Sports, Protests, & Democracy
Photo: Amir Hamzagic / Nova.rs
GCRD Insights
Sports, Protests, and Democracy
Do Novak Djokovic and Serbian Students Want the Same Thing?
Download PDFAccountability Above All
Some celebrities use their public visibility and social media platforms to campaign against war, genocide, animal cruelty, government surveillance, and environmental destruction. Research shows that celebrity advocacy has become a significant feature of contemporary activism and can influence public engagement. At the same time, celebrities often operate within systems of commercial endorsement and brand management, creating reputational and economic incentives that may discourage engagement with controversial causes. Or, as some seem to believe, concern for the future is admirable, provided it does not interfere with corporate relationships or the next yacht upgrade.
Following the Novi Sad railway tragedy on 1 November 2024, the Serbian student movement received endorsements from different celebrities. Performance artist Marina Abramovic described the students as “the heroes of today,” while Madonna called the movement “one of the largest student protests since 1968.” Novak Djokovic entered the picture on 16 January 2025, when student Sanja Ponjavic (20) was paying tribute to the 16 victims of the tragedy at an intersection in Belgrade. A car mounted the pavement, struck her, carried her on its roof for several meters, and drove away without stopping. She was admitted to intensive care in life-threatening condition. The following day, after winning his third-round match at the Australian Open, Djokovic approached the camera, drew a heart, and wrote “For Sonja” on the lens. Speaking at the post-match press conference, he was unambiguous: “I follow what’s happening in Serbia, not everything, but I follow a lot through social networks — I can’t pretend that nothing is happening. […] Unfortunately, this is not the only situation of violence against students and young people. […] It is a big defeat for us as a society, Serbian society in general. My support always goes to young people, students and all those to whom the future of our country belongs.”
Serbian students, or Zoomers more broadly, come from a system marked by instability, limited resources, and deeply corrupt institutions. They reject state capture and the close ties between criminal networks and President Aleksandar Vucic. Although many were not even born during his formative period as Minister of Information in the late 1990s — when he targeted independent media with draconian laws, ensuring the dominance of Milosevic-friendly outlets — they understand his agenda all too well. This is why they refuse to tolerate pro-regime, propagandistic mouthpieces.
Both Djokovic, who might break a racket or yell at his team, and the students, who have no issue using strong language against pro-regime figures, choose bluntness over the polished image expected on a tennis court or in a lecture hall. Their rejection of norms that feel performative does not make them reckless; it makes them genuine.
Djoker talks about his upbringing as a fact, not an excuse. He mentions the sanctions and the 1999 NATO bombing of Serbia, which made it almost impossible to develop in sports. As a teenager, he learned precision and discipline while dealing with scarcity and fear. When he shares this, he is not asking for sympathy; he insists on context. He has lived through both survival and great career success, which is why he often seems uninterested in red carpets. What matters to him, as he has repeatedly stressed, is substance — the constant work and struggle, knowing that nothing is guaranteed. He is a gentleman, but not always a diplomat. He will not change just to fit in, which can prompt people to admire or dislike him, or even feel both. He is clear on his own terms, which can unsettle those who like control.
Opinion as a Threat
When Covid-19 hit, Djokovic’s focus on personal freedom clashed with a world in crisis. He refused the vaccine, and soon many called him “Novax” and “anti-vaxxer.” His choice, based on his beliefs about bodily autonomy, quickly became something to criticize. He became a symbol, as often happens when the masses and policymakers seek someone to blame during a crisis. The 2022 Australian Open became the center of this conflict, with 7NEWS anchors caught on a hot mic calling him “a lying, sneaky asshole.” He arrived as defending champion but left as a detainee, held, questioned, released, detained again, and finally deported. The whole thing felt both absurd and punishing. Djokovic stopped being just a tennis player and became a message.
Fast forward to Djoker’s symbolic expression of solidarity with the student movement. He wore a hoodie bearing the slogan “Students Are Champions” at the Belgrade basketball derby between Red Star and Partizan. Later, following the massive protest of 15 March 2025 — one of the largest demonstrations in Serbia’s modern history, one that allegedly involved the use of sonic weapons against protesters — he wrote on his Instagram “History! Magnificent” The backlash was immediate. The pro-Vucic tabloid Informer, which had once hailed Djokovic as a national hero, now labeled him “an embarrassment” and claimed that “Novak supports violence and color revolutions.” Then, at Wimbledon Championships, came the gesture that caused a further stir. While celebrating his victory, Djoker performed the “pump it up” gesture (“pumpaj” in Serbian), widely recognized as one of the key symbols of the protests calling on the government to act responsibly. However, when asked about it during the post-match press briefing, he replied: “It’s something between me and my children. We have a song called ‘Pump It Up.’ […] We’re pumping, we love pumping, so we pump after every win.” When pressed further to clarify which song he was referring to, he quoted lyrics from a track associated with artists such as Danzel (2004) and Endor (2019). Still, the coincidence was remarkable. A Belgrade mural depicting Djokovic in the “pump it up” pose, captioned “Pumpaj, pumpaj! Zašto si stao?” (“Keep pumping! Why did you stop?”), was subsequently painted over by an unknown hand.
In Serbia, the President of the National Assembly, Ana Brnabic, has compared students’ calls for government accountability to “Nazi ideology,” falsely asserting they represent “the fascist Falanga” and “call for civil war and death of Serbia.” President Vucic likewise called them “Nazis,” while other pro-regime officials described protesters as “hate-filled monsters [and] the worst possible fascists.” By branding student protesters this way, Serbian leadership has deployed historically dehumanizing language, positioning them as “enemies of the state” — rhetoric that echoes the logic of totalitarian regimes, where perceived enemies are systematically marginalized, delegitimized, and cast outside the bounds of acceptable society. In a way, it is surprising that more celebrities have not reacted to these remarks, particularly given how many of them, or their families, have direct or inherited experience with the consequences of political demonization and exclusionary rhetoric. Then again, that may be a different conversation altogether.
What stands out in both Djokovic’s handling of his Covid-19 episode and the students’ response to the regime’s equation of democratic protests with fascism is their capacity to endure injustice without theatrics or without casting themselves as victims. In Djoker’s case, he returned to Melbourne the following year and won a Grand Slam. In the case of the students, they have continued to gain broader public support for their cause.
Freedom, Not Fear
For Djoker and the students, freedom is not just an abstract idea; it is what they live, often awkwardly and at personal cost. That cost may take the form of missed tournaments, or a 16-day, 400 km march from Novi Pazar to Novi Sad, and a 12-day, 1,300 km cycling tour from Novi Sad to Strasbourg. They do not mind being out of place, nor do they reshape themselves to satisfy those in power. Whatever the circumstances, they choose action over acceptance. Their freedom is not heroic in the conventional sense; it is uneven, demanding, and very human. As such, it leaves space for joy and anger, generosity and stubbornness, belonging and disagreement. By living this way, they point to a quieter, riskier truth: freedom is not granted by others, but something that must be continually practiced.
This mindset becomes an advantage when they face a hostile crowd. Having long survived without approval, they no longer depend on it. What unsettles others — Djokovic’s opponents’ fans or the pro-Vucic forces confronting the students — brings familiar resistance, even motivation. They do not seek love or neutrality. Instead, they let others reveal their true selves through their reactions. Freed from the need for acceptance, their contests, either those between Djoker and his opponents, or those between the students and the regime, become competitions of endurance rather than popularity.
So, when Djokovic calls a passive-aggressive reporter “disrespectful,” or when a young woman responds to a pro-Vucic contributor asking for her name with “My name’s none of your fucking business,” they are not just having a petty argument. They are making it about bigger issues, like attitude and professionalism. By pointing out disrespect, they highlight a deeper problem: the newshounds are not just being corrected as individuals, but as part of a system that thrives on provocation without responsibility. It is about having standards. In this way, the moment becomes a lesson in integrity.
Novak Djokovic’s experience and stature give him the moral freedom to support students protesting against authoritarian rule. He does not need grand speeches or manifestos. His stance is evident in both what he does and what he refuses to surrender. As he reiterated in response to attacks from pro-Vucic media, “I have always been a supporter of freedom of choice, and I will always support that because freedom is essential for a happy and prosperous life.” When news of his relocation to Athens emerged, Informer branded him “a false patriot who had presented himself as a symbol of Serbia for years only to now flee to Greece.” By September 2025, Djoker had enrolled his children in a school in Athens and got a house in Glyfada — an environment in which, he said, he felt “welcome.” The choice of word carried weight. For years, the Vucic propaganda machine had portrayed Nole’s Grand Slam victories as national achievements and leveraged them for political and PR purposes. When he refused to play that role, the same apparatus turned against him, revealing that a globally celebrated athlete such as Nole is permitted to be a national symbol only for as long as he advances the interests of the ruling elite.
Djoker’s refusal to be a compliant hero renders him a threat. For Generation Z, his support matters precisely because it is authentic, not just for show; it offers reassurance without preaching, and legitimacy without seeking to lead. For those determined to challenge authority, this lesson is significant. It suggests that dissent does not require approval, and integrity can withstand pressure. His Lacoste jacket for the 2026 Wimbledon Championships bore the message “A hero is not the one who beats, but the one who endures injustice and forgives.” While widely regarded as an old proverb and open to different interpretations, the inscription can still be read as a call for resilience, whether reflecting Djokovic’s own career, marked by perceived injustice and perseverance, or expressing solidarity with Serbian students whose movement has endured sustained pressure while remaining committed to peaceful action.
Published by the Global Centre for Rehumanising Democracy (GCRD) — gcrd.org.uk — 2nd Floor, College House, 17 King Edwards Road, Ruislip, London, HA4 7AE, United Kingdom
The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily represent the views of GCRD or those of our partners and stakeholders.
