In the aftermath, citizens gathered to grieve alongside the families of the victims in Novi Sad, Belgrade, and other cities across Serbia. On Sunday, a protest was held in Belgrade during which protesters demanded the resignation of the head of the Ministry of Civic Construction, Goran Vesić. They also called on the government to immediately identify, arrest, and punish other officials responsible for this massacre.
The deaths of innocent people could have been prevented if the authorities had listened to architects and urban planners. For at least fifteen years, experts have desperately warned that building and construction projects should not be executed solely for the sake of profit.
In Novi Sad, it wasn’t just the railway station that collapsed on the victims. The famous Banovina Palace, destabilized to the point of breaking by malignant underground works, fell on them too. Their bodies lie beneath luxury housing and a bridge that will deprive Novi Sad of the green oasis of Šodroš, making it vulnerable to flooding. Those killed were crushed by buildings that lost their roofs in the storms and have been exposed to the elements for years. They lie beneath all those houses in other cities that are pushed to collapse as someone constructs a four-story deep garage next door, without any construction supervision, or with the blessing of a corrupt one. Lives have been put at risk by all those new buildings where investors cunningly cut costs by installing less reinforcement iron rods than needed. This provokes deep sadness mixed with justified outrage.
Serbian citizens and their families are condemned to death every time the authorities choose not to listen to experts – experts who have pleaded for the preservation of regulations in design and construction, respect for the planning system of the Republic of Serbia, and respect for the authority of engineering oversight. Instead, they were tossed aside to make way for an economic policy that deems lives and safety as worthless.
We did not create the chaos, but we refuse to endure it
Architecture and construction are not toys. When we point out mistakes, problems, and omissions, these are not arbitrary issues or matters of taste. We are not asking for different aesthetic decorations – we demand respect for the rules that protect our lives and those of our fellow citizens, the regulations that have been developed over decades of experience.
The regulations and practices we once had prevented similar tragedies. But soon, no one will remember them as knowledge transfer between older and younger engineers fades, and institutions sink into a lawlessness euphemistically termed “deregulation.”
No one can yet say why the awning over the railway station fell, but it can be assumed that its stability was compromised during the reconstruction, after decades of peaceful use. The documentation of the reconstruction and the specifics of engineering oversight are not transparently offered to the public, and probably won’t ever be.
It should be known that this short-sighted and risky approach to construction wasn’t developed by local Serbian authorities. They just perfected it as much as Serbia’s peripheral position in the world economic system allowed. Deregulation came from the system’s center, back in the era of Thatcher and Reagan. Britain itself adapted its construction practices to the needs of the London Stock Exchange. The interests of financial capital have in various ways weakened the urban planning and construction institutions built after World War II which were intended to make cities clean and safe places to live. With the oncoming effects of climate change, we need such institutions more than ever. But instead of strengthening them, they have been declared as outdated. All to facilitate the flow of capital.
Lives could almost certainly have been saved if, outside of a few independent media outlets, we heard economic analyses pointing out that “attracting foreign direct investment” at any cost would be our downfall. This tragedy should never have happened. A tragedy like this must never happen again.
Translation: Ana Milosavljević
