by Saker’s Johnny-on-the-spot in Belgrade for The Saker Blog
Yes, Israel Shamir was on to something while showering Serbs with fulsome praise for derailing the globalist project with their anti-lockdown, anti-Vučić tyranny, insurrection. A measure of respect they have indeed earned. But let’s not count chickens before they hatch. This is not yet the Serbs’ March 27 1941 moment, or even a decent replay of the gloriously defiant 1999. What it will turn out to be, time will tell.
Long on emotions and short on strategy, even Serbs are now coming round to the sensible conclusion that to rid themselves of the execrable Bastard they must first settle in their own minds the methodology of his removal. Some inkling of that incipient realization was evident on the sixth night of protest (more hard-nosed people would have taken care of that essential piece of business on the very first day). The vociferous discussion in that relatively small liberated patch of Belgrade, the parliament square, the Agora of Serbs yearning to be free, has finally turned to the paramount subject of what political demands should direct their liberation movement.
So far no clear concepts have emerged, or concise slogans encapsulating the masses’ deep-seated anger and disgust and pointing to the objectives that should be pursued and, just as importantly, in what order. Notably and ominously tonight, the disgraced “opposition” figures who were vigorously chased away just a few nights ago have popped up again to purvey their services to the crowd which, this time, appeared more receptive to their gibberish. By far the best analysis of this critical juncture the protests have reached on Day 6 was offered not by professional political hacks, talking heads, or “analysts,” but by two fearless churchmen. No, not the senile and venal Patriarch, or anyone from his coterie, but the monk Anthony, the Serbian Savonarola, and archimandrite Dr Nikodim Bogosavljević, who had the integrity to bail out of the official church because he could no longer tolerate its Sergianist charade.
Meanwhile, Vučić’s vicious tontons macoutes continued their nightly bone-breaking campaign, unabated. The tontons macoutes were the Duvalierist regime’s feared intimidators, licenced to kill and maim with impunity, for those who are not students of Haiti’s political history. (Vučić apparently is, and quite an avid one. Papa Doc’s Serbian emulator has made huge progress converting Serbia into a voodoo state, complete with his own Duvalierville, the corrupt Belgrade-on-the-Waterfront money laundering operation.)
By all accounts, Vučić’s savage police are endowed with comparable powers. If a picture is worth a thousand words, these two “before” and “after” arrest photos must be absolutely precious:
Little wonder that an ugly photo, worth not a thousand but a million words, turned into a viral poster, is now circulating on the internet:
And no, these are not George Floyd copy-cat crisis actors, this is the real thing. Not in Minnesota, but in central Belgrade, Serbia, Europe, in the twenty-first century.
And here is the bruised back of the grandson of Serbian Academy of Arts and Sciences member, Dušan Teodorović. (Famous statement: “As long as I live I will fight the Vučić regime”). The grandson and a some school chums went out Wednesday evening to watch the action in front of the parliament building:
This young man obviously got a piece of the action that he was not bargaining for.
As did this poor autistic boy in Novi Sad who was serenely riding his bike when he chanced upon a pack of Vučić’s tontons on Modena Street:
The son of cartoonist Dušan Petričić also got a piece of the action, courtesy of the Vučić tontons. In an early morning raid, they came to arrest him for passing out leaflets calling for civil disobedience to the regime. Here is a sample of elder Petričić’s caricatures, depicting the precipitous decline over two centuries in the civilizational level of Serbia’s leadership, which may explain the authorities’ annoyance with the family. The African chieftain on the extreme right is, of course, You-know-who:
Obviously, you do not challenge such a primitive character with Gandhian civil disobedience nonsense. You do it with a stick.
And you make sure that yours is at least twice as big as his.