The Impact of Protest and Counter-Protest Interactions on Public Opinion: Reactions to LGBTQ Rights Activism in Georgian Society

LGBTQ Protests and Counter-Protests in Eastern Europe and the South Caucasus

LGBTQ rights in post-Soviet countries face persistent challenges rooted in historical and cultural legacies. Soviet-era repression suppressed large-scale activism, though some underground resistance endured (Altman, 1993; Rutland, 2023). Homosexuality was briefly decriminalized between 1917 and 1934 (Dawsey, 2021; Englestein, 1995), but renewed criminalization led to decades of persecution, shaping enduring public attitudes (Rutland, 2023).

Following the Soviet collapse, post-Soviet states faced pressure to adopt human rights standards, including LGBTQ protections, particularly through European Union (EU) integration efforts (Isaakyan, 2013; Rutland, 2023; Wilkinson, 2019). Despite international support, LGBTQ protests and pride events often encountered violent counter-protests, rooted in Soviet-era stigmatization of homosexuality as “bourgeois degeneracy” (Altman, 1993; Healey, 2002; Rutland, 2023). Conservative leaders and the Russian Orthodox Church reinforce this legacy, framing LGBTQ rights as threats to traditional values and national identity (Buyantueva, 2018).

Since 1991, public opinion has evolved unevenly. Eastern Europe shows gradual progress, especially in EU-aligned states like Slovakia and the Czech Republic (Pew Research Center, 2017). In Ukraine, support reached 63.7% by 2022 (Nash Svit Center, 2022), while Russia has grown more restrictive—62% favored limiting LGBTQ rights in 2023 (Nash Svit Center, 2022). The South Caucasus remains highly conservative: 97% of Armenians opposed homosexuality in 2017, and 82% were unwilling to have LGBTQ neighbors in 2022 (Pew Research Center, 2017; World Values Survey, 2022). While underexplored, some research links public opinion to LGBTQ visibility, with media narratives playing a key role (Karakashyan, 2020; Wiedlack, 2017).

The Emergence of LGBTQ Activism and Counter-Protests in Georgia

Since independence in 1991, Georgia has experienced deep polarization, primarily around government support or opposition (CRRC Georgia, 2020; Gegeshidze & De Waal, 2021; Samkharadze, 2022; Silaghadze, 2023). The 1990s brought instability, including President Gamsakhurdia’s ousting and violent conflicts in Abkhazia and South Ossetia (Cornell, 2001; De Waal, 2010; International Crisis Group, 2004; Wheatley, 2005). Under Shevardnadze (1992–2003), economic hardship, corruption, and Orthodox conservatism left little space for LGBTQ activism, despite EU aspirations and decriminalization of homosexuality in 2000.

Under President Saakashvili (2004–2013), limited progress was made on LGBTQ rights. The 2006 Labor Code banned employment discrimination based on sexual orientation (Labor Code of Georgia, 2006), and the Böll Foundation supported the region’s first LGBTQ magazine, Me in 2007 (Stöber, 2013). From 2010, NGOs began promoting LGBTQ issues but faced strong resistance, particularly from radical Orthodox groups. Government support was inconsistent—tolerating domestic homophobia while promoting a liberal image abroad (Stöber, 2013). In 2012, the Criminal Code was amended to increase penalties for hate crimes (ILGA-Europe, 2012), yet the state was often seen as applying double standards. The first public LGBTQ event by LGBT–Georgia in 2011 went largely unnoticed due to low awareness and scarce civil society resources.

Since 2012, under the Georgian Dream government (2012–present), an anti-discrimination law was passed in 2014 under the EU Visa Liberalization Action Plan, despite opposition from the Orthodox Church (Legislative Herald of Georgia, 2014; Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty, 2014). Initially, the government’s stance on anti-LGBTQ protests was neutral or disapproving, but over time it aligned more closely with the Church. Events like IDAHOBIT ³ (since 2011) and Tbilisi Pride (since 2019), while framed as celebrations, also served as protests against discrimination. These events consistently triggered violent counter-protests, notably the Church’s “Family Purity Day,” launched in 2014 in opposition to LGBTQ visibility (Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty, 2024).

The Georgian Orthodox Church, deeply rooted in the country’s cultural and historical identity, holds a powerful position (Gegeshidze & Mirziashvili, 2021). Its open opposition to LGBTQ visibility has helped sustain negative public attitudes since independence (Fredriksen-Goldsen et al., 2021; Pew Research Center, 2016; Quinn, 2007; World Values Survey, 2022). These negative views, also reinforced by radical nationalist groups, enable swift counter-mobilizations that are often tolerated by the state. As a result, most LGBTQ events faced large counter-protests, with physically violent incidents occurring especially in 2012 and 2013 (see Table 1 and Appendix).

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Table 1.

LGBTQ Protests and Counter-Protests in Tbilisi, Georgia, 2011 to 2023. ⁴

Date	Protest	Counter-Protest
May 17, 2011	Held	No event scheduled
May 17, 2012	Disrupted	Held
May 17, 2013	Disrupted	Held
May 17, 2014	Disrupted	Held
May 17, 2015	Disrupted	Held
May 17, 2016	Confronted	Held
May 17, 2017	Confronted	Held
May 17, 2018	Canceled/disrupted	Held
May 17, 2019	Canceled	Held
June 14, 2019	Confronted	Held
May 17, 2020	No street event scheduled (online action)	Held
May 17, 2021	No street event scheduled (party agreement)	Held
July 5, 2021	Disrupted	Held
July 6, 2021	Canceled	Held
May 17, 2022	No street event scheduled (panel discussion)	Held
July 2, 2022	Disrupted (private event)	Held
May 17, 2023	No street event scheduled	Held
June 8, 2023	Canceled	Held

Narrative 1: From Protest Reluctance to Support/No Support

Narrative 1 focuses on respondents whose initial reluctance toward LGBTQ activism evolved into more defined positions—either supportive or oppositional—through their moral justification of the violence during protest–counter-protest interactions. In storyline 1.1, violence was the starting point; respondents judged it negatively and formed their positions accordingly. In contrast, in storyline 1.2, respondents started to view the events through the lens of “traditional” values and identity, which made the use of violence appear morally justifiable. Initially, respondents described LGBTQ street mobilizations as “unpleasant” and publicly uncomfortable, affirming equal rights in principle but questioning their visibility, which some labeled an “anomaly.”

I was thinking that. . . ok. . . I know that they are part of our society, but is it necessary for them to be so loud about their sexual preferences? It was something that I didn’t want for my kids, or even to imagine that it’s the norm and that people get to choose another type of family. So, let them be and do whatever they want—but is it necessary to organize public events? . . .It makes you think that maybe it’s ok to have the same lifestyle. But in general, I was kind of ok with them. . . I just wasn’t sure about this publicity.

(Nino, age 45, interview, 2012)

Some respondents became more empathetic toward activists (1.1), while others reinforced their negative attitudes (1.2). In the first case (1.1), the respondents recalled specific events of protests and counter-protests confrontation. Counter-protest tactics were described as “shocking,” prompting empathy and a sense of urgency to protect the activists. It also created a fear that if at some point something was perceived as non-traditional or disagreed with by religious institutions, it could have been handled in the same way. For these respondents, eventually, the activists were victims, whereas, as they said, the government was not creating a safe space for them.

One thing I knew was that the activists were mobilizing to celebrate the International Day Against Homophobia. . . and at the same time, they were protesting LGBTQ discrimination and abuse. And as I said, I had mixed feelings about it. I did not like this publicity. But then the media broadcasted the counter-protest—people who were priests and religious figures in dark clothes, mostly men, with crosses in their hands and violent manners. . . oh my God. . . One of the priests was holding a chair, as if he was preparing to beat someone with it. I was shocked.

(Kato, age 52, interview, 2016)

I am not a religious person in the sense that. . . I don’t go to church regularly, but I believe in God and I believe in praying. I have my own way of practicing religion, and sometimes I go to church as well. So for me, what I saw in the behavior of the counter-protesters was more unacceptable than the mobilization, which physically did not cause any harm to anyone. Well,

for me, violence is just not justifiable under any circumstances!

(Lali, age 60, interview, 2014)

We saw that there were police present to protect the activists. In the beginning, there was hope that everyone would express their positions safely and then go home. But the police could not handle the situation. This makes me feel unsafe and makes me think that the role of the police was just a façade. Even they could not resist—or maybe even did not want to resist—the violence of the counter-protesters. . . .In the name of God, they could be violent to me as well, if I disagree with some principles of their ideology. . . .So, we should protect minorities.

(Giorgi, age 48, interview, 2018)

Visual elements—attire, symbols, and expressive behavior—shaped impressions of both groups. The aggressive stance of counter-protesters, beyond their language, contributed to a shift in sympathy.

In the second case (1.2), the 2012 and 2013 events served as key reference points, shaping respondents’ reactions, as they did in the subsequent narratives. Following the confrontations between protests and counter-protests, these respondents aligned themselves toward counter-protest people. However, based on their attitudes, this alignment was a bit contradictory and problematic. Many of them were condemning violence but at the same time were trying to justify counter-protests. While their anger was directed to the both sides, their sympathy was still aligned to the counter-protesters’ position.

Of course, I do not like violence or any expression of it, but at the same time, it can be understandable. When someone intrudes on your privacy and tries to instill something that is not acceptable, that can be a reason for defense—and sometimes these defensive mechanisms are radical.

(Irakli, age 50, interview, 2013)

I was angry with the activists, because what they do with this public expression is an invitation to confrontation. They knew that their actions would provoke a counter-protest and even rage among religious groups, but they still mobilized. So, isn’t it a provocation? . . .But at the same time, what the priests are doing is not nice, and it is not compatible with religion. They could have had a non-violent strategy for these counteractions.

(Beso, age 40, interview, 2015)

This narrative showed how counter-protest violence acted as a catalyst for deeper reflection on social values, highlighting how respondents’ moral frameworks and emotions shaped their eventual stances toward LGBTQ activism.

Narrative 2: From Protest Support to More Support/Careful Position

Narrative 2 focuses on respondents who supported LGBTQ protests based on freedom of expression and overall democratic principles but responded differently to confrontation—some reinforced their support on principle, while others favored strategic restraint for the sake of safety. Unlike Narrative 1, which involves shifting values, this narrative centers on navigating dilemmas within existing democratic commitments.

In the first group, respondents clearly affirmed that everyone has the right to express their opinions and viewed it as a civic duty to defend those whose rights are under threat—especially when the government fails to intervene. Each confrontation deepened their indignation toward the counter-protesters, described as instilling fear and undermining public expression. Some suggested these “radical groups” should face legal consequences.

For these proponents of free speech, protest–counter-protest interactions only reinforced their convictions. They condemned the religious extremist factions behind the counter-protests. Many emphasized how the contrasting appearances of the two groups reflected their ideologies: activists were fewer, peaceful, and displayed LGBTQ flags and anti-discrimination posters, while counter-protesters—often clergy in dark clothing—acted aggressively. One respondent recalled seeing leaders wearing swastika symbols. Counter-protesters also significantly outnumbered the activists. Even without direct confrontation, some respondents said that the stark visual contrast between the groups—coexisting in the same space—made their stance even clearer.

I remember, I was coming back from work and I saw those two groups together, and for me the contrast was so stunning that I just knew that no matter what. . . I did not want to be part of this dark, archaic, and radical energy that was felt among the counter-protesters. On that occasion, too, the counter-protesters were all men. This was also something to think about. Meanwhile, the LGBTQ activists included men, women, youth—and they were very colorful. Just being there, nothing else. They were harmless.

(Dato, age 50, interview, 2019)

Well. . . you know, just imagine a silent movie, without any hint of verbal content. It would still be clear who was up to what. You could read the furiousness in their faces; they were shaking their fists as if someone had insulted or physically attacked them. They were in a mood for physical fight—even from the screen I could feel this tension and readiness to fight, as if they were at war. And then you see these activists—ordinary people who were just standing in the same space. . .

(Nato, age 28, interview, 2021)

In the second group, respondents were also very strong about democratic development of the country and initially supported the protest activists both before and after confrontations. However, their stance became more skeptical following the confrontations, particularly regarding whether this was the appropriate method for LGBTQ activists to defend. They suggested that, since society might not yet be prepared to fully embrace such diversity, it could have been advantageous to temporarily refrain from public demonstrations and explore alternative tactics to prevent violence and further suffering.

Well, I am one of the supporters of the action participants, and I truly believe that if we want to be part of the civilized world, our fundamental right to free speech and expression—regardless of sexual orientation or any other characteristic—should be defended. But just not to escalate things, and just for their own sake, maybe it is better now not to be so outspoken. I was so distracted by the violent language and bodily expression that the counter-protesters used, that I was afraid someone would be harmed. And does it all even feel worth it?

(Sandro, age 40, interview, 2021)

When you see that the government does not provide safety, then you should compromise as a citizen for your own and others’ safety. These counter-protesters are impenetrable, incomprehensible. So, in this situation, what is the option? . . .I would say that you should refrain or change tactics.

(Nino, age 36, interview, 2019)

Narrative 2 operating within the democratic principles reveals that exposure to confrontational dynamics forced respondents to navigate the limits of civic ideals in practice, highlighting the tension between defending rights and adapting to societal hostility.

Narrative 3: From Protest No Support to Support/No Support

Narrative 3 reveals a similar pattern of divergence as seen in Narratives 1, but with different starting points. The storylines illustrate a clearer divide between competing moral frameworks: human rights versus “traditional values.”

In the first group (3.1), respondents acknowledged that their initial disapproval was shaped by their social environment. Heterosexual relationships were seen as the unquestioned norm. Their understanding of the LGBTQ community was limited and largely shaped by religious teachings, which framed non-heterosexual orientations as sinful and a threat to Georgian identity and traditional gender roles. Confrontations between protesters and counter-protesters left them confused and prompted reflection on their prior assumptions. Initial emotional responses included disapproval, anger, and, for some, even rage toward the violent behavior of the counter-protesters.

It was completely unacceptable to use violence or to forcefully demand that someone be thrown off the street—or to stop someone from harmless actions. . . .And it’s even more unacceptable when you see that those who demand this are religious people. I had such a feeling of injustice . . . that it really made me think where I was, what I supported. . . .I was thinking that if I wanted to live in a civilized country, where you are safe in what you say or how you express yourself, and if you do not harm others, then being LGBTQ. . . you should have the right to protest or celebrate whatever you want in public space—like others can. The other thing is whether I like it or not; I may not like that lifestyle, but I believe that one should have freedom of expression, no matter what lifestyle you have.

(Nato, age 31, interview, 2014)

For me, at first it was a rational decision—that everyone should be equal under the law of expression. The counter-protesters, with their appearance and how they were dressed. . . all in dark, with Nazi regime symbols and posters reflecting hate, disgust, and homophobia. Allegedly, they were protecting traditional values and Georgian identity, but when I was looking at them, it was just bad. The way they talked or acted. . . they were not representing me. So, although emotionally I still did not have full acceptance of their lifestyle, rationally, I will defend their rights always.

(Ketevan, age 32, interview, 2016)

As observed, respondents, in the process of contemplation, differentiated between rational and emotional acceptance. In both cases, respondents explained that witnessing two contrasting protests occurring simultaneously in the same space heightened the perceived differences between them. Moreover, these interactions prompted deeper reflection and analysis, ultimately shifting their focus toward “the fundamental value of human life and rights.”

In the second case (3.2), respondents stated that their perceptions had not changed—and in some cases, had even become stronger. They viewed LGBTQ street mobilizations as a form of “propaganda” aimed at raising awareness and portraying the community as victims to gain sympathy—a narrative they found unconvincing. Furthermore, they expressed little surprise at the reactions of religious individuals, including clergy. These respondents believed that, in the face of perceived threats to national identity, it was imperative to defend one’s country and family by any means necessary.

Georgian man is not like this. We must defend our family values. Man should be man, and a woman should be a woman. With this publicity, they are trying to diminish our Georgianness, and we won’t let them do it at any price. Throughout history, religion helped us to survive, so there is nothing surprising that our priests are here to defend us.

(Nika, age 30, interview, 2020)

Among this group, some disapproved of the violent act from the counter-protesters, yet they were unequivocal in their stance that LGBTQ people were unacceptable. Some even explicitly blamed the LGBTQ community for inciting the violence in the counterprotest.

I remember I was not in Georgia at that time and when I was scrolling Facebook, it was full of videos and photos of this confrontation. At first, I was anxious about these violent photos where LGBTQ people were put into a yellow bus to make them safe but the contraction people surrounded it and were shaking the bus. At first, I did not like what I saw but then when I got all the information for me all that contraction rage was understandable and. . . (now) I am even more strongly convinced that they should not be allowed this public propaganda. They want to put their wrong ideas in our kids’ minds and this is also violence and we should be defensive. So, after each event I feel angrier about them.

(Irakli, age 35, interview, 2015)

Overall, Narrative 3 also revealed that confrontations intensified moral conflict, leading some respondents to reflect on human rights, while others hardened their opposition, by framing the visible contrast between groups as a threat to “Georgian identity.”

Across all narratives, emotions such as anger, fear, and sympathy played a central role, as did the moral justification of violence. While the overarching framework of judgment—democratic values versus “traditional values”—remained similar, the starting points and the moral meanings attached to these emotions differed. Importantly, the moral justification of violence emerged as a key trigger for divergence, particularly in Narratives 1 and 3, where it led respondents toward either stronger support or firm opposition. In these cases, interpretive frameworks evolved along a visible axis of competing values. By contrast, Narrative 2 remained grounded in democratic imperatives, with divergence emerging not from shifting value systems but from varying emotional responses to risk, safety, and civic responsibility. This distinction helps explain how, despite similar interpretive frameworks, different starting points can lead to divergent feeling–thinking processes, shaped by moral and experiential grounding.