Life in the New: Damir Ibišbegović

“If people don’t want it there, man, don’t build it. We don’t want it,” 28-year-old Damir Ibišbegović says from the edge of his bed.

Recently, property developers wanted to wedge an eight-story office building onto a plot of land in his neighborhood. If realized, the elongated building would block both the sun and the view for hundreds of people living in the building parallel to it along Milutina Milankovića street. “Now, whoever has enough money can build whatever they want, right?”

Not far from his house, a single tree is left standing. They cut down all the others before construction was shut down. Shiny ornaments decorate it, almost like a Christmas tree, “a small victory for the little man in the block,” a symbol of resistance; contractors and big corporations can’t do whatever they want in Blok 37.

The whole neighborhood mobilized to prevent the construction, which would deprive them of their everyday comfort. People not directly affected also showed up to protest, physically block access to dump haulers and bucket loaders, and camp outside the premises in the scorching heat. The project never reached its expected completion date, set for March 2022. A banner with the text in capital letters on the residential block reads “НЕЂЕМО ДА БУДЕМО ЗАЗИДАНИ!” – “WE REFUSE TO BE WALLED IN!” to this day.

Damir has lived in an apartment in the western part of Blok 37 all his life, and like many other Serbian people his age, he lives with his parents. He holds on to a large glass of iced coffee. Camera gear and books fill the shelves above him. Next to the computer on his desktop, a setup for photographing silver jewelry.

His phone rings. Someone’s just placed an order. Jewelry is his side gig. Damir’s primary job is as a freelance photographer, and he also provides lighting services for commercials and TV productions. When his workload increased, he put his spatial planning studies on hold.

“In Belgrade, 24 hours a day isn’t enough,” he says. “It has become a very busy city, you know, with a lot of bars, a lot of people, a lot of traffic. I don’t like that, you know. You want to avoid getting in the car during prime time from 3 to 6 PM. It is crazy”. His phone rings again. This time, he doesn’t answer.

In the neighborhood, people have everything they need for their first 14-15 years, including kindergartens and schools. “We have maybe 10-15 buildings in the blok, and all the people that I went to kindergarten and elementary school with live five minutes away from me. So it’s pretty easy to find people to hang out with, do some sports with and just chill with,” he says, admitting he had to swap basketball with table tennis due to a knee injury.

In the living room, he places a vinyl on the mat on his record player. The needle briefly hovers over the grooves before he sinks it in, and a few seconds later, the whistly synths from the Notorious B.I.G.’s single “Big Poppa” come out of the speakers.

Damir admits that he has conflicting thoughts on whether to stay in Belgrade, and while it’s “37 for life”, he is intrigued to change the hustle and bustle of a rapidly growing city for a calmer life in a small village. “I could grow fruit and vegetables, have some animals, maybe, and get some kind of peace close to nature.”

His father comes into the room and asks, “I hope you like jazz?” before putting on a record by an ex-Yugoslav jazz band.

“I believe that everyone loves their area, but this is mine, and for me, it’s the best place that I know,” Damir says, flippantly adding, “Maybe I should get him to move to a village, and I’ll go visit him instead.”

Prints from Life in the New

See the price list for prints from my Life in the New book project here.