From Memory Politics to Mnemonic Diplomacy: Serbia’s Strategic Use of the 1999 NATO Bombing to Challenge Kosovo’s Statehood before and after Russia’s Full-Scale Invasion of Ukraine

Introduction: Batajnica, Symbolic Erasure, and the Politics of Commemoration

On 24 March 2025, Serbia commemorated the 26th anniversary of NATO’s intervention in the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (FRY), of which Serbia is the legal successor. On this occasion, the Serbian government, led by President Aleksandar Vučić, designated the military airport in Batajnica, on the outskirts of Belgrade, as the central site of commemoration.^[1] Bombed by NATO in 1999, the site includes both the military air base and the “13 May” centre, which houses the Special Anti-Terrorist Unit of the Serbian Ministry of Interior. Between 2001 and 2002, mass graves were discovered at the police compound, containing the remains of 744 Kosovo Albanian civilians (Vukpalaj 2021a; 2021b, 165-243). These victims – originally executed and buried at the sites of 40 separate massacres across Kosovo from the end of March to the beginning of June 1999 – were exhumed using heavy machinery and secretly transported to Serbia.^[2] The operation, orchestrated by the Serbian Ministry of Internal Affairs and security services, was carried out on the order of Serbian president Slobodan Milošević. Code-named “Sanitation” (Asanacija),^[3] the goal was to conceal evidence of war crimes in anticipation of postconflict negotiations with the West (Vukpalaj 2021b, 45; Tromp 2016).

The 2025 commemoration held on this site – rich in nationalist symbolism – brought together key political, military, and religious figures, including President Vučić, the Bosnian President of Republika Srpska at the time Milorad Dodik, the former President of Serbia Tomislav Nikolić (2012–2017), the Serbian Orthodox Patriarch Porfirije, as well as senior military and police officials. Also in attendance was the son of Serbian Army Colonel Milenko Pavlović, who died during the 1999 bombing.^[4] The ceremony centred on portraying Serbia as a martyr at the hands of NATO. It was held amid mass protests and growing discontent in Serbia, especially among students, over Vučić’s authoritarian governance. In his speech, Vučić once again cast Serbia as a resilient victim that had stood firm in the face of Western aggression and emerged stronger.^[5] Patriarch Porfirije invoked Serbia’s “tragic” past, naming Milica Rakić – a three-year-old girl from Batajnica and victim of the bombing – and Colonel Pavlović as national martyrs. Air raid sirens were sounded by the Serbian Armed Forces to simulate the trauma of 1999, transforming the event into a ritual expression of collective suffering.

Conspicuously absent from the ceremony was any mention of the 744 Albanian victims buried in the same military police complex. In his address, former Bosnian Serb President of Republika Srpska Milorad Dodik, who has attended every annual commemoration since they were revived by the government in 2015, condemned NATO’s interventions in Bosnia (1995) and Serbia (1999), framing them as part of a broader Western conspiracy against Serbian sovereignty. However, his speech omitted critical context: the three-year siege of Sarajevo (1992–1995), which claimed 11,500 civilian lives, and the systematic ethnic cleansing and massacres in Kosovo that prompted NATO’s military actions in the first place. Colonel Pavlović’s son depicted his father as a heroic defender of Valjevo and protector of Serbia’s “sacred land”, Kosovo – cast as the spiritual and historical cradle of the Serbian nation.^[6] In 2019, the Batajnica military airport was renamed in Pavlović’s honour, as were a nearby street and a Serbian Army MiG-29 fighter jet.^[7] Yet, this commemorative transformation of Batajnica – a site of denied atrocity – also exemplifies the regime’s broader effort to evade responsibility for war crimes committed in Kosovo and Bosnia. Rather than working towards acknowledging these crimes, the Vučić government has instrumentalised memory to suppress accountability.

This attempt to erase Batajnica’s past is not new. In 2018, Patriarch Irinej consecrated a newly built Orthodox church on the grounds of the police compound, near the site where the mass graves had been discovered. The church was dedicated to Saint Stefan of Deçan/Dečani, an Orthodox saint from Kosovo.^[8] Although formally a private religious initiative, the participation of high-ranking clergy – including the patriarch himself – endowed the ceremony with a quasi-official status. As Zerubavel (2003, 94) argues, official commemorations constitute “official historical narratives”, that is forms of state-sponsored remembrance that define “what we are expected to remember”. These are often countered by “alternative memories” promoted by civil society organisations such as the Humanitarian Law Center (Fond za humanitarno pravo, HLC) in Belgrade, which advocate for a more inclusive reckoning with the past (Zerubavel 2003, 96; Fridman 2022, 207; Subotić and Ejdus 2021, 183-9). The construction of the church near the mass grave site represents a form of symbolic concealment – sacralising silence and replacing truth with ritual.^[9] In 2016, the HLC proposed the establishment of a memorial at Batajnica to honour the Albanian victims.^[10] The initiative was either ignored or actively blocked by the Serbian authorities.^[11] After the passage of the 2018 Law on War Memorials, which regulates commemorative sites in Serbia, the proposal became legally unfeasible.^[12] The law effectively prohibits monuments dedicated to non-Serb victims.^[13] By linking memory to national security, the Law on War Memorials exemplifies mnemonic securitisation. As Maria Mälksoo (2015) argues, when historical memory is codified by law, it becomes a tool of securitisation – transforming contested narratives into threats to national identity and foreclosing political debate. The law prohibits monuments to non-Serb victims and entrenches a singular narrative of Serbian victimhood, thus preventing space for democratic contestation and agonistic engagement with the past.^[14] These developments reflect the consolidation of a narrow, state-sanctioned narrative – one that elevates Serbian victimhood while erasing or marginalising Serbian crimes. In this context, Batajnica stands as a potent symbol of memory control in contemporary Serbia: a site where silence overshadows remembrance and absence is deployed as a political instrument. This selective memory not only avoids historical reckoning but also bolsters the power of the regime.

While commemorating NATO’s bombing reinforces a national narrative of suffering, Batajnica exemplifies the state’s refusal to acknowledge Kosovo’s independence by denying the atrocities committed against Kosovo Albanians. Once a training ground for Serbia’s police and military, Batajnica is now a site of buried truths – connecting Serbia to its violent wartime past and its unfulfilled responsibilities. Despite its historical significance, the site has never been officially recognised as a space for mourning or accountability. Instead, it has been reframed as a tool of political utility, reinforcing selective memory practices.^[15]

In this study, I proceed by first situating Serbia’s practices of commemorating NATO’s 1999 intervention within a broader historical and political context, tracing their evolution up to the consolidation of the government led by the Serbian Progressive Party (Srpska napredna stranka, SNS) under Aleksandar Vučić. I analyse how official state narratives have been constructed and institutionalised to produce a national identity centred on victimhood while simultaneously undermining Kosovo’s legitimacy. Drawing on key theoretical frameworks in memory studies, this article examines how Serbia has employed mnemonic strategies both domestically and internationally. On the domestic front, I analyse how commemorative practices have been used to reinforce authoritarian legitimacy while evading accountability for wartime atrocities. Internationally, the article investigates how the narrative of the NATO bombings has been mobilised as a diplomatic tool – most notably in Serbia’s opposition to the adoption of the resolution on Srebrenica at the United Nations General Assembly (UNGA) on 23 May 2024.^[16] It further explores how Serbia’s memory politics align with its geopolitical partnerships – particularly with Russia and China – and framing NATO as an aggressor contributes to Serbia’s broader efforts to isolate Kosovo and challenge its statehood.

One of the article’s key contributions is to demonstrate how narratives of Serbian victimhood – especially those surrounding the 1999 NATO bombing – have been reactivated and strategically repurposed in the context of Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine, with Kosovo remaining the symbolic and geopolitical focal point of this memory strategy. While the role of victimhood in Serbia’s nationalist consolidation is well documented, this study offers new perspectives by analysing how anti-Kosovo discourse – particularly as expressed during commemorations of the 1999 NATO bombing – has evolved into an increasingly internationalised and instrumental form of symbolic diplomacy. It shows how Serbia’s anti-Kosovo rhetoric has intensified in recent years, contributing to the sharpest deterioration in Serbia–Kosovo relations since 1999, culminating in the Banjska paramilitary attack carried out in 2023 by actors linked to the Serbian regime. This escalation reflects how symbolic narratives can help legitimise not only diplomatic positions but also real-world confrontational acts. Simultaneously, the article examines how anti-NATO and anti-Western narratives have been strategically mobilised – such as during Serbia’s opposition to the 2024 UNGA Srebrenica resolution – to portray Serbia as a victim and symbolically align it with Russia and China. At the same time, mnemonic diplomacy also extends westward, as illustrated by Serbia leasing the former General Staff building (Generalštab) to President Trump’s son-in-law for a development project, which includes plans for a memorial to Serbian victims of NATO. Together, these seemingly contradictory moves serve Serbia’s hedging strategy between East and West. These dynamics reveal how historical discourse functions as a strategic tool in Serbia’s foreign policy, with Kosovo positioned at the heart of this evolving post-2022 narrative battlefield. This article offers new insights by showing how anti-Kosovo and anti-NATO narratives, once largely confined to domestic arenas, have become central to Serbia’s foreign policy and diplomatic alignment strategies.

Theoretical Framework

This study employs a theoretical framework that conceptualises collective memory not only as a repository of past events but as a contested political tool – one used by states to construct identity, legitimise authority, and conduct foreign policy. The framework employed is anchored in Jan Assmann’s (1997, 2011) distinction between communicative and cultural memory. According to the theory, communicative memory is based on everyday communication between individuals who have experienced events first-hand or heard about them. It is informal, shaped through personal interactions such as family conversations or eyewitness accounts, and closely linked to individual and social experiences. In contrast, cultural memory is institutionalised and ritualised, transmitted through commemorations, monuments, and official narratives disseminated via educational, cultural, or media policies. This form of memory is more durable and transgenerational. Assmann (2011) argues that cultural memory becomes “mnemohistory” when it is reshaped by current political needs rather than reflecting the factuality of the past. Aleida Assmann (2006; 2008) elaborates, arguing that mnemohistory aims to emotionally charge and narrate the past to serve contemporary identities and political aspirations. She notes that “mnemohistory is interested in the constructive as well as the distorting effects of memory” (Assmann 2008, 62). This concept is instrumental in understanding how Serbia selectively curates historical narratives – foregrounding Serbian suffering while downplaying or erasing responsibility for wartime atrocities in Kosovo.

Building on the Assmanns’ conceptualisations, Bernhard and Kubik (2014) introduce “mnemonic actors” and “memory regimes” to explain how political elites, state institutions, and civil society actors compete in defining historical interpretations as a strategy of political legitimisation. These actors operate within memory regimes – structured environments that regulate what is remembered or forgotten. While state actors enjoy privileged access to institutions such as education and media, their narratives still require public legitimacy. Hence, memory politics involves both top-down dissemination and bottom-up negotiation. This dual dynamic is visible in Serbia’s official narratives on the 1999 NATO intervention, where the state imposes dominant discourses while marginalising or silencing dissenting views.

Stanley Cohen (2001) offers a critical perspective on denial as a core mechanism of memory politics. He identifies three forms of denial – literal, interpretive, and implicatory. In the Serbian context, interpretive denial is particularly salient: while acknowledging acts of violence, the state reframes them in morally neutral or heroic terms. For instance, although the NATO bombing is recognised, it is presented solely as illegitimate aggression, severed from the humanitarian context of the Kosovo War. Cohen argues that institutionalised denial is characteristic of authoritarian memory regimes, enabling collective amnesia and historical revisionism while minimising public resistance (Cohen 2001, 132-3).

Cohen’s analysis complements that of Zerubavel (1999), who introduces the concept of intersubjectivity to emphasise that memory is social as well as individual. According to Zerubavel, individuals remember not in isolation but as members of collectives – families, communities, or nations. Memory is shaped through interactions and mediated by institutions such as schools, the media, and commemorative events, which collectively determine what is remembered or forgotten. Zerubavel (2003, 94) emphasises the central role that state power plays in delineating the boundaries of official memory, shaping the collective remembrance landscape. In Serbia, formal memory mechanisms involve not only state institutions but also the Serbian Orthodox Church, schools, and the media. This type of memory is selective by nature, foregrounding narratives that forge national identity while suppressing inconvenient truths. The Batajnica commemoration exemplifies this selectivity, highlighting Serbian victimhood while omitting the identities and contexts of the victims.

Cultural memory is thus formalised through rituals, texts, and symbols, and stabilised under state supervision to align with political goals. Serbia’s mnemonic strategy extends further through the process of mnemonic securitisation, as theorised by Mälksoo (2009; 2015; 2023) and Ejdus (2023). Securitised memory emerges when the state treats historical narratives as matters of national security and existential survival, often criminalising dissent and institutionalising official versions of the past. In Serbia, this approach is evident in the regulation of memorial practices, notably through the aforementioned Law on War Memorials and the obstruction of commemorative initiatives such as the proposed memorial at Batajnica. These actions reinforce a securitised memory regime that dictates which narratives are permitted and which are silenced.

Beyond domestic politics, Serbia also employs memory as a foreign policy instrument – a phenomenon described by Bachleitner (2019; 2023, 248) as “diplomacy with memory”. In this framework, state actors use historical narratives strategically to gain international support and moral legitimacy. Diplomats are thus not mere emissaries representing the state’s interests but agents shaping collective memory for foreign audiences. Serbia’s reframing of the 1999 NATO intervention serves to challenge Kosovo’s sovereignty and align the country with allies such as Russia and China, both of which oppose Kosovo’s independence. McGlynn and Đureinović (2023, 228) and Pfoser (2025, 156) argue that such strategic uses of memory facilitate international alliances and soft power projection. Here, diplomacy becomes a conduit for historical grievance, transforming memory into a geopolitical resource.

Serbia’s memory politics are embedded within broader patterns of populist nationalism, as outlined by Mudde and Kaltwasser (2018). Populist leaders often depict the nation as a perpetual victim, encircled by hostile powers and betrayed by internal enemies (Jovanović 2018). In this narrative framework, the memory of NATO’s intervention is instrumentalised to foster national cohesion and obstruct Kosovo’s international recognition. By framing the bombing as a foundational trauma rather than a response to humanitarian abuses, Serbia constructs a moral imperative to oppose Kosovo’s statehood. This selective memory serves two functions: it reinforces internal ideological unity and bolsters international diplomatic narratives. From mnemonic securitisation to strategic diplomacy, memory operates as both a tool for domestic governance and a foreign policy instrument aimed at reshaping regional geopolitics.

Constructing Victimhood: NATO Bombing Commemorations in Serbia since Milošević

The commemoration of NATO’s 1999 bombing began under Slobodan Milošević, who established 24 March as a National Day of Remembrance to emphasise Serbian victimhood. While the early post-Milošević period (2001–2012) was marked by ambiguity and limited state engagement, this changed after 2012 with the rise to power of Aleksandar Vučić. Under his leadership, commemorations regained prominence, reframing 24 March as a symbol of Western aggression and reinforcing a narrative of national victimisation (Subotić and Ejdus 2021; Satjukow 2022).

The NATO military intervention, which began on 24 March 1999 and ended on 10 June of the same year, became a defining moment not only in the Kosovo conflict but also in Serbia’s postwar political discourse. After Serbia’s military withdrawal from Kosovo, Milošević’s government sought to reshape the narrative, portraying Serbia as a nation that had stood firm in the face of Western aggression rather than one that had suffered military defeat. The official rhetoric asserted that “Kosovo’s sovereignty had been preserved, and the issue of autonomy was no longer relevant” (Post 2004, 183). To reinforce this narrative, the regime promoted a triumphalist discourse that portrayed Serbia as having endured NATO’s bombing while maintaining its territorial integrity. This interpretation closely aligned with the ideas presented in the 1986 Memorandum of the Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts (SANU).^[17] This draft document framed Serbs as historically marginalised within Yugoslavia, with Kosovo at the very heart of their perceived discrimination.

A powerful symbol of this nationalist discourse was the 1989 Vidovdan commemoration, where Slobodan Milošević delivered his famous speech at Gazimestan, invoking Serbian historical suffering and resistance, and mobilising nationalist sentiment around Kosovo as a sacred Serbian homeland. Kosovo was thus portrayed as both a site of heroic resistance and a symbol of Serbia’s enduring struggle for survival and dignity. Milošević’s regime utilised NATO’s bombing campaign to reinforce this myth of national resistance, portraying Serbia not only as a victim of neighbouring nations but also as a target of Western intervention, while avoiding any acknowledgment of war crimes committed against Kosovo Albanians. This narrative was particularly necessary given that Serbia’s military defeat by NATO had dealt a symbolic blow to Milošević’s long-standing portrayal of an “invincible Serbia” (Post 2004, 184). Through media control and state-driven propaganda, NATO’s intervention was framed not as a failure but as proof of Serbian resilience and perseverance.

Milošević’s government formally established 24 March as the official commemoration date, deliberately disregarding 10 June, the date that marked the conclusion of the military campaign. Ejdus (2023, 31) points out how Serbia deliberately diverged from traditional war memorial practices, which typically commemorate the end of conflict. For Milošević, acknowledging 10 June – the date of Serbia’s military withdrawal from Kosovo – would have signified an admission of defeat, a narrative he sought to suppress. Instead, 24 March, marking the beginning of the NATO intervention, was chosen as the date of the central commemoration, emphasising a narrative of Serbian victimhood and resistance to Western aggression. In March 2000, Milošević organised the first official commemoration ceremony. According to Satjukow (2022, 297), this event marked “the creation of an official memory of NATO’s aggression”, setting the framework for all future state memorial practices. The commemoration aimed to place the bombings at the heart of Serbia’s national identity, transforming victims into heroic figures and recasting Serbia’s defeat as an act of dignity and resistance, rather than acknowledging the underlying causes of the conflict. Milošević’s administration also invested in constructing memorial symbols, including the “Eternal Flame” monument in Ušće, inaugurated by Mira Marković, Milošević’s wife, which became an emblem of national suffering and resolve.

While Milošević remained in power until October 2000, the loss of Kosovo marked a pivotal moment. For many Serbs, the NATO bombing represented not just a military defeat but also a betrayal of the nationalist promises made by Milošević’s government. Ironically, the rhetoric of victimhood failed to save his regime, and Serbia’s defeat in 1999 accelerated his downfall. Following the rise of the Democratic Opposition of Serbia (Demokratska opozicija Srbije, DOS) coalition, a process of democratic transition began. However, this transition required the backing of the Western nations which had led the military intervention. As a result, the subject of NATO’s bombing was treated with caution, particularly in official commemorations. Korostelina (2024) notes that between 2000 and 2014, the bombing was primarily commemorated through religious ceremonies led by the Serbian Orthodox Church in Belgrade. These events featured political and religious elites, with patriarchs and bishops portraying NATO as an unjust aggressor seeking to seize historical Serbian territory – Kosovo – to establish a military base.

In its early years, the DOS government adopted a dual strategy when it came to remembering the wars of the 1990s: domestically, it promoted a “mnemonic warrior” approach, cultivating nationalist sentiments; internationally, it presented itself as a “mnemonic pluralist”, signalling some openness to reinterpreting the past (Bernhard and Kubik 2014; Roginer Hofmeister 2024). Mochtak (2024) describes this approach as utilitarian and inclined towards denial. Two distinct political currents coexisted within the DOS coalition: Vojislav Koštunica’s faction, which advocated a “soft transition”, avoiding direct engagement with Serbia’s wartime history (Gordy 2013), and Zoran Đinđić’s faction, which pushed for a “radical break”, emphasising full accountability and cooperation with the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY).

Koštunica, in line with his nationalist stance, saw Serbian officials indicted by the ICTY – such as Milošević – as victims of NATO’s bombing, portraying them all as targets of the attacks against Serbia. He strongly opposed Milošević’s extradition to The Hague, a move ultimately made by Đinđić in June 2001, in a politically bold attempt to neutralise Milošević’s influence. However, Đinđić’s assassination in March 2003 delivered a serious setback to Serbia’s transitional justice efforts (Subotić 2009, 44-7).

Serbia’s political discourse has remained largely evasive when it comes addressing its wartime responsibilities, while NATO’s bombing continues to serve as a central pillar of nationalist rhetoric. Despite opportunities to promote a more inclusive historical narrative, Serbian leaders have often lacked the political will or institutional capacity to do so. Cohen (1995) argues that new governments frequently begin with promises of accountability, only to ultimately establish a system of “de facto impunity”. Similarly, Malinova (2021) highlights the tendency of political elites to minimise or silence inconvenient historical truths. Cohen (2001, 132-3) describes this phenomenon as “social amnesia”, whereby societies distance themselves from past atrocities rather than confronting them.

However, the topic of NATO’s bombing and its perceived role in Kosovo’s secession resurfaced in political discourse in 2008, when Kosovo declared independence. On that day, Prime Minister Vojislav Koštunica stated: “Never before has the truth been clearer than it is today […]. The real foundations of Kosovo’s quasi-statehood are the bombs that NATO used to destroy Serbia” (Koštunica 2009; cf. Subotić and Ejdus 2021, 176). In Serbia’s dominant political narrative – then as now – the prevailing claim is that NATO’s true objective was “to create a Kosovo quasi-state, to rebuild NATO, and to punish Serbia for opposing the new world order led by the United States” (Subotić and Ejdus 2021, 173). Koštunica even referred to Kosovo as NATO’s first state.^[18]

In 2007, as prime minister, Koštunica oversaw the adoption of a parliamentary resolution that, on the eve of Kosovo’s declaration of independence, announced Serbia’s military neutrality. This move was part of a broader rejection of the Comprehensive Proposal for the Kosovo Status Settlement, commonly referred to as the Ahtisaari Plan, as it was proposed by former President of Finland Martti Ahtisaari. Ahtisaari had been appointed UN Special Envoy for the Future Status Process for Kosovo in 2005. Among the components of the proposal were the formation of an International Steering Group for Kosovo, an International Civilian Representative, and as a European Union Special Representative to be appointed by the Council of the European Union.^[19] Koštunica argued that the plan made NATO the “ultimate authority” in the governance of an independent Kosovo.^[20]

Even more moderate figures, such as former President Boris Tadić, endorsed this stance. On the 13th anniversary of the NATO bombings in 2012, Tadić described the intervention as “a crime against our people and our state”.^[21] Thus, although Serbia has attempted to distance itself from its authoritarian past and embark on a transition toward democracy, this process has remained fragile (Bieber 2018).

Constructing Memory at Home: The Transition to a Mnemonic Regime

The consolidation of power by the SNS and its leader Aleksandar Vučić – appointed prime minister in 2014 – marked a decisive shift in Serbia’s politics of memory, particularly regarding the 1999 NATO intervention. Commemorations of the bombing campaign evolved into highly orchestrated, state-led spectacles, broadcast on national public television and online platforms.^[22] A key turning point came on 24 March 2015, the 16th anniversary of the intervention, when Vučić centralised commemorative events for the first time since the fall of Slobodan Milošević. That year, a national ceremony was held in Belgrade, with the illuminated ruins of the former Ministry of Defence General Staff building – a prominent NATO target – serving as its centrepiece (Satjukow 2022, 303; Ejdus 2017, 23-4). The ruins, deliberately preserved, have become a lieu de mémoire that spatially inscribes the victimhood narrative into the urban landscape. Rather than being rebuilt, such sites are maintained as symbols of Western aggression and Serbian endurance. As Ejdus (2017, 23-4) notes, they now function as both markers of national trauma and as tourist attractions that externalise Serbia’s narrative of victimisation. They serve not only to reinforce domestic identity but also to convey Serbia’s historical grievances to the international community (Pfoser 2025, 156).

The 2015 ceremony marked a return to a nationalist memory policy, framing NATO’s intervention as illegitimate aggression and portraying Serbia as the innocent victim. Since then, 24 March has been commemorated annually, with rotating host cities and increasingly elaborate events. These commemorations are marked by selective memory practices and theatrical displays of victimhood. Vučić’s speeches typically emphasise Serbian civilian casualties – especially children – to evoke strong emotional reactions. Strikingly absent, however, is any reference to non-Serb victims, including those in Kosovo. The events also employ dramatised sound effects – air raid sirens, explosions, collapsing buildings – mimicking the 1999 bombings (Ejdus 2017, 37).^[23] Vučić uses these occasions to performatively address NATO and its member states, citing the number of bombs dropped, flight sorties conducted, and the scale of material destruction. The narrative often presents Serbia as a smaller nation resisting the military intervention of 19 NATO countries. Within this framework, Western powers are portrayed as militarily dominant actors whose actions are interpreted by Serbian officials as compromising Serbia’s sovereignty (Perritt 2009, 123).

Central to Vučić’s rhetoric is the argument that Kosovo’s independence was the direct result of NATO’s military campaign. In nearly every commemorative address, he has drawn a direct causal link between the NATO bombing of Serbia and subsequent developments in Kosovo. Framing the intervention as a deliberate attack on Serbia, he emphasises a narrative of victimhood and resistance, often declaring, “You killed us because of this Kosovo”^[24] when addressing the NATO countries that “took” Kosovo from Serbia. Vučić has consistently underscored Serbia’s resilience, pledging that it “will never voluntarily allow you to take Kosovo and Metohija, to make our Serbia disappear”.^[25] This narrative frames Serbia’s opposition to Kosovo’s statehood as a struggle for historical justice and the defence of national sovereignty. At the commemoration held in Varvarin in 2018, Vučić declared: “You killed our children, but you didn’t kill Serbia – because no one can kill Serbia.”^[26]

Such statements are central to Vučić’s broader communication strategy, which portrays Kosovo’s independence as the result of unlawful, Western-imposed violence. In this framing, NATO is cast as a hostile and illegitimate actor – an alliance that is responsible for the deaths of thousands of innocent civilians and violated international law by launching aggression against a sovereign state without UN Security Council authorisation (Němec and Zorić 2024, 646). Speaking at the 18th anniversary ceremony in Aleksinac, Vučić went even further, claiming that the NATO campaign had aimed to “take a part of our country”.^[27] On the 20th anniversary in 2019, he then called the intervention “the first spark that led to Kosovo’s separation from our homeland”, while on the 25th anniversary in 2024, at a ceremony in Prokuplje, he declared: “Twenty-five years have passed, but Serbia still does not accept the dismemberment of our country.”^[28] This narrative contests the humanitarian justification that was originally used to frame NATO’s intervention (Silander and Janzekovic 2013, 26), recasting the bombing as a geopolitical conspiracy aimed at severing Kosovo from Serbia. As Subotić and Ejdus (2021, 173-4) observe, successive Serbian governments have consistently rejected the humanitarian framing of the NATO intervention, presenting Kosovo’s independence as the product of Western power play rather than a response to war crimes or local resistance. This narrative portrays Serbia as a historical victim of deceit, while erasing the agency of Kosovo Albanians and downplaying atrocities committed by Serbian forces. Part of this narrative includes the inflation of Serbian casualty figures. Vučić claims that NATO killed between 2,500 and 4,000 Serbs, blending military and civilian deaths into a powerful, yet empirically unsupported, emotional appeal. An independent report confirms 454 civilian fatalities, of which 207 were Serbs.^[29]

By manipulating these figures, Serbia’s government reinforces a sense of grievance and seeks to delegitimate Kosovo’s competing victim narrative. These state-sponsored commemorations serve a dual function: they seek to foster domestic unity around a shared sense of historical injustice, and they challenge Kosovo’s international legitimacy. Rather than acknowledging the intervention as an effort to halt ethnic cleansing, Serbia presents it as a criminal act designed to forcibly strip the country of territory. This memory politics is reinforced through symbolic commemorative events such as those held in Batajnica attended by Serbian Orthodox Church officials. At a ceremony held in 2017 in Grdelica, where a NATO missile struck a passenger train in 1999, Vučić declared: “We will not join any alliance that destroyed our country and killed our children. We only want to be masters of our own land.”^[30] At the same event, Milorad Dodik, former leader of Republika Srpska, added: “Republika Srpska refuses to be part of NATO and will follow Serbia’s lead in this regard.”^[31] Dodik used commemorative events marking NATO’s intervention to promote a nationalist, anti-Bosnia, and anti-NATO narrative. In his speech at the 24th anniversary commemoration in the city of Sombor in 2023, he openly advocated for the secession of Republika Srpska from Bosnia and Herzegovina, addressing Bosniaks, Croats, and Western actors who support a sovereign Bosnia, declaring: “Our sights are set on unification with Serbia – I’m done with your false promises of dialogue; I no longer want to see or tolerate you.”^[32]

Dodik has consistently opposed initiatives encouraging Bosnian Serbs to confront wartime atrocities and has led a sustained campaign calling for denial of the Srebrenica genocide. As Subotić (2023, 125-6) explains, many Bosnian Serbs see recognition of the Srebrenica genocide as a threat to Republika Srpska’s legitimacy, fearing it could provide grounds for its dissolution. Vučić applies a similar logic to Kosovo: acknowledging Serbia’s role in the crimes committed in 1998-1999 would strengthen Kosovo’s independence and weaken Serbia’s diplomatic position. By refuting operations like Asanacija – Serbia’s postwar effort to conceal mass graves such as those in Batajnica – Vučić aligns himself with the legacy of the Milošević regime, of which he is also selectively critical. In a 2018 speech in North Mitrovica, for instance, he praised Milošević’s “intentions”, while distancing himself from the regime’s methods.^[33]

The Asanacija operation mirrored earlier efforts by Serbian forces in Bosnia to conceal evidence of atrocities. Before the 1995 Dayton Accords that ended the war in Bosnia, bodies were moved from primary to secondary graves there to destroy forensic evidence and obstruct investigations. Aleksandar Vučić’s refusal to acknowledge that similar operations had been carried out in Kosovo underscores the continuity of Serbia’s longstanding strategy: to deny war crimes in order to preserve negotiating leverage. This approach is echoed in the Vučić–Dodik alliance, which represents a coordinated effort to evade accountability for atrocities committed in both Kosovo and Bosnia. The objective is twofold: to delay Euro-Atlantic integration and to maintain bargaining power – whether in the dialogue with Prishtina or with Sarajevo. For Serbia, the denial of the Srebrenica genocide is also aimed at shielding the state from further legal or political repercussions. In 2007, the International Court of Justice (ICJ) found Serbia in violation of the Genocide Convention for failing to prevent the genocide and for not arresting Ratko Mladić, who was not captured until 2011.^[34]

This policy of denial has also manifested in the rehabilitation of war criminals convicted by the ICTY. Of the five individuals sentenced in the Šainović et al. case^[35] (Nikola Šainović, Dragoljub Ojdanić, Nebojša Pavković, Vladimir Lazarević, and Sreten Lukić), all but General Nebojša Pavković – who is still in prison – returned to Serbia and became celebrated figures. Vladimir Lazarević now regularly participates in anti-NATO events.^[36] Vučić’s persistent emphasis on NATO’s 1999 intervention reinforces a memory politics centred on victimhood, the erasure of culpability, and resistance to Western narratives of justice (Subotić 2023, 127). In this climate, murals of General Ratko Mladić have appeared throughout Serbia, with more than 250 being documented in Belgrade alone.^[37] Mladić has even participated by phone from his prison cell in a television programme on which the president of Serbia makes regular appearances.^[38]

The awarding of the Nobel Prize to the Austrian writer Peter Handke in 2019 strongly reinforced the denialist narrative (Subotić 2023). Since Handke’s award, Vučić has frequently invoked him as a symbolic figure in Serbia’s narrative of historical victimhood.^[39] Handke – an unapologetic supporter of the Serbian cause – had delivered the eulogy at Slobodan Milošević’s funeral in 2006. At the same ceremony, Vučić, then secretary general of the ultranationalist Serbian Radical Party (Srpska radikalna stranka, SRS), read a letter honouring Milošević and endorsed the conspiracy theory that the former president had been murdered in custody, rather than dying of natural causes at the ICTY.^[40] Handke’s international recognition in 2019 was swiftly integrated into Serbia’s memory politics. Since receiving his award, he has received multiple official honours from Serbian institutions, including a presidential medal in 2021 and recognition from the Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts.^[41] The Nobel Prize Committee thus played its part in further legitimising a revisionist portrayal of the Yugoslav wars in which Serbia is framed as unjustly vilified and perpetually wronged.

Strategic Memory Abroad: Serbia’s Mnemonic Diplomacy after Russia’s Invasion of Ukraine in February 2022

Following Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, Serbia’s mnemonic diplomacy intensified, as it could now increasingly rely on the Kosovo narrative to position itself within a broader global coalition challenging Western norms. Given that Serbia has prioritised the Kosovo issue as the cornerstone of its foreign policy even above its ambitions to join the European Union (Němec and Zorić 2024, 651), it has gradually transformed the remembrance of NATO’s 1999 intervention into a diplomatic tool. The narrative of victimhood serves to legitimise Serbia’s strategic alignment with Russia and China. It gained momentum after Russia’s annexation of Crimea in 2014, which coincided with the consolidation of power by Aleksandar Vučić. Following the invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, and Russian president Vladimir Putin’s justification that the aggression was aimed at preventing Ukraine’s integration into NATO, Serbia has intensified its use of the memory of the NATO bombings. This is not merely rhetorical but part of a shared anti-Western and anti-NATO discourse that now underpins the logic of Serbian diplomacy.

Russia and China had both opposed NATO’s intervention and have supported Serbia ever since. As Bellamy (2010) observes, much of the discourse surrounding NATO’s intervention has endured, with key narratives consistently reactivated in international fora. Over the years, both Russia and China refused to recognise the war crimes committed by Serbian forces in Bosnia and Kosovo. They have opposed Kosovo’s independence. Their most recent attempt to block the United Nations General Assembly Resolution declaring 11 July as the International Day of Remembrance for the Srebrenica Genocide – passed on 23 May 2024 – illustrates their continued obstructionist posture.^[42]

The resolution was adopted with just 84 votes in favour, while the number of votes against (19), abstentions (68), and absentees (22) was collectively higher.^[43] This allowed Vučić to present the outcome not as a diplomatic failure, but as a moral victory for Serbia, casting himself in the role of national saviour. Such positioning echoes Wodak’s (2015, 52) observation that “populist leaders and parties are constructed as saviors, saving ‘the people’ from threat and danger (mostly from ‘outside’)”. Vučić emphasised Serbia’s “heroism under pressure”, depicting the country as having resisted overwhelming odds.^[44] The defeat thus enabled him to appear as the sole defender of Serbian dignity in the face of what he portrayed as a hypocritical and punitive West.

In his UN General Assembly speech, Vučić sought to discredit the Srebrenica resolution by portraying its preparation as secretive and opaque, contrasting it with the allegedly open process for a similar resolution on Rwanda.^[45] While the resolution actually enjoyed broad international support – with main sponsors Germany and Rwanda and 30 co-sponsoring countries – Vučić adopted a conspiratorial tone, emphasising a supposed double standard. He claimed that two months earlier, on 24 March, Serbia had attempted to start a discussion in the UN Security Council (UNSC) on the 1999 NATO bombing, only to be told to “look to the future”, while, according to him, just two days later, the Srebrenica resolution – addressing events predating the bombing by four years – was being prepared in secret (mins. 4-5 of his speech).

Vučić also ignored the fact that a prior attempt to bring a Srebrenica resolution to the Security Council in 2015, on the 20th anniversary of the genocide, had been blocked by Russia, leaving the General Assembly as the only forum for a vote. By invoking NATO’s intervention, Vučić reframed Serbia as a historical victim and implicitly appealed to countries hostile to the West for support, reinforcing this narrative with references to Serbia’s sacrifices in the First and Second World Wars.^[46] The narrative functions as both a defensive strategy and a foreign policy instrument. It deflects attention from Serbia’s role in past atrocities – in the Srebrenica genocide and Kosovo – and recasts international criticism as moral hypocrisy (Đureinović 2023).

Serbia’s foreign policy use of memory politics is not confined to its defiance vis-á-vis NATO and the West; it also serves as a central pillar in Serbia’s alignment with China and Russia. A pivotal moment in the former is the bombing of the Embassy of China in Belgrade on 7 May 1999, which resulted in the deaths of three Chinese journalists. While the US has framed the incident as a targeting error, China has consistently interpreted it as a deliberate attack on its sovereignty (Bellamy 2010).

Serbia has embraced this narrative, transforming the bombing into a foundational moment in a shared memory of victimhood and resistance to Western imperialism. The 25th anniversary of the embassy bombing in May 2024 marked a key moment in consolidating the Sino–Serbian alliance.^[47] During his official visit to Belgrade,^[48] Chinese President Xi Jinping declared: “The Sino–Serbian friendship, forged in the blood of our compatriots, will remain in the collective memory of our peoples.”^[49] At the site of the former Chinese embassy, bombed in 1999, Chinese and Serbian flags were displayed alongside banners reading “Kosovo is Serbia” and “Taiwan is China”. The New Communist Party of Yugoslavia (Nova komunistička partija Jugoslavije, NKPJ) – an unregistered party, loyal to Vučić, that managed to enter the Serbian parliament in alliance with the Russian Party in Serbia (Ruska stranka, RS), which claims to represent the Russian minority and was equally devoted to Vučić – proposed renaming a street in Belgrade “Chinese Victims of NATO Aggression”.^[50]

On this occasion, President Vučić emphasised China’s long-standing support for Serbia’s territorial integrity.^[51] This mutual framing reflects China’s realist interpretation of the bombing, portraying it as a US-led attempt to curb its rising influence (Shepperd 2013, 82-7; Bellamy 2010). Thus, for both Beijing and Belgrade, NATO’s intervention is not remembered as a humanitarian effort but rather as a strategic act to entrench Western hegemony – mnemonic diplomacy of how the Kosovo War ended has acquired global dimensions. Both states stress that the NATO campaign was conducted without UN Security Council authorization, thereby violating international law. For China, the embassy bombing also breached the Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations of 1961, which codifies the functions of diplomatic missions, the privileges and immunities of diplomats, and the responsibilities of both the sending and receiving states (Shepperd 2013, 87).

The precedent set by NATO is seen by Chinese officials as dangerous, raising fears that similar justifications might be invoked to intervene in places such as Taiwan or Tibet.^[52] This concern is mirrored in Serbian political rhetoric, which frequently refers to the 1999 intervention as the opening of a “Pandora’s box”.^[53] In exchange for Chinese support on the Kosovo issue, Serbia has endorsed China’s positions on Taiwan, Xinjiang, and Hong Kong. This diplomatic reciprocity extends to Serbia voting against UN resolutions condemning human rights abuses in China, particularly regarding the Uyghurs in Xinjiang.^[54] Russia welcomes Serbia’s alignment with Eastern powers, viewing it as part of an anti-Western bloc united by a shared memory of injustice and a rejection of Western liberal norms. The legacy of NATO’s 1999 bombing, recalled here, only reinforces anti-Western sentiment in Serbia, framing international relations as a “conflict” between the West and countries such as Russia and China. In this context, the Serbian president navigates between the two poles, increasingly relying on Eastern partners that are under significant Western pressure.^[55]

An even more intensive strategy of involvement has shaped Serbia’s relations with Russia. Since the annexation of Crimea in 2014, at the latest, Russia and Serbia have entered a mnemonic alliance.^[56] Following the full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, Serbian officials have increasingly drawn on historical narratives to critique what they perceive as Western hypocrisy. They argue that while the West now upholds Ukraine’s territorial integrity, it violated Serbia’s in 1999. In March 2023, on the 24th anniversary of the NATO bombings, Vučić echoed Putin’s rhetoric, stating: “You defend someone else’s territorial integrity, but not ours.”^[57] He reiterated this at the UN General Assembly in 2023 and 2024, asserting that the first breach of territorial sovereignty in post-Cold War Europe occurred not in Ukraine, but in Serbia.^[58]

Within the framework of Serbia’s memory politics, President Vučić’s references to the “Kosovo precedent” function less as consistent legal argumentation and more as selective mnemonic devices designed to serve present-day political aims. By reaffirming Serbia’s support for Ukraine’s sovereignty while simultaneously asking why UN Security Council Resolution 1244 – which affirmed Serbia’s sovereignty over Kosovo – is continually ignored,^[59] Vučić invokes a narrative of historical injustice that casts Serbia as a victim of Western hypocrisy. Although his government has generally avoided drawing overt comparisons between Kosovo’s independence and the secession of the Donbas regions prior to their annexation (Němec and Zorić 2024), Vučić frequently references the Kosovo case to expose what he frames as double standards in Western interpretations of international law (Petsinis 2022, 71).^[60]

This memory-based argument is instrumental. It positions Serbia not only as a defender of sovereignty but also as a state whose historical trauma – the 1999 NATO intervention – has never been properly acknowledged. Such rhetoric enables Vučić to make a symbolic link between the West’s recognition of Kosovo and its condemnation of Russia’s actions in Ukraine. During Donald Trump Jr.’s visit to Belgrade in March 2025, Vučić remarked: “Putin learned something from this. When the Donbas crisis began, he used the same words. He adopted the same narrative – and wisely so. I would have done the same in his position.”^[61] This statement illustrates the deployment of collective memory not merely as a retrospective narrative but as a geopolitical strategy. Vučić’s refusal to impose sanctions on Russia is thus rooted not only in pragmatic neutrality but also in Serbia’s dependence on Russia’s role in enabling it to maintain its position on Kosovo in international institutions (Němec and Zorić 2024, 650).

Memory – in this case, of NATO’s military intervention and Kosovo’s contested independence – is mobilised to justify alignment with Russia and to recast Serbia’s diplomatic stance as morally consistent and historically grounded. Yet this mnemonic framing also distorts the historical record. By treating Kosovo’s declaration of independence as a precedent for Donetsk, Luhansk, or Crimea, the narrative erases key contextual and humanitarian differences. In Kosovo, the 1999 intervention followed widespread ethnic persecution and the forced displacement of over 80 % of the population, including 90 % of Kosovo’s ethnic Albanians.^[62] No such conditions were present in Crimea, which undermines the legitimacy of the analogy. Nevertheless, Vučić has continued to use the Kosovo–Ukraine comparison selectively, invoking it when politically useful, and retreating from it when alignment with the West requires caution (Němec and Zorić 2024). The analogy appears sporadically, mostly accompanied by neutral rhetorical sentiment, reflecting a deliberate effort to maintain Serbia’s mnemonic balancing act between East and West. Such mnemonic calibration reflects more than historical interpretation, it constitutes a deliberate geopolitical tactic.

The instrumental value of this reframing is clear: it enables Serbia to maintain what Evelyn Goh (2008) terms a “hedging strategy” – a posture of strategic ambiguity wherein the country rhetorically aligns with Russia and China while continuing to engage with Western institutions. Serbia has, for instance, sold arms to both Ukraine and Israel, and has received significant infrastructure funding from the EU – all the while refusing to impose sanctions on Russia.^[63] Within this framework, memory has served as both a shield and a weapon. It is a means to justify non-alignment while asserting national sovereignty and historical self-positioning.

Not only has memory politics been used in speeches but also institutionalised through commemorative rituals. The Serbian adaptation of Russia’s “Immortal Regiment” parade to mark the end of the Second World War – especially the 2019 event in Niš – fuses the memory of resistance in the world war, the NATO bombings, and the Kosovo War into one seamless narrative of national heroism. At the centre of the event in Niš was the above-mentioned General Vladimir Lazarević, convicted of war crimes in Kosovo but publicly celebrated today. In his speech, Lazarević merged the 1389 Battle of Kosovo, anti-Ottoman resistance, and NATO’s bombing campaign into a unified saga of Serbian defiance (Đureinović 2023, 1258; Ejdus 2023, 36). The ceremony included Russian delegates and members of the Russian–Serbian Humanitarian Center in Niš – an organisation often suspected of intelligence operations.^[64] Wreaths were laid in honour of Soviet and Yugoslav antifascists, projecting a transnational memory of resistance to Western aggression.^[65]

As pointed out above, more recently the Serbian government has instrumentalised the General Staff building (Generalštab) in Belgrade – a powerful architectural remnant of NATO’s 1999 air campaign – as a site of mnemonic diplomacy. It has leased the gutted structure to a consortium led by Jared Kushner, son-in-law of US President Donald Trump, with plans to transform it into a Trump-branded luxury hotel. The project includes an adjoining memorial dedicated to the victims of NATO’s bombing, which Serbian officials have presented as a gesture of reconciliation and implicit acknowledgment of US culpability.^[66] This convergence of real estate development, international diplomacy, and symbolic memory underscores how Serbia commodifies trauma – recasting a landmark of Western military aggression as a monument to Serbian victimhood, resilience, and selective reconciliation.

The political significance of this initiative is further emphasised by the involvement of Richard Grenell, a decorated ally of Vučić’s regime and vocal opponent of Kosovo’s Prime Minister Albin Kurti.^[67] Grenell, who was US special presidential envoy for Serbia and Kosovo between 2019 and 2021 and has served as presidential envoy for special missions since January 2025, has repeatedly attacked Kurti and his government on social media and in international forums, particularly in the run-up to the February 2025 elections in Kosovo, often framing them as radicals and not as partners of the Trump administration.^[68] Grenell has become part of the Kushner-led business consortium. His participation suggests that the lease serves not only economic or symbolic purposes but also geopolitical ones: namely, to strengthen ties with the second Trump administration and to sideline Kosovo diplomatically.^[69]

This displays how mnemonic diplomacy functions by exporting memory to international audiences, in this case by leveraging alliances with American actors critical of NATO to validate Serbia’s revisionist narratives. The Trump-Kushner-Grenell partnership thus helps reframe NATO’s 1999 intervention not as a humanitarian effort, but as an act of imperial aggression, while the inclusion of a commemorative element reinforces Serbia’s image as a morally injured yet dignified actor seeking historical justice.

Recent domestic backlash against the General Staff building project, however, has complicated the Serbian government’s narrative. In the wake of the mass anti-government protests that started in November 2024, demonstrations were held in Belgrade opposing the Kushner deal.^[70] Investigative reports revealed that regime officials had forged documents to remove the building’s protected heritage status, enabling its commercial redevelopment.^[71] Both instances – the protests and the forging – underscore the limits of state control over historical memory. They confirm Filip Ejdus’s (2017, 29) argument that material environments like the General Staff building serve as what he calls “ontic spaces”, that is physical anchors of collective identity that can either stabilise or destabilise ontological security. While the state seeks to instrumentalise the building for geopolitical messaging, domestic resistance reveals that memory remains a contested terrain, particularly when it intersects with issues of urban heritage, justice, and national dignity.

The controversy surrounding the General Staff building thus illuminates the workings of Serbia’s mnemonic diplomacy: a strategy that transforms trauma into geopolitical capital abroad while exposing unresolved tensions at home. As with the Kosovo narrative more broadly, the state uses symbolic memory to present itself as a victim of Western hypocrisy and a defender of sovereign equality – aligning rhetorically with Russia and China within a multipolar world order. Yet, as the protests show, this narrative remains vulnerable to domestic contestation, revealing memory as an unstable field shaped by competing claims over history, identity, and political legitimacy.

In this geopolitical calculus, the memory of Kosovo functions as far more than a national trauma – it has become a diplomatic instrument. It is selectively invoked to justify alliances, rationalise neutrality, and reinterpret history. Yet the very narrative that grants Serbia symbolic capital on the international stage also entrenches denial, distorts the past, and obstructs reconciliation, both with Kosovo and the broader region. Serbia’s mnemonic diplomacy, while effective abroad, remains precarious at home – built on memories that demand constant management, and at times, active suppression.

Conclusion: How Politics about the Past Becomes a Strategy for the Present

It has been more than two decades since NATO’s 1999 intervention and the memory of the bombings have become a significant element of Serbia’s political and commemorative landscape. Over time, successive governments have adapted this memory to suit shifting political priorities, framing it variously as a national trauma, a source of resilience, or a reference point in contemporary diplomatic discourse. Under the leadership of Aleksandar Vučić, this narrative has evolved into a prominent feature of Serbia’s state-sponsored commemorations and international positioning, particularly in relation to Kosovo and NATO. Commemorative practices, including public events and the construction of symbolic sites, play a central role in reinforcing this narrative.

These practices frequently emphasise Serbia’s suffering during the 1999 bombings, while disregarding the broader regional context or the causes and consequences of the conflicts during the 1990s. For example, the 2019 military parade included former officials convicted by the ICTY, and the Church of Saint Stefan of Decan was built near the site of the Batajnica mass graves. Both cases illustrate how sites and symbols have been integrated into a broader national memory framework. This framework has also intersected with foreign policy, as Serbia often highlights the NATO intervention as a point of reference in its international relations, particularly in its diplomatic engagement with non-Western actors such as Russia and China. These states, which oppose NATO expansion, have supported Serbia’s position on Kosovo in various multilateral forums. The so-called “Kosovo precedent” – the NATO bombing – is frequently invoked by Serbia to contest Kosovo’s statehood and oppose its membership in international organisations.

Since Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, memory-based narratives have increasingly overlapped with security concerns. Serbia has cited the need to protect the Serbian population in Kosovo as a justification for increased military preparedness. Between 2022 and 2024, Serbian forces were placed on high alert near the Kosovo border on four occasions, raising regional and international concerns.^[72] In September 2023, a paramilitary group led by Milan Radoičić, a Kosovo Serb politician close to the Vučić government, entered northern Kosovo heavily armed, resulting in several casualties. The group took refuge in the Banjska Monastery north of Mitrovica, adding a religious dimension to the standoff. Following the incident, Vučić declared three days of mourning in Serbia for the participants who had been killed by Kosovo forces, prompting debate about the roles of the Serbian army, police, and intelligence services.^[73]

These developments show that Serbia’s commemorative framework is not limited to remembrance but intersects with questions of regional policy and geopolitical alignment. Although it resonates with many Serbs, the emphasis on victimhood and resistance complicates efforts at reconciliation and the normalisation of relations with Kosovo. Moreover, such narratives often contrast with the European Union’s emphasis on transitional justice, historical accountability, and regional cooperation. While Serbia maintains its formal commitment to EU integration, it continues to use memory politics to articulate its geopolitical alignments and withstand international pressures. The possibility of reversing this trend depends on a combination of internal and external factors. Internally, there will need to be support for civil society initiatives such as the HLC’s Batajnica memorial proposal to open up a space for pluralistic remembrance.^[74] Externally, the EU will need to find ways of making accession conditional on legal and symbolic reforms in a way that encourages Serbia to engage in genuine memory-based reconciliation with Kosovo and Bosnia. Inclusive memory regimes require both grassroots advocacy and accountability mechanisms – which do exist in Serbia, but have received far too little support internationally.