Europe’s streets are alive with the sound of protests -The Economist - 16.04.25
- Michael Julien
- Apr 20
- 4 min read
An arc of discontent runs through Serbia and Turkey.
Political rallies come in all shapes and sizes—and speeds. Spanish trade unionists amble gently, carrying banners at a leisurely pace. French manifestants in 2018 occupied roundabouts during the “yellow vests” movement, milling about as cars zoomed past their encampments. Those wishing to meet the protesters who have gripped Serbia for the past five months will need a touch more energy, and a pair of trainers. University students marching down Belgrade’s boulevards do so at such a brisk clip that out-of-shape middle-aged types—including this visiting columnist—can find it hard to keep up.
Luckily, anyone running out of puff can simply fall behind and wait for the next of a slew of parades organised throughout the day to speed-march their way past. Onlookers of all ages seem to have a whistle tucked away in a pocket, ready to contribute to the cacophony generated by a few dozen or hundred students scurrying along. Five minutes later all is quiet again, until the next lot arrives.
Europe’s south-eastern quarter is traversed by an arc of discontent. Starting in Slovakia and Hungary in the north, crossing Serbia and others in the Balkans before arriving in Turkey and Georgia farther east, this crescent has for months been rocked by recurring protests. The causes behind the marching vary from one country to the next, as does the intensity of the griping. But not coincidentally the arc includes countries run by leaders who have mixed elements of democracy with an autocratic bent.
Many such strongmen have less to fear from the ballot box than they do from “the street” should they wish to extend their (often already over-long) time in office. Whether the protests will succeed depends on what one thinks they are meant to achieve. Those who see them as a revival of the “colour revolutions” of the noughties, which toppled repressive regimes in Ukraine or Georgia, are bound to be disappointed when today’s leaders ride out the disgruntlement. Those with more modest ambitions—keeping politicians somewhat honest and reminding them that impunity has a cost—may just end up satisfied with the outcome.
The most restless bit of the arc has been Serbia. On March 15th an estimated 300,000 people marched in Belgrade, a staggering figure for a country of 6.5m inhabitants. Miniature reprises of the protests are now organised daily via social-media apps, not just in the capital but far beyond (students have since been joined by many others). The proximate cause of the public ire was the collapse in November of a train-station canopy in the city of Novi Sad, which left 16 dead.
The shoddy construction, part of an infrastructure push financed by China, hinted at a mix of corruption, official ineptitude and state capture. Sit-ins at universities and high schools have resulted in civic assemblies that have issued a slew of demands revolving around increased accountability of institutions. That is a thinly veiled dig at Aleksandar Vucic, the Serbian president who has in effect ruled the country since 2012.
A fire in a nightclub in North Macedonia last month sparked similar discontent. In Turkey it was the jailing on March 19th of Ekrem Imamoglu, the mayor of Istanbul, who stood the best chance to dislodge Recep Tayyip Erdogan from the presidency in 2028. Georgians have been in the streets since October, when the opposition claimed parliamentary elections won by an illiberal, anti-Western faction had been rigged. Lots of Hungarians and Slovaks, meanwhile, are fed up with pro-Russian governments run by Viktor Orban and Robert Fico respectively, which have turned the duo into pariahs within the European Union.
For all the enthusiasm of the protesters from Istanbul to Bratislava, the dramatic ousting of regimes seems unlikely. For one, the seasoned strongmen are well-versed in how to defuse public ire. Mr Vucic has been careful to let the protesters vent their displeasure without being clobbered by police—though the probable use of a “sound cannon” (which the authorities deny) to disperse crowds has riled the demonstrators.
Promises of change, including sacking the prime minister and installing a new government, may have taken some steam out of the protests. Mr Erdogan has leaned on pliable media to play down the scale of the marches. Mr Orban for his part has galvanised his supporters by fuelling the culture wars: on April 14th Hungarian lawmakers voted for a constitutional amendment that includes a ban on gay-pride marches.
Mr Vucic claims he is foiling a “colour revolution” of his own, a plot funded by international foundations and foreign governments. In fact the anger is home-grown. Serbia is in the midst of democratic backsliding, a partial descent into autocracy. If anything, the Westerners usually on hand to lend succour to such protests have been notable by their absence of support for those defying the strongmen.
Russia holds sway in much of this part of Europe, meaning the EU dares not lecture for fear of pushing potential allies into Moscow’s arms. Mr Vucic helps keep the peace in the Balkans, and Serbia has lithium Europe needs for its green transition. Mr Erdogan has helped stem a migration crisis for Europeans farther west, and so mostly gets a free pass. As for America, Donald Trump’s family is putting up a hotel in Belgrade.
Don’t you know it’s gonna be all right
That is dispiriting to some—but not to those still pounding the Serbian streets. “Changing the regime is not the only way this ends positively,” says Milena Mihajlovic of the European Policy Centre, a think-tank in Belgrade. Some revolutions take a more circuitous route. When the marching started, youngsters were seen as having little interest in the politics of a country many were considering leaving anyway, says Slobodan Markovich at the Faculty of Political Science in Belgrade. Now they are invested in the country’s future, dissecting the inner workings of institutions from courts to state media. If that is not revolutionary, what is? ■
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Illustration: Peter Schrank
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