A state where laws are not implemented selectively is no longer a state, it becomes a mafia
In the streets of Belgrade, a generation has chosen to make its dissatisfaction legible — not merely as protest, but as a reckoning with what governance owes the governed. Sparked by a deadly infrastructure collapse in November 2024 that many Serbians read as a parable of institutional rot, the youth-led 'Students win' movement has grown into the most sustained challenge to President Aleksandar Vucic's decade-long consolidation of power. As riot police met demonstrators with pepper spray and the president dismissed the crowds from Beijing, the question Serbia is living through is one older than any single government: whether the promise of accountability can outlast the machinery built to suppress it.
- A concrete canopy's collapse killed 16 people in November 2024, and the rubble it left behind was not just physical — it buried whatever remained of public trust in a government accused of presiding over corruption-laced renovation work.
- Tens of thousands descended on Belgrade wearing 'Students win' shirts, arriving in car convoys from across Serbia, only for the evening to fracture into clashes where flares and rocks met pepper spray and riot vehicles.
- President Vucic, posting dismissals from China while the state railway quietly canceled all Belgrade-bound trains, revealed a government more focused on limiting dissent than engaging it.
- International pressure is mounting — the Council of Europe has documented arbitrary arrests and police shielding masked attackers of journalists, while the EU has warned that democratic backsliding could strip Serbia of €1.5 billion in funding.
- Students are now preparing to translate street energy into electoral force, with Vucic signaling elections between September and November — a test of whether a movement built on idealism can survive the machinery of a polarized political system.
On a Saturday in late May, tens of thousands gathered at Slavija Square in Belgrade, wearing shirts bearing the slogan of a youth movement that has become the most visible challenge to President Aleksandar Vucic's rule. They came from across Serbia — columns of cars from smaller towns, banners in hand, carrying more than a year's worth of accumulated political frustration.
The rally itself was peaceful, but as evening fell, younger demonstrators broke from the crowd and clashed with riot police in surrounding streets. Flares and rocks flew; officers responded with pepper spray and anti-riot vehicles. The violence was brief, but it laid bare the raw tension between a government and the citizens it has increasingly treated as adversaries.
The movement's roots reach back to November 2024, when a concrete canopy collapsed at a Belgrade railway station, killing 16 people. Many Serbians saw the disaster as proof of systemic corruption — negligence embedded in renovation work overseen by Chinese companies. The prime minister resigned in January 2025, but accountability remained elusive, and the youth movement that rose from that grief has only grown stronger.
Vucic, on a state visit to China, dismissed the protests in an Instagram video, calling demonstrators violent and politically intolerant. Parliament Speaker Ana Brnabic cited police crowd estimates and declared democracy flourishing. But Prosecutor Bojana Savovic, speaking directly to the crowd, offered a different verdict: a state that applies its laws selectively, she said, is no longer a state — it is a mafia organization.
The international community has grown uneasy. The Council of Europe's human rights commissioner issued a report this week documenting arbitrary arrests, excessive force, and police apparently shielding masked individuals who attacked journalists and protesters. The EU warned that Serbia's democratic backsliding could cost it €1.5 billion in funding — a serious threat for a country formally pursuing EU membership, even as it maintains close ties with Russia and China.
Students now say they intend to contest Vucic's government at the ballot box, with elections expected between September and November. For many who showed up on Saturday, the appeal was less about policy than about possibility — the radical, quietly desperate hope that institutions might one day simply work, and that ordinary life might be something a Serbian citizen could take for granted.
On a Saturday in late May, tens of thousands of people converged on central Belgrade wearing shirts that read "Students win"—the rallying cry of a youth movement that has become the most visible challenge to President Aleksandar Vucic's grip on power. They came from across Serbia, columns of cars streaming into the capital from smaller towns, carrying banners and the accumulated frustration of a country that has endured more than a year of escalating political crisis.
The main gathering at Slavija Square, the same plaza that hosted a massive protest in March 2025, proceeded without incident. But as afternoon turned to evening, younger demonstrators broke away from the larger crowd and clashed with riot police in the surrounding streets. They hurled flares, rocks, and bottles at police cordons. Officers in full gear responded with pepper spray and charged forward, trying to contain and scatter the groups. Protesters rolled trash cans into the streets as makeshift barriers while police deployed anti-riot vehicles to block their movement through central Belgrade. The violence was contained and brief, but it underscored the raw tension between the government and its critics.
The immediate trigger for Saturday's mobilization was familiar: demands for early elections and the restoration of the rule of law. But the deeper wound is older. In November 2024, a concrete canopy collapsed at a Belgrade railway station, killing 16 people. Many Serbians saw the disaster as evidence of the rot at the heart of their government—a catastrophe born of corruption and negligence during renovation work overseen by Chinese companies. The collapse forced Prime Minister Milos Vucevic to resign in January 2025, but it did not satisfy those who demanded systemic accountability. Instead, the government pushed back hard against the protesters, and the youth movement that emerged from that moment has only grown.
Vucic, traveling to China on a state visit, dismissed the Saturday demonstrations in an Instagram video. He characterized the protesters as violent and incapable of accepting political opposition, while insisting that the state was functioning and would continue to operate within the law. Parliament Speaker Ana Brnabic echoed this dismissal, citing a police estimate of 34,300 attendees and declaring that democracy was flourishing. But Prosecutor Bojana Savovic, speaking to the crowd, offered a starkly different diagnosis: "A state where laws are not implemented or are implemented selectively is no longer a state, it becomes a mafia organization."
The government's response to the protests has drawn international concern. Michael O'Flaherty, the Council of Europe's Commissioner for Human Rights, issued a report this week criticizing Serbia's tactics—arbitrary arrests, excessive force, and what he described as police protecting unidentified, often masked attackers of journalists and demonstrators. He noted that the overall human rights situation has deteriorated since his previous visit in April 2025. The EU's top enlargement official warned last month that Serbia's democratic backsliding could cost the country around 1.5 billion euros in European Union funding, a significant sum for a nation formally seeking EU membership.
The irony is sharp: Serbia maintains close ties with Russia and China even as it pursues European integration. Vucic's government has branded critics as foreign agents bent on destroying the country—rhetoric that has intensified political polarization and made compromise increasingly difficult. The state railway company canceled all trains to and from Belgrade on Saturday, apparently hoping to limit the number of people who could travel from other parts of the country to join the protests.
Yet the movement persists. Students now say they intend to challenge Vucic in upcoming elections, hoping to unseat his right-wing populist government. Vucic indicated this week that voting could occur between September and November. For many Serbians, the appeal of the youth movement lies not in any particular policy platform but in the simple promise of something different. Maja Milas Markovic, a protester at Saturday's rally, captured this sentiment: the students had managed to gather people through their energy and idealism, and she believed Serbians had the right to live normally. After years of perpetual crisis and disillusionment with established politicians, that aspiration—ordinary life, functioning institutions, accountability for wrongdoing—has become radical.
Citas Notables
A state where laws are not implemented or are implemented selectively is no longer a state, it becomes a mafia organization.— Prosecutor Bojana Savovic
The students managed to gather us here with their youth and wonderful energy; I really believe that we have the right to live normally.— Protester Maja Milas Markovic
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why did this particular moment—this Saturday in May—feel like a turning point rather than just another protest?
Because the students had already proven they could sustain momentum for over a year. This wasn't a one-off response to a single event. It was the movement showing it had staying power, that it could still mobilize tens of thousands even after the government had pushed back hard.
The government says the protesters are violent. The prosecutor says the state is becoming a mafia. Those are irreconcilable claims. How do you read that gap?
The gap is the story. The government needs to delegitimize the movement, so it focuses on the flares and rocks thrown by some younger demonstrators. But the prosecutor is speaking to something structural—that when laws are applied selectively, when some people are protected and others aren't, the entire system loses legitimacy. The violence at the margins is real, but it's not the point.
The EU is threatening to withhold 1.5 billion euros. Does that actually matter to Vucic?
It should. But he's also cultivating relationships with Russia and China, countries that don't condition aid on democratic standards. So he has options, or thinks he does. That's part of what makes this moment precarious—he's not as isolated as he might be, which means he has less reason to compromise.
The students say they'll challenge him in elections. How realistic is that?
It depends on whether the elections are actually free and fair. Vucic controls the media landscape, the state apparatus, and has already shown willingness to use police against opponents. The students have energy and moral clarity, but those don't automatically translate to electoral victory in a system that's already tilted.
What does "Students win" actually mean to the people wearing those shirts?
It means they believe young people can still change things, that the future isn't predetermined by the old guard. It's a statement of hope more than a specific policy demand. After decades of crisis and corruption, that hope itself is the radical act.