President Aleksandar Vučić’s latest attempt to stage the “largest gathering ever held in Novi Sad” would have been just another political embarrassment—if it hadn’t left a group of loyalists from Kosovo stranded in limbo, somewhere between Belgrade and Novi Sad, still waiting for a rally that never happened.
Last week, Serbian tabloids competed in amplifying Vučić’s message: “Tonight in Paris, soon in Negotin, Mionica, Sečanj, Novi Sad – always with my people.” Some papers elevated the spectacle, claiming: “The Serbian people do not surrender their flesh.” But behind the bombast, one detail mattered: Vučić, after numerous delays, once again suggested he would finally appear in Novi Sad—yet immediately postponed it.
This would be merely another episode in the president’s long series of evasions, if not for the 60 supporters from Kosovo who began a 315-kilometer march on foot toward Novi Sad on October 29th, believing they would be the centerpiece of Vučić’s grand rally. Instead, they have vanished somewhere along the Belgrade–Novi Sad route, never reaching their promised destination.
A March for a Rally That Never Was
It would be unfair to blame Vučić entirely: he insists he never personally invited them, nor demanded they walk. The march was their own idea—a demonstration of unwavering loyalty, an attempt to imitate the students’ symbolic walks and create a “counter-march.”
One marcher, Milan Arsić from Gornji Kustac, explained:
“We set off to show we stand with President Vučić… With God’s help, we will reach our goal.”
Whether it was divine assistance or government logistics, the group enjoyed suspiciously smooth conditions. Buses magically appeared whenever cameras disappeared, hotel rooms were waiting, and party officials such as SNS heavyweight Darko Glišić greeted them as the “first line of defense” in a “march for Serbia.”
This loyal group marched on, believing they were approaching a mass rally destined to dwarf the recent student gatherings. Along the way, local party structures staged welcoming fireworks, mini-celebrations, and choreographed displays—all in service of a rally that would never take place.
And Then—Silence
After a major gathering in Belgrade on November 5th, where SNS president Miloš Vučević delivered a melodramatic speech lamenting that the government had neglected Kosovo Serbs, something strange happened:
the marchers disappeared.
Non-government reporters searched for them across Vojvodina for two weeks. No trace.
Even Serbia’s usually hyper-active police, who track everything except pro-government malfeasance, showed no interest in locating them.
If the Kosovo marchers had returned home, it would have been publicized—SNS would have arranged televised celebrations and choreographed hero’s welcomes. Instead, they simply vanished from public record.
Some online rumors suggested, absurdly, that they had “ended up in Romania with fuel canisters,” though there is no evidence. But a more plausible explanation is simpler: the government discarded them once they were no longer useful, or quietly relocated them to be deployed again the next time Vučić needs a loyal spectacle.
The President Who Announces Rallies but Never Dares to Face the Public
The marchers’ fate highlights a deeper truth: Vučić has not held a real rally in Novi Sad for over a year, despite numerous announcements.
The last time he appeared briefly was not to honor victims of a tragedy—but to visit a shattered window at SNS headquarters.
In February, after being mocked for never setting foot in Novi Sad, Vučić suddenly declared he would walk through the city for 15 minutes.
He didn’t. Observers stationed across the city reported no sign of him. Even tabloids, normally eager to forge photos, did not attempt a fake.
In July, his visit was again reduced to a construction-site photo-op on the outskirts, far from the city center. Surrounded by police and busloads of party supporters, he declared that “the era of blockaders is over”—but did not set foot in the actual city.
Given that the political atmosphere in Novi Sad is openly hostile to the regime—and that no SNS official has appeared publicly in the city in over a year—it is unsurprising that the supposed “largest rally ever” has been repeatedly delayed.
The Final Insult: Believing the Date, Forgetting the Year
Earlier this month, Vučić again floated November 11th or 16th as the rally date.
The Kosovo marchers believed him.
Had they listened instead to activist Miran Pogačar—who dryly noted that Vučić “gave a date, not a year”—they might not be wandering Vojvodina waiting for a rally that may never occur.
