The paramilitary-style encampment known as “Ćaciland,” erected in front of Serbia’s National Assembly, has evolved into one of the most disturbing symbols of Aleksandar Vučić’s rule. What began as a crude show of loyalty has transformed into a public exhibition of how political power, organized crime, state institutions, and intimidation now openly intersect in Serbia.
Political analysts and historians increasingly describe Ćaciland as a living sociological experiment—one that future generations will study as a case of state-sanctioned lawlessness. The camp has changed month by month, adding new layers of provocation: loud music blasted at a grieving mother on hunger strike, laser pointers aimed at protesters, and a revolving cast of local officials, party activists, convicted criminals, and football hooligans—all united by proximity to power.
From Local Officials to Convicted Criminals
According to multiple investigative reports, Ćaciland has become a gathering point for individuals closely linked to the ruling Serbian Progressive Party (SNS). Among those regularly present are municipal presidents, city councilors, directors of public companies, and individuals previously convicted of serious crimes.
Particularly prominent are officials from Belgrade’s Palilula municipality, whose representatives appear to act as organizers rather than bystanders. Figures such as Dražen Barjaktarović, a municipal council member, have been repeatedly seen leading chants and orchestrating nightly provocations, often targeting opposition supporters and victims’ families.
Equally alarming is the presence of Ivan Bakić, a close associate and godfather of former interior minister Nebojša Stefanović, who previously served prison sentences and whose tenure as director of a public sports center ended in bankruptcy.
Violence Without Consequences
The camp has also been linked to physical attacks carried out in plain sight of the police. One of the most shocking incidents involved Bojan Nagradić, an SNS-linked businessman, who punched a female university student in the head, sending her to the hospital. To this day, there is no public information that he was even questioned by authorities.
Such incidents reinforce a growing perception among citizens that the law no longer applies equally, especially when perpetrators are connected to the ruling party.
Criminal Networks and State Protection
Investigations further reveal deep ties between camp participants and organized crime, including individuals linked to the notorious Belivuk–Miljković clan. Family members of municipal employees have been convicted abroad for contract killings, while known football hooligan leaders—some recently released from custody—have been spotted moving freely within the camp.
Despite these facts, state institutions remain conspicuously silent, raising serious concerns about institutional capture and political protection of criminal elements.
A “Social Cross-Section” of Vučić’s Rule
Historian Srđan Cvetković describes Ćaciland as “a social cross-section of Vučić’s dictatorship.”
“It contains everything the regime relies on—criminal networks, intimidated public-sector workers, paid loyalists, police protection, and party officials with their families. It is Serbia in miniature, minus normal citizens,” Cvetković says.
He adds that while previous authoritarian systems in the region used criminals covertly, never before have they been displayed so openly, so brazenly, and with such clear state backing.
A Camp That Exposes the Regime
Although authorities periodically announce that the encampment will be dismantled, the tents still stand in central Belgrade. The music has stopped, and protesters have been forced away, but the presence of hooded figures, silent police patrols, and an atmosphere of intimidation remains.
Far from being a spontaneous gathering, Ćaciland now stands as a deliberate political message: a warning to critics, a reward system for loyalists, and a grim reminder of how deeply Serbia’s institutions have been hollowed out under Vučić’s rule.
One day, historians say, Ćaciland will not be remembered as a protest camp—but as an exhibit of authoritarian decay.
