Serb List loses legitimacy in Kosova: The Orthodox Church and BIA continue to use it as a tool of control, fear, and blackmail against the Serb minority community

Since its founding in 2014, the Serb List has functioned as a political instrument of Vučić’s regime in Kosova.

The results of the recent local elections marked a visible turning point in the political landscape of the Serb minority community in Kosova. For the first time in more than a decade, the Serb List, the party that had traditionally dominated every electoral process in Serb-majority areas suffered a notable decline in support. This development is not merely a matter of numbers, it reflects deep political fatigue, accumulated fear, and growing disappointment with a structure that has long been used as an instrument of control by Belgrade, more precisely, by the autocratic president Aleksandar Vučić and his intelligence apparatus.

The election data speak for themselves. In Leposaviç, support for the Serb List dropped from 97 percent to 70 percent; in Zubin Potok, from 83 to 70 percent; in Zveçan, from 98 to 86 percent; in Graçanica, from 77 to 62 percent; and in Ranilug, from 100 to 71 percent. Even in former strongholds where competition once didn’t exist, real alternatives are now emerging. Although in some municipalities like Novobërda and Shtërpca the changes were smaller, the general trend is clear: the Serb List is losing ground. For the first time, some municipalities, such as Kllokot, went into a second round, signaling that the Serb List’s dominance is no longer unquestionable.

Since its founding in 2014, the Serb List has functioned as a political instrument of Vučić’s regime in Kosova. It was created with the explicit goal of replacing local Serb parties that had accepted integration into Kosova’s institutions after the Brussels Agreement, ensuring that every Serb participating in political life remained under the umbrella of Belgrade’s policy. For more than a decade, this model has relied on control, fear, and coercion.

One figure who personifies this repressive mechanism is Milan Radoičić, the former vice-president of the Serb List and now notorious as the mastermind behind the armed terrorist attack in Banjska in September 2023, where Kosova Police sergeant Afrim Bunjaku was killed. For years, Radoičić was the “strongman” of the north, controlling every aspect of life there, from smuggling goods and fuel to distributing public contracts and deciding whether the Serb community would participate in or boycott elections. Under his shadow, many local Serbs were intimidated, threatened, or punished if they dared to challenge the Serb List. Hundreds of testimonies exist of citizens who fled northern Kosova due to direct threats, some even forced to sell their property to escape violence from the structures Radoičić commanded with the blessing of Serbia’s Security and Information Agency (BIA).

After the Banjska terrorist attack, the mask fell off Radoičić and his supporting structures. Even though Vučić publicly tried to distance Serbia from the incident, every fact indicated the opposite: the weapons came from Serbian army depots, the coordination was done from Belgrade, and Radoičić himself publicly claimed that he had organized the attack “without the knowledge of the Serbian state”, a known lie. For many Kosova Serbs, that event was a moment of reflection: how long will they remain hostages of a policy that uses them as tools to confront the state they live in?

In this context, the decline in support for the Serb List in the latest local elections is no coincidence. According to expert analyses and official results, Serb List candidates failed to mobilize voters as in the past. In some municipalities, Serb voters chose not to vote at all, a passive form of protest against the political pressure imposed on them. In other cases, they supported alternative candidates outside the Serb List structure.

Here enters another crucial element: the way Belgrade, through the Serbian Orthodox Church and the BIA, keeps this political machine alive. High-ranking clergy of Orthodox Church have openly taken part in election campaigns, preached against integration into Kosova institutions, and reinforced the narrative that “the Serb List is the last line of defense for Serbs in Kosova.” In reality, this is a propaganda effort coordinated with Belgrade to keep the Serb minority emotionally and politically dependent on Vučić.

Meanwhile, Serbia’s intelligence service acts as the “field manager.” Through networks of infiltration and control, it has used the Serb List to spread disinformation, sabotage cooperation initiatives with Kosova’s institutions, and punish any independent voices within the Serb minority community. There are documented cases of local activists being threatened or beaten simply for attending meetings with Kosova representatives.

In this repressive system, Vučić has found a convenient political formula: every Serb List victory in Kosova is sold in Serbia as his personal triumph. He uses this narrative to consolidate his domestic power, presenting himself as “the protector of Serbs wherever they are.” In every election cycle, the Serb List’s success serves as proof that, although Serbia no longer physically controls Kosova, it still “rules” it spiritually and politically through its “loyal Serbs.”

But as that support begins to fade, as it did this time, the message is clear: Vučić’s absolute control over Kosova’s Serbs is weakening. Local Serbs increasingly realize that Belgrade has no genuine interest in their daily lives, economy, security, or future in Kosova. It only seeks to use them as a political weapon against Kosova and as a bargaining chip with the West.

On the ground, this fatigue is translating into indifference, quiet resistance, and in some cases, courage to speak publicly against the Serb List. A small but significant number of Serb intellectuals and activists in the north have started calling for new political representation, one that cooperates with Kosova’s institutions and does not take orders from Belgrade. These voices pose a real challenge to the narrative Vučić has built for over a decade.

What is happening in northern Kosova is more than an electoral shift, it’s the first sign of deep political and social transformation within the Serb minority community. The decline in support for the Serb List is not just the loss of a party, it’s a blow to the entire control structure Serbia has built through it. It signals that fear is slowly being replaced by awareness, propaganda is losing ground to reality, and Kosova Serbs are beginning to realize that their future cannot be built on orders from Belgrade or sermons from a Church that acts as an extension of the Serbian state.

Ultimately, the fall of the Serb List is not merely an electoral story but the beginning of a new chapter for north of Kosova and beyond. A chapter in which Kosova Serbs must decide whether to remain hostages to the interests of Vučić, the BIA, and the Serbian Orthodox Church, or to become part of a shared reality where Kosova is truly their home. /The Balkan Report/