Editor’s Note: The following article contains brief descriptions of intimidation and assault.
Ekaterine Aghdgomelashvili is a feminist and queer activist from Georgia, with nearly three decades of experience in both formal and grassroots activism. As a co-founder and former director of WISG (Women’s Initiatives Supporting Group), she’s played an active role in shaping Georgia’s feminist and LGBTQI movements since the early post-Soviet years. Georgia’s civic space is increasingly repressive, with restrictions on freedom of assembly among the many constraints activists face.
In her own words, Aghdgomelashvili shares how her work has focused on women’s empowerment, gender equality, and LGBTQI rights in a context marked by systemic homophobia and deep political hostility. She also shares how participating in the Oslo Breathing Space City program has been life-changing.
I believe that simply refusing to accept injustice is enough to make someone a human rights activist.
For me, this journey began with personal pain. In the late 1990s, I lost a close friend to domestic violence. Her parents, tragically, fully embraced the abuser’s patriarchal notions of family values. The state was virtually non-functional at the time — there was no concept of domestic violence, no shelters, no legal protections. The police barely existed in practice. Our attempts to help her were ultimately in vain.
Not long after, another survivor of domestic violence — now a dear friend — lived with me in my apartment for three years. It took time to understand that what we were witnessing wasn’t just individual abuse but part of a broader system of violence. Gradually, my friends and I realized we needed to combine our efforts and act collectively. That’s how Women’s Initiatives Supporting Group (WISG) was born in 2000.
In its early years, gender and sexuality were just one of the many focus areas at WISG.
One of our first projects was a website that filled a critical information gap — it was the only Georgian-language resource on gender, sexuality, orientation, and identity. We also began collecting oral histories of lesbian and bisexual women and conducted media monitoring studies on how sexuality was portrayed in the Georgian press.
Since 2007, WISG’s work focused primarily on LBT women. While our advocacy and research cover the broader LGBTQI spectrum, our community-strengthening work still centers LBT individuals.
Today, WISG works across three key areas: community empowerment (with direct services and support programs); advocacy and strategic litigation; and communications and cultural programming (including collaborations with artists, academic institutions, scholars). Our research has been foundational. It has guided WISG’s strategy and is widely used by local and international actors to understand public attitudes, state policies, and the status of LGBTQI people in Georgia.
WISG has also played a unique role in bringing a feminist perspective into queer activism, and in helping mainstream LGBTQI issues into the gender equality agenda in Georgia.
Coming to terms with my queer identity in a culture where sexuality was completely taboo was difficult.
That’s why, from the beginning, our work focused on filling the massive gaps in knowledge and access to information. We created Georgia’s first informational website on gender and sexuality. From there, we expanded into research, advocacy, and direct support for lesbian, bisexual, and trans women, many of whom were living in near-total invisibility.
It’s difficult to begin activism when you’re already marked as a target, when the public already holds a hostile, distorted image of who you are. The church and informal groups mobilize against you preemptively, and the state either ignores your existence or, worse, attacks you directly.
I’ve faced violence, insults, harassment, and persecution many times.
Alongside my belief in justice, my general stubbornness, and my love for the people I fight for, one thing that always gave me strength was the quiet, immeasurable impact of our work — those that never show up in reports or statistics.
One such moment was during a dark chapter many years ago when WISG was using the office space of the Inclusive Foundation to support the LB community. The police raided the office. They were aggressive, vulgar, and dehumanizing. They tore down posters and called us “perverts” and “sick.” They threatened to “out” community members to their families — most of whom were not out at the time. Then, without warrants or explanation, they forced us into the bathroom and strip-searched us. It was meant to degrade and intimidate.
But that night wasn’t the end. For weeks afterward, we were monitored. Phones tapped and cars parked outside the office. My colleague and I were so afraid of being set up that we walked arm-in-arm everywhere, terrified that something might be planted on us. We didn’t know if we were being harassed or if we were about to be arrested.
And yet, during this terrifying time, it was the members of the LB community — those same individuals who had just been violated — who stood by us. They came to the office every day in rotating shifts, refusing to let us be alone. They gave us solidarity. They gave us strength.
Ekaterine Aghdgomelashvili is a co-founder and former director of WISG (Women’s Initiatives Supporting Group). She's played an active role in shaping Georgia’s feminist and LGBTQI movements since the early post-Soviet years.
That’s when I realized that what we had built wasn’t just an organization or a set of programs.
We had built something deeper — a resilient, interwoven community. From the very people most at risk, came the power to keep going. Even when institutions fail us, community can still protect and uplift us. That awareness gave me the strength to begin again. Within a few months, we secured a new office, found new funding, and resumed our work with renewed resolve.
Experiences like these can give you strength. But when the trauma accumulates — when violence, stress, and 15- to 16-hour workdays become the norm — it wears you down. A couple of years ago, I reached my breaking point. And I believe what happened to me happens to many human rights defenders in long-term struggles; I gave up not when we were losing, but when the fight stopped being about others and became about my own survival — mental and physical.
For some reason, I accepted the anxiety, depression, and declining health as just part of the job. I told myself I could still keep going, maybe not in direct action but in research, training, or public education — something less draining. I thought that if I just pushed a little harder, I could keep contributing.
If you had asked me back then, I would have said the personal cost was worth it.
But now, as we face a new wave of challenges with Georgia’s authoritarian turn, I realize that I was simply too depleted — physically and emotionally — to enter yet another long-term battle. This crisis has reminded me of the vital importance of resilience as the foundation of long-term resistance.
In recent years, the situation in Georgia has deteriorated rapidly.
Georgia is experiencing an authoritarian shift. New laws are being passed with the explicit aim of dismantling civil society, discrediting independent media, and silencing dissent. State-controlled media outlets are waging an ongoing disinformation campaign targeting NGOs and human rights defenders. For activists, this has created an environment of constant pressure and surveillance.
Beyond the threats of arrest, intimidation, and harassment, activists and organizations are now facing severe financial repression. Just two months ago, the government froze the bank accounts of NGOs funded by foreign donors — many of which were assisting injured or detained protesters and their families — as well as those supported by local businesses or crowdfunding efforts. This was a clear attempt to cut off all lifelines of solidarity.
The so-called “FARA” law, which was passed in early 2025 and calls upon NGOs and members of civil society to register as “Foreign Agents” or risk criminal penalties, imposes harsh sanctions. Failure to register under this law can now result not only in heavy fines but also in imprisonment. Legislative amendments adopted in April 2025 have gone even further: they now require all foreign donors to pre-approve the purpose and terms of grants with the Georgian government — a move that undermines both the independence and the integrity of civil society funding.
The repression doesn’t stop at legislation. The government also employs psychological and physical intimidation. For example, last spring, several NGOs (including ours) received threatening phone calls traced back to a sitting member of parliament. Around the same time, posters branding us “traitors to the nation” were plastered across our office and others. In response to these targeted attacks, we were forced to relocate for security reasons.
The emotional toll has been enormous. Some of our staff couldn’t withstand the pressure and chose to leave. For the sake of our team’s and our community’s safety, we’ve had to modify how we deliver services. At a time when our community most desperately needs psychological, social, and legal support, we’re being forced to scale back and reformat our offerings due to constant threat and shrinking resources.
Over the years, I’ve participated in several trainings on the meaning and importance of resilience in activism.
And while such training is undoubtedly valuable, the harsh realities we face in our work often make it nearly impossible to apply that knowledge in practice.
The program I’m part of now is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. The Oslo Breathing Space City programme has been life-changing for me. It is the first long-term initiative I’ve encountered that truly understands the emotional and psychological toll that activism takes — especially in repressive and hostile environments.
As someone who has spent a great deal of time and energy designing and implementing holistic support systems for survivors of gender-based violence, I know just how much thought, care, and resources — both human and financial — it takes to build and sustain something like this. That’s why I’m deeply grateful to every person behind this program: those who envisioned it, those who made it real, and those who continue to nurture it with such commitment and care.
Based on my experience, in the first few weeks of the program, I struggled deeply with guilt — guilt for being safe while my friends back home were still resisting. But I’ve come to understand something vital: recovery is a form of resistance. Without space to heal, none of us can sustain the fight for justice and dignity.
This program offers something rare and essential: a space for rest, reflection, and recovery. It offers more than comfort — it offers care rooted in solidarity. It’s not just about respite; it’s about being seen, held, and supported in a way that allows us to rebuild the inner strength needed to keep going. For many of us, especially those coming from countries where such care is entirely absent, this program has been nothing short of transformative.
More about the programme
“The City of Oslo has supported the Breathing Space programme since it was established in 2023. The programme was established to offer human rights defenders the possibility to rest and recuperate in peaceful surroundings, to support their further work. I have been privileged to meet with many of the participants, and I am truly impressed by their work to defend human rights and support marginalized groups in their countries, often risking their own health and safety. In addition to being the Mayor of Oslo, I have a professional background in medicine, and I know the importance of rest and recuperation to prevent burnout. I am glad that Oslo, through the Breathing Space programme, can support human rights defenders in their important work by giving them new strength and a larger network”. — Anne Lindboe, Mayor of Oslo.
This article, as narrated to Gugulethu Mhlungu, has been slightly edited for clarity.
The 2025-2026 In My Own Words series is part of Global Citizen’s grant-funded content.