaining a veneer of legality.
In December 2025, Freemuse and the International Association of Arts Critics (AICA) submitted a report to the United Nations highlighting this crisis in Georgia. The report states that “repressive amendments have been rushed through parliament that criminalise symbolic protest actions, impose heavy fines, and other measures, making dissent increasingly risky.”
These measures have, in turn, been used by the Georgian authorities to detain, physically assault, and intimidate protesters, many of whom are artists and cultural workers. Furthermore, targeted attacks on cultural institutions and productions have been recorded. According to the European Theatre Convention, the Royal District Theatre faced oppression and received threats in relation to its production Liberté, with state-aligned media and religious groups condemning the work and ultra-right-wing groups mobilising outside the theatre.
Music remains
Protest songs have become central to the activism in the country, with anthems like “For Your Child” and Erekle Getsadze’s “Ajanqdi! (Rebel!)” highlighting opposition to government actions, while demonstrators have also utilised traditional folk songs to double down on their identity and rights.
Tbilisi’s techno scene—centred around clubs like Bassiani—has evolved into a powerful form of political expression, where nightlife and activism are deeply intertwined. The scene and its physical structures became safe havens for LGBTQ+ communities and progressive youth, and people involved were on the frontlines fighting for drug reform and human rights. This became highly visible in 2018, when armed police began raiding clubs, which triggered mass protests, with thousands of people raving outside parliament as an act of resistance and in protest to state repression and conservative backlash.
Those who remain in Georgia remain steadfast. Every Saturday in Tbilisi, musicians and professors from the city’s conservatory gather to march in protest. Armed with drums and traditional instruments, they create a sound that blurs the line between performance and resistance. What began as a demonstration became an exploration of performing music under pressure.
Participants describe the experience as transformative. For some, it has broken down the rigid boundaries of formal musical training, opening up new possibilities for expression. The rhythms of protest—urgent, improvised, collective—flowed back into their artistic practice.
Elsewhere, acts of resistance appear briefly and disappear just as quickly. Poetry banners are hung in public spaces overnight, only to be removed hours later. Artists and activists are collaborating more closely, united by shared constraints and a common language of defiance.
