On November 1, 2025, the city of Novi Sad, Serbia, was awash in both autumn sunlight and a sea of mourners. Tens of thousands of people from all walks of life converged on the railway station to honor the memory of the 16 individuals who lost their lives exactly one year earlier, when a newly renovated concrete canopy at the station suddenly collapsed. The youngest victim was just six years old, the oldest 77. As the clock struck 11:52 a.m.—the precise moment of the disaster—an extraordinary hush fell over the crowd, lasting for 16 minutes, one for each of the lives lost.
The occasion was marked by a solemn dignity. Family members, some barely able to stand, wept openly and laid flowers at the front of the station, their grief still raw. The physical scars of the tragedy remain: though the rubble has been cleared, twisted metal and broken glass still protrude from the station’s walls, a haunting reminder of what happened. The building itself, once meant to symbolize progress, now stands as a stark testament to loss and public outrage.
According to BBC, the Novi Sad railway station was intended to be a flagship of Serbia’s modernization under President Aleksandar Vučić’s Progressive Party. Opened with fanfare in 2022 by Vučić and Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orban, the station was a centerpiece of a high-speed rail project promising to connect Belgrade to Budapest in under three hours. But the collapse transformed this symbol of advancement into a rallying point for anger and protest. “Corruption kills,” read many of the placards carried by demonstrators in the months that followed.
In the year since the tragedy, Serbia has witnessed its largest protest movement in modern history. University students, disillusioned with traditional opposition parties, emerged as the movement’s leaders, organizing persistent anti-corruption demonstrations and calling for accountability at the highest levels. As Aleksa, a 23-year-old management student at Novi Sad University, told BBC: “We are the most trusted group in the country—that’s why, even though we have made mistakes, people believe in us.”
The students have distanced themselves from established political factions, instead advocating for a technocratic government led by independent experts. Their aim? To root out the cronyism and corruption they believe are endemic in Serbian institutions and directly responsible for the railway station disaster. Their approach has drawn praise from some in the opposition. Biljana Djordjević, an MP and co-leader of the Green-Left Front, remarked, “They showed integrity and perseverance. The new generation have found their way of participating, that is the difference this time.”
The government, however, has not always responded kindly. Over the past year, protests have frequently been met with force: authorities used batons and tear gas, and protesters were rounded up. President Vučić has repeatedly accused the student movement of being a foreign-backed attempt to topple his administration. Yet, on the eve of the anniversary, Vučić’s tone shifted. In a rare televised apology, he stated, “I have said some things that I am now sorry for saying,” and called for dialogue. “All that hatred boiling in our society cannot bring any good. It can only lead to further destruction.”
Despite this olive branch, many protesters remain skeptical. The students’ response was blunt: “You have blood on your hands.” Their demands for early elections and genuine accountability have not wavered. Some, like Dijana Hrka, mother of one of the victims, are taking even more drastic steps. As Associated Press reported, Hrka laid flowers under her son’s name at the station and announced plans to begin a hunger strike in Belgrade. “I must know who killed my child. Someone must be held accountable for this,” she insisted.
The protests have not been without obstacles. On the day of the anniversary, authorities canceled all train services to Novi Sad, citing a bomb threat. Undeterred, demonstrators made their way by car, bicycle, and even on foot. Some had marched for 16 days leading up to the commemoration, symbolically honoring each victim. Residents of Novi Sad greeted them with cheers, a testament to the groundswell of support for the movement.
Legal proceedings have inched forward, though many feel progress is painfully slow. In September 2025, 13 individuals—including former construction, infrastructure, and transport minister Goran Vesić—were charged in connection with the collapse. Several officials have been indicted on charges of endangering public safety, and the prime minister has resigned amid the turmoil. Yet, as Reuters and DW noted, no court has confirmed the indictments as of the anniversary. The European Parliament weighed in last month, passing a resolution demanding “full and transparent legal proceedings and an assessment of potential corruption or negligence,” and underlining the need to examine whether corruption contributed to lowered safety standards and the tragedy itself.
The European Union has watched the events in Serbia with keen interest. On social media, EU Enlargement Commissioner Marta Kos wrote, “It moved masses to stand for accountability, free expression and inclusive democracy. They are the same values to lead Serbia into the EU.” Serbia’s bid to join the EU has long been hampered by concerns over corruption, rule of law, and Vučić’s close ties to Russia and China. The current protest movement, in the eyes of many European officials, represents a potential turning point—if the government is willing to embrace reform and transparency.
For now, however, the wounds remain open. The station’s battered facade stands as a daily reminder of the disaster and the political reckoning it unleashed. The families of the victims, the determined students, and a nation at a crossroads continue to seek answers—and, perhaps, a path forward. As the sun set on Novi Sad after the anniversary, the air was thick with both sorrow and resolve. The day may have been about respect and remembrance, but the anger, and the hope for real change, remains palpable across Serbia.
