VAULT SESSIONS BLOG SERIES
BASSIANI: A staple of Resistance in a War on Freedom
[The following is a paraphrased account of recent events in Tbilisi from statements made by BASSIANI.]
For over 160 days, protests have been ongoing in Tbilisi, fueled by widespread dissatisfaction with election fraud, authoritarianism, police violence, rising Russian influence, anti-LGBTQIA+ laws, and the government’s obstruction of Georgia’s aspirations to join the European Union.
One of the central issues driving these protests is the Foreign Agents Restriction Act, which closely mirrors a Russian law. This legislation designates any organisation receiving foreign funding as “enemies of the state,” severely limiting the ability of independent media and civil society groups to function freely. Alongside the Grants Law, it imposes stringent restrictions and heavy penalties on organisations that do not adhere to government control.
In addition, the government has significantly expanded police powers, transforming public spaces into heavily surveilled zones. The right to protest has become both physically and financially perilous, with fines reaching up to 1 million GEL, an unattainable amount for many citizens already living in poverty.
While several organisations are working to support those fined or injured, even they are facing frequent raids and harassment. A recent attack on the pregnant wife of Bassiani's co-founder—who is also a member of the Shame Movement—highlights the increasingly violent intimidation tactics employed by the authorities.
Even before these recent escalations, the government had already enforced harsh anti-LGBTQIA+ legislation, aimed at erasing gender from legal documents and stripping away fundamental rights for the LGBTQIA+ community. These measures, seen as attempts to silence LGBTQIA+ voices and halt social progress, laid the groundwork for the current climate of repression.
There is also a growing concern that Georgia's visa-free travel agreement with the European Union could be revoked, effectively stripping citizens of their freedom to engage with European values and severing their cultural ties to the continent.
In light of recent events, we spoke with BASSIANI co-founder Naja Orashvili and Giorgi Kikonishvili, co-founder of BASSIANI’s queer parties Hydrash, and Wings of Desire, about their commitment to resistance, the fight for freedom of expression, and the vital role nightlife plays in driving political and social change in Georgia.
We also discussed how both Georgian and international solidarity have become essential pillars of support, uniting communities worldwide in the defense of human rights and underground culture.
All photos were taken by @tv_cave in Tbilisi, Georgia (2025)
Your resilience in the face of what is clearly a war on freedom of expression by the Georgian government is really inspiring. Knowing that your work could be suppressed at any moment, how do you continue to find the strength to keep going?
It comes as a natural reaction to injustice; when you see it happening, you either have to obey and accept it and become something you're not or fight back. Georgian society, which has always been a target of various imperialistic and oppressive powers for centuries, has a strong collective memory of wars, protest, struggle, and resistance - that's how we maintained our own unique culture and identity, which was constantly under attack by those powers. So people were raised with that memory, with that knowledge passed through generations, that in a world full of obsessive rulers who want to control, freedom is never granted. That's the way of life we know it.
Ten years ago, in 2014, when we began laying the foundations of Bassiani, the conceptual basis was to go back to the roots and build up a wave that would become a cultural catalyst for the future of an otherwise struggling society. In a country where the state, educational, political, religious, and social institutions failed to provide the essential needs for a dignified life for the people, we could create microcosmos with our own rules and ethics to imagine and implement a different, utopian way of life. We started fulfilling our dreams of a better world on the dancefloor.
Even Bassiani is the name of a historical battle that Georgia fought in the 12th century. So, since the very inception of the club, it's been part of its core ethos, its DNA, never to stop fighting for freedom, justice, equality, and for each other. And even the symbol of the club, an angry warrior with a helmet, is a manifestation of that ethos.
When asked how we find the strength to continue, we respond with a counter-question: what happens if we don't? What becomes of us if we abandon the fight? Here we are, decades after independence, standing at a crossroads where we risk losing everything — the freedoms we fought for, the culture we built, the progress we made together as a society. It's not just about holding onto what we have; it's about protecting what we stand for and have fought for. For us, the question isn't how we keep going. The question is, what happens if we don't?
The Raveolution protests in 2018 were a monumental moment for Georgia's club scene. How has the power of the Raveolution influenced the current movements within the scene, and what role does Bassiani play in keeping that spirit alive?
The Tbilisi club culture is still in an utterly complex, probably never-ending process of self-creation and transformation. To answer the question, we should look back at Georgia's historical, political, and cultural context: Music-based expression has always been a pivotal part of everyday life. The oldest artefacts depict how ancient Georgians danced and sang for each other and the gods during peace and war, whether for love, fertility, sadness, or celebrations.
Traditionally, Georgian dance and songs are performed in a ritualistic spirit within synchronized groups and polyphonic structures. Here, every single body and voice is equally meaningful in creating harmony out of chaos.
The 2018 "Rave Revolution" protests were one of those marvellous moments of the Georgian club culture and electronic music scene, and all of our lives generally, which one can never forget, and the big reason for it was that it was not just a fight for keeping the clubs alive, which the Georgian government raided with armed forces with the aim of closure, but with this fight, to defend everything we've created together before. By protecting those clubs, people were defending their memories, some of the greatest moments of their lives, their dreams and hopes, struggles and sorrows, the anger or desperation, the moments of transformation which they've experienced in the lit or darker corners of the clubs for years, past and future.
The clubs of Tbilisi have been underground bases for all the new social and cultural movements, a shelter of the people who were outcasted from the dominant, oppressive culture, the meeting corner of all the creative, expressive, free and rebellious individuals who rejected to follow the rules of a strictly hierarchical, masculine, sexist, homophobic and socially unjust status quo of the existing political and religious establishment. So this protest was a "now or never" momentum—an existential urgency of resisting the system's declared will to annihilate you as a cultural entity entirely and to suppress all the youth movements and critical voices eternally.
As a result, it came as no surprise that tens of thousands protested in front of Parliament on Rustaveli Avenue, and people used the dance as a weapon of resistance and a symbol of a revolutionary act happening in front of everyone's eyes. But in 2018, the “Rave Revolution” had a different form. It happened with cultural means as a sign of personal transformation and herald that significant societal changes are ahead.
When the club is forced to close, dancing becomes revolutionary. When loving your preferred one is prohibited by law, social, religious, or any other norms, love becomes revolutionary. When your body or sexual desires are a target of mass control, pleasure becomes revolutionary.
What the 2018 protests showed us was that our fight is true, our communal and individual struggles are true, and our resistance is the only way out. That "We dance together, we fight together” is merely a poetic metaphor but a very direct description of a particular chapter of history. Honestly, those raids and protests also brought unforeseen separations and personal traumas that lasted for years, but what it definitely gave to the movement is a clear example that victory, even in the harshest environment, is possible, and it has already happened.
At the same time, it’s been an era of big depression. Notwithstanding the finest outcome that followed, the post “Rave Revolution” emotional trauma of being raided by the armed forces has been so intense that it took time for many of us to organise again and reinvent ourselves, to properly reflect on what happened, and with this, plan the future. It was followed by the demolition of many of the existing social movements and collectives, but instead, the new ones emerged.
The unprecedented global solidarity during the 2018 police raids played a massive role in lifting the spirit of the Georgian club culture and electronic music community. The feeling of not being alone, and instead being part of a very big family, was a fuel that encouraged thousands not to step back. It was such a valuable experience to witness hundreds of your beloved artists, people who've inspired you for years, clubs, festivals and collectives standing alongside you—a stark reminder that we have so much more in common, and music is that lingua-franca which connects minds from around the world in just a fraction of time when the urgency arises.
Solidarity played an important role to reopen the club, and we’re eternally grateful to our friends from around the globe for this. Even during the last crisis and political upheaval, when in November-December 2024, Tbilisi clubs closed the door to bring the collective physical presence from clubs to the streets, it was the solidarity and fundraising campaign that helped us stay in protest and maintain the spaces simultaneously. The unity of our community was pivotal in forcing a change, and we owe much of our resilience and strength to that shared commitment.
Once again, We extend our deepest gratitude to the artists, agencies, collectives, festivals, clubs, and dancers—known and unknown—whose unwavering support and generous contributions have come from every corner of the world. Their names may be too many to list, but their dedication remains etched in our memory. It is through such steadfast acts of solidarity and collective care that we find the strength to confront injustice, for the struggle for freedom is a universal struggle, and its outcomes will affect everyone's future, no matter where it takes place.
Bassiani gained great international support, particularly during the 2018 raids. What does global solidarity mean to you?
Have there been any noticeable changes in how people experience or behave at Bassiani, especially considering the possibility of sudden police raids—and has there been any decline in the number of people attending nightlife events?
Tbilisi is a small city, and people's decision to go out often depends on their feelings and emotions at the moment. There has certainly been a shift in how people experience Bassiani, particularly with the looming possibility of sudden police raids. This tension has created a sense of unease, and some might approach the clubbing with a heightened awareness, uncertain of what the night might bring.
However, despite these pressures, the allure of Bassiani remains strong. The sense of community and the powerful energy of the underground continues to attract those who seek refuge in music and culture. That said, the fear of raids can lead to fluctuations in attendance, with some staying away out of caution or uncertainty.
The most noticeable change, particularly on the dancefloor, is the way people dance. Over the years, we've observed how the collective body of the dancefloor evolves. The body is unpredictable; a shift in narrative and vice-versa mirrors shifts in movement, and it's impossible to envision where the next transformation will lead. In the end, the body holds the power to change the narrative, to transform peace into rage and back again. And that’s the magic and beauty of the dancefloor — always fluid, constantly evolving.
Considering the anti-LGBTQIA+ legislation and the current political climate, how can you prioritise the safety and wellbeing of these marginalised community members?
We carry on with our parties, now infused with a deeper purpose - creating safe spaces. We reject the chains of anti-LGBTQIA+ law, not in defiance for the sake of it, but in the name of care and mutual empowerment. Yet, even as many queer souls are forced to flee from Georgia, we refuse to surrender our hope.
The Georgian queer community has endured far worse. May 17, the International Day Against Homophobia and Transphobia in Georgia, unfolded in a climate of seething tension. On one side, the masses, the patriarchate, the laity, neo-Nazi factions, and ultranationalist mobs — celebrated what they called Family Day. On the other hand, a handful of brave LGBTQIA+ activists were initially forced to cancel their planned event to comprehend May 17 but nevertheless managed to stage a clandestine "guerrilla" celebration.
Then, on July 5, 2021 — the brutal attack on Tbilisi Pride. A violent counter-demonstration orchestrated by far-right extremists who sought to crush the nascent desire for a pride parade. They believed this would mark the death knell of Georgia's queer movement, that the terror of these days would snuff out resistance. But no — it was after these very repressive moments that the queer movements found new vigour. Precisely when the system sought to silence queer voices through terror, the community re-emerged even louder.
As the Left Bank continues to develop and gentrify, how do you see the neighborhood’s evolution affecting the club scene and BASSIANI specifically?
Obviously, the city's urban fabric and architectural character dictate the sonic tone. Tbilisi is a chaotic mix of Medieval, Neoclassical, Beaux Arts, Soviet Modernism, and uncontrolled development, with its brutalist and constructivist monuments, mosaic facades, Art Nouveau and Neo-Gothic residential houses, and transparent glass Police stations. It is Jazz and Techno at the same time. In the 90s, British culture greatly influenced Tbilisi, particularly the Jungle, Drum & Bass, and Breakbeat movements. The city had been burned, collapsed, destroyed, and ruined, and the existing social context needed it the most. This was followed by the German-influenced Minimal Techno period, the enduring presence of Dubstep and Progressive House, and Techno's renewed resurgence in the past decade. Techno has emerged as the defining sound of Tbilisi, shaping its sonic landscape. Oppressed communities often use dance to express their identity, a mechanism of release to overcome hopelessness and despair. In Tbilisi, the core drive of Techno was its healing and liberating power.
In recent years, the ecosystem has grown — new niche clubs, record labels, vinyl shops, radio platforms, festivals, queer spaces and autonomous collectives emerged. Some of them remain resolute, but many have disappeared. Unfortunately, real estate developments have brutally flourished.
The neighbourhood around Bassiani, however, remains largely unchanged – it’s a messy, chaotic, scruffy Grand Bazaar, where hundreds, if not thousands of people work tirelessly, almost 24/7, to feed their families. A few days ago, part of that Bazaar was set on fire under questionable circumstances, leaving hundreds of workers completely devastated. Their entire belongings were destroyed in just 15 minutes. Days later, news emerged that there are plans to build an entirely new shopping mall on the same site—owned by a wholly different group of people. That image unfolds in front of your eyes as you leave the club, a stark reminder of the harsh social reality just after the euphoria of the night ends.
However, this tension between the fleeting, rebellious world of the night and the mundane grind of the day is what fuels the power of the club culture. Generally, there's always a danger that the club culture could be subsumed by commercial interests, losing the essence of its subversive power. But here’s the thing: the strength of the underground lies in the ability to evolve and resist. The more severe attempts to tame them, the more our spaces burn with intensity. Bassiani's challenge isn't just surviving the neighbourhood's changes; it's staying true to its radical ethos, remaining a place where music, politics, and identity collide in defiance.
We’ve seen that thousands of people from the electronic music and club scene came together for the solidarity march in December. What else are people within the Georgian scene doing to support one another?
Unity and solidarity - that's our power source. We're a family with its own history of struggles, challenges, and sometimes conflicts, too, but that’s a natural part of a movement as a living, breathing organism. What matters most is that we share the same values, and the Tbilisi club scene has always been outspoken in its visions. During the last crises, in the most brutal days, all clubs of Tbilisi closed their doors, and instead of the dancefloor, we joined forces in the street.
We cancelled the club night ahead of the crucial elections to support the full mobilization of the pro-democracy voters, and afterwards, we established a new platform created through the collective efforts of representatives of the electronic music scene and club culture.
In truth, the biggest fear of our age is loneliness, and the hegemonic order and discourse of individualism that prevails today is precisely about fears of loneliness. In this order, the way of survival stands on competition instead of cooperation and individual responsibility instead of mutual responsibility. The existing order emphasises competition as the primary driver of human interactions, which, in some way, is, of course, but the mindset solely focused on personal well-being frequently results in constant conflict, hostility, and a sense of isolation.
As mentioned, we shouldn't rule out the power of individual freedom and perspectives, for sure. We all bring our perceptions to the dancefloor to shape the whole. So, for peaceful and harmonious coexistence, members of society must equally care for one another, and the same principle holds true in the club scene. This is especially relevant given our crucial role in current social processes. The foundation of the Georgian club scene is now being established, and it's essential that we come to a consensus on how to shape this culture going forward. Collaborative efforts, rather than competitive ones, hold the cornerstone to favourable results.
Have you seen a rise in the number of collectives / movements developing as a result of the political uproar?
Yes, definitely. That's a classic cause-and-effect scenario in Georgia. Although the system always tries to destabilize and divide existing movements, even when it succeeds, a new one emerges. It's like a relay race, an estafeta — symbolizing the passing of knowledge, experience, and mission from one group or generation to the next, and history shows that even the most brutal force cannot stop this. Our society, consciously or perhaps even subconsciously, follows the path of the Phoenix — rising from the ashes — a testament to the culture's longevity and eternal craving for life.
A powerful example of this was the march of Khorumi, a national dance of war and victory — performed by thousands of dancers in the streets of Tbilisi in December 2024, following brutal police attacks that left over 500 people arrested, 300 of whom reported torture, and verbal and physical abuse in prisons. The idea behind the performance was to empower each other by demonstrating that no matter what happens, we are here, standing firm and continuing to fight.
This performance carried deep symbolic meaning: Khorumi is traditionally performed with a strict synchronicity under the repetitive percussive rhythms — every single body reflects the others, standing side-by-side — culminating in a dramatic moment where dancers form a ritualistic, circular wall by standing on each other’s shoulders, before breaking into a celebratory dance of victory after a hard-won battle. The story unfolded through Khorumi in the street, awoke an old-buried cultural code and everyone was reminded that the battle continues; people were dancing, smiling and crying at the same time. The street, which could have become a lasting symbol of bloodshed and trauma, transformed into a place of celebration instead. We realized that our culture can use dance as a mechanism for collective healing and empowerment. It's an almost unstoppable, undead movement: they kill one, but two more emerge.
The dance of Khorumi holds a profoundly symbolic meaning for Bassiani. Our very first video artwork featured Khorumi performing to the tribal rhythms of Shackleton. Moreover, the very first queer party series to take over Bassiani nine years ago was named Horoom Nights, and the subsequent upstairs room, Horoom too—the name and concept of which was directly inspired by this traditional dance.
The whole process follows the same line: new movements are rising straight from the depths of public upheaval, and there is hope that they will have the power to bring about real political change in the near future.
Alongside donating, how can we, the international rave scene, contribute to building more meaningful, long-term support for the Georgian underground?
In times like these, organising, sharing knowledge, spreading the word, raising awareness, and staying together is vital. This is the essence of cultural exchange, the raw force that drives social movements. In a world that constantly tries to fracture us, staying united is the ultimate act of resistance. Through this solidarity, we build momentum and keep the fire burning. Hope is not passive; it's a collective action, a shared belief in each other's strength. In the face of all that tries to tear us apart, we must rise, and rise together. That's the true power of our culture.
