A parallel reality was taking place in front of the National Assembly building on Sunday evening.
There was a juxtaposition of sadness and some sort of celebration at work; confrontations of people who support a woman on hunger strike seeking responsibility for the death of his son and fifteen other people, versus the loyalists brought in to defend tent village which has been occupying the center of Belgrade for almost eight months.
Heavy patriotic notes, amplified to the max, echoed around the National Assembly, harassing the woman who lost her child and all those who came out to support her.
It was sound torture, which by definition involves the use of noise or music to inflict physical or psychological suffering. This method is often used to interrogate, punish or mentally break individuals.
Victims may be exposed to extremely loud noise, high-frequency sounds, or even repetitive music for long periods of time, with the goal of depriving them of sleep or causing anxiety, paranoia, hearing loss, disorientation, and other serious psychological and physical problems.
In the specific case of the children in the corral in front of the National Assembly, it is about conscious humiliation, experiencing and demonstrating one's own power, with the aim of causing a feeling of helplessness on the other side.
"Sound weapon" from Ćaciland against justice
A festival atmosphere, a circuit behind the police cordon in full gear to break up demonstrations, patriotic songs blaring to the point of exhaustion - that's how the events behind the fence bordering the so-called "Čaciland" on Sunday, November 2 in the evening and until late at night.
At work, there was a confrontation between two Serbias - the one that seeks justice and the one that was shaped by the government under the "conductor's" baton. Vucic Aleksandra, supported by the rhetoric and image that the regime's media serves up every day.
Police, in full gear and in a "low start", guarded those who played patriotic songs from the loudspeaker, amplified to the point of pain. In this way, they harassed everyone on the other side of the fence. Among them Diana Hrko, a woman who decided to stand up, to fight for justice even at the cost of her own health.
And the music that blared deep into the night was not an expression of patriotism, but a demonstration of force. The force demonstrated for months by the unsightly camp in the former Royal Park and in front of the Assembly building.
The forces that last night used such a "sound weapon" against all those who demand justice and responsibility for the collapse of the canopy and the death of 16 people who died under hundreds of tons of reinforced concrete.
"The mother went to look for her son"
From Chetnik songs, we moved on to Kosovo, battles were celebrated, parties were played, Vidovdan was evoked. They were played to a woman grieving for her martyred son and the lyrics "The mother went to look for her son".
And so in a circle. There was song after song on the not so rich soundtrack. It was as if someone deliberately wanted to stir up the crowd with music that caused nothing but anger and resentment among those on the other side of the fence. And they used the short breaks between songs to whistle, blow vuvuzelas, send insulting messages against the president of the country and his loyalists in Ćaciland.
The celebration in Ćaciland lasted well into the night. The music blared until two after midnight, on the night between Sunday and Monday.
Citizens tried to report disturbance of public order and peace. They were told: "There are 300 policemen here, report to them."
To the police officers who stood in the low start all evening, ready to disperse those who came to support Diana Hrka.
Picture from Novi Sad
Sunday in Belgrade with the beats of patriotic songs was the exact opposite of the scene just a day before in Novi Sad, at the commemoration of the anniversary of the fall of the canopy.
While the choir sang the lyrics: "Everything is the same in my area, only I'm gone", Diana Hrka walked towards the scene of the accident, to lay a wreath where her son stood a year ago.
In front of the Novi Sad Railway Station - silence, tears and dignity. In front of Ćaciledno - noise, choruses about battles and loudspeakers that drowned out every emotion except anger.
Two cities, two pictures of the same country.
One where grief turns into a fight for justice. And the second, in which he tries to drown out the pain with music.