Aleksandar Vučić may have the formal right to visit any city in Serbia, but his increasingly heavily guarded political appearances reveal a much deeper problem: what happens when citizens no longer want to see him there?
His recent visit to Užice offered a striking picture of how Vučić’s political machine operates in places where public sentiment is openly hostile to him.
Instead of confronting criticism directly, the president arrived behind an enormous security apparatus. Hundreds of police officers were deployed, security cordons were established and loyal supporters surrounded the area where Vučić was scheduled to speak.
The result was predictable: the president could claim that he had entered the city despite opposition, while the machinery of the state ensured that those opposing him could not get close enough to challenge his political spectacle.
That may be presented as maintaining public order. But it raises a far more uncomfortable question:
What kind of democracy requires a president to be surrounded by police whenever citizens refuse to welcome him?
There is nothing undemocratic about citizens protesting a president. There is nothing unusual about political opposition expressing anger or rejecting a government. In a functioning democracy, criticism is not an obstacle to be physically removed — it is something political leaders are expected to face.
Yet Vučić’s appearances increasingly resemble carefully controlled political operations rather than ordinary meetings between an elected leader and the public.
Police form the barrier. Loyalists provide the crowd. Protesters are pushed away. The president delivers his speech from behind multiple layers of protection and then leaves under heavy security.
And afterward comes the political message: “I came. I could come. You couldn’t stop me.”
That is not necessarily a demonstration of popular strength.
It can just as easily be interpreted as a demonstration of institutional power.
The distinction matters.
A genuinely confident political leader does not need to prove his strength by surrounding himself with hundreds of police officers and loyalist groups. Political strength is measured by the ability to persuade people, win their support and withstand criticism without turning the state apparatus into a political shield.
Vučić’s problem is therefore not whether he is physically capable of entering Užice, Novi Sad or any other Serbian city.
Of course he can.
The real question is whether he can enter those cities without turning them into fortified political zones.
The scenes from Užice suggest that when public support is weak, the regime can compensate with something else: police, security barriers and organized supporters.
That creates an increasingly disturbing political equation:
Where citizens refuse Vučić, the state protects Vučić from the citizens.
And that is precisely why these visits matter.
Because the president is not simply another political candidate. He represents the state. When the distinction between the ruling party, loyalist groups and state institutions becomes increasingly blurred, citizens have every reason to question where political authority ends and coercive power begins.
Vučić’s supporters can argue that the police are there to prevent violence. That is a legitimate responsibility of the authorities.
But the same principle must apply to everyone.
Protesters must be protected as well. Opposition supporters must be allowed to demonstrate. Citizens must be able to criticize the president without being treated as an obstacle to his political performance.
Otherwise, “public order” risks becoming a convenient justification for protecting those in power from public anger.
And this is particularly significant as Serbia moves toward another election cycle.
Vučić has already demonstrated that he can transform an ordinary political visit into a massive security operation. The question is whether the same model will become the blueprint for his campaign: arrive with police, surround the venue with loyalists, isolate protesters and then present the controlled appearance as proof that he still commands the country.
Novi Sad could become the next major test.
For months, Vučić has remained under intense political pressure there, amid protests and growing opposition to his government. A major presidential appearance in the city would therefore carry enormous symbolic significance.
If he goes, citizens will be watching not only what he says, but what surrounds him.
How many police officers?
How many barriers?
How many loyalist groups?
How much distance between the president and the citizens who oppose him?
Because there is a fundamental difference between being able to enter a city and being accepted by the people living there.
Vučić can use the power of the state to guarantee the first.
He cannot use police protection to manufacture the second.
And that may ultimately be the most uncomfortable reality for Serbia’s long-standing president:
A leader can control the streets with police lines. He cannot force citizens to respect him, trust him or support him.
