When an old building gives way, as seen months ago in Dresden, people understandably react with shock, often blaming the authorities for not taking action sooner. But when newer constructions falter, especially with devastating consequences, the public’s response is even more intense. On November 1, 2024, such a tragedy occurred in Novi Sad, Serbia, when the newly restored concrete canopy of a railway station collapsed, claiming 15 lives. This restoration had been celebrated just months earlier with grand governmental ceremonies. The tragedy stirred deep national anger and dissatisfaction, leading to the prime minister’s resignation and mounting pressure on the president.
Initially, the government tried to downplay the disaster, urging the nation to look forward rather than dwell on the incident, echoing the old refrain of “Serbia cannot stop.” This notion, suggesting that grief and questions are unnecessary, was met with resentment. Over time, the drive for relentless progress has sacrificed essential values like the rule of law and democracy, leading to impunity and pervasive corruption. Judicial systems long co-opted by those in power routinely overlook unconstitutional actions, leaving a frustrated populace expecting yet another failure of accountability.
Yet, unexpectedly, the students stepped up. Last month, university students held quiet vigils in Belgrade to honor the victims, only to face aggressive disruptions from individuals posing as impatient drivers. These aggressors, it turned out, had ties to the ruling party, with some even being party members. The president himself appeared on national television to defend their actions, revealing that associates of the regime were instructed to disturb these peaceful remembrances. Such actions, apparently to protect the interests of the powerful, seemed not only condoned but orchestrated.
In defiance, students from universities across Serbia went on strike, ceasing all school activities. By the end of December, even high school students had joined the ranks. They found allies in unlikely places, like agricultural workers discontent with the government’s disregard for their issues, and soon, the Bar Association of Serbia threw its weight behind them. Theater performances ended with actors displaying signs stating, “The students have risen. What about the rest of us?” This touched a chord nationwide, leading about 100,000 people to gather at Belgrade’s Slavija Square, observing a 15-minute silence. On the three-month anniversary of the station collapse, masses marched through Novi Sad, and the movement swelled to include teachers, cultural workers, bikers protecting rallies, engineers, and taxi drivers. Vigils were held in over 200 towns and villages. The protesters carried a blend of solemnity, indignation, pride, and hope—emblems of Serbia’s present quest for change.
Though the students’ demands might appear straightforward, they are profound in asserting that institutions should function independently of regime interference, without compromising citizens’ safety. The primary demand, and the most challenging to address, involves making all documentation about the Novi Sad station reconstruction public. They also demand the identification and prosecution of those who attacked students and professors during marches, and the dropping of charges against detained students. These demands aim to uphold justice for all, rather than privileging the oligarchs. The final demand—a 20% increase in the higher education budget—places value on the dignity of education.
What’s revolutionary is the assertion that these demands fall outside President Aleksandar Vučić’s authority, challenging the narrative that he is the nation itself. The students insist that real change requires freeing institutions and society from entrenched control.
Rather than mimicking the president’s authoritarian style, the students operate collectively, with no single leader or spokesperson. They function as a diverse body, presenting their case through independent media platforms. Their decisions are made democratically in plenaries, embracing the true essence of democracy, both in spirit and procedure.
For the past decade, Serbia’s opposition parties have been weakened, and unions diminished, while the ruling party’s influence seemed unbeatable. The regime successfully stifled independent voices, instilling fear and apathy. But now, for perhaps the first time in decades, students have taken up the mantle for those silenced, using clever social media tactics to counter the government’s media stronghold. Despite the president’s overtures for discussions—mingled with threats and hollow concessions—the students remain unwavering: their straightforward demands target the system, not the president. Their professors and university leaders stand firmly with them.
Their firm, nonviolent stance has shaken a government accustomed to quelling dissent through manipulation and intimidation. With no single leader to bribe, malign, or discredit, the students’ peaceful strategy has disrupted a decade-old value system. Their impact is so significant that they have even been nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize.
Their resilience is stirring inactive institutions into motion, demanding courage from the public, and many have been compelled to support them. By standing firm, Serbian students are rekindling democratic hope in a nation, and indeed a world, that has sorely lacked it.
