If you would like to read the article in Serbian, click here. Author: Ana Milosavljević This article was originally published on author's Substack, where more of her critical writing is available. On the anniversary of NATO’s bombing of Serbia, a look at what public discourse remembers — and what it erases. A banner outside the Serbian parliament condemning NATO’s killing of children Every year on March 24, the same narrative dominates public discourse in Serbia: over 2,000 civilians killed in an illegal, unprovoked NATO aggression under the pretext of saving Kosovar Albanians. Politicians, the media, and unfortunately, many part of the so-called left in Serbia focus on the very real damage that the bombing inflicted, but do so without any recognition of what the Serbian state was doing in Kosovo in the years preceding the bombing. I spoke with two Albanian Kosovars and one Kosovar Serb about their interpretation of today’s commemoration, their thoughts on NATO and Serbian state violence, and what it will take for Serbs and Albanians to unite in a common struggle. Today, politicians and media outlets (both regime and opposition) frame the events of 27 years ago as one wherein Serbia was the sole victim. They frequently convey Albanian suffering at the hands of the Serbian state as a conspiracy conjured up by the West in order to justify intervention. The facts tell a very different story. NATO bombing of Novi Sad, Serbia in 1999 Between 1998 and 1999, Serbian forces displaced around 850,000 Albanians from their homes in Kosovo. By the end of the war, over 10,000 Albanians were killed and thousands were raped or tortured. Mass graves of Albanians were later found in multiple locations in Serbia, with nearly 1,000 bodies transferred and buried in secret. Many people are still missing to this day. Soldier testimonies are similarly disregarded in Serbian public discourse. One Serbian commander of a tank unit was recorded stating, “For the entire time I was in Kosovo, I never saw a single enemy soldier and my unit was never once involved in firing at military targets. The tanks which cost $2.5 million each were used to slaughter Albanian children… I am ashamed.” Regarding the systematic exclusion of these historical realities from today’s discourse, I spoke with Kosovar Albanians: Lea1, living in Prishtina, and Arbër, part of the Kosovar Albanian diaspora in London. Lea remarked that the presentation of the NATO bombing without any recognition of the suffering Albanians went through leaves her feeling “gaslit” and “dehumanized.” “It’s not a starting point that we can engage with…Because on our side there has also been a lot of work done to recognize victims of the war who were Serbs” she adds. Arbër similarly commented that “it feels like a slap in the face in many ways,” saying that such a narrative reflects a broader trend of erasure of the experiences Albanians in Kosovo have faced, not only during 1998–1999, but throughout the 20th century. This erasure did not begin in 1999. For Albanians, it reflects a longer history of repression, from early 20th century Yugoslav colonization campaigns to institutional discrimination and violence in the 1990s. A map from the 20th century that reads “Post-war colonization in southern Serbia” and includes Kosovo and North Macedonia. It’s not only Albanians who criticize this discourse. Marija Savić, from Gnjilana, Kosovo described the Serbian mainstream portrayal of the bombing as one of “selective memory” which “serves to reproduce a nationalist narrative.” “The focus is exclusively on Serbia as a victim of external aggression, while there is no systemic reckoning with the continuous repression of the Albanian people in Kosovo: from colonial policies and violence in the early 20th century, through institutional discrimination in Yugoslavia, to the open system of apartheid and repression against Albanians during the 1990s,” she said. It is precisely that context which helps explain why many Kosovar Albanians welcomed NATO’s intervention, which brought an end to Serbian rule in Kosovo. As Lea explains: “The intervention in 1999 stopped the war and enabled us to go back to our lives, homes, institutions. It can be true that the intervention was colonial in nature and caused civilian casualties and had other negative effects, and also that the period after the war and after the declaration of independence in 2008 brought a lot of hope to a lot of people here, who just a decade before were living their everyday lives in constant fear.” Arbër similarly described his own contradictory feelings about NATO: “Although I acknowledge NATO’s presence in Kosovo removed Serbia, which was a regional colonizer of us as a community, I also acknowledge the problems of NATO as a governing body as well… I’m not going to feel indebted for the rest of my life, and I’m not going to be morally manipulated by NATO as a governing body to erase the realities and the problematic things that they do as an institution.” Newspapers in Kosovo reporting the declaration of Kosovo Independence on February 17, 2008. Marija similarly stressed that it was necessary to critically assess both NATO and the Serbian state and that the two are not mutually exclusive. “The discourse in Serbia on this issue is entirely binary; if you criticize the role of the Serbian state, you are labeled an NGO traitor, while if you criticize NATO aggression, you are labeled a Serbian nationalist - yet neither of these is true. NATO and the Serbian state are very similar in their repressive and colonial policies.” Statements by US officials reinforce the argument that NATO’s intervention was not humanitarian in nature. As Strobe Talbott, US Deputy Secretary of State from 1994 to 2001, wrote: “It was Yugoslavia’s resistance to the broader trends of political and economic reform — not the plight of Kosovar Albanians — that best explains NATO’s war.” Lea and Arbër both expressed a willingness to critically examine NATO’s role in Kosovo — on the condition that Serbian society confronts its own revisionist narratives. “I’m open to participating in any conversation that critiques the existence of NATO, but I feel a responsibility to first contend with the prejudices that prevent us from being equal participants in such conversations,” Lea said. As Arbër puts it, “on a fundamental basis, you can’t be in solidarity with people who don’t want you to have the same level of equality that they do.” The perception that Serbs do not want to live in equality with Albanians can be seen in many instances, most recently with the use of the pejorative word for Albanian used in chants against Serbian President Vučić at anti-government protests in the past year. Marija describes her own journey in confronting these realities: “It took a great deal of unlearning to free myself from anti-Albanian sentiment and nationalism… I believe that internationalism and class unity in the struggle against capitalism are the only path to the liberation of all Balkan peoples.” A lack of information about the oppressive role of the Serbian state against Albanians makes overcoming such biases difficult. After witnessing Serb after Serb not know basic historical facts about Kosovo, Arbër founded the educational and cultural platform Balkanism in 2020. Balkanism strives to deconstruct ethno-nationalist narratives from across the region through celebrating similarities and differences, while acknowledging historical oppression of various communities. “I understand that within a nation-state framework, all of us have associated ourselves with our state as an extension of ourselves. But I feel like the moment we start deconstructing that and see ourselves more as vessels of culture, history, and identity that overlap, we’re able to communicate in a way that feels much more human-centered” he says. Cover of Balkanism magazine’s first issue, published in September 2024. While Marija transformed through education and a reckoning of her own anti-Albanian biases, she believes that meaningful transformation cannot be reduced to the individual. “Anti-Albanian sentiment and the refusal to confront the past are deeply rooted in the ideological apparatuses of the Serbian state.” To adequately transform Serbian society, its political and economic systems must be changed, she says. For her, that necessitates a class-based analysis which sees that workers in Serbia and Kosovo have common interests against the ruling capitalist elite in both countries. She believes the approach should be two-fold: Serbians should unconditionally recognize Kosovo’s right to self-determination, dismantle the myth of Kosovo as the “heart of Serbia”, and rebuild class politics and internationalism. On the other end, the working class in Kosovo should reject their own ruling elite and work to expel imperialist forces from its territory, she says. Whether such unity is possible, Lea and Arbër are split. “Considering the deep distrust that exists, and so much pain and lack of accountability, it is hard to imagine how that can be overcome. And we see with how Albanians are being treated in Serbia in 2026, the irredentist Kosovo graffiti and anti-Albanian chants, that nothing has changed. On our side there is a lot of what feels like insurmountable enmity as well. Due to how the war and our political situation shaped me, there’s a part of me that for a while now has been mentally preparing for another war. And that is what gives me urgency to get involved with this conversation” Lea revealed. For Arbër, working towards a common future begins with forging genuine connections across ethnic lines. “I’m a very hopeful individual. A part of my own practice in my life is all about forging relations with communities from supposedly “the other side.” This has been a core aspect of my life and my practice. I see it as righting historical wrongs and undoing the colonial violence that was imposed on Kosovo, and establishing relations with communities that we share so much with historically and culturally,” he said. In various contexts, history is presented as beginning at a politically convenient moment. In Palestine, Western mainstream media and political elites would have you believe history began on October 7, 2023. In Serbia, a similar establishment class claims history began on March 24, 1999, rendering what came before irrelevant. This approach weaponizes a lack of education to justify systemic prejudices that ultimately do not serve the interests of ordinary people. As the conversations in this piece suggest, confronting these narratives requires more than information alone. It demands a willingness to listen, to question inherited assumptions, and to engage with uncomfortable truths. The path towards lasting peace in the Balkans does not include selective memory, but is instead based on an honest, objective look at the past: one which makes space for all those whose experiences have long been denied.

Author: Daria Vorobiova Serbia in the modern geopolitical situation is perceived as a country caught between two fires: the West and the East. Its indicative neutrality, not associating itself with any global organization and acting as a "third party," is telling. In reality, this political ambivalence has calculated mechanisms used by statesmen to preserve their political position and policy of "securing funding without additional obligations," while in return manipulating public opinion. Illustration photo. Retrieved from Pexels (www.pexels.com) Neither to the West, nor to the East Looking at survey results on the political preferences of Serbs reveals a deeply divided population: for instance, a telling example is the 2023 WFD survey. It showed that 43% of Serbs believe they should rely on Russia in international relations, and only 25.8% of respondents stated they should rely on the European Union. Also notable is the question of whether Serbia belongs to the West or the East: 42% of respondents answered that Serbia is not part of either, while the same proportion answered logically about belonging to the West or the East. Serbian society is extremely fragmented in its political preferences: this problem leads to a general instability of civic engagement in politics, as without consensus among the sides, it is impossible to exert strong civic influence on the political life of the state as a whole [1]. How much does the state influence the political preferences of Serbs? Following data from the same survey, it is evident that 59.2% of respondents note that they view political information about events in Serbia through television. The state exerts sufficient influence on television, considering channels like RTS, RTV Pink, Happy TV, which are known for publishing information deliberately portrayed in a light favorable to the state. Under such conditions, the question arises – if a large number of citizens receive such information, can their political preferences be genuinely logical and justified? [2] Also, television programs have been observed deliberately portraying the EU in a bad light, while Russia is presented in the moral image of a fraternal state. The key problem with this presentation of information is the excessive moralization of "good" Russia and "bad" European Union. Typically, this moral assessment is based solely on subjectivity, in no way appealing to rational reflections on the benefits of such "friendship" for Serbia [3]. And it is precisely the "moral" justification, as well as the "moral boundaries of the permissible," that allow Serbian politicians to maintain their position for as long as possible, instilling in citizens an unstable pluralism of opinions to weaken their civic stance. The problem of "moralizing" politics as a key factor of ambivalence This appeal to everything moral begins with historical origins and serves as the foundation for forming nationalist narratives. The narratives consist of three components: the "victim question," the "pride question," and the main unifying factor, the moral discursive veto point. By combining these components, it becomes possible to manipulate public opinion, set the boundaries of discourse to slow down potential civic activity, and at the necessary moment say: "here is the boundary you must not cross." The "victim question" is characterized by a moral appeal to grievance, primarily towards the West, which in the narratives is viewed as a military aggressor (following the events of 1999) protecting Kosovo (which is a sacred question of the origin of statehood), and also as an economic usurper (the European Union as an economic organization where, upon accession, Serbia would lose its informal independence). An image of an enemy is created, but also an image of a savior, a potential "fraternal state" that can selflessly help Serbia escape crude dependence on the "humiliating" West. Russia occupies this role, but in the case of investments and their positive influence, China can also be considered. The "pride question" is characterized by a centuries-long history of battles (for example, the Battle of Kosovo) and the preservation of the nation and its culture during long periods of statelessness. This factor is supposed to act as a unifying force ("we have only ourselves, and no one will help us except us") and one that reduces the factor of destabilization, since there are "enemies" against which Serbia must be ready to act as a united front in case of danger. The unifying factor is the Kosovo question – less as a territorial issue and more as a discursive veto point: it marks the limit beyond which reform, recognition, or alignment becomes politically illegible. Since many reforms for EU accession and funding require normalization of relations with Kosovo and its recognition as a separate state, Serbian politicians (for example, Aleksandar Vučić) support the aforementioned narratives precisely on this issue. A. Vučić's speech on 04.11.2025 in Brussels: «Neću da priznam Kosovo da bismo ušli u EU» ("I will not recognize Kosovo so that we enter the EU") [4]; In an address to the people of Kosovo: «ne postoji „dobro rešenje kosovskog problema za Srbe“ i da ga nikada neće biti» ("there is no 'good solution to the Kosovo problem for Serbs' and there never will be"), «Srbi bili najstradalniji narod na Kosovu» ("Serbs were the most suffering people in Kosovo") [5]; speech at the Palace of Serbia: «Vučić je rekao da je Kosovo (...) našom zemljom u skladu sa Ustavom Republike Srbije i Poveljom Ujedinjenih nacija i Rezolucijom 12.44» ("Vučić said that Kosovo (...) is our land in accordance with the Constitution of the Republic of Serbia and the Charter of the United Nations and Resolution 1244") [6]. These three factors help form a stable national narrative, which allows simultaneously maintaining the image of the EU as an "enemy" while preserving active economic relations. Naturally, it is assumed that when using this funding as outlined in the documentation, Serbia should join the European Union after meeting all conditions. Is such a policy feasible? Active neutrality Serbia's neutrality is not an absence of policy but its active form, maintained by state elites through media propaganda, fragmenting Serbian society and helping to brake at the right moments and shift the blame to the "enemy," not to Serbia. The European Commission has noted that Serbia is moving too slowly in implementing necessary reforms, especially those related to freedom of speech, eliminating corruption, and normalizing relations with Kosovo [7]. The question of slowness also became important in cases where the EU itself delayed necessary payments to Serbia, demanding additional guarantees that the funds would be spent in the intended direction [8]. Such neutrality helps Serbian political elites navigate relations with the European Union: maintaining the possibility of obtaining economic and political resources while keeping a political distance from it, simultaneously shifting responsibility for the stagnation of reforms onto "enemies" and unsolvable historical traumas inflicted by these same "enemies." The price of this strategy is the weakness of fragmented civic pressure, the slowdown of necessary reforms, and the dependence of the political course on a constantly perpetuated conflict that does not approach resolution if Serbia truly chooses a European path. In this context, the key question is not which side Serbia will join in the future, but how long civil society can exist in a state-managed ambivalence, how long it can survive without the reforms it tries to grasp through protests. Bibliography: “Opinion Poll Report: Socio-political Views of Serbian Citizens in 2023.” WFD. Westminster Foundation for Democracy (WFD), Serbia, 2023. https://www.wfd.org/sites/default/files/2023-04/wfd_nws_2023_eng_final.pdf. “Defunding Disinformation in the Balkans. How International Brands Support Russia’s Agenda.” by BFMI & CRTA, n.d. https://crta.rs/wp-content/uploads/2023/12/CRTA_BFMI_Defunding_Disinformation_in_the_Balkans_Report.pdf. “Media Monitoring of Foreign Actors.” CRTA. https://crta.rs/en/media-monitoring-of-foreign-actors-november-2024/. B92. “Vučić: Neću Da Priznam Kosovo Da Bismo Ušli U EU; Postoji Mogućnost Da Otvorimo Klaster 3 Pre Kraja Godine.” B92.net, November 4, 2025. https://www.b92.net/info/politika/178701/vucic-necu-da-priznam-kosovo-da-bismo-usli-u-eu-postoji-mogucnost-da-otvorimo-klaster-3-pre-kraja-godine/vest РТС. “Vučić Za Veltvohe: Potrebno Kompromisno Rešenje Za KiM, a Ne Da Albanci Dobiju Sve, a Srbi Ništa,” n.d. https://www.rts.rs/lat/vesti/politika/5462184/vucic-za-veltvohe-potrebno-kompromisno-resenje-za-kim-a-ne-da-albanci-dobiju-sve-a-srbi-nista.html. Urednik. “Vučić Odgovorio Evropskom Diplomati: Kosovo Je Dio Srbije - Top Portal.” Top Portal, November 6, 2025. https://topportal.info/vucic-odgovorio-evropskom-diplomati-kosovo-je-dio-srbije/. Belgrade, N1. “EC Report Says Serbia Slow on Credible Reforms.” N1 Info RS, November 4, 2025. https://n1info.rs/english/news/ec-report-says-serbia-slow-on-credible-reforms/. Rakic, Snezana. “Why Is Serbia Still Waiting for EU Funds That Its Neighbours Have Received?” Serbian Monitor, May 23, 2025. https://www.serbianmonitor.com/en/why-is-serbia-still-waiting-for-eu-funds-that-its-neighbours-have-received/.

Author: Stamena Kozić, a high school student from Serbia In the Balkans, mental health is often recognized only when it reaches an extreme. As long as a person continues to function-attending school, going to work, fulfilling responsibilities-this is treated as proof of stability. Functioning becomes evidence that everything is "fine", even when it's not.  As a result, struggles such as anxiety, depression and burnout are rarely seen as legitimate unless they interfere with productivity. The ability to keep going is praised, while the cost of doing so remains invisible. Illustration photo. Retrieved from Pexels (www.pexels.com) However, data tells a different story. Research conducted in Serbia alone shows that approximately one-third of the population can be considered psychologically vulnerable. Around 15.6% of people report symptoms of depression, 7.2% experience symptoms of anxiety, and 1.6% are at high risk of suicide. These numbers exist alongside everyday functioning, challenging the idea that productivity equals well-being. Mental health in Balkan schools In the Balkans, seeing a psychologist is still not normalized within the school system and is often perceived as a last resort rather than a form of prevention or care. Students are typically referred to school psychologists only after being labeled as “problematic,” when their difficulties become visible through academic failure, behavioral issues, or a noticeable decline in productivity. These markers are treated as the primary indicators of distress, while emotional suffering does not necessarily disrupt performance and remains largely unaddressed. Well-performing students—those who maintain good grades, attend classes regularly, and meet institutional expectations—are rarely checked on or encouraged to seek support. This creates an environment in which psychological help is associated with dysfunction and punishment rather than well-being. As a result, schools unintentionally reinforce the idea that as long as a student continues to function, there is no need for help, even if that functioning comes at the cost of mental and emotional health. This mindset is especially dangerous because many mental health conditions do not immediately disrupt outward functioning. Disorders such as eating disorders often operate within this logic of "not being sick enough." Individuals may continue to perform well academically or socially, leading both themselves and others to believe there is no reason to seek help. This delay in recognition frequently allows the condition to worsen, increasing both psychological and physical risks. In extreme cases, the consequences of untreated mental illness can be fatal—underscoring the cost of a system that equates visible dysfunction with the legitimacy of suffering. Why Mental Health Remains a Taboo in the Balkans? Mental health continues to be a taboo in the Balkans largely because the region's recent history has been defined by survival rather than stability. Wars, political transitions, and prolonged economic insecurity have shaped societies in which endurance is valued more than emotional openness. In such environments, psychological distress was often viewed as luxury concern, something secondary to immediate survival. As a result suffering became normalized as an expected part of life, rather than recognized as a condition that deserves care and attention. Stigma surrounding professional mental health support further reinforces this mindset. Therapy and psychiatric care are frequently associated with severe illness or social failure, rather than prevention or self-understanding. As the aforementioned research shows, many people seek help only when their condition becomes unmanageable, if they seek it at all. This is compounded by structural barriers: mental health services across the region remain underfunded, unevenly distributed, and difficult to access, particularly for young people. Long waiting times, limited school-based support, and high costs in private care discourage early intervention. Over time, emotional restraint has been learned and passed down across generations. Parents and grandparents who endured hardship without psychological support often model silence as resilience. Phrases such as "others have it worse" or "you'll get over it" are commonly used, unintentionally minimizing emotional pain. Together, historical trauma, stigma, and systemic limitations have created a culture in which mental health struggles are only acknowledged when they become impossible to ignore- maintaining the same pattern of recognition through crisis rather than care. How Mental Health Is Approached in Other Countries? In many countries outside the Balkans, mental health is increasingly treated as an integral part of public conversation rather than a private issue. Discussions about anxiety, depression, and burnout are more visible in media, education, and policy, helping reduce sigma around seeking support. Asking for professional help is often framed as an act of responsibility and self-awareness, not weakness. Mental health education is frequently incorporated into school curricula, teaching students to recognize emotional distress early and encouraging them to seek help before problems escalate. Therapy is widely normalized, with school counselors and mental health professionals positioned as preventive resources rather than emergency responses. This emphasis on prevention- addressing mental health before it reaches a crisis point—stands in sharp contrast to systems that acknowledge psychological distress only after functioning begins to fall. How Can We Begin to Change This? Redefining strength is the first step: true resilience is not just endurance or silence, but the courage to acknowledge vulnerability and seek help when needed. Creating spaces for honest conversations—at home, in schools, and in public lifecan gradually break the stigma that has persisted for generations.

While official cultural institutions in Serbia remain trapped in bureaucracy and underfunding, something else is growing beneath the surface — fragile, improvised, but stubbornly alive. In Niš, the country’s third-largest city, a generation of young artists and musicians is carving out its own spaces, reshaping culture beyond state control. Their most visible experiment is Underground, a music and art festival that, in just three years, has become a focal point for what many now call the “new new wave” of Niš rock and alternative culture. Photo by Strahinja Jovanovic From 2 to 5 October this year, Underground will take over the Niš Cultural Centre with twenty bands across four nights, ranging from punk and stoner rock to synth-pop. The program is eclectic but coherent, rooted in the belief that independent music is not just entertainment but a political gesture. The festival’s history reflects this stance: its first edition in 2023 was put together in just two weeks, without institutional support, sustained purely by community energy. Since then, it has grown — with compilations, benefit events, and a steadily expanding audience — while remaining true to its DIY roots. But what sets Underground apart is not only the sound. It is the image — quite literally. Each year, the festival develops a distinctive visual language designed by young artist Jelena Perić, who has become one of its central creative forces. Her posters are not promotional tools in the traditional sense; they are manifestos. “The visuals change every year, but I try to keep a recognisable identity — something people immediately associate with Underground,” Perić says. “It’s about reflecting the energy of the city and the scene into the artwork.” This year’s design depicts a young person in freefall. It is an unsettling but also strangely liberating image. For Perić, the fall is not about defeat. “It’s about descending into our underground — into a space of honesty, community, and resistance,” she explains. The poster overturns the usual meaning of falling: what might seem like a collapse becomes a deliberate choice to abandon the surface world of stagnation and enter a deeper, truer dimension. Underground poster The aesthetics carry unmistakable political undertones. Serbia’s cultural sector has been systematically neglected: for years, less than one percent of the national budget has been allocated to culture, leaving independent initiatives with little chance of survival. In this vacuum, the underground scene becomes more than a subculture — it is a necessity. The visual motif of falling into the underground crystallises that necessity: if official culture cannot sustain life, then life must create its own parallel ecosystem. The festival’s community-based financing reflects the same ethos. Underground relies on fundraising parties and donations, with local partners such as the Critical Education Centre providing support. This mode of survival is itself a form of critique — exposing the absence of public commitment to culture while demonstrating that art can thrive without state structures. “We don’t see Underground as a once-a-year event,” Perić notes. “It’s an ongoing process, a constant effort to hold space for something independent and real.” Jelena Perić, Underground promotion The atmosphere of rebellion also runs through the music. One of the most talked-about acts this year was Bunt — literally “Rebellion” — a young band that recently released Nisam sam (“I Am Not Alone”), a song inspired by student protests and blockades. Their presence on the festival stage directly links Underground to the wider social climate, where young people have turned cultural spaces like Belgrade’s Student Cultural Centre (SKC) into arenas of political and artistic expression. In such moments, art and activism cease to exist as separate spheres: a concert becomes a protest, and a poster becomes a call to action. Underground is therefore not merely a festival but a living archive of the struggles, hopes, and aesthetics of a generation. Its posters, music, and gatherings together form a counter-narrative to the dominant discourse that treats culture as expendable. The festival reveals that cultural production can still be a site of collective meaning, that rebellion can be joyful, and that falling into the underground is sometimes the only way to rise above the surface. To outsiders, Niš may not appear to be the capital of cultural innovation. Yet anyone who has witnessed a packed hall at Underground fest — where sound, image, and solidarity collide — understands that something more than a local festival is at stake. This is what culture looks like when it is reclaimed: messy, improvised, fragile, yet fiercely authentic! And in that authenticity lies its greatest strength.

In recent years, the world has embraced a narrative of “green transition.” As the climate crisis accelerates, batteries and renewable technologies are widely promoted as a way out of fossil fuel dependency. Indeed, moving away from oil and gas is necessary and urgent. But the story of Rio Tinto’s planned lithium mining project in Serbia’s Jadar Valley shows that not every solution marketed as green is just, sustainable, or emancipatory. Source: https://protesti.pics/studenti The logic behind the project is straightforward: Europe wants to electrify transport, store renewable energy, and reduce emissions. Lithium, the essential component for batteries, is in high demand. Serbia, with one of the largest lithium deposits in Europe, has become a prime target for extraction. And Rio Tinto—an Anglo-Australian mining giant notorious for environmental and human rights scandals worldwide—is leading the charge. Yet, if we look more closely, this is not a break with the past. It is a continuation of the same colonial patterns that have governed the global economy for centuries: a wealthy industrial center exploiting a periphery, leaving behind toxic landscapes and broken communities. A Familiar Pattern: From Oil to Lithium While battery production is often framed as the opposite of oil—“clean,” “green,” “progressive”—the underlying dynamics are strikingly similar. During the petroleum boom of the 20th century, transnational corporations from richer states set up operations in poorer countries, promising prosperity. What they delivered was often environmental devastation, political corruption, and lasting social division. Today, lithium is marketed as a savior. But extraction projects like the Jadar mine threaten to poison rivers, destroy arable land, and displace communities, all in the name of sustainability. In reality, this is what the French authors Servigne and Stevens, in How Everything Can Collapse, describe as the “green growth illusion”—the idea that we can maintain endless consumption by simply swapping one resource for another. It is a convenient ideology that avoids the deeper reckoning with how overproduction and extractivism drive ecological collapse. Echoes of Bolivia: The Global Lithium Rush Serbia is not alone in this struggle. Bolivia’s experience shows how lithium extraction, if driven by foreign capital and export agendas, can reproduce dependency and injustice rather than build sovereignty or sustainability. In Bolivia, often called the “Saudi Arabia of lithium,” decades of neoliberal reforms and failed nationalization attempts have left the country struggling to secure fair terms for its own natural wealth. As Mašina reports, massive deposits in the Salar de Uyuni were meant to deliver prosperity to local communities. Instead, Bolivians have faced environmental damage, water depletion, and new forms of foreign dependence, despite initial promises of industrial development and ecological responsibility. This comparison matters because Serbia is being told the same story: that lithium will bring jobs, modernization, and geopolitical relevance. But if Bolivia teaches us anything, it is that “resource nationalism” without democratic participation and strong environmental protection is just another variant of extractive colonialism. Green Colonialism and Political Complicity Many students and activists in Serbia argue that Rio Tinto’s project is possible not despite Aleksandar Vučić’s autocratic rule, but because of it. Over the past year, students have protested corruption, attacks on independent institutions, and repeated violations of civil liberties. Yet the European Union has been largely silent. Why? According to many critics, it is because Brussels has a strategic interest in Serbia’s lithium deposits. For all its proclamations about democracy and rule of law, the EU is willing to look the other way when it comes to Vučić’s consolidation of power—so long as he remains a reliable supplier of raw materials. As one student protester put it: “The EU does not care about democracy if you can guarantee them cheap lithium.” This is precisely how colonial economies were justified in the past: sacrifice zones in less developed regions, a steady flow of raw materials to the industrial core, and local populations reduced to labor pools and collateral damage. The only novelty today is that the extraction is branded as “green.” What Future Are We Choosing? If climate collapse is the defining crisis of our time, it is vital that the solutions we pursue are not only technologically effective but also socially just. Extractive megaprojects imposed from above reproduce the same patterns that have already devastated ecosystems and disempowered communities. They deepen inequalities and accelerate the destruction of life-support systems in the name of “progress.” Rio Tinto’s project in Serbia is a case study in how the green transition can become a new front for exploitation, not an exit from it. To truly break with fossil fuel logics, we must reject both their material infrastructure and the ideological foundations that treat land and people as expendable. If Europe wants to build an energy transition worthy of the name, it must stop outsourcing environmental damage to the peripheries of the continent. It must support local self-determination, invest in circular economies, and abandon the dogma of endless growth that has led us to this brink. Anything less is not a solution—it is simply a new form of colonial extraction wearing a green mask.

We are thrilled to publish a new thought-provoking piece by Vladimir Petrović and Novak Vučo from the Innovation Center of the Institute for Contemporary History, University of Belgrade. Their article, “Belgrade Graffiti & Murals: Continuation of War by Other Means? – Traces of War in Yugoslavia and Ukraine in Belgrade Street Art: Reflections on Connections”, offers a gripping tour through Belgrade's streets, where right-wing nationalism, war nostalgia, and geopolitical tensions are fought out in paint, stencils, and slogans. From Ratko Mladić murals to the letter “Z” and graffiti wars over Kosovo and Ukraine — this text explores how political walls in Belgrade are covered in more than just paint, they’re layered with history, ideology, and unresolved conflict. The article has been positively peer-reviewed by Dr. Vjeran Pavlaković, one of the leading experts on graffiti, memory, and transitional justice in Southeast Europe. 👇 Download and read the full article in PDF: N.Vučo, V.Petrović - Belgrade Graffiti & MuralsDownload