Executive Summary

On a frosty December day in the center of Akhalkalaki, the main town of Georgia’s Javakheti region, a quiet local revolution unfolded. In front of a monument to the creator of the Armenian alphabet, six young female journalists and a single civic activist held up signs in multiple languages. They were expressing solidarity with reporters hospitalized with serious injuries during the violent police dispersal of street protests that were taking place in the Georgian capital following the 2025 parliamentary elections.

This briefing highlights several bottom-up initiatives in Javakheti. They are low-cost, homegrown solutions, and they represent something larger: a shift toward local agency.

While similar demonstrations had already taken place in other regions, this was the first public protest of its kind in Akhalkalaki. Problems in the region are plentiful, yet locals tend to avoid even the most basic forms of public discontent - let alone staging political street protests over events in distant Tbilisi. The demonstration left the town bewildered and passers-by visibly stunned. “People didn’t just refuse to support us,” recalled one participant. “They were embarrassed to even look in our direction.” After a short vigil, the group rolled up their posters and quietly dispersed, having confirmed that activism of this sort does not work in Javakheti.

The episode offers a vivid glimpse into life in this mountainous, southern edge of Georgia, known to local Armenians as Javakhk. Of the region’s roughly 67,000 residents, the vast majority are ethnic Armenians who often speak little Georgian and struggle to see themselves as part of the country. Although Javakheti has been the focus of state-run integration programs for nearly two decades, progress has been sluggish and results questionable. Despite trade and transport links with the rest of Georgia, as well as neighboring Armenia and Turkey, much of the local population continues to live in an isolated bubble, the contours of which remain opaque to outsiders.

This isolation renders Javakheti’s residents especially vulnerable. While the region - that consists of two separate districts - does have locally elected authorities, their powers are limited and insufficient to address key challenges on their own. Instead, an outsized role is played by Georgia’s security services. Under the pretext of preventing separatism and cross-border crime, these agencies have for decades interfered in nearly every major decision concerning the region. When a local - be it an activist or simply someone with a strong opinion - steps across a line perceived to align with the political opposition, they risk not only personal repercussions but also pressure on their families. These are problems no one can resolve alone.

Nor can locals expect meaningful support from the outside. In the 1990s, neighboring Armenia offered a degree of patronage, providing financial, energy and political backing to some local elites. But over time, faced with its own unresolved conflicts with Azerbaijan and Turkey, Armenia’s influence in the South Caucasus waned. Keen to maintain vital road links with its main strategic partner at the time - Russia - Yerevan could ill afford frictions with Tbilisi. From the early 2000s, Armenia began stepping back from direct engagement with Javakheti. Eventually, it even facilitated a full rupture between Armenian political groups and Javakheti activists whose rhetoric displeased Georgian authorities.

This vulnerability to pressure from Tbilisi becomes especially visible during Georgia’s election cycles. Regardless of the political contest playing out in the capital, Javakheti has consistently delivered record levels of support for the ruling party of the time. In last year’s parliamentary vote - held amid a prolonged national political crisis - the region once again handed the Georgian Dream party over 90% of the vote, the highest figure in the country. The same happened twelve years earlier, in 2012, when the then-ruling United National Movement lost power in most regions - but not in Georgia’s south.

These grassroot initiatives could grow stronger - and possibly scale - through better links with regional centers, peer exchange, and inclusion in educational and information-sharing networks.

Such stark expressions of Javakheti’s political dysfunction routinely fuel emotive debate in wider Georgia. Opposition figures and civil society groups accuse local Armenians of political passivity, while the government is accused of using the region to rig votes. But these arguments are short-lived. Few take the time to examine the root causes of Javakheti’s malaise, and the region itself remains unchanged. For opposition parties, Javakheti offers little incentive: it is deeply dependent on the ruling elite – no matter who is in power - and, in national terms, has too few voters to matter. One partial exception has been the European Union’s integration projects, which over the past decade have invested significant funds in developing Javakheti’s civil society sector. Yet in the absence of wider reforms in other spheres, even this has not led to meaningful societal and political transformation.

Still, despite this heavy, suffocating reality, Javakheti continues to live its own quiet life. Protests do happen. So do fiery debates and town-hall meetings. Locals do raise their voices, and they know how to argue with municipal officials. But such activity remains confined within the region, hemmed in by countless formal and informal limits. Yet even this small, controlled space allows some grassroots initiatives to emerge - and a few of them deserve recognition.

This briefing highlights several bottom-up initiatives in Javakheti. Most were launched voluntarily, without donor backing, and some remain entirely informal. Yet they address real, structural problems - education, isolation, economic stagnation - and succeed precisely because they are trusted by the people they serve. These efforts are not conventional “projects.” They are low-cost, homegrown solutions, and they represent something larger: a shift toward local agency.

If supported with even minimal infrastructure - knowledge-sharing networks, peer exchange, small grants - these initiatives could become the backbone of a resilient civic culture in Javakheti. In an era when civil society space is shrinking across Georgia, grassroots volunteerism may soon become the only viable form of democratic engagement. In Javakheti, it may already be.

Whatever their scale, these grassroots initiatives deserve recognition. Support does not always need to be financial: many of them are capable of sustaining themselves. But they could grow stronger - and possibly scale - through better links with regional centers, peer exchange, and inclusion in educational and information-sharing networks. Preserving and nurturing these efforts would not only help keep dialogue alive within Javakheti’s closed-off society. It could also lay the groundwork for future civic and political participation - when Georgia becomes ready for it.

Gulnara and Women’s Health. In her early fifties, Gulnara Elizbaryan found her purpose as a grassroots activist in Javakheti, joining a network of women who travel across remote villages to break taboos around reproductive health and empower others through open conversation, microbusinesses, and self-organized retreats. A former homemaker who raised children while her husband worked abroad, Gulnara is now a trusted voice on topics like prevention of sexually transmitted diseases - issues rarely discussed in this conservative society. Despite health setbacks, including a stress-induced heart attack after news of Georgia’s planned restrictions on civil society, she remains undeterred. Today, she helps run new initiatives like Georgian language classes for women of all ages and a plastic bottle recycling drive to support low-income families. Her quiet revolution shows how grassroots networks - though often informal and volunteer-led - can fill critical gaps in public health, education, and female solidarity where institutions fall short.

Lida and the Book Club. In the village of Orja, Lida Almasyan and a group of students and recent graduates founded a book club that doubles as a space for critical thinking, dialogue, and the pursuit of freedom in a traditionally conservative setting. With books handpicked in Yerevan and Tbilisi on topics like personal liberty and morality, the club fosters open discussions about both literature and current affairs - often joined by guest speakers from other regions. Though informal and lacking a permanent venue, the club persists with outdoor meetings and a modest subscription fee to grow its collection. For Lida, who splits her time between Tbilisi and her native village, the goal is to equip the next generation with ideas, curiosity, and compassion - a stark contrast to the aggression she observed growing up.

Enok and the Farmers. After losing his job, Enok Babajanyan built Javakheti’s first successful greenhouse farm - by hand, from scratch - and grew it into a thriving agricultural business. In a region where few crops survive the cold, Enok defied the odds with solar panels, supply chains for early seedlings, and sheer determination. His Facebook group, Potato Farming in Akhalkalaki, now connects over 5,500 members, sharing advice, tools, and encouragement. More than a businessman, Enok is a mentor, urging others to take risks and build for the long term. Though local bureaucracy often thwarts formal reform, his informal digital network has become a more powerful engine for change - one that is already reshaping how rural communities think about farming, entrepreneurship, and self-reliance.

Paruyr and Village Troubles. Housebound by illness and tethered to an oxygen machine, Paruyr Madoyan turned to Facebook to document village life in Poga - and in doing so, became a force for change. His page, followed by nearly 2,500 people, combines poetry, photos, and commentary on local issues, from waste management to stray dogs. With no computer or formal training, Paruyr writes, edits, and publishes from a mobile phone, building a platform that rivals regional news outlets. His posts have inspired cleanups, fundraising drives, and renewed civic attention in a community that had long felt forgotten. Though initially scorned for his candour, he has since earned the respect of villagers who once urged him to stay quiet, proving that even the most isolated voices can become essential ones.

Heshtia and the Village Fund. In the village of Heshtia, a small WhatsApp group formed during the pandemic has blossomed into a powerful local fund that meets urgent needs - from medical bills to school fees - through monthly donations from both residents and diaspora members abroad. Known as Do Good, the initiative has over 1,000 active contributors and has co-financed road repairs, water infrastructure, and even a public stadium. Home to a unique Catholic Armenian community, Heshtia shows how grassroots philanthropy can knit together far-flung networks and deliver tangible results. In a region hollowed out by migration, the fund has strengthened social bonds and sparked a quiet revival - one driven not by government, but by trust, initiative, and the enduring loyalty of those who never quite left.

Kumurdo and the School That Changed Everything. In the village of Kumurdo, an anonymous donation - widely known to be the work of local-born entrepreneur Hayk Mgdesyan - has reshaped the community's future. With over $4 million invested, a sleek, state-of-the-art school now stands where children once studied in fire-damaged ruins. It boasts science labs, a swimming pool, and sports fields unmatched in the region. Since the ribbon-cutting, Kumurdo has seen new kindergartens, paved roads, and government offices arrive - proof that one act of private generosity can trigger a wave of public investment. Mgdesyan’s quiet philanthropy, rooted in a lifelong connection to his village, offers a rare example of transformative rural development in Georgia: not just a school, but a signal of what’s possible.

An Armenian Foundation and the Museums of Memory. Launched by diasporic Armenians with ties to Javakheti, the Support to Javakheti Foundation has become a vital conduit for preserving heritage and supporting education in a borderland often overlooked by mainstream aid. Among its standout achievements are the restoration of two historic house-museums: one honoring 19th-century folk singer Jivani, the other the early 20th-century poet Vahan Teryan. With new exhibitions, websites, and cultural programming - including joint events with Armenian and Georgian officials - the foundation has turned memory into a living, shared asset. As traditional foreign funding dries up, its model of diaspora-led, government-coordinated engagement may be one of the last sustainable avenues for civil society work in the region.

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