by It’s a warm, sleepy Sunday afternoon in block 61. Most of the paths between the green 1970s towers of New Belgrade are almost deserted – a permanent state in some cases, if the amount of trash and vegetation involved is any barometer. The area may seem unloved but life is humming inside thousands of apartments, families taking lunch and laundry hanging on balconies.
At ground level graffiti covers almost every wall and door. Children who play mini-football can do so with a mural on each side of the concrete field that reads: “Russia and Serbia, brothers forever”. Then there are numerous reminders of a turf war which, under the cover of darkness, has been marked out slogan by slogan. “What a life a Grobari?” asks one inscription, painted in the primary color of Red Star and mocking Partizan’s famous ultras group. “During the day they run, during the night they scratch”. Someone crossed a thick line through those letters in black Partizan .
The night before, Partizan could claim supremacy in the home of their rivals. The 172nd Belgrade derby was a 2-2 draw at Red Star’s cavernous Marakana and, in other circumstances, the visitors might have regretted giving up an advantage that had been lost by the goals either side of half-time. But the bigger picture, as Igor Duljaj’s players tossed their shirts into the throbbing mass of away supporters and posed for photographs as flares and smoke bombs flew overhead, was that Partizan emerged unscathed from beating to stay on top of the Serbian Superliga.
It was a thrilling game, with a more entertaining consensus than any derby in recent memory, with a sell-out crowd watching for the first time in four years. Pyrotechnics and an atmosphere of unparalleled intensity have always been the selling points of this fixture for those looking to tick it off their bucket lists, looking forward to more sanitisation. This time it was delivered on the field; Red Star hit the woodwork four times and faced their visitors in an unusual late attack after Xander Severina’s controversial red card.
However this costume, its motifs and motifs have a wider relevance than ever before. So is Serbia, a country torn between very different visions of today’s Europe. Before the start at Marakana, ultras Red Star, the Delije, they sang their own declaration of kinship with Russia; later in the game the Grobari displayed a banner glorifying Russian soldiers alongside an image of the country’s flag. There is no petri dish more powerful than an entire stadium to both reflect and test public sentiment. Serbia has long courted membership of the European Union but support is waning and the hard look towards Moscow could have ramifications far beyond those borders.
The sight of the Gazprom logo on Red Star shirts – and across the east stand seats inside the Marakana as the crowd clears – served as a reminder, how much a team of imports like the gladiatorial Senegal forward Cherif Ndiaye managed to play see, it was fun. funded to some extent by Russian money. Later this month the Serbian national team, who will face England at Euro 2024, will visit Moscow and play Russia’s first friendly against European opposition since the full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022. Uefa has no desire to intervene, although Russia is trying to do so. the sides are banned from their competitions.
Another banner, displayed along part of the eastern side, asked: “The state must stop the migration of Serbs from Kosovo”. In recent months a number of unusual murals, mostly unrelated while others have been modified or resisted, have sprung up in central Belgrade suggesting the resumption of violence in a predominantly ethnic Albanian state that declared independence from Serbia in 2008. “When the army returns to Kosovo” is their message; similar proclamations are displayed at the delhi, although the derby has spared them. It is widely considered that the state, led by the authoritarian president Aleksandar Vučić and increasingly close to hiding red meat for hard nationalists, has given them an implicit signature.
Seven hours before the derby a crowd in the low hundreds watched Sindjelic Belgrade beat FK Rad 4-0 in the third regional series. English, Czech and Polish were as audible as Serbian; The morning kicks are a procession for the earthlings. Inside the nearby cafe a group of Poles ordered a tray of beer with shots of rakija. Overlooking the field sat a dark featureless building against the blue sky. It is the central prison of Belgrade, and among the prisoners are members of a criminal gang that presents a living reminder that the brutal scene of Serbian ultras must never be glamorized. A graffitied scrawl in the suburbs hardly tells the story.
Among those who are running is Veljko Belivuk, leader of a group of Partizan fans called the Janicari and is the subject of a long-running trial that has unearthed shockingly shocking details. Belivuk and the company are accused of multiple murders, kidnapping, rape and other offences: he denied the charges against him but the case brought the subject of the underworld links of football ultras into the light of day. Belivuk claimed that his group did work for the government, including dampening anti-Vučić sentiment inside football stadiums. The truth may never come out: one certainty is that the currents running beneath the surface of Belgrade’s football scene are complex and almost inextricable.
There was certainly no one to stop him Grobari chanting “Vučić is a fagot” early in the derby, an incident that was reported in the local media the following day. The IS Delije declined an invitation to pursue suit. Vučić controversially won the December election by a comfortable margin but many disagreed: thousands protested in Belgrade after the vote amid claims of fraud and manipulation.
If the derby offers a multilayered view of local and global tensions, it also reflects Serbia’s place in the world of football. A country renowned for producing a stream of talent that believes its population of seven million, important people in the fear of the place, has managed to stop bringing players through. There is little sign of the next Aleksandar Mitrovic, Luka Jovic or Dusan Vlahovic on the Marakana surface; Foreigners such as the Brazilian Partizan face Matheus Saldanha, who equalized the opener Uros Spajic in stoppage time in the first half and is the league’s best scorer, make the difference. There is a sense that clubs are selling talent too early or using money from Uefa competitions to splash six-figure sums on quick fixes. If Partizan won their first title since 2017, that is unlikely to be a concern.
Block 61, where Partizan are comfortably winning the away-field struggle for supremacy, could be a happier place if they do. Much of the street in these parts is tagged with Vandal Boys, a group that largely influenced Belivuk during the internecine struggles of his reign of terror. Tensions have spilled over into violence here before. “Warning to all who work for the police,” one message strongly suggested. “Organized flare displays are not acceptable in block 61 and those responsible will face dire consequences. Signed by the law of the streets.”
Belgrade and its Derby will remain an uncontrollable, barely recognizable window into a modern world full of uncertainty and contradiction.
