IN TBILISI — Under a canopy of vines and at the top of a spiral staircase, a battered blue door in one of Tbilisi’s small Italian courtyards leads to Itaka Books, a Russian bookstore raising money for Ukrainian refugees. It’s also an ad hoc gallery, with paintings, sketches and other artwork lining the shelves.

One of them immediately catches the eye: a series of cutouts spread across the back wall. It is made from shapes and words cut out of official papers stamped with the insignia of Russiaof the Ministry of Justice. They come from the written reports that the artist – since he is qualified as a “foreign agent” – must send to the authorities at regular intervals throughout the year.

“Dear Ministry of Justice,” it reads, with fanciful illustrations contrasting with its austere text. “Russia no longer has borders. The world’s largest torture chamber has gone bankrupt… Instead of a future, we have an eternal past.”

The installation is the work of Daria Apakhonchich, a teacher, activist and artist from St. Petersburg. After being criticized by authorities for her feminist activism, Ms. Apakhonchich in 2020 became one of the first private individuals to be labeled a “foreign agent” by Russian authorities. Now she uses her works to speak directly to the Russian state.

Russian law on foreign agents, significantly expanded in 2022 and which concerns individuals or organizations judged to be under foreign influence, requires its targets to identify themselves on any written publication – including on social networks – to avoid incurring fines and prison sentences. “Foreign agents” must also submit regular reports on their activities and finances.

Tuesday, the European Court of Human Rights ruled that Russian law against foreign agents violates the European Convention on Human Rights.

“They’re never just labels, never just words,” Ms. Apakhonchich told me. Since obtaining “foreign agent” status, she has faced a campaign of repression by state agents: her home was searched, her devices were confiscated, and she was arrested. and questioned several times. She fears that the authorities will soon seize her apartment in Russia.

Another dissident, Katerina Kiltau, only learned in September 2021, through a text message from a friend, that she had been placed on the Justice Department’s list of foreign agents due to her involvement in an organization Russian human rights organization that campaigns for fairer electoral processes.

“I went from hot to cold,” Ms. Kiltau said.. “It felt like my skin had been ripped off.” She described foreign agent status as a “tool to combat dissent” and a “mechanism for repression against civil society.”

Fearing for their safety, Ms. Apakhonchich and Ms. Kiltau fled to Tbilisi – the first in 2021, the second shortly after, in March 2022. Tbilisi was a bustling and defiant city whose residents displayed their disdain for Russian President Vladimir Putinon their sleeves. It seemed like the perfect sanctuary for their activism and a safe space for them to express their opposition to Russia’s large-scale policies. invasion of Ukraine.

Georgia’s land border with Russia, lack of visa requirements, and perceived cultural commonalities made it attractive to a large territory. influx of more than 100,000 Russian immigrants after February 2022, and this demographic change has not been welcomed by all with open arms. But Ms. Kiltau stressed that for dissidents in exile, the connection to Georgia goes far beyond mere convenience.

“We knew that Georgia was a free country that had also suffered from Russian aggression,” she said. By co-founding Emigration for Action, a project supporting Ukrainian refugees and bringing together Russian-speaking activists wishing to mobilize against the Putin regime, she wanted to “show, at the local level, that there is another Russia, which ‘is not visible behind’. the tanks.”

But Georgians are now embroiled in their own growing struggle against pro-Kremlin forces. The ruling Georgian Dream party, which is fighting for another term in power in Saturday’s electionsrecently introduced a series of laws copied from the Moscow manual, including “LGBT propaganda” laws and his legislation against so-called foreign agents.

Many accuse the ruling party of spoiling the country’s hopes of EU membership and bringing the country back into Russia’s orbit.

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Russian activists in Georgia fear this means a pivot to Russian authoritarianism in the country they once considered their refuge. Ms Apakhonchich and Ms Kiltau both left Tbilisi on visas for Germany, but many remain in limbo in the Georgian capital, fearing the worst.

Katya Chigaleichik, an anthropologist who studies the influx of Russians into Georgia and Armenia in spring 2022, said the exodus of Russian-speaking activists was partly due to democratic backsliding.

“In 2022, Russians perceived Georgia as a strong democracy,” she said, “but now we fear that being in Georgia will be like a trial version of life in Russia.”

Not everyone is pessimistic. On Sunday, tens of thousands of people converged on Tbilisi’s Freedom Square, adorned with a sea of ​​Georgian and European flags signifying their support for the country’s European future.

As the crowd danced, chanted and sang, there was a palpable sense of hope in the air. Unlike their northern neighbor, Georgians are determined to escape their “eternal past”.