In its third reading, the Georgian Parliament passed the “Law on the Transparency of Foreign Influence,” commonly referred to as the “foreign agents law” or the “Russian law.” The bill, which has sparked protests for a month with hundreds of thousands of Georgians rallying in the country’s largest cities, was adopted with eighty-four votes out of 150.
While deputies inside debated and even fought, thousands of people outside, surrounded by security forces, demanded the repeal of the law.
Paper Kartuli correspondents had been covering the protests in Tbilisi daily and were present outside the parliament on a key day of the longest protest in the country’s history. Read about how Georgia passed the “foreign agents” law on May 14, how people reacted, and what happens next.
Morning
At 10 AM, the area near the Freedom Square metro station exit was not crowded. The temperature was +11°C, and it was drizzling. A few girls put on yellow raincoats, while a man tied a European Union flag around himself. They walked from the metro toward the parliament, where at noon, the final, third plenary hearing of the “foreign agents” bill was set to begin.
From the metro vestibule, police buses, cars, and a water cannon were already visible—the latter had been used multiple times over the past month to disperse protests. Rustaveli Avenue, which had been blocked for almost a day, was now open to traffic. An ambulance was on standby near the Kashveti Church.
The rally began with around 150 people. Protesters took shelter from the rain under the parliament’s awnings, eating chips and talking. Most participants were young, but there were also older people. Many had attended most, if not all, of the protests over the past month. Today, a group of young people brought an inflatable mattress shaped like a heart, while others sat on yoga mats.
“All my daily needs for rest, walks, and reading books have taken a backseat,” said Anna, who attended the protests almost daily. “At these rallies, I feel how the social atmosphere in the country has changed. My homeland has become a country with only a European future.”
“The authorities want us to get tired. They think they are stubborn, but we are even more stubborn,” says Ani, a student. She had come to yet another protest with friends.
The walls of the parliament building still bore graffiti from previous rallies. Some had been scrubbed off, leaving stains, but many inscriptions were still legible: “Fuck Putin,” “Fuck Russian Dream” (a reference to the ruling party, Georgian Dream), “Clean it well!”, “Slave,” “Pigs,” “Kotsebi,” and “No to the Russian regime!” Some walls also had stickers featuring Georgia’s coat of arms with the slogan “Yes to Europe. No to the Russian law!” and posters with poet Titsian Tabidze and Catholicos-Patriarch of All Georgia Ambrosius Khelaia. The inscription on the latter read: “I spent thirty-seven years of service fighting against the policy of Russification. No to the Russian regime! Christ is Risen!”
Meanwhile, security forces stood guard near the government chancellery. Beside them were signs of a recent meal—dozens of bottles of Pepsi.
Protesters were not allowed into the back courtyard near one of the entrances to parliament; hundreds of police officers were stationed at both ends of 9 April Street. April 9 is Georgia’s National Unity Day and marks the anniversary of the tragic dispersal of an opposition rally near the Government House of the Georgian SSR in 1989, where twenty-one people were killed—their names are now given to some nearby streets.
Lali, a participant in the May 14 protest, told Paper Kartuli that she had also been at the 1989 protests:
“Thirty-five years ago, my generation lay in front of tanks and stopped the Russians from reaching the protesters. Now, it feels the same: they are taking Sakartvelo away from us. In 2012, I voted for Georgian Dream, I believed them. That was a huge mistake. If, God forbid, they win, there will be no country left. I want to live to see a European Georgia. And if necessary, I will lie down in front of a tank again.”
On Chichinadze Street, parallel to the protest site, demonstrators stood face-to-face with a police cordon. They chanted “Rusebo” (“Russians”)—a term used by protesters for government members supporting the law, whistled, and blew vuvuzelas. Security forces filmed protesters from an elevated position.
Afternoon
As the session began, flags of Georgia and the European Union were hung from one of the parliament windows—a greeting to the protesters from opposition members. Among them were Giorgi Vashadze from the Strategy Aghmashenebeli party and Eka Kherkheulidze from the United National Movement.
More people continued arriving on Chichinadze Street. A group of women with pots and pans joined the crowd, banging on them loudly as they walked. Journalists filmed as the women laughed. By the time the session started, police officers stood in about ten rows of fifteen people each along the street.
Around noon, students arrived at the parliament. About a thousand people carried EU and Georgian flags, chanting “Rusebo” and “Sakartvelo.” By this time, Rustaveli Avenue was already blocked. Vendors selling water and coke, as well as volunteers, were present.
The Tbilisi protests stood out for their solidarity and mutual support. Cafés and shops allowed protesters to rest and charge their phones. “Wanting to support the protest and its spirit, I opened my chain’s doors to demonstrators. It was the least I could do to show my support,” said Emil, founder of Lumier’s Chimney Cake bakery near Freedom Square, who had received training with EU support.
The rain kept starting and stopping, but it did not deter more protesters from joining.
“As a sign of protest, I am not going to university. The teachers support us and are protesting too,” said Ani, a student at Ilia University. Indeed, on May 13, Tbilisi university professors posted selfies in front of empty classrooms after students boycotted their classes.
“We are not afraid of gas, beatings, prison, or water cannons,” Ani continued. “My friend has already been beaten and arrested—he’s in a temporary detention center.
Mari, a student at the Georgian National University, was also determined. However, unlike Ani, she did not feel supported by her professors: “Teachers are threatening that if we don’t attend classes, we won’t get grades. I’m in my final year. If they fail me, I won’t continue my studies—I don’t need their diploma.”
Evening
By evening, vendors near the metro were selling Georgian flags, EU badges, whistles, vuvuzelas, and raincoats. Around 200 riot police officers in helmets and shields had been deployed at Freedom Square. Two water cannons, a fire truck, and a signal jammer vehicle were present. A few protesters whistled at the riot police. Ambulances were stationed near parliament.
Around 4 PM, the crowd learned the session’s result: parliament had passed the bill, with eighty-four deputies voting in favor despite a scuffle during the session. On 9 April Street, about 400 security officers were already present. Drone footage showed them as a dark, menacing mass against the colorful dots of protesters.
Upon hearing the law had passed, the crowd banged on the metal barriers around the building—and within minutes, they broke through. Arrests followed. The protest outside parliament turned into a spontaneous, all-encompassing demonstration that, by evening, as past mass protests had shown, would only grow.
Some people in the crowd cried. Three young women hugged each other slightly apart from the main crowd, covering each other’s ears with their hands. From the stage, the names of the deputies who voted for the law were read aloud. After each name, the crowd whistled and shouted, “Mona”—slave.
