Before my pregnancies, I was an active and dedicated documentary photographer, but stepping away from my career to bring two lives into the world changed everything. Motherhood temporarily disconnected me from the profession I loved. In a fast-paced industry like ours, a long maternity leave is incredibly challenging. Editors move on, you quickly get left out of the loop, and people start to forget your name. It is a deeply vulnerable period where you constantly question your own worth and wonder if you can ever make a comeback.
On April 19, 2019, I was a dedicated mother of two boys, but I was also a photographer who missed my profession. At the time, my second son, wasn’t even a year old, he was born in May 2018, and my world was still consumed by the beautiful, exhausting routine of raising my two sons.
For months leading up to that day, Serbia had been shaken by massive opposition protests, a direct manifestation of deep public discontent with the regime of President Aleksandar Vučić and his Serbian Progressive Party. As a calculated institutional response to this rising defiance, the ruling party organized a counter-rally: “Budućnost Srbije” (The Future of Serbia) on the plateau in front of the National Parliament in the very center of Belgrade. Supporters were systematically mobilized and brought in by organized buses from every corner of the country to fill the space for politicians who had spent years manipulating the nation – particularly the elderly population, who were continuously exposed to intense propaganda through the only widely available national television channels.
When this counter-rally was announced, I felt a profound curiosity to document this crowd and see, from up close, who the people supporting the regime actually were. Yet, I assumed a formal press accreditation would be mandatory – something I didn’t possess and had no way of obtaining after being disconnected from photographic circles for so long. As I hesitated, fully aware that entering such a heavily secured event was nearly impossible, my husband looked at me and said, “Just go and try it, you always find a way.” His encouragement, coupled with my desire to be in the center of events with my camera again, was enough to make me throw my photo bag over my shoulder and leave.
While approaching the parliament building, where the regime supporters were already starting to gather behind the security fences, I was looking for the press entrance located behind the parliament. As I walked, I was thinking about what to say if they asked who I worked for, and I made the decision to say I was with Tanjug – the state, pro-regime news agency.
When I reached the press entrance, there were tables set up with sheets of paper containing the names of all the accredited journalists and photographers. Before long, they asked me, “Who do you work for?” I answered, “Tanjug,” and gave them my full name. The young women working there started searching for my name on the lists but couldn’t find it. I even tried to help them look, finally telling them, “That’s impossible, the editor must have forgotten to put me on the list.”
Standing nearby was a security officer who looked at me and said, “Kuya, a?” referring to the editor’s well-known nickname. I replied, “Yes, Kuya.” He said, “I’m going to call him to check,” and pulled out his mobile phone to make the call. I played cool, but thought to myself: Oh no, I’m caught. But luckily, he soon said, “It’s busy,” (the line was busy) and told the girls to let me pass. They took an acreditation, and as they placed it over my head, I lowered my neck, like winning a golden medal – a movement that instantly took me back in my early teens, to my athletic days when I used to compete in track and field. I thank them and walked in.
Walking along, a thought crossed my mind: “Imagine what I just pulled off… Now, imagine if I actually take a photograph today that wins Photo of the Year.” I felt nostalgic, looking back at the times when I used to win those awards, it felt so far away and hard to reach again, yet knowing that winning it would be my way back onto the scene.
I made my way to the press pit, directly opposite the main stage, joining the other photographers and videographers on the raised platform. Soon after, Prime Minister Ana Brnabić stepped up to the podium. Behind her was a massive blue billboard with giant Cyrillic letters spelling out Aleksandar Vučić, completely covered in Serbian coats of arms.
I instantly saw the opportunity to portray her in an unconventional way, showing her real “dimension”. I composed the shot to place her as a tiny figure at the very bottom of the frame, while the name of President Aleksandar Vučić stands out dominantly high above her. This composition perfectly reflected the political reality that even though she held the highest constitutional prerogatives as Prime Minister, she willingly chose to remain in his shadow. As she gesticulated with her hands, I waited for the perfect moment of balance. I needed to catch her with both arms raised, ensuring absolute symmetry so that she would literally become an integrated part of that campaign poster. I pressed the shutter and that was it.
Right then, I knew I had something incredible. I felt that my job for the day was done and that I was going home with a piece of work that truly mattered. I stayed until the very end of the rally, capturing the general atmosphere. Mostly, I used my phone to record the crowd. In fact, a video clip I took of the SNS supporters actually ended up being featured on popular ”24 Minutes” weekly satirical television show.
When the Beta Agency Photo Contest was announced, I submitted only this one photograph. It went on to win the Grand Prix for the best regional press photograph of 2019.
Looking back, what makes this entire period so remarkable is that I was still a nursing mother – both when I captured this photo and a little over a year later, during the heavy anti-lockdown protests, when I captured my next award-winning photograph, “Trapped.” It was taken in Pioneers Park (Pionirski park), just about fifty meters behind the exact spot where I captured “Greatness.” On both occasions, right there in the middle of the event, I could feel my milk coming in, calling me back to my mother’s duty.
Ultimately, this is a story about the profound challenges a female photographer faces when she becomes a mother, and a woman’s strength and struggle to return to the scene.
”Trapped”
To find out how I managed to take this photo, click here.
To see the gallery with photographs from July’s Protests, click here.