Andrej Ivanov is a photojournalist based in Montreal.
Serbia has never been a very welcoming country for the queer community. Belgrade’s first Pride parade, in 2001, ended in violence. Even today, people still suffer oppression. The Serbian derogatory term for queer people gets thrown around in casual conversation quite often and liberally (although it is being reclaimed). There is still violence. The community is still used as a political scapegoat when necessary. There is still a fight to legalize gay marriage.
And yet, things are slowly changing.
When I went back to Serbia, my birth country, in April, 2022, I found that society approached the subject of queerness with a “Don’t ask, don’t tell” mentality.
Despite that, people felt comfortable enough to show their queerness more publicly, although in limited capacities. There was also a thriving drag and queer community and a handful of LGBTQ-friendly spaces. Most of it remained behind closed doors. This means no public displays of affection, no drag queens walking comfortably down the main streets to get somewhere, and a police-cordoned Pride parade.
Later that year, fear of violent clashes with right-wing protesters led to heightened security and a double police cordon during EuroPride, the biggest celebration of Europe’s LGBTQ community.
‘Throw the fags in a blender,’ some graffiti reads near an electronics store on Terazije Street. It appeared about a month after 2022’s EuroPride ended, and took almost a week to scrub off.
These days, Serbia is still a hub for inexpensive, high-quality gender confirmation surgery. Until last year, the prime minister was an openly gay woman. Still, it can often feel like two steps forward and three steps back. That same prime minister was heavily criticized and jeered by the queer community during EuroPride for not contributing to queer rights. All the while, she remains the only LGBTQ person allowed to be married to her partner with whom they have an adopted child, neither of which as has been legalized in Serbia.
Despite that, the country’s queer community finds ways to co-exist and thrive. There is no other choice. There never was.
I was fortunate to grow up in Canada, surrounded by folks from all walks of life, in spaces that accepted everyone as they were. To me, it is a massive cognitive dissonance that a European country has still not accepted its queer community and moved past archaic mentalities.
These photographs examine how strong communities are formed, despite a general lack of acceptance and apathy toward them. It shows a side of Belgrade that people may not want to see.
A Belgrade spring, summer, fall
Since 1992, EuroPride has brought together queer communities from across the continent in a different city each year. Lisbon is the host city in 2025, but three years ago, it was Belgrade’s turn. At late notice, the Serbian President cancelled it, citing threats from right-wing extremists and frictions with Kosovo. Organizers vowed to march anyway, and weeks later, the government gave in.
These photos are from the tense months leading up to that day, and the weeks after.
