Kočani: Greece stands with North Macedonia

The recent tragedy of the fire in the Kočani nightclub in North Macedonia has caused a wave of solidarity: among the first to respond was neighbouring Greece, sadly familiar with the dynamics of disasters caused by corruption and lack of political accountability

In the early hours of March 16, 2025, youth worker and blogger Stojan Rashkov uses his Facebook account to mark himself ‘safe from the Kočani fire’. It is a simple status update, yet it carries the weight of relief, guilt, and disbelief.

As dawn breaks over the small town in North Macedonia, social media feeds fill with frantic posts. Parents, siblings, and friends desperately tag loved ones, hoping for replies. But as the hours pass, the nature of the updates begins to shift.

One by one, the tributes start appearing. Stojan’s childhood friend, gone. The girl who used to sit behind him in school, gone. A promising young musician, gone. Every new post is a quiet farewell, a stark realisation that the night has stolen far too many.

The fire at Pulse, a nightclub packed with young people enjoying their weekend, has left 59 dead and more than 150 injured. It is one of the worst tragedies in the region in years, and the town of Kočani is drowning in grief. But even as the shock sets in, something else is happening—help is already on its way.

The European Union steps in, activating its Civil Protection Mechanism . A coordinated air evacuation begins, ensuring the severely burned get urgent treatment.

From across the border, Greece is among the first to respond. Without hesitation, Greek medical teams coordinate with North Macedonian authorities, preparing to transfer the most critically wounded to specialised burn units in Thessaloniki and Athens.

Ambulances move swiftly, helicopters stand ready. The Greek Minister of Health Adonis Georgiadis issues a statement on X reaffirming the country’s full operational readiness for the transfer and medical care of burn victims from Kočani, in coordination with Greek and European authorities.

The shock waves from the Kočani fire quickly find fertile ground in Greece, where collective memory is still bearing two deep scars: the 2018 wildfire in Mati, that claimed 102 lives in a nightmare of negligence and failed response, and the 2023 tragedy near Tempe, Greece's deadliest rail disaster, which occurred when a passenger train carrying mostly students collided with a freight train, killing 57 people.

In both cases, a preventable disaster caused by corruption and neglect of regulations.

Thessaloniki: a race against time for Kočani’s wounded

In the quiet corridors of Thessaloniki’s hospitals, time seems to stretch. Doctors move with urgency but also with precision—every second matters. The city, known for its vibrant culture and deep historical ties with North Macedonia, has now become a lifeline for the most critically injured from the Kočani fire.

At G. Papanikolaou Hospital, home to one of Greece’s most advanced burn units, three young survivors are fighting for their lives in intensive care – two 19-year-old women and a 25-year-old man.

Their external burns are severe, but what worries doctors most are the internal injuries—the damage caused by inhaling thick, toxic smoke. Two of them have already undergone surgery. The next step: tracheotomies, a desperate attempt to help them breathe.

Just a few kilometres away, at 424 General Military Hospital, two young men, both 25, remain intubated, their conditions equally critical. The waiting rooms outside the ICU are heavy with silence.

Devastated parents, who have arrived from North Macedonia as soon as the first ambulances crossed the border, hold onto every word from the doctors, every slight sign of hope for recovery.

Solidarity beyond borders

In the midst of the logistics, the politics, and the official statements, it is the small, human moments that stand out.

By Sunday, just one day after the tragedy,Thessaloniki’s streets and squares hum with youth-led solidarity. Under the watchful gaze of Aristotle’s statue, right at the heart of the city, a silent vigil unfolds as students from North Macedonia stand shoulder-to-shoulder with their Greek peers; their black balloons swaying like shadows of the lives lost in the fire.

For sixty minutes—one for each soul claimed by the flames—the only sound is the weight of collective grief. Their placards speak where words fail:“60 minutes for 60 victims”, a tribute not just to the 59 casualties, but also to the ambulance driver who worked tirelessly through the night, ferrying lifeless bodies until his own breath gave out.

This act of remembrance, rooted in shared humanity, transcends borders—a poignant reminder that tragedy knows no nationality, and neither does solidarity.

In another part of the city, a small group of young tourists who had visited Thessaloniki for the weekend huddle around a phone on speaker. The tinny echo of the hospital receptionist’s voice cuts through the silence.

“No information can be given to non-family members”, comes the rehearsed reply, even as the interpreter tries to explain—these are friends, classmates, young people desperate for any sign of hope after the fire. Names are recited, voices tightening with each “I’m sorry. Family only”.

Back in Kočani, Stojan’s social media feed has now become a raw, unfiltered chronicle of a survivor’s journey—one that mirrors a collective emotional reckoning.

While his first posts are fragments of sorrow, by midweek, his grief has sharpened into action: links to fundraisers, lists of needed supplies, and instructions for donations flood his profile—each post a lifeline thrown to a drowning community. "Help if you can", he urges his friends online, while in another post, he thanks his Greek friends for their solidarity.

As the days go by, his digital presence seems to become more aligned with a collective wave of peaceful indignation, tracing the outline of something rotten, the kind of systemic failure that turns accidents into catastrophes. The message that he sends through OBCT is clear and laconic: ‘This is a generation that will not remain silent!’.

Political scientist Klimentina Giorgjoska explains that it is too early to predict whether this national indignation will turn into a more organised wave of protest against corruption and failed democratic institutions that have been scourging the country ever since its establishment as an independent state.

“Right now, we are experiencing a collective trauma. We are filled with rage and disappointment. This situation might either drive even more young people towards migration, or cause them to remain disengaged, something that has been our reality for years, at least until 2015, when we had mass mobilisations against Gruevski’s regime”, says Giorgjoska.

“Both scripts seem bleak, so I would personally opt for a third scenario, where citizens, especially youth, see these tragic events as a reason to become more actively involved in decision-making mechanisms and co-shape radical systemic changes”.