Echoes of Occupation: Croatian Spectacles and Serbia’s Newest Descent to the Right

For several weeks now, public attention across the former Yugoslav states has focused on Marko Perković Thompson’s concert in Zagreb and student protests in Belgrade. Some in Croatia and Serbia view these events positively, while others across borders see them as a new threat.

Photo: Detail from Marko Perković’s concert in Zagreb

Marko Perković Thompson long ago ceased being just a musician who endures despite bans and criticism. For hundreds of thousands in Croatia and among the Croatian diaspora, he is the voice of a romanticised version of Croatia’s past and the unmet expectations of the Croatian state after the breakup of Yugoslavia. In other words, he speaks for those deeply disappointed by Croatian politics.

Thus, the focus shouldn’t be on the quality of his music, but on the resonance of what he's doing—and what he himself could not produce. Attracting half a million people to a concert in a country of fewer than four million requires more than just a performer—it requires someone channeling political demands no one else in Croatia represents.

The concert was a demonstration of his audience’s political aspirations, not merely a musical event. Through the combined efforts of a segment of the political elite, the Church, media, and citizens, the line between fascism and “patriotism” has been smoothed. Those behind Thompson see nothing wrong in pairing patriotic expressions with fascist salutes and labeling it “Christian values.”

In Whose Name?

That raises the question: how did this happen? Did Franjo Tuđman or his successors in the HDZ betray the vision of Croatia that Thompson’s fans hold? How come Croatian officials—from both government and opposition—who criticize Thompson still attend his concerts? Does Thompson have a political agenda, or is he merely seizing an opportunity? Is he aware that he has stepped beyond music’s boundaries? Who exactly attends his concerts?

Croatian public discourse is still searching for answers, though voices from the Croatian right—largely outside parliament and mainstream media—claim that today’s HDZ bears no resemblance to Tuđman’s; that the EU and NATO are not as once imagined; that current PM Andrej Plenković resembles a Brussels-appointed “leftist commissar”; and that Zagreb now has less sovereignty than it did under Belgrade’s rule after WWII.

These demands mirror those of Serbia’s protesters, who argue that Serbia—and indeed all former Yugoslav nations—grow weaker daily, and that political and economic currents flowing from the West to the Balkans are reshaping everyday life beyond comprehension. A recent symbol of this shift is American influencer IShowSpeed, who strolls Belgrade sporting a local football kit, flanked by bodyguards, chatting and drawing crowds—even while eating. Some media suggest his presence inadvertently promotes the countries he visits.

In Serbia, where conditions are worse than in Croatia across most domains, the issue is even more acute. Authorities—surrounded by EU and NATO states—are allegedly seeking closer ties with Russia and China, making Serbia a frontline in that East–West power struggle. Pro-Russian sentiments swell, and expressions of “fraternal love” for distant China are rising, while Western cooperation is portrayed by the authorities as merely pragmatic.

Student protests sparked by the collapse of a station canopy in Novi Sad eight months ago demonstrated the absurdity of Belgrade’s policies. Each defeat for official Belgrade—from Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, to Kosovo and Montenegro—pushes society even further right, setting the stage for similar outcomes and policies.

Turning Against Themselves

Under these conditions, it was inevitable that student protests would shift rightward—prompting widespread condemnation. Many noted little difference between Serbia’s governing class—many of whom were part of the 1990s aggression and genocide—and post-war students, born after Belgrade’s major political and military losses.

Some were especially offended by speeches at the recent Vidovdan student gathering, which organizers used to court the hard right in a nation where most political forces struggle to cross the 3% parliamentary threshold. Earlier, students had marched to Strasbourg by bicycle to appeal for Brussels’ support—but instead, EU endorsement went to Aleksandar Vučić, reportedly promising lithium mining in Serbia and a settlement of Kosovo in favor of the Albanian side.

Choosing extremist right-wing figures—at concerts or protests—is no coincidence. The region’s post-Yugoslav condition suits those who shaped it. Croats at Thompson’s concert sang about fighting Serbs, “chetniks,” and Yugoslavs, while Serbian students were depicted by state-friendly media as “Ustaše” trying to recreate Yugoslavia under Western influence. Many within both groups view Bosnia and Herzegovina as the ultimate battleground. Serbian nationalists also claim Kosovo, Montenegro, Albania, and North Macedonia, while Serbia increasingly sells off its resources.

Within the massive mental cage crafted across the Balkans post-Yugoslavia, some people see their closest neighbors as enemies—even as they vanish from lands they inhabited for centuries. In import-dependent economies dominated by foreign banks, the narrative of “labor shortages” has been embraced—along with calls for migrant labor. Some leaders even offer their countries as detention zones or camps for Europeans they claim “no longer want.”

This new stage in Balkan politics is often explained to the public as a mirror of Western trends: the rise of the right, a Trump-led shift in U.S. policy, perceived threats from Russia, China’s influence, Middle Eastern unrest... Each local conflict reinforces this narrative, allowing factions to seek support from geopolitical powers.

The consequences are evident. The periphery remains dependent on the center, while nationalist leaders across nations heed the same foreign addresses. Balkan youth reflect the societies they grew up in, until they emigrate West, where rules exist that are absent in their homelands. The rise of right-wing movements in Eastern Europe confirms that poverty and hopelessness breed rebellion—yet these movements rarely critique the economic system.

Even hardcore Thompson supporters in politics don’t mind that Croatia imports food, has lost its factories (like its globally famous shipyards), and is dominated by foreign banks. Their only difference lies in backing a different figure—a messiah—from beyond Croatia. And so, twelve years into EU membership, supposedly welcoming Vučić and other Balkan leaders, these countries have turned into quasi-colonies, aiming to become a regional Belarus under a figure like Alexander Lukashenko.

The article was published earlier on nap.ba.

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