As members of a generation born just before or after the year 2000, we are deprived of direct experience and emotional involvement in the events that shook the foundations of Serbia’s political order at the time. October 5th, 2000, has remained for us a myth — a symbol of resistance and collective rebellion against an authoritarian regime. That event cemented itself in the public consciousness as a moment when the civic pulse surpassed state institutions, when the masses demonstrated that politics is not the exclusive right of elites but an instrument in the hands of the people. However, now, almost two and a half decades later, Serbia finds itself in a condition that demands new reflection, a new articulation of political reality, and, unfortunately, increasingly resembles the very aspects that citizens once rejected.
The October 5th Revolution was not merely a replacement of one man, but an attempt at a profound transformation of political culture. It was a hope that beyond mere pluralism, a system of institutional accountability, rule of law, and media freedom could be built. Instead, the transition quickly became a battleground for fragmented elites who, often by instrumentalizing democratic norms, worked toward consolidating their own power. Democracy rapidly became a procedural façade rather than a substantive guarantee of equality and participation.
In that context, Aleksandar Vučić emerges as a political figure with a paradoxical biography — once the Minister of Information under an authoritarian regime, now portrayed as a leader of modernization and stability. However, his rule, as numerous domestic and international reports indicate, does not represent a continuation of democratic development, but rather a systematic regression of key democratic standards. This is not merely a political issue — it is a profound epistemological crisis: what does democracy in Serbia even mean today?
According to the latest report by Reporters Without Borders (2024), Serbia has fallen to 98th place in the press freedom index — a metric not only of information control, but of the broader atmosphere of fear and self-censorship prevalent in journalistic circles. The centralization of power within the executive branch, the instrumentalization of the judiciary, and the misuse of security services for domestic political confrontations have become part of everyday political practice.
The phenomenon of so-called “simulated democracy” — a condition in which democratic processes formally exist but do not substantively yield political alternation — has found its full manifestation in Serbia. Multipartyism exists, but has been rendered meaningless. Elections are held, but the conditions for them are not free. Media are not technically banned, but are economically and politically captured. Civil society is nominally active, but increasingly regarded as a hostile element.
When we speak of today’s Serbia, we are not speaking of a state in which power is the subject of political struggle — but of a state in which power is fetishized, personified, and protected by systems of loyalty that extend far beyond party lines. Populist discourse, systemic corruption, and the regime’s perpetuated self-victimization have led to the normalization of autocratic practices.
The opposition, unlike in 2000, does not possess even the minimum level of strategic cohesion. Civic initiatives and protests are met with institutional deafness. Police brutality, the abuse of the Regulatory Authority for Electronic Media (REM), and a contaminated media landscape are all symptoms of a deeply diseased democratic fabric. And all of this unfolds under the guise of a narrative of European integration — a narrative that functions more as decor than as a strategic goal.
In an atmosphere of political stagnation, young people — who should be the bearers of societal change — increasingly choose emigration over political mobilization as the only remaining act of political will. Rather than changing the system, they are abandoning it. This is not merely a demographic problem — it is a crisis of legitimacy for the entire political order.
A quarter-century later, the question remains: was October 5th the end of one regime, or merely an interregnum before a more sophisticated form of authoritarianism? Has the spirit of resistance been smothered in the whispers of political opportunism and civic indifference? If October 5th was an outburst of freedom in a time of repression, then today’s Serbia is an outburst of repression in a time of formal freedom. In that inverted mirror lies the tragedy of our political present.
Serbia is not only a political problem — it is an epistemological challenge. For if we do not understand the logic of the system in which we live, if we do not map its contradictions and mechanisms of self-renewal, then we cannot even speak of resistance. And without resistance, there is no politics.
If anything remains of the October 5th ideal, it is the knowledge that all power is replaceable. And that all apathy — is complicity.
