As midnight approached on a recent Saturday evening in Tbilisi, the animated chatter and joyous shouting on the city’s central Rustaveli Avenue was almost all taking place in Russian.
A married couple from Rostov-on-Don headed home from dinner; passing them, a group of friends from St Petersburg were off for a late drink with some acquaintances from Moscow.
“I have built almost the same life here as I did back home, just the weather and food are better,” said Daria, 32, a graphic designer from St Petersburg who had just attended a reading at a Russian-language book club.
Daria was one of hundreds of thousands Russians to have fled their homeland since Vladimir Putin launched his full-scale invasion of Ukraine last year, escaping intensifying repression at home and, for men, the prospect of being conscripted to fight.
Communities of Russian exiles have popped up everywhere from Berlin to Bali, but one of the biggest has formed in Georgia, across the Caucasus mountain range from Russia and accessible to Russian citizens without a visa.
The new arrivals have drastically altered the fabric of the capital, Tbilisi, with Russian bookshops, cafes and bars springing up all over the city. At the same time, the influx of Russians here is fraught with more cultural and historical baggage than perhaps anywhere else.
Georgia only gained independence from Soviet rule in 1991, and in 2008 Russia invaded the country. It is still the de facto occupier of 20% of Georgian territory.
“The majority of the Russians arriving don’t know where they are and how they are viewed as Russians here, due to the historical context,” said Irakli Khvadagiani, of Sovlab, an NGO devoted to rethinking Georgia’s Soviet past.
He said many Russians had a stereotypical, post-colonial view of Georgians, drawn from Soviet portrayals of the nation as “a sultry land of dances, exotic toasts and lazy people”.
Many older Georgians are happy to speak Russian and remember elements of the Soviet past fondly, particularly the figure of Joseph Stalin, originally from Georgia. But the younger generation often have a different view.
When the first influx of Russians came last spring, the owners of Dedaena Bar in central Tbilisi became irritated as some Russian visitors took umbrage at being ordered to speak English instead of Russian, or began defending Russia’s war in Ukraine.
“When we told them to shut up they would say things like: ‘We’re spending money here, what’s your problem?’ They really didn’t realise who we are or where they are or why we are getting offended if they are addressing us in Russian,” said Data Lapauri, one of the bar’s owners.
In response, the bar asked Russian guests to register for a “visa” in advance online, by filling in a form that requires them to agree with a number of statements condemning Putin and Russia’s expansionist foreign policy. Passports are checked at the entrance, and Russians are denied entry if they have not filled out the visa form.
For Lapauri, the ideal situation would be that no Russians at all lived in Georgia, at least while the conflict in Ukraine continues. “We find it really offensive when they are here having a good time. Every time we hear them having loud conversations in Russian, we just want to throw them into the river. We don’t do that, but that’s what we’re doing in our hearts,” he said.
Such sentiments sound like the kind of xenophobic rhetoric that often greets large movements of migrants or refugees anywhere. However, many in Georgia feel that, given the historical baggage between the two countries, they are not obliged to be charitable to the new arrivals.
While the first Russians, who arrived last spring, tended to be politically active and opposition-minded, the people who came after mobilisation were often less politically aware.
“We know that not every Russian who is here is anti-Putin, and even the ones who are anti-Putin tend to have a very colonial view of Georgia,” said Lasha Bakradze, a history professor and director of Tbilisi’s literary museum, a grand but crumbling mansion in central Tbilisi hung with vast portraits of Georgian literary luminaries.
While some Georgians have profited economically from the Russian arrivals, many have suffered, as Tbilisi rents have surged. It became common for landlords to double rent from one month to the next and turf out tenants who refused or were unable to pay.
The soaring prices, combined with the historical baggage, has led to widespread resentment. Buildings across the city have been painted with Ukrainian flags, anti-Putin slogans or the simple message: “Russians, go home.”
A poll by the International Republican Institute found that only 4% of Georgians said Russians were “welcome” in the country, while 25% said they “tolerated” the Russian presence for the economic benefits the new arrivals brought, and 66% would prefer them to leave or believed they should be banned. The government, so far, has refused to introduce a visa regime or other restrictions.
Many Russians have been working hard to change the negative perception of themselves among Georgians. Numerous Russian-run establishments have held lecture courses explaining the history of the 2008 war and the longer historical context to Russian-Georgian relations. Most Russians also note that the displeasure has not spilled over into outright aggression.
“Of course there is some judgment from Georgians, and it’s very understandable. But for the whole year I have had not one problem and not one conflict,” said Katerina Kiltau, from the Siberian region of Altai, who moved to Tbilisi last March and helped run a charity project providing medicines to Ukrainian refugees in Georgia.
At Koshini, a bar perched high above the city, the Russian owners initially hoped that 30% of its guests would be Georgian, said Artem Grinevich, who left Moscow soon after the war started and opened the bar last June. But it was difficult to attract locals in large numbers to a Russian-owned business, and almost impossible to hire Georgian musicians or performers to play, he said.
Like many other Russians, Grinevich said he had never had any confrontational discussions with Georgians, but he admitted there was a frequent undertone of tension in conversations.
“You feel it would be more comfortable for everyone if you were not living here; if you were in another place,” he said.
Not all Georgians begrudge the new arrivals. “These people are refugees running away from war. It’s a moral obligation to let people run away from murder, and we are also taking people away from the battlefield in Ukraine,” said Giorgi Margvelashvili, who was Georgia’s president between 2013 and 2018.
But for others, the fear of a creeping Russification of society, three decades after Georgia regained its independence, feels like an existential threat.
“To us, all Russians are soldiers, whether they’re carrying guns or whether they’re carrying their money and soft power,” said Lapauri. “Just by being here, they bring us more dependency on Russia. We suffered a lot to free ourselves from Russian dependency, and now it’s coming back.”
Additional reporting by Masho Lomashvili
