Electric Thrills

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Reports in Russia claim the deceased is a former Ukrainian navy official who defected to Russia
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An anti-missile launch pad was left ‘ablaze and sputtering for three hours’, according to Ukraine’s military

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The number of Ukrainian citizens holding temporary protection status in EU countries reached 4.41 million as of 30 June 2026, the highest since the mechanism was activated in March 2022, according to data published by Eurostat on 11 August. The total rose by 24,380 (+0.6%) from the previous month.
The displacement is one dimension of the broader demographic damage that Russia's war is inflicting on Ukraine. The country's population has contracted from over 41 million before the full-scale invasion to roughly 31 million, driven by displacement, war casualties, and a fertility rate that has collapsed to among the lowest in the world. Only 23% of Ukrainian women refugees with children say they plan to return, even if the war ends.
The figure has been edging upward since mid-2023. It crossed 4 million in September 2023, reached 4.2 million by October 2024, and has now hit a new high. New decisions granting protection are now falling: EU countries issued 155,640 in the first quarter of 2026, down 17% from the previous quarter, and 2025's annual total was 14% below 2024's — even as the overall number of people already holding the status keeps rising.
The numbers suggest an accumulation effect: fewer people are leaving the system than are entering it. Cumulatively, EU countries have issued 7.1 million temporary protection decisions since March 2022, meaning roughly 2.7 million of those decisions are no longer active — as people returned to Ukraine, moved on, switched to other residence statuses, or were deregistered.
Ukrainian citizens accounted for over 98.5% of all beneficiaries. Adult women made up 43.4%, adult men 27%, and minors nearly a third (29.6%). The share of adult men has risen from 23% in October 2024, around the time Czech Interior Minister Lubomír Metnar's government pushed for the new military-compliance condition adopted by the Council in August.
The EU's temporary protection mechanism, activated in March 2022, has been renewed annually since. The most recent extension, a Council decision that took effect on 5 August, prolonged the framework to March 2028 while adding a new condition: Ukrainian men of military age applying for the first time must now prove they have met their mobilization obligations, including through Ukraine's Reserve+ app. The June data predates that rule, making it a baseline for measuring its impact.
Earlier, Zelensky says his forces struck Russia’s Novorossiysk naval base with drones, missiles and unmanned boats
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Ukrainian leader accused Russia of using Korean ballistic missiles to exploit shortages of American air defences
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First used in the 1991 Gulf War, the US Patriot air defence system has seen demand spike sharply this year

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Ukrainian warns Putin is poised to escalate the conflict as air defences run dry
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Ukraine said the attacks on key air defence systems would allow them to strike deeper into Russia

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Moscow denies Ukrainian claims that Kyiv’s forces are killing Russian troops faster than they are being recruited
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A ride from Tangier, the largest city in northern Morocco to the Spanish enclave of Ceuta takes less than two hours. The border crossing has its own, sleepier rhythm, quite different from the tourist-driven bustle of Tangier. In Ceuta, traders run their errands, Morocco-based expats make visa runs and Spanish people catch ferries to the mainland. On most days, the border crossing seems almost ordinary. The fences, though menacing and topped with razor wire, are less imposing up close and officers make small talk with the expats waiting to get their visas stamped.
Then there are those days when the routine collapses and Ceuta becomes the center of Europe’s migration debate.
The territory is a geographic and political paradox. Despite falling under Spain’s — and the European Union’s — jurisdiction, it sits on the northern edge of Africa, surrounded by Morocco and separated from the Spanish mainland by the Strait of Gibraltar. It is an entry point to Europe, yet not fully part of the Schengen zone, requiring additional immigration checks for travelers crossing to the mainland.
When more than 60,000 people — mostly Moroccan men and teenagers — rushed into Ceuta (almost doubling the coastal city’s population), the images reverberated across Europe. There seemed to be no dramatic buildup to the incident, nor any obvious explanation why thousands of people chose that day to make their way to Spain.
Europe’s far-right politicians seized the narrative, portraying the influx as an imminent invasion, warning that the men were on their way to “Calais” and “Germany.” Italy temporarily suspended the Schengen free movement regime with Spain, meaning travellers arriving by sea and air would now be subject to border checks. Spain threatened to take “proportional measures” in response and did so at midnight on August 8, when it imposed similar checks for visitors from Italy.
The standoff between European governments — led by socialist Pedro Sánchez in Spain and conservative Giorgia Meloni in Italy — is not simply a test for European border security. Instead, what transpired in Ceuta poses bigger questions about the shifting nature of state sovereignty itself: How are we to understand borders, if they’re shaped by forces beyond the state’s reach?
Borders are not just lines separating geographic entities. They are systems built on surveillance, diplomatic bargains and digital networks. Ceuta is the place where all three converge. Its borders, already protected by the sea, have been fortified with steel, outsourced through diplomacy and tested by coordinated rumors.
The crossings into the enclave are blocked by a multi-layered barrier of fences and wire. Morocco administers a fence separating it from the neutral area between the two countries. Two fences on the Spanish-controlled territory follow, creating an enclosure monitored by the Spanish Civil Guard. The physical infrastructure is reinforced with motion sensors, thermal and CCTV cameras, maritime communication systems and facial recognition technology.
Even the sea has now been incorporated into the border system. Just three days after the Ceuta border chaos, Spanish authorities installed a 500-metre floating barrier and anchored naval buoys to create another monitored enclosure.
The EU has funded most of the fortifications. The Border Violence Monitoring Network’s report says that since the construction of Ceuta’s border barrier in the 1990s, the EU has spent tens of millions of dollars to make the Spanish-Moroccan frontier more secure, technologically up-to-date and heavily surveilled. With the recent mass crossing, Spain will now receive additional emergency financial aid.
Yet, the architecture of physical surveillance, built and re-built with European money for decades, cannot prevent the human cost of attempting to cross a border. In Ceuta alone, at least 100 people died according to local authorities. “The rationale behind increasing surveillance is that you'll be able to save lives and smash the [people trafficking] gangs, right?” asked Nathan Akehurst, who has written about Ceuta’s border for Jacobin. “Where was that in this case?”
Akehurst’s question touches upon the human-centered rationale for heavy border surveillance. But there is also a political one. It is not only Spain, as a EU member, that receives funds to manage migration. Morocco has received €427 million since 2015, for migration-related expenses, including technology and training. That’s part of Europe’s wider strategy of border externalization, a practice where Europe moves border control beyond its own territory.
The practice has been around for decades, but went into overdrive after 2015, when approximately 1.3 million people, mostly from Syria, came to the continent seeking asylum. Many of them reached Europe through Turkey, prompting the EU to strike a deal with Ankara: €6 billion in funds, visa liberalization and EU-ascension negotiations in exchange for stricter border controls and curbing irregular arrivals to Greece. The EU also agreed to resettle within Europe one Syrian from Turkey for every Syrian returned to Turkey from Greece. But by 2020, when the EU failed to resettle Syrians, Turkey’s president Recep Tayyip Erdoğan declared he would no longer prevent migrants from crossing Turkey en route to the EU.
“Border externalization is basically paying other countries, but also subjecting them, through a carrot and stick approach, to performing functions that are usually performed by a state itself at their borders,” explained Josephine Solanki from the Transnational Institute, an Amsterdam-based think tank. It leaves space for leaders like Erdoğan, Solanki added, to bargain for influence by turning migrants “into political leverage.”
The cost of outsourcing borders is not just material. It is measured in control that Europe cedes to the foreign governments it relies on for migration policy enforcement.

In Ceuta, migrants claimed local authorities did not stop them from crossing the border. A young Moroccan man told the New York Times a day after the event: “They opened the border and let everyone go by.”
Border outsourcing agreements were made, among others, with authoritarian regimes in Tunisia, Egypt and Libya, where EU funds were used to detain migrants and quell domestic protests, rights organizations say. Alliances with “deeply unreliable and authoritarian actors” in the name of stability, said Nathan Akehurst, “is short-termist, insane and loses Europe any credibility it has left.” These alliances also allow Europe to “shift the blame to the Moroccans, the Eastern Libyans, the Turkish or whoever decides to take advantage of that moment.”
It is yet to be revealed who, if anyone, has taken advantage of the mass crossing into Ceuta. Local and international media have uncovered now-deleted posts that shared tips on routes and equipment for the journey. One of the main networks was called Hrig Sebta network — “Sebta” being the Arabic name of Ceuta and “hrig” being the Maghrebi term for undocumented migrants, literally referencing the burning of identity papers.
In the wake of Ceuta, European ministers pledged to tackle online misinformation to avoid migration crises, but remained cautious when asked about thousands of posts reportedly linked to Russia. Other theories attributed the crossing to Morocco’s tensions with Spain over its closer ties with Algeria, or to Spain’s position on Palestine.
But those rumors, and what appears to be a weeks-long coordinated online campaign behind them, reveal something deeply human that fences can’t deter: movement that is spurred by hopes for a better life.
“[The crossing] would have happened anyway at some point,“ Akehurst argues. “There would have been a crossing because all of the circumstances that generate that are already there before someone with a twitter account throws a match on the fire.”
Yet, let’s pause at the match. It’s not about someone with a social media profile creating chain messages. It is about the ecosystem that can jeopardize borders by creating information flows, turning rumors into perceived opportunities.
Moroccan newspaper TeleQuel already published a report about social media posts amplifying the next hrig — another attempted crossing into Ceuta — on August 15.
When packaged to a hungry audience, rumors carry the currency of truth. They’ve driven migration long before social media was even conceptualized. Now those rumors speed through digital space owned and operated by private companies not prone to accountability and sitting well outside the reach of any single state.
And the EU has understood that for years. “It is necessary to structure the information space, as we have organized in the past the territorial space, the maritime space and the air space,” Thierry Breton, the European Commissioner for Internal Market of the EU said back in 2018. He warned about Big Tech companies treating digital space as a no-man’s-land that they would write rules for.
The no man’s land between Morocco and Spain appears calmer now. But the turmoil of the crossing revealed a new, digital dimension to border governance. Information has always found a way to spread; digital platforms have given it new channels: ones which allow those behind the information to remain faceless, while the information itself passes from screen to screen. It reaches a boiling point, spills over from the digital space and then can be disappeared, even before anyone has had a moment to scroll back.
Sara Kontar
Nadia Beard
Zach Campbell
Lorenzo D'Agostino
The post The manufactured crisis of Ceuta appeared first on Coda Story.

Ukrainian drone attack hits targets over 600 miles deep inside Russia, killing 13 people

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Ukraine and Russia accused each other of deadly attacks on Sunday
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Ukrainian President says Ukraine has hit two more oil facilities deep inside Russia

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The drone incident was framed as the latest in a series of hybrid attacks across Europe

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Lithuania also fears Putin may be planning a ‘false flag’ strike on the Baltics

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Kyiv says that Ukraine has been supplied with a third of the air defence missiles it was given in 2025
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Kyiv said it does not target civilians but is ramping up long-range strikes

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North Korean missiles are bigger than Russia’s
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Warehouses in several parts of Ukraine under attack overnight as Russia pounds Kyiv and surrounding regions

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Kyiv has not yet acknowledged killing Russian civilians on a Black Sea beach, but as it strikes deeper at Moscow, these tragedies will multiply – and that’s not the only worry, explains world affairs editor Sam Kiley

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Ukraine’s foreign minister branded the drone’s pilot as a ‘sadist’ and accused them of knowingly targeting a civilian

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Soldier killed four people and injured three in apparent random rampage in Russian-occupied Crimea

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Ukraine’s foreign minister said the attack formed part of a deliberate Russian campaign to intimidate civilians.
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Officials said 40 people were injured in the attack on a holiday resort

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More than 300 drones hit Russian cities and warehouses in overnight attacks, says its defence ministry
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The war has upended normal life for hundreds of thousands of Ukrainian children, with many seeing their homes destroyed. The No Sirens camp, run by Hope for Ukraine, tells Alex Croft that they aim to help restore the joy of childhood that has been lost

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En quelques jours, plus de 1 500 personnes – dont plusieurs centaines hier – sont arrivées par la mer en provenance du Maroc dans l’enclave espagnole de Ceuta.
Les corps de neuf personnes qui avaient tenté de rejoindre la rive à la nage ont été repêchés.
Le gouvernement espagnol a déployé des militaires.
Ceuta, située à la pointe nord du Maroc, est l’une des deux enclaves espagnoles en Afrique du Nord.
[L'article Au moins neuf personnes sont mortes lors d’une arrivée massive de migrants en Espagne a d'abord été publié dans InfoBref.]
At least 20 Wildberries warehouses have been attacked since July 18
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In the flatlands of Italy’s Po Valley, the decommissioned Caorso nuclear power plant can be seen for miles, the reactor looming into the sky. When Alessandro Maffini, now an assistant professor at the Polytechnic University of Milan, was growing up in the 1990s, the plant's distant silhouette captured his imagination. “The physical presence of that thing was so significant to me as a child. It was a very visible, tangible, concrete presence,” Maffini remembers. “It was like a white Duomo, there on the horizon, always in the background.” For many others, though, it was a specter of disaster, a ghost nuclear plant — shuttered, alongside all of Italy’s nuclear power stations, in the wake of the Chernobyl accident.
“If that plant explodes, we’re all dead,” Maffini’s mother used to intone, looking out at the defunct Caorso station, once the largest in Italy. As Maffini rode his bike six miles across the countryside to get a closer look at the plant from a nearby overpass, his mother’s doom-laden words rang in his ears. Her warning scared him. It also made him want to learn more. When he left home to go to university, Maffini decided to work in nuclear physics. “Radioactivity is a strange thing,” he says. “You can’t see it, you can't hear it, you can't smell it. It leaves a lot of room for imagination, for speculation, for fear.”
Four decades on from Chernobyl, and Italy has some of the highest energy bills in Europe. The country is scrambling to disentangle itself from its dependence on Russian gas in the wake of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, and build out its energy sovereignty. War in Iran, and a growing European consensus that turning away from nuclear power was, in the words of European Commission president Ursula von der Leyen, a “strategic mistake,” has given more impetus to the Italian government’s argument that the country needs to move past its qualms.
Last year, the Italian cabinet approved a new draft law reintroducing the prospect of returning to nuclear power. “The government has approved another important measure to ensure clean, safe, low-cost energy that can guarantee energy security and strategic independence,” the Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni announced.
Italy is already surrounded on all sides by nuclear power plants: Slovenia’s Krsko plant is 90 miles away from the border, and there are four French nuclear power plants within 110 miles. Italy is the world’s second-largest importer of electricity, with nuclear power, largely imported from France, making up 5% of its energy basket. Italy also plays host to more U.S. nuclear warheads than any other European country. An estimated 35 thermonuclear gravity bombs are stored at two NATO airbases in northern Italy, according to the Nuclear Threat Initiative.
Now, as data centers spring up in Italy’s industrial north, the country’s energy needs are expected to increase exponentially and the government is turning, albeit cautiously, to a long-held Italian taboo. Since the spring of 1986, when the most serious accident in nuclear history unfolded in Unit 4 of the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant in northern Ukraine, the Italian population has lived in fear of nuclear energy. It voted to shutter its once-burgeoning nuclear industry in 1987, and in 2011, after the Fukushima nuclear accident, when 94% of voters rejected government plans to revive the industry.
It is a fear that has transformed Italy’s energy fortunes, making it reliant on imports and vulnerable to volatility and price shocks.




“The international crises of recent years have clearly demonstrated the risk of excessive dependence on imported fossil fuels or vulnerable supply chains,” said Fiorella Corrado, communications chief at Italy’s environment and energy ministry. “The government approaches this issue with great respect for the country's history and the democratic choices expressed by citizens. The 1987 and 2011 referendums profoundly impacted the national energy strategy at very different historical moments. Precisely for this reason, the point is not to ignore those choices, but to acknowledge that today's technological, climatic, industrial, and geopolitical context has radically changed.”
For Meloni’s government, the argument is not so much whether Italy needs to revive its nuclear industry, it’s whether the country is ready to shake its demons, to shake the cultural memory of what happened at Chernobyl forty years ago, a thousand miles away from Rome.
In the early hours of April 28, 1986, in the control room of the Latina nuclear power plant south of Rome, a young technician called Ruggero Dell’Aquila was working the night shift. “Everything was perfectly quiet,” he recalled. As morning broke, teletype messages from Northern Europe began to rattle in. A clerk came down from the control room with reports from the Forsmark Nuclear Power Plant in Sweden. Their monitoring stations were registering radiation spikes far above background levels, and no one knew why.

That evening, nuclear physicist Sergio Malossi, a director at the Latina plant responsible for monitoring radioactive risk, drove home. His mind was turning over what the clerks had been reporting. “He came in extremely agitated,” remembers his daughter, Roberta Malossi, who was 16 at the time. “We knew he was worried about something going wrong at the facility, but we didn’t understand.” Malossi says that her father’s first paranoid thought was that there had been a malfunction in his own plant, that radiation was leaching into the air, and that it was somehow his fault.
At 9 p.m. Moscow time — aperitivo hour in Latina — the Soviet Union announced there had been an accident at the Chernobyl nuclear plant. In the ensuing days, Italian news was full of dire warnings.

“Television was showing these clouds that would soon reach Italy. Everyone was terrified. The only information we got was from state TV, and the news was shocking,” said Monica Tommasi, President of Friends of the Earth Italy, who was a child at the time. Radiation, the news said, would rain down on the population. “The fear from the sky,” ran one La Repubblica headline. “The cloud above us, the doubt within us,” ran another.
On the night of April 30, 1986, Italy’s nuclear monitoring stations began recording increases in radioactivity. The cloud moved over the Valley of the Po, and while the government called for calm, the country began to descend into panic. In the minds of the Italian people, the worst had happened, explained Luca Romano, a writer and activist campaigning for the return of nuclear power in Italy. “Nuclear annihilation, death by radiation, the radioactive cloud and the nuclear holocaust, had arrived,” he said. Nuclear armageddon was a fear that had gripped the West for decades. This was not a nuclear war, but in the Italian collective consciousness, that didn’t make a difference.
The reality was, says Barbara Curli, Professor of Contemporary History at the University of Turin, that “Italy was only marginally affected by the cloud.”
The cloud in northern Italy meant radioactivity levels peaked briefly, but ten days later they had fallen dramatically back down. Because this spike was short-lived, the total radiation exposure remained low. A United Nations committee report recorded that northern Italy received an additional radiation dose of about 380 microsieverts in the year following Chernobyl — less than a fifth of the normal background radiation humans absorb in a year; equivalent to taking about six transatlantic flights. It was much smaller than the doses received by neighboring countries like Bulgaria, Austria and Greece, and in the south of Italy the dose was lower still.

Down by the Latina power plant, though, the community was shaken by events in Chernobyl, and rumors and misinformation began to spread about the fallout. The friends and family of the technician, Ruggero Dell’Aquila, started asking him if a Chernobyl-style disaster could happen at Latina, too. “Everyone was afraid, asking — ‘can it explode, can it explode?’” he recalled.
The reality was, a Chernobyl-style explosion was not possible at Latina, because its reactor lacked the unstable characteristics of the Soviet design. But this was not such an easy concept to explain.
“The problem was that a slew of journalists took over, telling lies,” Malossi said, recalling paranoid rumours about radioactivity causing mutations in nature. People started telling stories, Malossi said, about “frogs with three heads, animals and fish with four tails. Strange things. When in fact absolutely nothing like that was happening.”
The government advised people to avoid fresh vegetables and dairy products, particularly for children. Farmers destroyed crops and poured away milk. Sergio Malossi ignored the warnings, having measured radiation levels in the air himself. “My father and others from the plant brought the vegetables home and we ate them,” his daughter recalled.
It was these warnings — delivered amid a lack of clear information — that shifted public attitudes toward nuclear energy, said Renzo Colombo, 65, who was just beginning a career in nuclear engineering when the explosion happened. Now a member of Nucleare e Ragione, a nonprofit that promotes a rational approach to nuclear energy in Italy, he recalls how quickly fear took hold. “A real phobia was born, a panic about radioactivity,” he said. “And this panic marked the next 25 years.”
The months after the accident were a shadowy, uncertain period for Italians working in the nuclear industry. “I have to be honest, I felt a little guilty,” said Colombo. “As a nuclear engineer, I thought ‘what have we done?’ My colleagues and I always thought we were designing something useful for humanity. And at that moment we felt betrayed by our own profession.”

Outside Italy’s nuclear plants, crowds began to gather. A coalition of environmental groups and political parties started pushing for people to vote against nuclear power in an upcoming referendum.
This movement was not new. “Many years before Chernobyl, an environmentalist culture was born — and it didn’t just concern nuclear power, but risky industry in general,” explained Curli, the Turin historian. The anti-nuclear environmental movement, which spread across Europe in the 1970s, was particularly potent in Italy — a country rocked by violent political turmoil, organized crime, and corruption scandals. Public fears, explained Curli, were sharpened by the Seveso disaster, an accident at an industrial plant in the north of Italy in 1976 that exposed tens of thousands of people to a toxic cloud of chemicals. Nuclear power, she said, “was not perceived by public opinion as a credible policy because there's this underlying distrust in institutions.”

In 1977, almost a decade before Chernobyl, a 10,000-strong crowd of protesters showed up at Montalto di Castro, to protest against a large new nuclear plant that was planned. A Time magazine correspondent described the activists as “an improbable mix of elegant members of the Italian nobility, radical students in American Indian garb, middle-class citizens and Christian Democratic and Communist politicians.”



In the wake of Chernobyl, Renzo Colombo was working at that very same plant, helping to build the thermohydraulic cycle. By then, the station was nearly complete. “It was a beautiful plant,” Colombo said. “I loved working there.”
In November 1987, 18 months after the Chernobyl accident, the Italian government held a referendum on nuclear energy. Nearly 80% of Italians voted in favor of measures that would end the country’s use of atomic energy.
One morning, following the referendum, the Montalto di Castro plant’s director called the workers to a meeting. Colombo remembers him saying: “‘Ragazzi, gather round, I need to talk to you. I’ve just been to the ministry, and Italy has decided that we are closing all nuclear activity and will focus on coal and gas instead.’” The room went silent. “I was young,” said Colombo. “But there were people there who were older and had devoted years of their life to the nuclear field. There was just this urge to cry.”
The effect of the referendum was all-encompassing: construction was halted, and over the next three years Italy’s nuclear plants were shut down for good; its nuclear engineers scattered — many going to work abroad, or, like Colombo, re-training to work in other industries.
It was hailed as a victory for Italian environmentalism, says Curli. But the result was that there was a push to “gasify” Italy. That is, she says, “to choose the gas route — less expensive, and less demanding than nuclear power. But this made Italy almost completely dependent on Russian gas, Libyan gas, Algerian gas.” The Montalto di Castro site was converted into a fossil-fuel powered plant, running on gas and fuel oil.
Decades on from that post-Chernobyl referendum — and a second referendum in the wake of the Fukushima nuclear accident in 2011 — Italy remains in the process of dismantling its nuclear power stations, even as it now contemplates a return to nuclear power.
Watching them work is Enrico Bastianini, director of operations at the Latina plant. As I walk with Bastianini through the plant, we come to the old control room. When it first opened in 1963, the Latina plant was the largest nuclear power station in Europe — a feat of Italian and British engineering (the reactor was of UK design) and a symbol of Italy’s post-war industrial growth.
“We were emerging from the destruction of the war, and this was progress. And it was what allowed us to escape the economic hardships of war, and have low-cost energy,” Bastianini says.
Now, over 60 years on from when the plant opened, more than half of its existence has been spent being taken apart. Critics of nuclear power often focus on precisely this point: the long and complex process of dismantling nuclear plants, and the problem of managing radioactive waste, some of which takes millennia to decay.
There are two phases to the process of taking apart the plant. “The first phase allows us to dismantle everything that’s nuclear except the reactor. That’s because the reactor contains a huge amount of graphite,” Bastianini explains. “When we have a national repository, it can be removed. But for now, it’s safest if it stays in the first phase.”
Bastianini leads me into a deposit room where radioactive material is being stored in steel containers, inside an earthquake-resistant facility. These containers are only for temporary storage.
There were attempts in the early 2000s to establish a national nuclear waste repository at a salt mine in Basilicata in southern Italy, but huge protests forced the government to abandon its plans. Today, SOGIN, the state-owned Italian company in charge of decommissioning nuclear sites, is still actively searching for a suitable location for a permanent repository and faces considerable opposition.
Rumours and anxiety swirl around the Latina plant itself — just as they did in the 1980s, when Malossi heard stories of radioactive fish with four tails. Last April, an article by the Italian magazine L’Espresso published claims that the Latina plant could leach radioactive material into the soil. The plant vigorously denies these claims — a spokesperson for SOGIN said the company periodically checks the quality of vegetables, milk and fodder as well as air, soil and groundwater for radiation and that “as always, the results of the analyses confirm radiologically negligible environmental impacts.”


In the gloaming of a summer evening in Umbria, Monica Tommasi drives me through the twilight-darkened hills surrounding the medieval city of Orvieto. This land is rich in archeological and ecological heritage — filled with ancient tunnels, Etruscan caves, untapped archeological sites, wild places where wolves and boar roam. Tommasi is the President of Amici Della Terra — "Friends of the Earth" in Italian — an organization that was once the Italian chapter of the international Friends of the Earth network before breaking away in 2014. "We left, because we argued a lot," she said of the split, describing how the network "wanted to put turbines and panels everywhere, and we couldn't be in favour of that approach."
The International Friends of the Earth association was born from the anti-nuclear movement in America, where the group successfully lobbied to shut down two reactors, and has since 1969 made anti-nuclear campaigning a core part of its identity.
But Tommasi remembers precisely when she first began to reconsider nuclear power. “I started thinking about it in 2011, when I began to see that the government was investing heavily in solar and wind power, which would invade and industrialize the natural landscape,” she recalled. Many of these green transition projects have been fraught with problems in Italy — wind farm companies accused of corruption and profiteering, of erecting wind farms in areas where there’s little wind, and laying waste to nature.
For the first time, Tommasi began to think about ways to decarbonize “that don’t destroy the environment where people live and the landscape around them.”. She became intrigued by the nuclear option. “We needed to start reasoning and changing our minds,” she said.
Tommasi now advocates for a national conversation about nuclear power. “This choice must be accompanied by a public debate,” she told me, “but it isn’t happening because everyone is still afraid.”
“The future of Italy's energy sector must lie in nuclear,” she said, adding that if Italy was to continue pursuing solar and wind energy alone, “it means destroying all the natural areas that are still left.”
I asked the government to respond to allegations about how criminality, speculation and land-grabs in the renewable energy sector might be affecting Italians’ opinions on nuclear power.
“We do not believe it is appropriate to frame the energy debate by ideologically pitting nuclear power against renewables, nor should we use any administrative or criminal issues in certain sectors to discredit a technology as a whole,” said Fiorella Corrado, communications chief at Italy’s environment and energy ministry. “Nuclear power is not an alternative to renewables, but their best ally,” she said.

On a warm autumn day in Rome, several thousand people gathered for an annual “climate pride” march. They brandished homemade cardboard wind turbines that spun in the breeze. Vincenzo Migliucci, 83, was among them. He worked for more than three decades for ENEL, Italy’s energy corporation, and he’s been anti-nuclear for much of his life. After the Chernobyl accident, he protested outside the nuclear plant under construction in Montalto di Castro almost every day, picketing the workers as they went through the gates.
“The wrath of God happened,” he said, referring to Chernobyl. “And when a true estimate is made, we’ll one day see how many disasters Chernobyl caused.”
Migliucci is against nuclear power plants of all types — arguing for solar panels instead — and is particularly concerned about what happens to the plants after they become obsolete and must, like the Latina plant, be slowly dismantled over decades. “The decommissioning costs a fortune; the nuclear waste repositories cost a fortune,” he said.

Insights from the Coda newsroom on the global forces that shape local crises.
He began telling me some of the stories that surround Italy’s shuttered nuclear plants. “Near the Garigliano power plant,” he told me, “a child was born with only one eye.” His own eyes widened as he pressed a finger into the middle of my forehead. “Sheep and cattle,” he said, “were born with six legs, or entirely red in colour. It’s not a myth, it’s real.”
Younger generations of Italians don’t have the same collective impressions around nuclear power, nor around Chernobyl or its aftermath, explained Luca Romano, a young pro-nuclear influencer with a quarter of a million followers on Instagram. Romano makes videos with his partner, Luiza Munteanu, about the advantages of nuclear power. The main problem he runs up against, he says, is that “we have a very low scientific literacy, the level of debate is abysmal.” And culturally, he adds, “Italy has always been a country that looks backwards rather than forwards.”
In May, the director general of the International Atomic Energy Agency visited Italy’s Lombardy region, and signed a Memorandum of Understanding with the governor to cooperate on applying nuclear science for development across the region. The choice of Lombardy was significant. It is home to Milan, and is at the heart of Italy’s digital infrastructure. Speckled with no fewer than 60 data centers, with more cropping up, Lombardy has opened itself up to Silicon Valley. Microsoft is investing billions in the area to boost its AI and cloud computing infrastructure. Amazon Web Services has committed to spending over $1 billion to expand its data center operations around Milan.
How northern Italy’s growing AI infrastructure will be powered, though, is still a problem to be solved — one that cuts to the heart of Italy’s energy dependence. Since Giorgia Meloni became prime minister in October 2022 — which coincided with the launch of ChatGPT a month later — the Italian government has been broaching the topic of nuclear power as essential to Italy's energy future. “World population and economic growth will significantly increase energy demand,” Meloni said at a sustainability summit in Abu Dhabi. “Not least due to the growing requirements arising from the development of generative artificial intelligence.”
Artificial intelligence is a “highly relevant topic,” said Corrado, the communications chief at Italy’s environment and energy ministry. “As more things run on electricity, the economy goes digital, and data centers and AI expand, demand for steady, low-emissions power will rise. Nuclear energy can help as a reliable, controllable source that works alongside renewables.”
In August, it emerged that the government had set aside €7.5 million purely for pro-nuclear communication and information campaigns directed at regions where new plants may be built. One focus of the Meloni administration is on the prospect of building small modular reactors, sometimes called “mini nukes.” They are compact fission plants, a fraction of the size of the traditional, cathedral-like nuclear power stations. They have a smaller core, and proponents argue their safety features mean there’s minimal chance of an epic, Chernobyl-scale nuclear disaster, something the government is keen to get across to voters.
Currently, only China and Russia have these small reactors up and running, but mini nuclear plants have attracted significant attention in Silicon Valley. OpenAI’s Sam Altman was chairman of Oklo, a nuclear startup focused on SMRs, while U.S. nuclear startup Kairos has signed an agreement with Google to develop these reactors to power its data centers. This month, the European Commission unveiled a strategy for rolling out small modular reactors and bringing them “online” by the 2030s.
Soon, Italy may take the first steps towards the reconstruction of a nuclear industry that has been abandoned for decades. “I believe it won't be easy to relaunch nuclear energy,” said Barbara Curli, the Turin historian. “Knowing a little about the history of nuclear power in Italy and its political dimension, I'd be quite skeptical about the possibility of relaunching nuclear power here in Italy — but let’s see.”
A little under 1,500 miles away, in the Chernobyl exclusion zone, among wild boar, birds, and deer, radiation levels in some areas have dipped below around 0.3 microsieverts per hour, lower than background radiation levels in many European cities. Not least the eternal city of Rome.
As the U.S.-Israel war against Iran enters its second month, strikes on nuclear facilities have raised the stakes of an already catastrophic conflict. The WHO is now openly preparing for a nuclear incident it hopes will never come. Whether or not this escalates further, the fear already has a life of its own.
That is something we follow closely at Coda: how fear settles into collective memory and shapes policy long after the original crisis has passed, or even when the disaster people dreaded never fully arrived.
Isobel Cockerell takes us to Italy, one of the only industrialized nations to have dismantled its entire nuclear energy program after Chernobyl, despite being barely touched by the fallout.
This story is about nuclear power, but it is also about how fear can shape the world more than the event that caused it.
Victoria Jensen
Sarah Scoles
Jonathan Brown
Benas Gerdziunas
The post How Italy’s Chernobyl ghosts might stop a new atomic age appeared first on Coda Story.


In anticipation of a potential war with Russia, the port of Rotterdam in the Netherlands has begun reserving space for NATO ships carrying military cargo and is mapping out logistics routes for weapons transfers, the Financial Times reported on July 8.
The decision comes as NATO allies increasingly warn of the risk of a large-scale war with Russia within five years. Rotterdam has previously handled weapons shipments, but this marks the first time that it will designate a special berth for military use.
Part of the container terminal will be repurposed to ensure the safe transfer of ammunition and other equipment between vessels. Military supply logistics will be coordinated with the port of Antwerp in neighboring Belgium.
"We see each other less and less as competitors," Boudewijn Siemons, Chief Executive of the Port of Rotterdam Authority, said, referring to the port of Antwerp.
"If large volumes of military goods would have to be shipped, we'd look to Antwerp or other ports to take over some capacity and the other way around."
Siemons added that not all terminals are equipped to handle military-grade cargo, making the logistical coordination crucial, particularly for shipments from the U.S., U.K., and Canada.
In May, the Dutch Defense Ministry confirmed that space would be allocated for military supplies at NATO's request. The move is part of broader efforts by European allies to reduce dependence on the U.S. for defense logistics.
Russia's military spending has surged amid its full-scale invasion of Ukraine. According to the International Institute for Strategic Studies, Moscow's 2024 defense budget rose by 42% in real terms, reaching $462 billion, surpassing the combined total of all European countries.
NATO Secretary General Mark Rutte said on July 5 that a Chinese military move against Taiwan could prompt Beijing to encourage Russia to open a second front against NATO states.
Rutte has repeatedly warned that Russia could rebuild its military capabilities fast enough to pose a direct threat to NATO territory, urging allied governments to act swiftly and decisively.



Moldova's Victory bloc, a pro-Russian political alliance, plans to participating in the country's September parliamentary elections, the bloc's founder Ilan Shor announced on July 6.
Shor, an exiled pro-Kremlin oligarch, established the Victory bloc in August 2024. The bloc includes his own Shor party, which is banned in Moldova.
Victory will submit documents in the coming days registering the bloc for participation in the September vote, Shor said.
"Our main goal in these elections is to overthrow the fascist regime and hold early democratic elections within the next six months," Shor said.
The candidate list will be headed by Evghenia Gutul, the head of Moldova's Gagauzia region, who is currently on trial for illegally funding the banned Shor party. Gutul maintains ties to Moscow and is currently under U.S. sanctions.
The upcoming September elections carry high stakes for Moldova, one of the pooerest countries in Europe. Moldovan President Maia Sandu said on July 4 that Chisinau's European path rests on the outcome of the vote.
European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen pledged on July 4 that the European Union will help Moldova defend itself against hybrid threats by "agents of autocracy" as elections approach.
Moldova was granted EU candidate status in 2022. Sandu's ruling Party of Action and Solidarity aims to maintain its parliamentary majority and move the country closer to full membership by 2030.



Editor's Note: This story has been updated with additional details from Ukraine's Foreign Ministry.
A bus carrying Ukrainian children veered off the road and overturned on a Hungarian highway on July 6, leaving 21 people injured, Ukraine's embassy in Hungary reported.
The accident occurred at around 5 a.m. local time between the settlements of Kunszentmarton and Tiszafoldvar. According to preliminary information, the driver lost control of the bus and veered off the road into a ditch. Further details as to the cause of the crash have not yet been determined.
The bus was carrying a children's ensemble from the Ukrainian city of Lviv to Ohrid in North Macedonia for a dance festival. There were 77 people aboard at the time of the accident, including two drivers, chaperones, and ensemble members.
Twenty-one people were injured, with four of them reported to be in serious condition. Two of the seriously injured victims are teenagers (ages 14 and 18) while the other two are adults (ages 67 and 71). Four more children suffered moderate injuries, while the remaining victims suffered minor injuries.
No one was killed, according to the embassy's statement.
The victims were transferred to hospitals in the towns of Szolnok, Kecskemetre, and Szentes.
Rescuers are working at the crash site, along with Ukrainian Ambassador Fegyir Sandor and consuls assisting Ukrainian citizens.
The rest of the passengers are staying temporarily at the Kunszentmarton Cultural Center, where they have been provided food and a place to rest. Those suffering moderate and mild injuries will join the main group at this location.
The bus carrier is reportedly taking measures to prevent additional accidents.



European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen pledged on July 4 that the European Union will help Moldova defend itself against hybrid threats by "agents of autocracy."
"We are committed to protecting you against the hybrid attacks and the energy shocks that your country has been a victim of," von der Leyen said following the EU-Moldova summit in Chisinau.
"Who is behind those attacks is clear to all of us here. These are the same agents of autocracy trying to undermine our democracies everywhere in Europe."
Von der Leyen praised Moldova's support for Ukraine and the EU, noting its acceptance of hundreds of thousands of Ukrainian refugees and its assistance with European wildfire response efforts.
The visit was made in show of solidarity with Moldova, one of Europe's poorest countries, as it prepares for high-stakes parliamentary elections on Sept. 28.
The pro-European government of President Maia Sandu faces a challenge from the pro-Russian Socialist Party, amid growing fears of destabilization ahead of the vote.
Sandu has accused Russia of using its military presence in Moldova's Russian-occupied Transnistria region to stir unrest and derail the country's EU aspirations. On June 12, she warned that Moscow could provoke a crisis in Transnistria to influence the election outcome.
Transnistria has been under Russian-backed separatist control since the early 1990s, with approximately 1,000 to 1,500 Russian troops still stationed in the region.
On June 11, Transnistrian authorities declared a 30-day state of emergency after a sharp drop in natural gas supplies. The unrecognized region has faced mounting energy shortages since January, when Russian energy giant Gazprom halted deliveries in what many see as an attempt to destabilize the situation in Moldova.
Moldova was granted EU candidate status in 2022. Sandu's ruling Party of Action and Solidarity aims to maintain its parliamentary majority and move the country closer to full membership by 2030.
Moldovan Prime Minister Dorin Recean earlier told the Financial Times that Russia plans to send 10,000 troops to Transnistria and establish a pro-Kremlin government in Moldova.



U.S. Air Force General Alexus G. Grynkewich assumed command as the 21st Supreme Allied Commander Europe (SACEUR) on July 4 during a ceremony at Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe.
NATO Secretary General Mark Rutte presided over the handover, commending outgoing U.S. Army General Christopher G. Cavoli for his contributions to modernizing NATO's collective defense and bolstering support for Ukraine.
Rutte highlighted Cavoli's efforts to strengthen NATO’s presence in the Baltic Sea in response to threats to critical undersea infrastructure and credited him with conceiving and establishing NATO’s new command in Germany to enhance assistance to Ukraine. He also noted Cavoli's role in refocusing the Alliance on collective defense following the 2022 Madrid Summit, where NATO adopted a new Strategic Concept in response to Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine.
Cavoli played a central role in developing and securing approval for NATO’s regional defense plans at the 2023 Vilnius Summit—a significant overhaul of the Alliance’s military posture since the Cold War.
His tenure also included the integration of Finland and Sweden into NATO’s military structures, expanding the Alliance’s strategic reach. In 2024, Cavoli oversaw "Steadfast Defender," NATO’s largest military exercise since the Cold War, involving approximately 90,000 troops practicing large-scale reinforcement across the eastern flank and validating a new high-readiness force model.
Rutte specifically acknowledged Cavoli's leadership in rapidly reinforcing NATO's Baltic Sea presence during threats to underwater infrastructure and for establishing the NATO Security Assistance and Training for Ukraine (NSATU), which continues to support Ukraine.
The secretary general welcomed General Grynkewich, noting that, as a former fighter pilot, he brings "a deep understanding of the threats we face from the skies, and across other domains." Rutte added that Grynkewich’s recent role as Director of Operations of the Joint Staff provides him with broad experience in advancing military and security priorities amid global challenges.
Allied Command Operations—responsible for planning and executing all NATO operations—now falls under General Grynkewich's command, a position first held by General Dwight D. Eisenhower.



Germany is weighing a massive defense procurement plan worth up to 25 billion euros ($29.4 billion) to supply thousands of combat vehicles for NATO's expanding force structure, Bloomberg reported on July 4, citing unnamed sources familiar with the matter.
The proposed purchases are part of a broader pan-European effort to boost deterrence against Russia, as Western leaders warn of the growing risk of a large-scale war within five years.
Berlin is reportedly considering purchasing up to 2,500 GTK Boxer armored vehicles and up to 1,000 Leopard 2 battle tanks. The purchase would equip up to seven new brigades that Germany has pledged to form under NATO's force generation plans for the next decade.
The Leopard 2 tanks are produced by KNDS Deutschland and Rheinmetall, while the Boxer is made by ARTEC, a joint venture of the same companies. Leopard 2 tanks have been supplied to Ukraine and tested in combat.
Final pricing and quantities are still under negotiation, and the projected cost could fall below 25 billion euros ($29.4 billion) depending on procurement timelines and contract terms.
German Defense Minister Boris Pistorius and top Bundeswehr officials are reviewing the plans, with legislative approval expected by the end of the year, Bloomberg reported.
Germany has faced pressure from NATO and Washington to meet its alliance commitments, including the newly adopted pledge to spend at least 5% of GDP on defense by 2035.
The initiative, endorsed on June 25 at the NATO summit, reflects concern over Russia's wartime economy, military buildup, and destabilization efforts across Europe.


Kyiv and Copenhagen signed a landmark agreement on July 4 that allows Ukrainian defense companies to open production facilities in Denmark, Strategic Industries Minister Herman Smetanin announced.
"This is a unique case of international cooperation for the Ukrainian defense industry," Smetanin wrote on Facebook, following the signing ceremony in Copenhagen alongside Danish Industry Minister Morten Bodskov.
The deal marks the first time Ukrainian defense technologies will be exported abroad specifically for supply to Ukraine's own Armed Forces, he said.
A year ago, Denmark became the first country to fund weapons production by Ukrainian manufacturers. Now, it has become the first to host Ukrainian arms production lines on its territory, Smetanin added.
"Today, it has become the first country to which Ukraine exports its own defense technologies for production, scaling, and supply to the Ukrainian army," he said.
The agreement is part of Ukraine's broader effort to internationalize its defense production. President Volodymyr Zelensky announced on June 21 that Kyiv would soon begin exporting defense technologies and opening weapons production lines in partner countries.
To scale up domestic and international production, Zelensky has called on foreign partners to finance new projects and match Ukraine's rapidly growing manufacturing capacity.
Denmark has been a key backer of Ukraine since the start of Russia's full-scale invasion in 2022. In February 2024, Copenhagen signed a 10-year bilateral security agreement with Kyiv, pledging long-term defense cooperation until Ukraine secures NATO membership.



The Trump administration's decision to halt deliveries of key military aid to Ukraine has caught European partners off guard and prompted urgent requests for clarification, Bloomberg reported on July 2, citing unnamed sources.
The pause affects the delivery of several weapons critical to Ukraine's defense, including Patriot air defense missiles, precision-guided artillery shells, Hellfire missiles, and munitions for F-16 fighter jets.
The White House confirmed the hold, describing it as part of a broader reassessment of U.S. military stockpiles. Since U.S. President Donald Trump took office in January, the U.S. has not approved any new military aid packages for Ukraine.
According to Bloomberg, some European allies hope the Trump administration will soften or reverse the decision. The timing of the pause has raised particular concern as Ukraine faces one of the most intense waves of Russian missile and drone attacks since the start of the war.
In his evening address on July 2, President Volodymyr Zelensky said Ukrainian and U.S. officials are working through the aid issue at a "working level," including discussions on critical air defense support.
Ukraine's Defense Ministry said it has not received any formal notification of delays or cancellations but has requested urgent consultations with U.S. defense officials.
The Foreign Ministry also summoned U.S. Charge d'Affaires John Ginkel, warning that "any hesitation" in military support would encourage further Russian aggression.
The Kremlin welcomed the decision, with spokesperson Dmitry Peskov saying, "The fewer weapons that are supplied to Ukraine, the closer the end of the (war)."
NATO Secretary General Mark Rutte expressed understanding of Washington's desire to safeguard its stockpiles but said that "Ukraine cannot do without all the support it can get."
U.S. Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth previously signaled a shift in policy, indicating that future defense budgets would prioritize domestic needs over military support for Ukraine.



President Volodymyr Zelensky said on July 1 that he had signed the ratification documents establishing the Special Tribunal for the Crime of Aggression against Ukraine, marking a major step toward prosecuting Russia's leadership.
Ukraine and the Council of Europe signed the agreement establishing the Special Tribunal on June 25 during a ceremony in Strasbourg. Zelensky and Council of Europe Secretary General Alain Berset signed it after more than three years of advocacy and diplomacy.
"The agreement must now be swiftly ratified so that the process of creating the tribunal can begin," Zelensky said in a statement. He also instructed Ukraine's government to urgently submit necessary legislative changes to parliament to ensure Kyiv's full implementation of the agreement.
"I ask members of parliament to treat this as an immediate priority," Zelensky added, urging lawmakers to pass the needed legislation without delay.
The tribunal, once established, would specifically target Russia's top political and military leadership for the crime of aggression, defined as the illegal use of force by one state against another, which existing international bodies, like the International Criminal Court (ICC), are not able to prosecute due to jurisdictional limitations.
Zelensky also called on the Foreign Ministry and the Presidential Office to finalize a roadmap with international partners for the tribunal's launch.
"Already this year, Russia must begin to feel that accountability for the crime of aggression is inevitable," he said. "Aggression is a crime, and Russia's truly inevitable punishment for this crime is in the global interest of everyone in the world who wants their people to live in peace."
Speaking at the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe (PACE) on June 25, Zelensky thanked the body for championing the idea from its inception and pushing forward international accountability for Russia's invasion.
"It was here in this assembly, that the first call for such a tribunal was made," Zelensky said. "The idea was born here – and now it’s gaining real support from partner countries in Europe and beyond."
The tribunal is designed to close a legal gap that currently prevents the ICC from prosecuting Russia for the crime of aggression, although the court has issued arrest warrants for Russian President Vladimir Putin and Russian children's rights commissioner Maria Lvova-Belova in connection with the deportation of Ukrainian children.
Alongside the tribunal, the Council of Europe has also helped establish the Register of Damage, which has received over 34,000 claims from Ukrainians documenting losses and harms caused by the war.
Zelensky has repeatedly stressed the need for full justice and has called for the prosecution of all Russian officials responsible for planning and executing the war.

German Foreign Minister Johann Wadephul pledged on June 30 that Berlin is exploring "every possible path" to provide Ukraine with additional air defense systems, amid intensifying Russian missile and drone attacks, according to RBK-Ukraine.
Speaking at a press conference during his visit to Kyiv, Wadephul said Germany is working with its defense industry, European allies, and the U.S. to urgently secure more systems for Ukraine's air shield.
"We are going down every path available," Wadephul said. "The German defense industry is trying to expand its capacity. We're speaking with our European partners, and I believe we must also move forward with the United States."
He added that he remains in close contact with German Defense Minister Boris Pistorius to assess whether existing systems from Germany's own stockpiles can be redirected to Ukraine.
Wadephul's visit came just a day after Russia launched its largest aerial assault on Ukraine to date, firing 477 drones and 60 missiles in a 24-hour period. In a video message posted on social media earlier on June 30, the German minister described Ukraine as "a country once again haunted by war," and reaffirmed Germany's solidarity.
"Germany stands by Ukraine," Wadephul said. "We must not allow freedom to be lost here. We have to support this country and ensure that a ceasefire is finally achieved. (Russian President Vladimir) Putin must realize he cannot continue this war and must negotiate a peace solution."
Guten Morgen aus der Ukraine 🇺🇦 pic.twitter.com/mbvfuE0niz
— Johann Wadephul (@AussenMinDE) June 30, 2025
Ukrainian Foreign Minister Andrii Sybiha welcomed Wadephul's visit in a post on X, saying the two discussed how to counter Russian aggression and deepen bilateral ties.
Glad to welcome my German colleague and friend @AussenMinDe Johann Wadephul.
— Andrii Sybiha 🇺🇦 (@andrii_sybiha) June 30, 2025
We spoke about steps to counter Russian aggression against Ukraine, neutralise the threats posed to Europe by the aggressive Russian regime, and ways to further strengthen the ties between our nations.… pic.twitter.com/38ZX97SfXb
Sybiha said they also spoke about Germany's role in Ukraine's development of long-range capabilities and drones, calling it "win-win cooperation"— as well as Berlin's support for the 18th EU sanctions package and Ukraine's path to EU membership.
"I am grateful to Minister Wadephul for his moral clarity and personal contribution to Ukraine's resilience," Sybiha added.
Wadephul is expected to meet with President Volodymyr Zelensky later during his visit.
The German foreign minister emphasized that witnessing the destruction firsthand is critical to understanding Ukraine's suffering and the urgency of sustained international support.
"This is indeed a difficult situation," Wadephul said. "And that is why German solidarity is so important right now."


Police aggressively dispersed protestors at an anti-government rally in Belgrade, whereover 100,000 demonstrators gathered on June 28 to demand snap elections.
The rally marks the latest mass action in a protest movement that started last fall, with activists calling for an end to corruption and the 12-year rule of Serbian President Aleksandar Vucic.
Crowds in Belgrade on June 28 chanted "We want elections!" — a key demand of the movement that Vucic has consistently refused. His term ends in 2027, which is also the date of the next scheduled parliamentary elections.
Police officers in riot gear used tear gas, pepper spray, and stun grenades to forcibly dispersed crowds, according to multiple media outlets. Dozens of protestors were detained, though the police did not provide an exat number.
Serbian Interior Minister Ivica Dacic claimed that demonstrators attacked the police.
Protestors reportedly threw eggs, plastic bottles, and other objects at riot officers blocking the crowd from entering a city park where Vucic supporters were staging a counterprotest. Vucic reportedly bused in groups of his own supporters from around the country ahead of the rally.

Vucic, a right-wing populist leader with authoritarian tendencies and warm ties with Russia, has repeatedly accused foreign states of inciting the protests in order to topple his government. He is provided no evidence to support these claims.
The current wave of protests in Serbia began in November, when a train station roof in the town of Novi Sad collapsed, killing 15. The disaster was blamed on government corruption.
While Vucic has alleged that Western powers are trying to trigger a "Ukrainian-style revolution in Serbia," the Serbian protests are not markedly pro-Ukrainian or pro-Russian. Unlike mass demonstrations in Slovakia, where activists explicitly condemned the government's Kremlin-friendly agenda, the Serbian movement is focused on Vucic's corrupt leadership.
Since Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022, Serbia has attempted to navigate a delicate diplomatic path between Moscow and the West. It has positioned itself as neutral in the Russia-Ukraine war and balanced its status as an EU candidate with its longstanding ties to Russia.
Vucic made his first official visit to Ukraine on June 11.



Ukraine is preparing to request European Union sanctions against Bangladeshi entities over importing wheat stolen from Russian-occupied Ukrainian territories, Ukraine's ambassador to India told Reuters.
In comments for Reuters published on June 27, Oleksandr Polishchuk said that Bangladesh had failed to respond to Ukrainian diplomatic appeals to stop the trade, prompting Kyiv to escalate the matter to the EU level.
"It's a crime," Polishchuk told Reuters. "We will share our investigation with our European Union colleagues, and we will kindly ask them to take the appropriate measures."
Russian forces have seized millions of tons of Ukrainian grain from occupied areas, with at least 180,000 tons looted through the port of Mariupol alone, Ukrainian Prime Minister Denys Shmyhal said in October 2024.
The grain theft from occupied territories began in 2014 when Russia first invaded Ukraine and continued after the full-scale invasion launched in 2022.
The Ukrainian Embassy in New Delhi sent multiple letters to Bangladesh's Foreign Ministry this year, requesting rejection of more than 150,000 tonnes of grain allegedly stolen and shipped from the Russian port of Kavkaz, according to documents reviewed by Reuters, shared by people familiar with the matter.
According to Polishchuk, Ukrainian intelligence showed that entities in Russia mask grain obtained from occupied Ukrainian territories by mixing it with Russian wheat before shipping it to other countries.
Bangladesh's Food Ministry, in comments to Reuters, denied the imports, saying that they banned grain deliveries originating from occupied Ukrainian territory.
Ukraine's agricultural sector has suffered approximately $80 billion in losses due to Russia's full-scale invasion, Agriculture Minister Vitalii Koval said in February.
The losses include direct damage, disrupted logistics, higher fertilizer and fuel costs, land reclamation expenses, demining costs, and impacts from occupied territories.
