They have been smart, creative, leaderless, and transparent. And they aren’t targeting any one politician or party. They aim to change the entire system.
By Breza Race Maksimovic and Srdja Popovic
August 2025
On 1 November 2024, tragedy struck Serbia. A newly renovated concrete and glass canopy at the Novi Sad railway station collapsed, killing sixteen people, including two children. The disaster raised immediate and painful questions: How could brand-new construction fail? Who was responsible? Would anyone be held accountable?
The phrase “We are all under the canopy” became a rallying cry across social media, protest signs, and daily conversations. More than expressing solidarity, it captured Serbs’ widely shared frustration with the systemic corruption, negligence, and impunity of the government. The sense that no one was truly safe when institutions failed reverberated across society.
In the immediate wake of the tragedy, students responded first. They organized candlelit vigils and moments of silence for the victims. Rather than being met with compassion, their peaceful gatherings were met with intimidation, surveillance, and arrests. Grief gave way to resistance. Within weeks, protests spread from campuses to city squares, then to towns across Serbia. On December 22, more than 100,000 gathered in Belgrade to demand transparency and justice. The wave of civic action swelled through the winter — student protesters blocked bridges and roads, not out of rage but in remembrance, and were joined by farmers, veterans, lawyers, and artists. Large gatherings took place across Serbia in cities like Novi Sad, Niš, Kragujevac, and Novi Pazar, drawing people from all regions. The momentum built toward 15 March 2025, when more than 300,000 people filled the streets of Belgrade in what is widely believed to be the largest protest in Serbia’s history. In the weeks that followed, the challenge became how to turn this unprecedented show of unity into sustained pressure for change.
Highly Coordinated “Leaderless Resistance”
What distinguishes this wave of protests from past movements led by Serbian opposition politicians is its decentralized yet highly coordinated nature. This mobilization is leaderless by design. Student assemblies operate on a horizontal model, organizing nightly plenary meetings to propose, debate, and vote on tactics. Minutes are published, strategies are securely shared, and decisions emerge from collective deliberation. This structure enables rapid, innovative, and synchronized actions across the country — from dispersed marches that coalesce into mass gatherings, to commemorations written in chalk on sidewalks in western towns and boycotts in the north, designed to reach isolated villages cut off by media blackouts — creating a dynamic that authorities have struggled to contain.
Students expanded their tactical repertoire beyond dispersed marches and symbolic readings, which they had been staging since late November mostly in front of institutions like Belgrade University’s faculty of dramatic arts. Beginning in early 2025, they introduced flash-mob-style road blockades and sit-ins — stopping traffic at symbolic times, such as from 11:52 AM (when the canopy collapsed) until 12:08 PM (one minute for each victim). They carried their message into neighborhoods through late-night poster campaigns, guerrilla street performances, and art installations that dramatized state failings.
Behind these public acts lay a robust internal infrastructure. Volunteers organized into working groups to coordinate logistics, safety, legal aid, and digital communications. IT students developed encrypted platforms for secure communication and coordination, while law students and attorneys created a legal-response network to assist detained protesters. The movement prioritized transparency: Public logs detailed donations and expenses, reinforcing a culture of collective ownership and trust.
This level of coordination places the Serbian movement among the most disciplined examples of what Erica Chenoweth describes as highly coordinated “leaderless resistance.” Tactical teams diffuse tensions, livestreamers document aggressors, and medical volunteers maintain hotline support. These practices also exemplify the concept of “dilemma actions,” which strategically position opponents in an impossible position: The student movement’s peaceful protests forced Serbian authorities to choose between appearing weak or repressive — both of which erode public legitimacy.
Academic institutions became the movement’s strongholds. Professors formed faculty blockades, while primary and secondary schools offered solidarity by organizing moments of silence, displaying supportive banners, joining general strikes, and allowing senior students to participate in marches and community assemblies. Universities provided spaces of refuge, and also conferred legitimacy on the movement. The alignment of educators and students also signaled a deeper message: The pursuit of knowledge and civic responsibility were both threatened by the same systemic rot. Lecture halls became forums for democratic engagement. The movement reframed education not only as a sector to defend but as a core pillar of democratic life.
The movement’s tactics were rooted in legality and creativity. Slow walks at pedestrian crossings, vigils, boycotts, marches to European institutions — all were fully legal yet nonetheless provocative. Nonviolence is not only a moral stance for the Serbian student movement, it is a deliberate strategy to maintain legitimacy and broaden appeal.
From Campuses to Communities
The student movement has developed a rich symbolic language. A blood-red, raised open hand, blank sheets of paper, public readings of the Constitution — each speaks to power through metaphor and message. Banners mocking officials’ statements turned political blunders into punchlines and made those in power look foolish; humor and irony were repurposed as tools of protest.
These symbols are not spontaneous, but a product of careful planning by internal communication teams. Unified hashtags such as #studentiublokadi (#studentsintheblockade), simultaneous social-media posts from many separate accounts, and media-friendly visuals are strategically chosen to resonate with both domestic and international audiences. Volunteer groups manage everything from graphic design to livestream coordination, while diaspora media networks amplify messaging beyond Serbia’s borders.
Acts, imagery, and messaging matter: They counter fear, attract broader support, and lower barriers to participation. By avoiding the trap of violence, the Serbian movement safeguards its legitimacy.
Symbols also travel well. They resonate beyond Serbia’s borders and encourage connection with diaspora communities, international media, and transnational solidarity networks. This includes in the Balkans, where hostilities from wars in the 1990s with Croatia, Slovenia, and Macedonia have now given way to strong support for Serbia’s students. In a global age, protest is performed not only for the local regime, but also for allies watching abroad. Visual and symbolic clarity enhances solidarity.
The combination of symbolic protest backed by internal infrastructure has created a movement that is both emotionally resonant and operationally sound. Behind the scenes, legal teams, medics, and information hubs keep the engine running, while symbols fuel the fire in the streets. This dual strategy sustains morale and maintains pressure on the regime. What began in late 2024 as a student-led response to a single tragedy has, by mid-2025, grown into a nationwide mobilization that has filled squares, blocked roads and bridges, and coordinated actions in every major Serbian municipality.
This growing coalition reveals that frustration with unaccountable governance runs far deeper than youth or academia. The movement has transformed into a broad civic uprising that demands transparency, accountability, respect for rights, and early elections.
Coalition building was an organic part of the resistance. Protesters deliberately sought ways to include marginalized voices — rural communities, minority groups, and workers in the public sector. Students visited rural strongholds of the ruling party to widen their geographic base of mobilization, and recruited thousands of high-school students and their parents to expand their support base generationally. Inclusive messaging and open participation helped bridge gaps between generations, religions, geographies, and professions. In many towns, the initial student-led initiatives became multigenerational community forums on governance and justice.
The State Responds: Repression and Delegitimization
As public support grew, so did state pushback. Police presence increased, with officers often in unmarked uniforms. Videos circulated of police aggression and forceful arrests. Protesters reported mistreatment in custody and intimidation by private security personnel. Beyond physical repression, subtler pressure campaigns emerged: Professors faced salary cuts, university departments received warnings, and state-aligned media framed protesters as destabilizers or foreign agents.
The tactics employed by the government mirror the authoritarian playbook common in hybrid regimes — where formal democratic institutions coexist with informal controls, and those in power manipulate democratic rules and norms to consolidate their authority. The goal is not outright suppression but to sow fear and fatigue, to make dissent risky and silence seem the safer choice.
The international community, particularly democratic governments and institutions, must recognize these subtle tactics for what they are: attempts at authoritarian consolidation cloaked in legality. Naming these practices publicly, documenting abuses, and supporting civic infrastructure that resists them are critical components of external engagement.
The judiciary’s response warrants particular concern. Many detained students were held without clear charges, or subjected to opaque and expedited trials. In some cases, rulings lacked explanations or relied on dubious evidence. The erosion of judicial independence — already underway in Serbia — became more visible, undermining public faith in the courts.
In return, students began protesting outside courthouses, holding signs that read “Justice is not for sale” and staging public readings of verdicts to expose legal inconsistencies. They transformed judicial buildings into arenas of civic scrutiny, which served to challenge both the outcomes and the very legitimacy of legal institutions. Mobilizing outside courthouses and physically retaking the spaces of the rule of law, even if the authority of those spaces has been hollowed out, creates a uniquely powerful symbol.
Although it appears the judiciary has begun to cave at the local level, with some judges refusing to prosecute students after unlawful arrests, reforming the judicial system remains one of the movement’s most crucial frontiers.
The Silent Business Sector
Notably absent from Serbia’s civic awakening are the country’s major business actors. Corporate leaders, chambers of commerce, and professional associations have all remained silent. Some independent entrepreneurs have provided quiet support through donations of food and money, which support striking teachers who lost their incomes and businesses targeted by the regime. But institutional economic voices have largely avoided public engagement. This silence stems from fear — of state retaliation or regulatory consequences, but also fear of uncertainty. Many businesses, even those not aligned with the ruling elite, seek stability. Without a clear vision of what comes after the student movement and the current system, neutrality seems safer than solidarity.
To engage the business sector, the movement must do more than protest: It must articulate a vision of transition that clearly outlines both what must end and what can begin. The movement should reframe the long-term costs of corruption, namely unsafe infrastructure, politicized contracts, and legal unpredictability, as economic risks. The message “We are all under the canopy” applies to businesses, investors, and workers alike.
Low-risk options for businesses to support the movement, such as values-based partnerships, civic-education initiatives, and neutral forums for dialogue, can invite participation without demanding political alignment. Stability and accountability are not mutually exclusive: Business leaders who support democratic norms invest not just in values but in a predictable, rules-based economic future. International-development actors can also incentivize businesses to engage with civil society, such as through Environmental, Social, and Governance reporting frameworks, grant programs, or diplomatic support that legitimizes corporate social responsibility in repressive environments.
Fighting Fear
Despite early concessions — such as releasing classified documents and charging officials linked to the Novi Sad canopy collapse — the government has largely doubled down on control rather than enacted meaningful reform. Protesters have rejected these partial gestures, instead seeking transparency and institutional change. The regime’s continued suppression of dissent, coupled with stalled political reform, has sustained public mobilization across Serbia.
The greatest obstacle the movement now faces is not repression, but fear — among citizens, institutions, and businesses — of what change might bring. Who will govern after the fall of this system? Will chaos follow reform?
The student movement thus far has resisted articulating a political alternative. This stance has preserved credibility, but may limit its appeal to those who crave direction, not just disruption. The movement need not become a political actor, but it must outline a vision, including clarifying how accountability can be pursued fairly, reassuring public servants that reform is not the same as vengeance, proposing how public services can be maintained during transition, and emphasizing opportunities for continuity amid institutional renewal. Such steps can convert hesitant bystanders into active allies — and turn decentralized protests into sustained democratic progress. External actors, including international NGOs, donors, and democracy-promotion groups, have a role to play too. They can support training, strategic planning, and the exchange of ideas and experiences with other regions where peaceful transitions have occurred.
Serbia’s student-led uprising began with mourning. It has grown into one of the largest and most coordinated civic movements in the country’s history, larger even than the 2000 Bulldozer Revolution that overthrew Slobodan Milošević. Today’s movement challenges not only the government but the entire system.
The students have not yet toppled the regime. But they have destabilized its foundation and undermined its authority. They have proved that in a hybrid regime, resistance is possible and legitimacy can shift through persistent, creative, and principled nonviolence. Autocracy thrives on fear and apathy; the Serbian movement has defeated both. Its message to the country — and to the world — is clear: Even in constrained democracies, civic courage endures. Even under the canopy, people can still stand up.
Breza Race Maksimovic is Program Director of the Center for Applied Nonviolent Action and Strategies (CANVAS), where she has spent more than two decades training and supporting movements for democracy and human rights worldwide. Srdja Popovic is founder of CANVAS and lecturer at Colorado College and the University of Virginia. He is author of Blueprint for Revolution: How to Use Rice Pudding, Lego Men, and Other Nonviolent Techniques to Galvanize Communities, Overthrow Dictators, or Simply Change the World (2015). His Twitter handle is @SrdjaPopovic.
Copyright © 2025 National Endowment for Democracy
Image credit: Andrej Isakovic/AFP via Getty Images
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