‘And Then We Danced’ shines light on modern traditional Georgian culture

‘And Then We Danced’, a Swedish-Georgian queer film was successfully screened in the Georgian cinemas over the weekend, despite attempts by homophobic groups to prevent the moviegoers from seeing the film.

In the ongoing debates about the content of the film, the ‘progressives’ of the Georgian society juxtaposition the ‘dark, backward-thinking old people' with the ‘free’, new generation that has its eyes on the ‘Western values’.

Putting people in two simple categories might not be the best route of action, to say the least. There were and still are many people in the ‘old generation’ that hold human rights and freedom dear to heart. One example of such people is an 89-year-old blogger and influencer Lamara Abjandadze from Georgia. In recent days, she expressed her solidarity with the filmmakers and those wanting to see the movie and was subsequently invited to watch the film.

In such discourse, for the Georgian youth, their traditions, whether it be dancing, singing or other magnificent elements of the culture, have become associated with the hatred and bigotry that many members of the older generations are spewing upon them.

As leading actor Bachi Valishvili voiced after a screening at a recent film festival, "the youth has to reclaim these traditions and make it their own."

That seems to be one of the messages of the film. Levan Akin, the Swedish director with Georgian descent wrote a Facebook post in response to threats he received after the announced screenings in Georgia.

“It is absurd that people who bought tickets need to be brave and risk getting harassed or even assaulted just for going to see a film. I made this film with love and compassion. It is my love letter to Georgia and to my heritage. With this story I wanted to reclaim and redefine Georgian culture to include all, not just some,” wrote Akin.

This also seems to be the thing that angers ultra-nationalistic homophobes the most – in their eyes, queer people aren’t allowed to dress in Georgian national costumes, dance in the assembles and be proud of their ancestry.

Akin’s film defies the widespread notion in Georgian society that queer people have to ‘hide in their bedrooms’ and ‘do whatever they want there’. It is about taking up the public space by those who are often viewed as outcasts.

No one has exclusive rights to the Georgian culture and the protagonist of Akin’s film shows that to the viewer. The film tries to show what the future of Georgian culture could be like, by ‘queering’ the thing that symbolizes it – a man performing a traditional dance in a national costume.

In a society, where queerness is shunned and shamed at every step, where the Orthodox Church, arguably the most powerful institution, refuses to accept the existence of Georgians who are queer, the film comes as a radical showcase of the overlooked identity.

What could be viewed by many as inherently antithetical – a Georgian gay man dressed in national attire, is, the face of the reconciliation that the country has to go through to accept the best of the past while creating an inclusive future.

It is a responsibility as much as it is a duty to bring into the future the Georgia which had female parliamentarians in 1918 and which values diversity, equality and acceptance above all else.