Days of Mourning

Written by: Stefan Todorović

After the second mass shooting in Cetinje, the loudest criticism from the Montenegrin public was this: nothing had been done after the first tragedy to prevent another. It became painfully clear, the system had failed. This was no longer an isolated incident. It was becoming a pattern. That’s why young, aware, and courageous people took to the streets: to demand change, to push for a system that could stop these tragedies from happening again.

But their protest was met with hostility from those in power and their supporters, dismissed as a political maneuver to unseat allies. In response, they deployed every available tool, media influence, security services, and social pressure, to crush the movement and protect their own positions.

Yet it was clear to anyone with honest intentions: this wasn’t a political protest. It was a social one. The people leading it weren’t chasing ministerial appointments or parliamentary clout, they were fighting for a system capable of preventing, or at least reducing, the toll of future tragedies. Sadly, in Montenegro, power too often matters more than human life. Self-interest eclipses meaningful reform.

People fail, or refuse, to see that the same kind of tragedy could strike any of us tomorrow. The grief of families from Kruševo ždrijelo is a daily reminder of the grim reality we live in. But as a society, we don’t want to hear them. We don’t want to see them. Because they reflect back to us a truth we’d rather avoid: our system is broken, and we’ve silently accepted it. We’d rather live in denial than face the fact that each day here feels like a round of Russian roulette, and no one is safe.

Now, after even more heartbreak, we’ve arrived at a place where, as a society, we’re exhausted, capable of nothing but mourning yet again. The Montenegrin system no longer offers solutions; it has surrendered. Decision-makers no longer even pretend to know what must be done. The promises of reform are gone. And deep down, they know: they’re not capable of fixing this.

The public, too, has become paralyzed. The social and political landscape in Montenegro feels equally lost, unable to understand what’s happening, unable to respond, and unable to chart a way forward. Because tragedies here are no longer anomalies. They’ve become the norm. And the most frightening part? We’re slowly learning to live with it.

It’s not only those in power who bear responsibility. It’s all of us. Every one of us who lacks the courage to demand change. Who refuses to confront the truth or commit to building a better society. Until we do, we’ll go on living in a country where public accountability only follows personal or family tragedy.

And even though we know these latest events aren’t just private losses, that they’re collective, societal failures, just like the tragedies in Cetinje, we still do nothing. We, as a community, are the root cause. And the most terrifying part? After the second mass shooting in Cetinje, once again, nothing has been done to fix the system.

We’ve changed nothing. We just keep going, from one day of mourning to the next, clinging to the illusion that it won’t happen again.