It’s easy to overlook a small country like Georgia on the global map, but ZEG—a festival I call an “Influencer Festival”—proves it can be a powerful voice in the world. ZEG isn’t just an event. It’s a living space for fresh ideas, open dialogue, and bold thinking.
My journey with ZEG began years ago as a social media volunteer. Since then, I’ve become a close friend of the festival and witnessed it grow into a vibrant, award-winning “ambitious child,” now preparing to expand into Amsterdam and London.
At the heart of ZEG is its group of visionary female founders. Each year they curate an agenda shaped around a central theme. This year’s edition—the largest yet—brought together over 50 speakers to tackle local, regional, and global issues.
I joined for just one day this year, guided not by the schedule but by intuition. I drifted between sessions, unaware of who was speaking, and still, I was struck by what I heard. ZEG always surprises. In a time of political and emotional upheaval in Georgia, it felt like exactly the right place to be—where people don’t just speak alike, but think differently and challenge each other through open dialogue.
ZEG Festival is nothing short of an Oscar-level experience. The sessions activate you, not just inspire. The stories are deeply human, leaving you torn between wanting to attend everything and needing to be present in just one moment. ZEG teaches you to choose wisely and listen deeply.
In her closing remarks, host Ninutsa Nanitashvili captured this spirit perfectly: “We cried not just from sadness, but because we found something rare: connection. We found humanity again… ZEG is happening. That means something. Because the face of humanity is still here—in people who show up.”
I cried too, especially during the final session with Dr. Seema Jilani, a humanitarian pediatrician and writer. She shared stories of helping refugees, rooted in her own family’s migration. But it wasn’t just her past that moved us—it was how she transformed grief into purpose, culminating in a surreal tribute to her father’s dream: singing and dancing like Elvis. It wasn’t performance—it was rebirth.
Another unforgettable moment came from Georgian pianist Giorgi Gigashvili, in conversation with storyteller Joe Sabia. Giorgi, an acclaimed artist and activist, refuses to separate his art from politics. His words weren’t a performance—they were a Manifesto of Resistance:
“Sometimes my art feels powerless. I’ve wanted to break a piano. But now, when I’m in the street, my voice becomes the piano. I am political on stage—it’s my voice.”
His reflections were deeply personal: “I don’t have much charisma, but I have inspiration on stage. I play for someone who is ready to fight for something better; for someone who follows me. Wherever I am, I play as if I’m in my country.”
He invoked the unjust imprisonment of Mate Devidze, urging artists not to stay neutral. He called on silent Russians to speak out. To Giorgi, music is resistance. Playing a sonata is like preparing for protest—your whole body rises with the emotion.
That’s what ZEG is really about: finding courage when you don’t know what to do. Finding your voice—on stage, in art, or simply by showing up.
ZEG: A Space to Step Outside the Bubble
ZEG is more than a festival. It’s a rare reunion. In an era where even storytellers can get stuck in their own narratives, ZEG invites you to step outside. You hear different perspectives—generational, regional, and ideological.
Sessions tackled war in Ukraine, the Middle East, and Latin America—not just as news items, but as human experiences shaped by who’s telling the story. ZEG challenges us to reflect: storytelling is never neutral.
Real understanding starts with making space for others.
One quiet session stood out: “Storytelling 201: Story Clinic Office Hours” with Michelle Darby. Participants came with raw, unfinished stories, and left with voice and clarity. One result was the powerful speech by Palestinian-American speaker S. Jilani, shaped in that very clinic.
Artist Nikusha Bakradze, in his session ‘Why Talking Still Matters,’ put it simply: “Talking is easy. Listening is harder. But through nonjudgmental dialogue, we can truly understand and even prevent conflict.”
In a world full of noise, ZEG reminded us: listening is an act of resistance.
In ‘The Art of Resistance: MOCAO’s Journey,’ young Colombian activists who survived police violence turned trauma into rap, dance, and storytelling. At one point, the audience covered one eye—a symbolic gesture of solidarity. It was my first time seeing Colombian art so boldly confront power.
In ‘Mzia’s Story: Journalism on Trial,’ we heard about Mzia Amaglobeli’s arrest and hunger strike—symbolic of Georgia’s broader fight for press freedom. The panel, led by human rights lawyer Caoilfhionn Gallagher KC and journalist Irma Dimitradze, showed how dangerous truth-telling can be under authoritarian regimes.
In ‘Lessons of Resistance,’ speakers like Giorgi Kandelaki and Maksym Eristavi emphasized that resistance isn’t just protest—it’s building a future. And sometimes, resistance begins quietly: through small acts, self-awareness, and endurance when no one’s watching.
Gender played a vital role at ZEG. Journalist Masho Lomashvili recalled being a child during the 2008 war, watching helicopters fly overhead while women around her bore the emotional weight of fear. She reminded us that resistance often begins in memory.
One of the most emotionally charged panels, ‘Waging Peace: When Waiting Isn’t an Option,’ brought together Jo Even Caspi, founder of Waging Peace, and Palestinian peace activist Nivine Sandouka. Despite being from opposite sides of conflict, both women shared their vulnerability and strength, calling for action, not just hope.
Caspi reminded us: “No one wins a war. Only loss follows—and generations must rebuild. Peacebuilding is not passive. It’s urgent, active, and deeply feminine work.”
In ‘Power, Pushback, and the New Gender Wars,’ Dr. Erzsébet Barát and Matthew Pye explored how backlashes against women’s rights are part of broader democratic decline. The fight for gender equality, they warned, must be as constant as it is fierce.
ZEG brought together voices from everywhere: refugee boats, protest streets, concert halls, courtrooms. A pianist reminded us silence is complicity. A doctor danced for her father’s legacy. Activists turned trauma into powerful art. Women across borders demanded peace not as a dream, but a right.
In the end, ZEG didn’t just showcase stories. It asked us to feel them. To listen. To find courage, connection, and clarity—together.
ZEG is not a bubble: it’s the place that lets you step out of yours.
BLOG By Mariam Avakova
