EXIT as a Mirror of Freedom

At the Petrovaradin Fortress in Novi Sad, the music is playing, the lights are flickering, and thousands of people are dancing to Carl Cox and The Prodigy. But behind this stage, it’s not just sound and light—it’s a bitter echo: the year 2025 may be the last year of the EXIT Festival in Serbia. A festival that began as a student protest movement against dictatorship has, a quarter of a century later, found itself in conflict with the very power it once helped to change.

Twenty-five years later, EXIT is once again on the front line—this time not against Milošević’s regime, but against silent pressure, withdrawal of funding, and attempts to push it out of the country. Without state subsidies, without the support of those who once proudly called it an international symbol of freedom, the festival still went ahead. Not out of loyalty—but out of principle.

This is not just a music event. It’s a mirror—of what is happening in society. Of what is changing. And of what is being erased.

EXIT in the 2000s: the festival as a form of resistance

It wasn’t born as a commercial project. Not as a tourist venture. EXIT began in 2000—right in the student campus of Novi Sad—as a student act of civil disobedience. The early organizers were part of the Otpor! movement, which stood against the regime of Slobodan Milošević. The festival had no ambition to become a global brand. But it had an idea—music as a form of liberation, the DJ as a political subject, the stage as a platform for change.

At the first EXIT, artists like Roni Size, Moloko, Urban & 4, and Asian Dub Foundation played—names that spoke louder than slogans. These artists embodied the protest wave of the late 1990s—anti-authoritarian, anti-fascist, anti-militarist. In a time of harsh repression and information isolation, the festival became a rare space where one could not only dance but also speak. And be heard.

The formula was simple: “music + politics = action.” EXIT became a space where DJ sets, video protests, anti-war installations, gatherings of opposition intellectuals, and discussion panels all came together. All of it—in the backdrop of club culture and subcultural freedom.

After the fall of Milošević in October 2000, EXIT didn’t disappear—it evolved. From an activist camp, it became a cultural institution of the new Serbia, preserving its rebellious spirit but integrating into the international festival ecosystem. EXIT began to be called the “Yugoslav Woodstock,” but the organizers preferred a different comparison—“our Voice. Loud. And independent.”

A bridge across 25 years: what EXIT has become today

A quarter of a century later, EXIT has become something far greater than just a festival. Today, it is the largest music event in Southeast Europe, recognized by the European Festival Awards, drawing more than 200,000 people from dozens of countries. It ranks among the most influential open-air festivals in the world. But the core remains the same: here, the stage is a statement.

EXIT 2025, possibly the last one in Serbia, brought together stars from all over the world: Black Eyed Peas, Carl Cox, Bonobo, Gucci Mane, Klangkuenstler, Röyksopp, The Prodigy, ARTBAT, Amelie Lens, Dixon. This isn’t just a lineup designed to sell tickets—each of them brings their own story, their own political pulse, their own meaning to Novi Sad. And this year—every performance on stage sounds like an act of solidarity.

On stage, it’s not only music and vocals that are heard—it’s a message. The organizers delivered water and food to protesting students who were blocking universities across Serbia, demanding transparent elections, the resignation of rectors, and an investigation into the tragedy in Novi Sad. They also provided volunteers and equipment to activists, gave media platforms to representatives of civil society. All of this—not for a grant, not for a budget. For an idea.

EXIT 2025 is not a “farewell concert.” It is, rather, a manifesto in the face of closing doors, one that grows louder with each passing day of the festival. And in that loudness, there is not only music—but defiance. Once again, the festival stands with the protest. Just like in 2000. Only this time, the government is different. And, it seems, even less tolerant of dissonance.

Political pressure in 2025

This was the year EXIT was stripped of its homeland. Not physically—but legally, economically, symbolically. It all began in the spring, when the festival organizers openly supported student protests—the same ones that blocked faculties and demanded answers after the tragedy at the Novi Sad train station. Not with slogans, but with actions: the festival’s stages became platforms for civic voices, its resources a means of support.

Soon came the response. The Republic, the Autonomous Province of Vojvodina, and the city of Novi Sad—three levels of government—simultaneously withdrew financial support for EXIT, without explanation. State sponsors also backed away, pressured with hints: it was “unwise” to fund a “politicized event.”

According to the organizers, this amounted to 15% of the annual budget—about €1.5 million, including marketing, security, and technical services. Funds that had previously been allocated to the festival each year under the national cultural strategy suddenly became “inappropriate.”

Dušan Kovačević, the festival’s founder, told DJ Mag in an interview:

“This is without a doubt the hardest decision in EXIT’s history. Never before in 25 years have we faced so much hatred and pressure.”

Le Monde didn’t call it just a conflict: “This is punishment for disloyalty.” And The Guardian wrote in June that the government sees EXIT’s involvement in the protests as “a dangerous precedent.”

Thus, the festival that once helped build a new Serbia became “a foreign body” in its own country. Its legacy of liberation became the reason for its exile. EXIT is speaking again—but now not as a guest of the state, but as an outcast.

Egypt, Germany, or farewell?

When, in June, EXIT organizers announced that 2025 might be the last year of the festival in Serbia, it initially seemed like an emotional statement. But it soon became clear—this was about a real “exile” And negotiations were already underway.

The first destination was Egypt. According to Radio Slobodna Evropa, the organizers signed a memorandum of cooperation with the Egyptian company Venture Lifestyle. This was not just about sponsorship, but about a possible full relocation of EXIT 2026—to the foot of the pyramids in Giza. The source claims that the Egyptian side offered both logistical and financial support.

But not only Egypt. As confirmed by IQ Magazine, alternative venues are being discussed in Germany, Croatia, and Romania. Options range from Berlin to Zagreb—differing in scale, but all considered as backup landing strips.

At the same time, the organizers are not rushing to announce a “new capital of freedom.” There’s still a chance for dialogue with Serbian authorities. In an interview with Complete Music Update, festival representatives stated that a final decision would be made only after the summer, and that Novi Sad remains the preferred option—if independence and support can be guaranteed.

Meanwhile, on social media, in the press, and at the festival grounds themselves—calls are heard: “EXIT stays here.” Civil activists are publishing open letters, stressing that the festival is public property, and that withdrawing support for it means rejecting the very idea of culture as a critical space.

In an interview with The Guardian, festival founder Dušan Kovačević called the situation “a painful but necessary step,” adding: “We stood up against dictatorship in 2000, and we stand against it again now.” He emphasized that EXIT is not just a stage or a brand, but an idea that must be protected. “If Serbia doesn’t want EXIT, someone else will,” he added.

Parallels and conclusion

In 2000, EXIT was born as an act of protest. In 2025, it has once again found itself in opposition. Only this time, instead of helping to dismantle a regime, it is resisting the attempt to be quietly pushed out—not with arrests, but with budgetary scissors.

A similar time—a different government. But the mechanism is as old as power itself: if you are not loyal, you are not needed. In this sense, history has come full circle. Back then, students were choked by repression. Today—it’s economic suffocation, polite and well-engineered. EXIT once again stands beside the protest. Back then it was "Otpor!" Today—it’s university blockades, demands for accountability, and calls not to forget the victims.

It hasn’t changed. The country has. Or rather—the system has changed, and once again it cannot tolerate voices that are loud, free, and international.

If EXIT truly leaves Serbia, it will take with it not only the music economy of Novi Sad. It will take with it the myth that culture in this country can be independent. It will take with it a symbol of belief in something else. In something better. In the 2000s.

Government response and public opinion

The authorities themselves have responded to the festival’s situation with near cold-blooded calm. The Ministry of Culture remains demonstratively silent—not a single statement, not a single attempt to explain the government’s position. From regional authorities, there have been neither justifications nor clarifications. The only concrete fact: in 2025, EXIT did not receive a single dinar from the provincial budget, which the organizers regarded as direct financial pressure due to their support for student protests, according to N1.

No banners in the city. Not a single poster, no flags on the streets—Novi Sad seems to be turning away from its own symbol. According to local residents, even on the eve of the opening, there was no sense that the region’s biggest music event was about to begin.

The city government has issued no official statements explaining the withdrawal of support. But in several interviews, including one with Nova.rs, officials claimed that the festival was “losing its cultural focus” and “becoming politicized”—though none of these accusations were backed by specifics.

Meanwhile, the public is clearly not on the government’s side. Social media is flooded with archival photos: EXIT 2000, EXIT 2025, with captions like “Then—for change. Today—to preserve change.” On the international stage—solidarity: musicians, artists, and producers are expressing mass support. As DJ Mag wrote, for the organizers this is “the hardest decision in 25 years,” but it became inevitable due to “hateful political and economic attacks.”

The festival is not alone. It is surrounded by music, by people, and by memory. And that is worth far more than a line in the budget.

Sources used in writing this article

On the festival’s opening and the symbolic year 2025

1. Radio Slobodna Evropa (in Serbian) – start of EXIT 2025, “possibly the last in Serbia.” (10 July 2025)

2. Official EXIT Festival website – dates 10–13 July, 25th anniversary, lineup.

3. N1 Info – lack of festival atmosphere, silence in the city, official opening, The Prodigy. (10 July 2025)

On the festival’s origins and history

4. Wikipedia: Exit (festival) – timeline, involvement of the Otpor! movement, first performers.

5. Radio Slobodna Evropa (archive) – EXIT and its protest past, interview with Kovačević. (15 February 2016)

On the cancellation of state funding and political pressure

6. The Guardian – withdrawal of support, political reaction to the festival’s role in the protests. (17 June 2025)

7. DJ Mag – Kovačević’s statement on “the hardest decision” and sponsor exit. (18 June 2025)

8. IQ Magazine – timeline of pressure, estimated losses, possible relocation. (20 June 2025)

9. Complete Music Update (CMU) – EXIT press release: “immense financial and political pressure.” (20 June 2025)

10. Nova.rs – pressure on cultural institutions in Novi Sad, accusations of “politicization.” (5 July 2025)

On plans to relocate the festival abroad

11. Le Monde (in English) – political pressure, possibility of relocation, international media reaction. (3 July 2025)

12. Dispatches Europe – discussion of a new venue, Egypt and other options. (5 July 2025)