The EU is hungry for Serbia’s lithium A new mine has led to a wave of protest

But the EU is hungry for lithium. Rio Tinto continued buying up land and, following intense diplomatic pressure, the government has reissued the licence — in what critics view as a quid pro quo allowing the nation to purchase closer access to the EU at the cost of its natural resources. Almost all the houses on the village’s upper ridge have been snapped up and now stand empty, earmarked for destruction with signs reading: “DANGEROUS BUILDING, DO NOT ENTER” — a startling sight in a country not normally known for its strict adherence to planning codes. In the graveyard of an orthodox chapel beside the abandoned houses, I meet Darko, 55, who was born and raised in the village. “I don’t know what our ancestors would say, if they were alive to see this,” he says. “They’d suffer with every bit of land that was sold”.

To Darko, the region’s cultural history, — where national hero Vuk Karadzic, the founder of the Serbian language, was born — agricultural richness and water table fed by the nearby Drina river are all reasons the EU should look elsewhere to meet its energy needs. On the main road below the abandoned village, I meet three generations of a local family sitting outside their business. They offer me a glass of spring water and locally-grown figs as physical evidence of their region’s natural wealth. “It’s like a horror movie up there at night, with everything empty”, says granddaughter Bojana, 22. “We have land in the village, too, but it’s not for sale.”

But most people have sold up after being offered handsome remuneration by Rio Tinto agents, with mostly ageing villagers scaling-up to three-bedroom city apartments. After Darko leaves the graveyard, I’m approached by two young men who had previously declined to speak with me, but now identify themselves as Rio Tinto employees. They still don’t want to give an interview, but are keen to know what I’m doing in the village, and praise Rio Tinto as “the best thing that’s happened to this region. They employ 300 people already, and it will be more”. This is the government’s case — that the mine will add a claimed sum of between €10bn and €12bn to Serbia’s ailing economy. But so far, locals aren’t buying it.

The government led by Aleksandar Vučić regularly faces protests from the liberal middle classes in Belgrade, angry at perceived autocracy, media restrictions, corruption and lack of employment opportunities. Typically, the opposition calls for the liberalisation of society and a move toward the EU. But as the current pressure from Brussels suggests, the EU has long been happy to support Vučić and other regional strongmen in order to suit its own economic interests.

That’s why the Belgrade rally sees young liberals and socialists rubbing shoulders with older Serbians like Hajo, 70, holding aloft a Russian flag inscribed with the legend “you’re far from home” — a message to Brussels and the universally vilified German chancellor Scholz. “The biggest problem is not bad government, but lack of sovereignty and domination by Western interests”, he says. 

At the opposite end of the political spectrum, Milan Mladenovic, 20, has attended the Belgrade rally carrying the flag of the communist Yugoslav federation. His motivation is simple: “Back then, workers had rights, and businesses weren’t privatised.” Some older demonstrators ask for photos with the flag, a reminder of an era when Serbia and the rest of the former Yugoslavia enjoyed strong economic performance, a relatively high standard of living and outsized diplomatic influence. But younger, more pro-government and nationalist protesters spit on the flag and shout abuse.

Like many young Belgrade residents, Milan says he sees the potential benefit a pivot toward Brussels could bring: “The EU funds schools and hospitals, whereas Russia gives us MiG warplanes: you see the difference. If we were in the EU, we’d have regulations, democracy and workers rights.” But Serbia is not likely to be allowed into that club any time soon, meaning the EU will continue to view the country as “a free market, a back door, open for cheap labour”.

Theoretically, the lithium resources could boost the local economy and meet an urgent, growing global need. But locals are uniformly wary of government complicity with exploitative foreign powers, characterising the plans as neo-imperialist exploitation. “Did they build any lithium mines in Germany? In Portugal? No, they built it here,” Darko says. But to the leaders of each country, the move is mutually beneficial. Germany can export its dirty business to a country with no realistic prospects of EU accession and Vučić can enjoy their support in another round of dodgy elections. 

The government is particularly concerned by the latest protests, characterising them as a part of a coup organised by Russia. Dozens of people have been arrested for organising protests against the mine, as well as receiving anonymous death threats, while journalists covering the demonstrations have been pilloried by politicians.

This is likely due to the bipartisan nature of a cause which can unite even the government’s normal pro-Russian, conservative constituency with Belgrade liberals. A government long accustomed to bolstering support through nationalist rhetoric may find its support dwindling by protesters angered over the perceived sale of Serbian resources to benefit European and regional elites. Many protesters carry signs reading “Rio Tinto, March from the Drina” — a reference to a song and film commemorating Serbia’s unexpected First World War defeat of Austria-Hungary, in the first victory for the Allied Powers. It’s a reminder of the potential for nationalist opposition to the lithium scheme.

But most locals fatalistically agree the mine is a done deal. “Germany, Brussels: these are powerful forces. Vučić only continues what they put in motion”, Darko says. Bojana agrees, calling the decision to re-open the mine a “force majeure” imposition which can’t be withstood by domestic politicians or regional protests.

Rather, the Western Balkans will remain what Milan calls the “back door” of Europe, a dumping-ground for toxic industry which Germany and Brussels and other powers can burden with their needs in exchange for cheap concessions. A Chinese-run mine in Eastern Serbia is already displacing villages and deforesting hillsides to fuel a growing need for copper, also vital in green technology: in neighbouring Bosnia, the 2023 discovery of lithium ore looks set to fuel a similar scramble for profits. As EU politicians trumpet their squeaky-clean green credentials, this half-forgotten corner of Europe looks set to pay the cost.

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Matt Broomfield is a freelance journalist and co-founder of the Rojava Information Center, the leading independent English-language news source in north and east Syria.

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