Dogs, language and solidarity: bridging divides in Tbilisi8 min read
Stepping into the tensions lingering on street corners in Tbilisi incites an avalanche of emotion and decisions. Bearing the weight of an imperial history and present on their shoulders, Georgians must choose where, when and with whom to speak Russian. In light of a government creeping ever further towards authoritarian rule, each decision marks a pivotal step in Georgia’s forward trajectory.
On a crisp May morning in Tbilisi, the city hums with movement. Having taken its first breath, another day is underway. It’s not yet time for the suited rush hour, but people are moving back and forth, alone and with company. This company is both human and canine, with dogs of every shape and size bouncing across the curated grassy areas and between benches where potential friends await. Sniffing, running, chasing – it’s all to play for when the world is your oyster each morning.
It’s the people holding leads and accompanying these dogs that catch my eye. Pushing forward to exercise their beloved pets before work commences, owners march along, speaking a patchwork of Georgian, Russian and English. Amidst the chaos of energetic dogs, something subtle is afoot: the quiet rhythm of coexistence and a tentative branch of solidarity.
Whether you’re sitting on a bench in Dedaena, Vake or 9th April parks or even beside Lisi and Turtle lakes, you’ll likely find yourself in the middle of a notable occurrence: a seemingly nonchalant daily routine that, upon closer inspection, reveals more about social dynamics in Tbilisi than is revealed at first glance. It becomes clear that not only are these dogs being walked, but the people clutching leads and batting off strays are involved in their own dimensions of play – with high stakes.
An anthropological perspective
In Tbilisi, the seemingly mundane act of dog walking has come to reflect social, cultural and linguistic negotiations between Georgians and Russian migrants, displaying patterns of integration and resistance. These happen at a corporeal level, demonstrating the tensions between familiarity, hospitality and resistance to imperial occupation.
Following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022, Tbilisi experienced waves of Russian migrants arriving in search of safety and distance from repression. Their presence has reshaped the city, including its housing market, cafes and social spaces, sparking emotive debates about belonging and autonomy and creating rifts in the social and economic fabric of the city. Yet, in the city’s parks, far from the slogans and protests, Georgians and Russians are negotiating these questions in the simplest of ways, through the shared ritual of dog walking. As patterns of community-building emerge and become crucial in an evolving political climate, seeds of cohesion can provide essential comfort and security.
A city under pressure
Georgia’s relationship with Russia has long been defined by occupation, conflict and the tensions inherent in geographical proximity. Russia still controls around a fifth of Georgian territory, in Abkhazia and South Ossetia, and continues to exert influence over the government in Tbilisi. Over the past three years in particular, the Georgian capital has filled with new arrivals fleeing mobilisation and censorship, adding demographic pressure to an already tense political climate. Anti-Russian graffiti covers walls across the city, saying “Russians go home” amongst other things, with the conflict coming to a crux on countless occasions over the past few years in large-scale protests against elections and changes to Georgian law that have threatened human rights and liberties.
The country’s ruling party Georgian Dream has placed the nation on a path away from EU accession, bringing citizens out to protest and seeing the everyday become an act of resistance. In the context of larger battles, dog walking offers a gentler lens through which to view the nuances of integration and distance in migration dynamics.
Language and power
For many Georgians, language itself has become a battleground. In rejecting the dominance of Russian, some have refused to speak it altogether. Others negotiate carefully when and with whom to use it. These choices often surface in the most ordinary of moments – a greeting exchanged on the street outside someone’s home, or a brief chat as dogs chase each other through a park.
Tbilisi’s urban middle class has seen burgeoning pet ownership over the past few years, and having a pooch has become a symbol of modern city life. Many Russians, arriving from similar social backgrounds, slip easily into this culture, with parks becoming informal meeting grounds and neutral spaces where class, habit and proximity come to override national tension.
In many daily scenarios, particularly in shared and social spaces like cafes, protesting against the influence of Russians in Tbilisi has become an act of bodily protest, particularly in terms of language. Many Georgians have stopped speaking Russian, or have at least imposed boundaries on when and with whom they will speak Russian. This linguistic tug of war takes place even on morning dog walks, putting to test the theories of with whom, when and where Georgians are willing to speak Russian, and why, seeing parks become key locations for casual cross-cultural connections.
Familiarity on the daily stroll
Although many neighbourhoods have seen Georgians pushed out due to rising costs, in areas where Georgians and Russians coexist, patterns of life can begin to form. For those owning dogs, the streets and parks outside become a microcosm of urban linguistic and political dynamics.
On dog walks, when Russians and Georgians meet, English and Russian tend to dominate, as few migrants speak fluent Georgian. For locals, each exchange is a test, a decision whether to engage, ignore or make space for dialogue. Forced, on occasion, to be in close proximity to Russians, many Georgians find themselves having to participate in the dance of politeness and reciprocity, not wanting either side to lose face.
“The only place I meet Russians socially is when I’m walking my dog,” says Natia (not her real name), a Georgian university professor. “Of course I accommodate, especially when they greet me in Georgian. The ones who’ve been here longer understand how sensitive things are.”
These fleeting encounters often begin with caution but, through repetition, become familiar. Over time, some Russians may pick up a few Georgian turns of phrase, or switch to English as a gesture of goodwill. Georgians, in turn, may open up, responding positively to the effort shown on behalf of their counterpart, especially if their political beliefs align. “If they make an effort,” Natia adds, “then I make life easier for them.”
When no shared language exists, silence fills the space, but not necessarily uncomfortably. The act of walking together, side by side, can become a form of unspoken understanding.
Dogs as social glue
Testing the waters of social inclusion, exclusion and cohesion, migrants and locals exercise their dogs and political freedoms each morning. The usual sense of polarisation between Russian and Georgian communities can warm slightly as walkers bond over their pups’ needs, especially with repeat exposure building a sense of trust. Preconceptions can break down, and friendships can start to take hold.
Beneath the surface, these daily rituals embody a quiet kind of hospitality, one relying less on grand gestures and more on repetition and mutual respect. The Georgian notion of neighbourliness, traditionally enacted through food and conversation, is echoed in contemporary routines wherein two people, once strangers, come to share a small moment of companionship.
Of course, tensions persist. Rising rents, gentrification and the visibility of Russian privilege have deepened resentment in many parts of Tbilisi. In these fleeting encounters, the distance between “local” and “migrant” can briefly narrow. Dog walkers suddenly find themselves in quiet negotiations over language, identity and the fragile possibility of friendship.
A bridge – of peace?
With many factors affecting a Russian migrant’s choice of language when interacting with a Georgian on the street, it’s hard to narrow things down into a strict set of rules. Code-switching, for Russians, is a largely economic decision, and the turbulent history of Georgian-Russian relations and stereotypes of perpetual Soviet cheer and Georgian hospitality make friendships hard to negotiate and establish.
Russians who have lived in Tbilisi for a while and reside in the same neighbourhoods as Georgians are more inclined to compromise with their use of language, using English or picking up some Georgian. In such circumstances, tensions can recede.
With a backdrop of ever-challenging political circumstances, the dynamics of dog walking are constantly under pressure. However, Georgians and Russians may experience familiarity and accommodate within specific circumstances. A sense of shared class and economic standing fosters friendship, and once barriers have been broken down, conversations are largely held in whatever language is most commonly spoken or comfortable.
The key remains for a Russian to prove themselves to have acceptable politics – meaning anti-Putin and anti-Russian government. This initial hurdle, if not crossed, will likely persist. Georgians want, ultimately, to decide the stakes of their interactions with Russians. They also want to avoid the persistent tendrils of Russian imperialism from affecting their everyday encounters. Beyond language, the ritual of dog walking has the potential to foster deeper cultural exchange and reduce feelings of ostracisation between groups.
Politics in the park
Dog walking in Tbilisi has become more than a daily habit, transforming into a discreet act of urban diplomacy. It doesn’t erase the pain of occupation or the anger of protest, but it hints at how coexistence might slowly be taking shape – not through politics, but through repetition, proximity and small acts of recognition and negotiation.
As the sun creeps over the horizon each morning, greeting the silence left in the wake of street protests, life goes on. Dogs and their owners come out with ablution-related goals in mind, but when coexistence creates intimacy and social ties, language can become less of an obstacle. The small act of living together sees dogs become social glue and equalisers, enabling linguistic and cultural barriers to be transcended, even if for a short period of time. Perhaps there is a future in such community-level integration efforts, fostering humanity and kindness in an ever-shifting city.
