The names of those who will take over power remain largely unknown, despite the huge parliamentary majority they command. At this point, it is difficult to offer a full forecast, but one thing is clear: disappointments are still to come, for one side or another, perhaps for everyone.
By Biljana Vankovska
The student protests in Serbia, which began in the wake of the tragic event in Novi Sad in November 2024, only occasionally made the front pages of the world’s media. That is hardly surprising when so many dramatic and consequential events are unfolding across the globe at once, and the Balkans have long ceased to be a focal point of international attention.
Aleksandar Vučić’s rule was characterised by his ability to satisfy and placate external actors: he was warmly received in Brussels, embraced Zelensky in Belgrade, built economic and security ties with both Israel and Russia, came close to a historic business deal with the Trump family, while for China the region served as a hub linking Central and Eastern Europe with the European Union. In these circumstances, the discontent of the younger generation and the gradual mobilisation of broader social strata against domestic conditions were treated as an “internal matter of a sovereign state”. At least, that was the appearance.
The student movement was portrayed as a geopolitical orphan, although it has remained unclear how such an orphan could survive for two years — organisationally, logistically, in terms of media coverage, digital platforms, algorithms, and so on. There are questions about where the interest in the outcome of this geopolitical Gordian knot might have come from; some suggest that we should “follow the money trail”, as funds quietly flowed through various channels. The movement’s methods, particularly during the period when it claimed to be interested not in power but in justice for the victims of the Novi Sad disaster, gave a déjà vu effect to anyone who had experienced or witnessed a colour revolution. That interpretation was strongly rejected, however, by those who regard the movement as authentic grassroots politics, from which, they argue, we could learn what genuine direct democracy looks like. But the plenums that were seeking only justice changed, perhaps because of Vučić’s stubbornness and hubris. It opened the way to an open struggle for power. The electoral result is now clear, at least as far as the winner is concerned. Everything else remains shrouded in fog.
Had it not been for the short text I published on Substack before the elections of 25 October, this analysis, too, might sound like something written by a general after the battle. Still, it is fair to admit that the “avalanche” of the Student List’s victory — the huge turnout and the crystal-clear result — surprised even those who know Serbian politics, and Serbian political culture in particular, far better and from much closer up. At times, it seems that sobering up from the euphoria of victory brings a hangover even to many of those who, until yesterday, formed a seemingly monolithic opposition bloc against what they called “the Evil”. What now? What is to be done? The moment when any question about programmatic goals, strategic priorities and the practical solutions demanded by reality could be easily waved away is over. Right up to the elections, the answer from representatives of the Student List was unanimous: we will think about that tomorrow; for now, our goal is to bring down the regime.
But just a few days after the elections, many are rightly pointing to the enigma of the “Serbian experiment”. One of those who grasped the movement’s trajectory, and what he saw as its only path to success, as early as 2025 was the brilliant thinker and professor Branko Milanović. His view, which seems to have been taken as advice, was that the movement could succeed only by remaining apolitical and adhering to the practice of anti-politics. The enormous accumulated anger against Vučić was the only point of convergence for the far right, the far left and centrist liberals. But being apolitical is a two-edged sword.
The Student List had presented no clear political, let alone ideological, platform, but rather 11 points amounting to a wish list, couched in vague promises about creating “any decent state”. Whenever one wing tried to emphasise a particular position — for example, severing close ties with Moscow — it risked losing a few percentage points of public support. The result was similar whenever the EU and NATO were presented as key strategic goals. Wherever parts of the movement turned, they encountered a political minefield. The simplest course, therefore, was to mobilise against Vučić and demand the fall of his government. And Vučić, generously, made that possible.
Yet there is a deeper problem here, one that extends well beyond Serbia. Across the Balkans, whenever people begin to question the foundations of their political and social order, a familiar refrain can be heard: “Please, don’t philosophise”, or “There is too much politicisation”. Politics is treated as a dirty business, philosophy as an unnecessary luxury, and ideological debate as an obstacle to getting things done. I would argue the opposite precisely. The problem in our societies is not too much meaningful politics, but too little of it. We have no shortage of political manoeuvring, personality cults or struggles for office. What is missing is an open debate about the kind of society we want to build, whose interests the state should serve, and what we mean by justice, equality, social solidarity and sovereignty.
These are not abstract philosophical questions. They are the foundations on which any meaningful social contract must be built. A movement cannot simply postpone them until after victory, as though the answers will emerge automatically once the old rulers are removed. Real change requires philosophical deliberation, moral choices and ideological clarity on the fundamental issues that divide society and determine its future. A common enemy is not a common political programme. Anger can bring people into the streets; moral indignation can sustain a protest; a shared demand for accountability can bring down a government. None of these, by itself, answers what should follow.
This is where the limits of anti-politics become apparent. It may be an effective way of uniting people against an incumbent government, especially one that has discredited the established political order. But it cannot, by itself, provide the foundations of a new one. The problem is not that a movement brings together people with different ideological convictions. The problem begins when those differences are concealed, dismissed as irrelevant, or indefinitely postponed in the name of unity. They do not disappear simply because the movement refuses to discuss them. They return when decisions have to be made — about the economy, labour, public services, property, foreign policy, military alliances and the distribution of power and resources. If these questions are left unanswered, the movement risks changing the political personnel while leaving the underlying structures of power intact.
A refusal to engage in ideological debate does not make politics neutral. Nor does it eliminate the influence of economic interests, technocratic elites or external actors. On the contrary, when a movement refuses to define its political horizon, others may define it on its behalf. The language of anti-politics can thus become a way of avoiding precisely those questions that matter most to ordinary people: who owns, who decides, who benefits, who bears the costs, and whose interests are excluded from the decisions that shape their lives. From a left-wing perspective, these are not secondary issues to be addressed after the restoration of procedural democracy. They are central to what political change should mean in the first place.
At a time when young people across Europe, and France in particular, are protesting on a scale not seen for decades, the Serbian case — a victory achieved through non-violent means, long marches and pens in hand — looks like a small miracle. Reactions in neighbouring countries are similar, especially among the young: why don’t we learn something from the Serbian students? Why are we silent? Why are we apathetic? The only exception, of course, is Albania, where protests may gain intensity precisely because of developments next door.
This is the worst possible moment for a rational analysis of what comes next. How does one move from anti-politics to politics, from protest to laws and decisions, and from mobilisation to the functioning of institutions and the mechanisms of procedural democracy? For those who still believe in the romanticised version of the student movement that defeated the Evil, realism is hard to swallow. They are ready to denounce anyone who raises questions as a pro-Vučić element, if not something worse.
Yet the region has quite a few wise heads with grey hair and enough memories to offer a more sober assessment. The words of Nenad Čanak and Žarko Puhovski, for example, are worth considering. Čanak, a politician and activist from Vojvodina — the province where Vučić suffered a crushing defeat — has advanced a thesis that deserves attention. In my paraphrase, he argues that the Student List’s victory marked the end of Serbia’s multiparty system, razing it to the ground. He described the list itself, which has no recognisable leader, structure or programme, as a “black box” brought into parliament. Puhovski expressed a similar degree of scepticism, arguing that the list has everything but students: its members are either entirely anonymous or have “laundered biographies”, while the ideological combination of ultra-rightists and far-leftists is an impossible one. I called it a “mixture of oil and water”, or perhaps, more aptly, “fire and water”.
Vučić’s early and peaceful concession came as a huge surprise, but also as a relief: civil war had been avoided. Vučić had recognised the writing on the wall even before voting ended and chose what he considered the wisest chess move: conceding defeat while positioning himself as the leader of the parliamentary opposition. It is a rather comfortable position, with an MP’s mandate, and a presence on the political scene from which to watch and wait for the Student List’s mistakes. It may even be a relief to him that others will now have to deal with Kosovo, EU pressure, the growing economic and social crisis, Russian sanctions, the war in Ukraine, and so on. If he is not arrested eventually…
As I write this, the names of those who will take over power remain largely unknown, despite the huge parliamentary majority they command. The Serbian parliament is now overwhelmingly dominated by two political camps, with a few minority representatives occupying guaranteed seats. Today’s parliament reflects a Serbia divided since the days of the 19th-century socialist Svetozar Marković. The same is true of society, burdened by mutual resentment. The victory was peaceful, but deep divisions and hatred continue to smoulder beneath the surface, and they will hardly be easy to contain. For those on the left, perhaps the most sobering sign is that the name being floated for the future prime minister is that of a man from the banking sector. There will be other surprises, and by the end of the year a new president of the Republic will have to be elected. Gradually, the “black box” will open on the stage, and the figures who were gifted the student movement’s image of innocence and combativeness will emerge. For now, it looks bizarre to hear grown adults speaking of themselves as “we from the Student List”.
At this point, it is difficult to offer a full forecast, but one thing is clear: disappointments are still to come, for one side or another, perhaps for everyone. The list and the movement brought together people with different convictions and expectations, including students who did not even secure political representation or agency. The victorious list is, in that sense, also a miniature reflection of a divided Serbia. The question is whether its members can turn that diversity into a genuine democratic debate about the country’s future, rather than conceal it behind the rhetoric of unity. If they cannot, the black box may well produce a change of personnel without transforming the social and economic relations that shape people’s lives.
Apparently, what remains unclear is who the laboratory technician is, who built the laboratory, and for what purpose. But, the truth is that in the so-called Western Balkans, experiments are nothing new as are the cooks.