The morning of January 30th symbolizes the beginning of the D-Day for about 400 to 500 of Belgrade’s students as that is the day when they are going to show what they are made of and prove the defeatists wrong by embarking on a two-day journey, on foot, from the Faculty of Dramatic Arts in Belgrade to the place that caused all of Serbia to halt – the Novi Sad railway station. Hundreds of students and citizens knew that for the next two days all of Serbia’s – and the world’s – eyes would be on them. And this is how it felt.
As we gathered in the yard of FDU, we could both hear and see the public support for our cause. People were telling their kids what we were going to do, and the cars passing by on the street honked as a sign of approval and support. The general feeling among us, the marchers, was very high as we knew that the common man had our backs. After a few delays, we set off. People all around us were waving and showing signs they made in our support. This sort of enthusiasm was unwavering in whichever place we went to. People waved to us from their apartment windows, handed us food and drinks and wished us luck as if we were to go fight in a battle.
Our first stop was the Police Academy. We arrived there at about 11:40 am and there we waited for our watch handles to strike the time after which nothing would remain the same – 11:52 am – the time of the canopy falling. Everyone went silent; you could only hear an occasional dog bark or a baby’s laugh, fittingly symbolizing that the time of sorrow is over, and that future generations will cheer and live in a better country than we did.
As we moved forward, we slowly started exiting the urban parts of Belgrade and entering the less populated, industrial sector. Out of almost every factory, there were at least a few workers outside waving to us, and even though these parts weren’t as populated, that didn’t stop the people from coming to us and offering us something to eat. A funny anecdote would be the one where the two of my friends and I couldn’t carry any more sweets we were given, so we started sharing them with the children who were there with their parents in the crowd. We even made a competition to see who could give more stuff away.
After that, we arrived in Batajnica, an “urban neighborhood” as it is described by Google Maps, near the end of the official territory of Belgrade. The streets were flooded – and so were the restrooms. Kind coffee shop owners and such let us use their restrooms free of charge and they let us sit down and catch a break before we went out again. It was at this time the realization of what we were doing started to hit, and it would keep hitting us more and more all the way until we reached Novi Sad.
Our next stop was Nova Pazova, a settlement 6,2km away from Batajnica. This was one of the most beautiful parts of our journey, as the Sun had begun its descending path, giving farm fields around us a beautiful glow, mixing the green colour of the fields with the blue sky. Many looked in awe of the nature around us, taking in all the scenery, which I’m sure gave all of us more willpower to continue moving forward, especially knowing that the days before we embarked were cold and rainy. It seemed like a Divine Intervention had saved us from bad weather, which also boosted morale. As we entered Nova Pazova, the people living there greeted us with fireworks and food. We all gathered in front of an elementary school and listened to the teachers working there, who were giving us a speech thanking and praising us. At that moment something became clear. We, the students, had become the teachers, and we were holding a lecture to the whole of Serbia. Our lecture wasn’t one of rigorous rules and punishment if you made a mistake, no. The student-held lecture became one of kindness, empathy (which everyone thought we had lost), and love. The people around us didn’t wave and cheer because we simply walked; they cried because we showed them that kindness hadn’t gone extinct. The violence and rudeness constantly shown on TV had put out a lot of fires in people’s hearts – fires representing revolt, critical thinking and hope for a better tomorrow. Now, suddenly, a couple of hundred students with lit matches in their hands were ready to take on the reverse firefighting role, ready to get rid of the darkness which had mercilessly haunted the average Serbian man.
After Nova Pazova, the farmers joined us with their tractors. They went in front and at the back of our student convoy, protecting us from any possible incidents, thus further proving that the old Serbian motto “Only unity will save the Serbs” has never been more relevant. During our march, our unity prevailed as a quality we had lost so long ago but is, undoubtably, coming back to life, as if the students revived its heartbeat like a doctor would to their patient. On our way to Stara Pazova, a small town just north of Nova Pazova, the Sun had left us. It had set and left us in the hands of its night owl friend, the Moon. The only thing you could see was the blue light of the police car that was escorting us, and the people in front of you. As we continued walking, the occasional train would pass by, honking in our support. The train was, obviously, greeted back by our cheers, which I doubt the train driver could hear, but surely saw the beam of our flashlights.
As we entered Stara Pazova, fireworks followed suit. The cheers were once again the only thing we could hear. This moment was pivotal, in my opinion. This was our first big break. The residents had made 50 litres of stew, 60kg of sausages, 50kg of pork for us all to eat, and I’m not even including countless beverages, cakes and other sweets. We were escorted to a large park where all of this food was served to us. If the teachers’ speeches in Nova Pazova lifted our morale psychologically, the food and the atmosphere in Stara Pazova helped us rest and replenish our empty stomachs. My friends and I sat on the grass and took all the emotions in. It was surreal, like we had just defeated an enemy in the war and liberated the people residing there.
After a feast and some TV interviews, we embarked again, this time for a town called Indjija, where we would end our first day and try to get some sleep. It was at this point that my legs started becoming sore, and every meter was a challenge we had to overcome. The people’s cheers had left us, and we were all alone in the dark once again. Some people were silent, some were singing, and some were talking. I found this time useful for thinking and going over all the things that had happened during today’s day. After more hours of walking, we arrived in Indjija, and the greetings there were no different from the ones we had before. We walked to the football pitch where we were supposed to sleep, set up our tent and tried to get some sleep in but only managed to get a few hours worth of it. And how could you even sleep in the first place? The sound of the sirens, whistles, and cheers is engraved into your head, not leaving you alone. The thoughts of the people’s smiles and cries are stuck in your memory. The people there didn’t see you as “a student” – no, these people looked upon you as if you were their child, wanting nothing but the best and even offering us to stay at their homes instead of sleeping outside in the freezing cold. The dreaded Serbian unity was alive again, we seemed to have restored its heartbeat, awakening in everyone emotions that we had long forgotten. The matches have done their job.
