No Date, No Speech, No Center

The Prosecutor, the Blockade, and the Ashes

On the third day after Vidovdan, when the streets of Belgrade had already been trampled not only by students but by fathers with thermoses, someone got the idea to count the fires. The number came out symbolic — more than two hundred outbreaks across the country, from Loznica to Zemun. Smoke rose above barricades, garbage containers, old tires and rags, ignited as if by instruction — unsigned, but with intent.

According to Nova.rs, just as it seemed that the student protest had burned out, it unexpectedly changed form: from static blockades of specific streets it evolved into a mobile and decentralized tactic with elements of performance. “Coordinated chaos” — that’s how the protestors describe it in their Telegram chats. Barricades made of bicycles, pallets and old sofas appear and vanish within an hour, leaving behind smoke and voices.

— Don’t you think, — asks the interlocutor, — that this figure of 200 fires is a metaphor in itself?

— Of course. But not one we came up with. It’s the government that created 200 problems — and now they’re surprised someone set them on fire, — replies the author.

The irony lies in the fact that at the epicenter — there is no aggression, but symbolism. Many of the fire spots were symbolic — ashes and smoke for the image, not for destruction. And the motive was usually not some abstract “freedom,” but a very specific pain: the collapse of a roof at a station in Novi Sad that claimed 16 lives, and remained unanswered. No resignations. No conclusions.

But fire became the answer. And no one knows exactly who gave it. Because the faces under the hoods — just like in the police — bore no insignia.

Where Order Ends: Novi Sad After Midnight

When the silence in Novi Sad was broken only by the creaking of bicycles left at intersections and the rustle of trash bags repeatedly placed at the doorstep of the ruling party’s office, the gendarmerie emerged from the shadows. It was around one in the morning. Several individuals — students, activists, and random passersby — were detained after protesters gathered once again outside the SNS office on Bulevar Oslobođenja. There were no banners, no slogans — just trash bags, symbolizing “feedback” for a government that had removed the garbage containers but not the problems.

Nova.rs reports that the gendarmerie acted quickly and without explanation. Among those detained was a young man, later identified as the son of a local transport worker, who had been posting flyers near the party headquarters. A video showing several special forces officers in full gear dragging an unidentified person sparked a strong reaction on social media.

— Have you noticed, — asks the interlocutor, — how the state is much harsher toward a trash bag than toward a minister’s speech?

The author nods: “When a symbol becomes more powerful than the damage — fear begins. Because trash doesn’t burn down buildings. It simply reminds us who’s serving whom here.”

The officers themselves appear in the footage wearing balaclavas, without any identifying marks. The same question echoed in Belgrade: who are we dealing with? As Nova.rs writes, wearing “phantom masks” violates protocol, and their use during the dispersal of blockades undermines public trust. Especially when accompanied by tattoos visible on exposed skin — another formally impermissible detail.

Everything here is symbolic: the balaclava — a sign of non-transparency. The trash bag — an accusation that requires neither investigation nor trial. And the scene in Novi Sad — a litmus test showing precisely where the line lies between coercion and fatigue.

The ‘Coup’ Stamp: Who’s Watching Whom?

The eight students detained for allegedly attempting a violent overthrow of the government have been released. Despite loud accusations, the court found no grounds to extend their detention — and released them on bail. Still, the prosecutor insists on using the phrase “threat to the constitutional order” — a phrase that in Serbia sounds less like a legal term and more like a political label.

Balkan Insight writes: despite the release, street blockades in Belgrade have not stopped. The issue is no longer about specific defendants but about the underlying logic — who in Serbia today becomes the target of criminal prosecution, and for what.

The sarcasm is that the “coup attempt” charges sound like an admission. Not of fear of a crime, but of fear of a message. The students are not toppling the regime — they are revealing its instability.

Meanwhile, in the very center of the capital, outside the parliament building, a camp of government supporters still stands. Without permits, but with full police support. Their tents are untouched. Their speeches are unchecked. Their slogans are beyond legal scrutiny.

This is a double standard broadcast live: while some face criminal charges over a plastic chair, others are allowed to carry out political set dressing — with flags, anthems, and portraits of the president. Even with calls for retribution — “defend the streets from traitors.”

And above it all — a camera, live-streaming for five days. Neither police nor prosecutors look in that direction.

Microphone Under Threat: When Journalism Becomes a Target

“What N1 and Nova are doing is terrorism,” said President Vučić live on air, without a tremble in his voice or a flick of his brow. He added: “We could shut down their broadcasts in five minutes. But we won’t. For now.”

Nova.rs captured this statement, along with the reaction from journalists’ associations: this is not mere rhetoric — it’s a direct threat. A threat to physical safety and to the right to work as a journalist. A threat pronounced from the highest office, from the very height where decisions most often fall.

Rade Đurić from the Independent Association of Journalists of Serbia put it plainly: “This tone is a signal. It’s followed by action. And the starting point has already been crossed.” And indeed: no journalist has been detained. No cables have been cut. No signals have been jammed. But after the president’s words, all of this is no longer unthinkable — it’s now possible.

“When the authorities say: we can,” says the interlocutor, “they’re not just showing power. They’re designating a target.”

“And when that target is a journalist, don’t be surprised if someone else decides to pull the trigger,” adds the author. A word isn’t a bullet — but sometimes it’s the trigger.

The words spoken in the studio marked a new phase of pressure on independent media. When they’re labeled as terrorists, the boundary between propaganda and violence shifts. And if previously threats came from Telegram comments, now they come from the president’s office.

The Kremlin on the Line: From Lavrov to Dugin

While barricades and garbage burned in Belgrade, Lavrov appeared on air. From Moscow, he addressed the Serbian public with the traditional phrasing: “we support order.” By this, he usually means not street order — but state order.

Slobodna Evropa reports that on the same day, the opposite line was launched: ideologue Alexander Dugin delivered a speech accusing Vučić of “betrayal” and calling for a “cleansing of the government.” His words were: “Serbs want Vučić to be gone. And that is true. And all Serbs want it.”

“Every time Dugin appears in a Serbian feed,” notes the interlocutor, “it means someone is being pressured.”

“And when that happens alongside a statement from Lavrov — it means the pressure is coming from both sides,” adds the author.

The paradox is that in these statements Vučić receives both support and a sentence. The Kremlin supports order, while the “party of the people” demands its overthrow. Both lines converge on the president’s figure — but with opposite expectations. In such a situation, even silence becomes a signal.

BIRN as a Mirror: Journalism That Doesn’t Burn

Amid fires, arrests, and threats, one date passed almost unnoticed — the 20th anniversary of BIRN’s founding. The Balkan Investigative Reporting Network is not just a media outlet, but a whole school of investigative journalism — one that on the Balkans is first attacked, then cited in the European Parliament.

Balkan Insight published a commemorative selection of 20 landmark investigations from across two decades — from exposing war crimes to uncovering corruption and mafia schemes in modern Serbia.

“What’s interesting,” says the interlocutor, “is that no one from the government congratulated them on the anniversary. Although BIRN’s investigations usually end up right on their doorstep.”

“Maybe that is the congratulations — silence instead of persecution,” replies the author.

Symbolically, amid the attacks on independent media, it’s BIRN that stands as a quiet counterpoint: no shouting, no provocation, no chase for likes. It simply writes. And in that — it burns brighter than any fire.

Brussels That Never Was

At an international conference in Seville, President Vučić claimed to have had a “wonderfully productive” half-hour conversation with Ursula von der Leyen. According to him, the talk focused on “Serbia’s European path” and was “lengthy, specific, and encouraging.”

The very next day, the European Commission denied this statement: no meeting took place, only a “brief exchange of words before dinner.” A spontaneous small talk in the foyer, nothing more. Not even protocol.

It’s remarkable how quickly, in Serbia, even a couple of words at the snack bar can be turned into politics. Even more remarkable — how swiftly Brussels checks the facts. At times it seems like the EU no longer employs diplomats, but fact-checking editors.

In a country where a meeting can be fabricated and an investigation ignored, even a denial from Europe sounds like a form of journalism. Cold and unemotional — precisely what’s missing in these heated days.

Vidovdan Has Passed, but the Streets Haven’t Cooled Down. Protest is no longer scheduled — it simply happens. Without a date, without a speech, without a single center. Sometimes in the form of a blocked street. Sometimes in the form of a garbage bag at the party’s doorstep. Sometimes — in the form of smoke.

It’s hard to say when it began. Perhaps with the first drop of cynicism. Perhaps with the last question left unanswered. Or maybe — with the moment when one student with a paper sign blocked traffic, and someone approached not to push him away, but to sit beside him.

The government still claims that “everything is under control.” And on the other side of the barricade, people are increasingly saying: “don’t be offended if we don’t introduce ourselves.” Because neither side is wearing insignia anymore.

— So what now? — asks the interlocutor.

— Now everyone decides for themselves. How much smoke is enough for them to stop breathing freely.