Who Is Seizing Gazivode – and Who Is Really Defending It?

By Dragutin Nenezić

The events unfolding around Lake Gazivode/Ujmani over the past several months are undoubtedly familiar to anyone following developments in Kosovo. I therefore see little value in revisiting the chronology here. Nor can I go into too much detail, given my personal involvement in some of the ongoing legal proceedings.

Instead, I would like to highlight three dimensions of the issue that are often overlooked in public debate, while also proposing several possible responses for those who are, in my view, the only people truly defending Gazivode – the residents of Ibarski Kolašin.

The first dimension is, naturally, the legal one.

Much has already been written about these developments, yet what appears to have been largely overlooked is the essence of the matter. After the legal debacle surrounding the expropriations carried out for the construction of security bases—a process which, much to my regret, never reached a proper legal conclusion—Prime Minister Albin Kurti’s government has now opted for the use of brute force, this time without even attempting to preserve the appearance of legality.

The Ibar-Lepenac public company, which has no legal authority to do so, has been evicting residents and demolishing houses without conducting any prior administrative or judicial procedure. By acting in this manner, it effectively deprives property owners of almost every legal remedy except possessory lawsuits—or, for those willing to pursue them, criminal complaints against the company’s director, Faruk Mujka (former JUL’s member), who himself has been indicted on corruption charges.

Entirely consistent with what I see as the selective and arbitrary approach of the current government, the historical context—and, to a considerable extent, the legal one as well, though that should ultimately be left to the courts—is almost completely ignored. The settlements and buildings around Lake Gazivode did not emerge overnight. Their origins date back to the first wave of expropriations carried out during the construction of the Gazivode dam.

Finally, if we are discussing the legal framework within which all of this is taking place, these actions violate at least a dozen provisions of Kosovo’s Constitution, as well as several international legal instruments that, under that Constitution itself, are directly applicable in Kosovo. The problem is that, at present, those carrying out the demolitions are deliberately leaving virtually no legal avenue through which these violations could effectively be challenged before the courts.

The strategic dimension

The second dimension is strategic.

At the moment, hardly anyone is asking why these demolitions are taking place.

Are they connected to the proximity of the previously mentioned security base, or to other facilities around the lake currently occupied by various security structures?

Or are they linked to plans to open access toward Mokra Gora, an area that remains under a preliminary protection regime, with the aim—as some speculate—of building a cable car or other tourism infrastructure? Ironically, the very facilities now being targeted, from campsites to hotels, are among the few existing assets capable of supporting the tourism development of Lake Gazivode.

Or is the objective simply to remove Serbs from the lakeshore—people who actually live there, independently of camps, hotels or weekend cottages, as is the case in the village of Rezala?

Or, perhaps, is it all of the above?

The political dimension

The third dimension is political.

Kosovo may be heading toward another election, or it may not.

Either way, Prime Minister Albin Kurti has demonstrated that prolonged election cycles and caretaker governments suit him politically. Having achieved few tangible results beyond what I view as the continued harassment of the Serbian community, an offensive against Gazivode—given its symbolic importance—provides ideal material for yet another political campaign.

At its core, such a campaign seeks to erase every visible trace of the Serbian presence, whether through changing place names, eliminating Serbian participation in judicial institutions, or simply removing the physical evidence that Serbs continue to exist there.

The response to these developments must likewise be multidimensional.

At present, however, that is impossible because both the strategic and political dimensions have effectively been surrendered to advocates of a policy of active non-confrontation—a policy that has spread across every level of governance, from the institutions of the Republic of Serbia to the Serbian List, following the events in Banjska in September 2023.

Such a response did exist during the period of mass expropriations, even though those actions took place after Serbs had withdrawn from Kosovo’s institutions—but before Banjska.

One might, perhaps naively, have expected a similar response after the subsequent return to certain institutions, particularly at the municipal level, beginning with Zubin Potok.

The fact that no such response has materialized speaks volumes about the gap between what many expected, what may have been possible, and what has actually happened.

A similar pattern can be observed in the reactions of the international community, and the two are probably closely connected.

Concern is expressed.

Statements are issued.

But concern alone cannot stop excavators.

So how can this be stopped?

So, how can these actions be stopped?

In my view, only through the broadest possible use of the legal remedies still available within Kosovo’s legal system to those who remain subject to it.

Possessory lawsuits are already being filed, and I hope that process will continue.

I also hope that additional legal proceedings will soon be initiated—cases that address not only the fundamental rights of the Serbian community around Lake Gazivode, but also what I believe to be the unlawful conduct of both Faruk Mujka and Prime Minister Albin Kurti.

If one criminal complaint can be filed against Mujka, others can be filed as well.

I have no illusions about the fairness of Kosovo’s legal system. Nevertheless, I believe that pursuing every available legal avenue is the only way to fully expose its shortcomings.

In that spirit, together with my colleagues, I stand ready to assist every resident of Ibar Kolašin who seeks legal protection.

Looking fifteen years ahead

It is symbolic that I am writing this text on the fifteenth anniversary of the events that unfolded in northern Kosovo in 2011.

Anyone who was there at the time will remember how unimaginable it seemed that, only fifteen years later, situations like the ones we are witnessing today could take place.

I hope that fifteen years from now we will once again be able to say the same—that reality has changed so profoundly that today’s circumstances have become almost impossible to imagine.

A future in which no one demolishes Serbian homes.

A future in which Serbs are no longer arrested because of who they are.

For that future to become possible, Serbs must protect both themselves and their homes.

And these days, the people of Ibarski Kolašin are showing exactly how that is done.

The views expressed in this opinion piece are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial position of KoSSev. KoSSev is not the author of this text.