Vučić threatens world powers while students clear snow: Regime strong in words, weak on the sidewalks

There used to be longer and colder winters with snow in Belgrade. And more waste. And colder Januaries. In 1962, the city was buried under nearly eighty centimeters of snow.

There were no apps, no crisis headquarters on television, no press conferences every six hours. And no one claimed it was a war against an invisible enemy.

Of course, public services were overwhelmed back then. They did not perform miracles. But we knew what the problem was: snow.

Today, however, snow has become an alibi. Every snowflake is a surprise, every snow-covered street proof that someone else is to blame—nature, blockaders, saboteurs, the opposition, a foreign factor.

Here, even when the canopy of a railway station collapses and kills 16 people, the regime spreads conspiracy theories suggesting it could be a terrorist act by foreign services.

The Hawk and the Rats

After the arrest of his friend Nicolás Maduro, Vučić thundered that “it’s better to live like a hawk for one day than to hide like a rat for a hundred years.”

It seems there are many rats crawling around the institutions here, so despite the heroic words of our hawk who saw rats everywhere, everyone hid instead of grabbing snow shovels.

Vučić then claimed that THEY had invested billions of euros to overthrow him.

So he says: “I am not your Slobodan Milošević. I am neither naive nor stupid to trust you.”

And whom is he threatening? Unnamed forces that until yesterday were our partners? A month ago, U.S. President Donald Trump shared a post about alleged election manipulation that mentioned Serbia. The General Staff project, once presented as a strategic partnership, collapsed under the weight of corruption allegations.

On the other hand, Putin doesn’t trust him either because of arms sales to Ukraine. Caught between those chairs, Vučić now shouts about forces trying to topple him—but he does not name them, because he needs all of them equally.

That would make even a hawk tremble, let alone our crow. Now the million-bolivar question: was Comrade Vučić rattled by Delta Force special units, or was he simply trying to avoid attending the marten feast with his recently jailed friend, Maduro? If festive wine didn’t help, perhaps it was fear that an official wouldn’t stop him this year in camouflage and with an accent not learned in Belgrade, writes Nova.

How beautifully the universe arranges everything—the cosmic stagecraft of Balkan politics: if his popularity once rose most when he arrested Delta leader Miroslav Mišković, perhaps now he fears karma will strike him with a blow from another Delta.

The last time we pretended to be dangerous like this, we were struck hard.

Geopolitical Hurricanes, Local Snowstorms

Today, we can barely withstand a sudden attack of snowflakes, yet Vučić wants to threaten world powers. That is why, of course, he does not name them directly. Because he is not really threatening them—they are our partners, aren’t they?

If you have nothing else to boast about, you must have an enemy. Someone from whom you will, for example, “defend” the country—and thus keep voters tied to your list number on the ballot.

The paradox is complete: a country that can barely cope with clearing sidewalks and maintaining roads simultaneously appears ready to confront global powers.

While buses cannot climb uphill, we hear stories of giant steps and historic progress. While our insides shiver from snowstorms, we talk about geopolitical hurricanes. While the city stands still, the government moves—on television.

They eat, drink, sing, kiss sweaty heads. They are entertained by the killer of a teenage girl and guarded by the knights of Ćaciland—among them convicted rapists, mafia hitmen, drug dealers, and these unfortunate employees of public companies.

Instead of clearing snow, they choke on sandwiches and catalogue the diverse dendroflora of Pionirski Park.

Today, cameras focus more on snow clearing. And messages. And threats aimed at everyone and no one. Because an enemy must exist—if not from outside, then at least in the snow. Ideally both outside and in the snow.

When the State Cannot, Students Can

And perhaps, instead of pretending to defend Serbia from imaginary attacks, someone could defend the city from the very real winter. That would be a dangerous move.

Students took on that role today: from six in the morning, together with citizens, they grabbed shovels and cleared snow around public spaces used by everyone. No cameras, no instructions, no enemies.

This youth has shown that it is not decoration, but a moral and practical antithesis to the government.

Belgrade is, of course, only a window. The true picture of winter appears only when you turn off the spotlights and look inside.

Where there is no water or electricity for days. Where villages are buried in snow, roads impassable, and people left alone with generators running as long as there is fuel.

There are no grand geopolitical messages echoing there. There, the system—the one that swears by stability and the strength of the state—simply does not arrive.

That is why every harsh winter exposes us more than any political crisis. This is not a country being destroyed from the outside. Serbia is being destroyed from within—not because winter is harsh, but because the system is weak. And it also shows how much stronger people are, when left alone, than it.

Snow then shows us how far we are from what we are told—and how close to what is actually lived.

Because a serious state does not measure its strength by how loudly it threatens, but by how quickly it opens the road to the last village.

If someone is defending this country today, it is not those who shout about forces and conspiracies, but those who pick up a shovel at six in the morning and clear the snow/Nova.

Written by Ratko Femić