Jared Kushner’s Balkan Projects Ignite Protests And Debate

Hundreds of demonstrators surged through the streets of Belgrade this week, their voices echoing against the battered walls of a city still haunted by its past. The spark for this outpouring of public anger? A controversial real estate project led by Jared Kushner, son-in-law of former U.S. President Donald Trump, which aims to transform the bombed-out former Yugoslav Army headquarters into a gleaming luxury hotel and apartment complex. The plan, however, has ignited fierce debate over cultural heritage, foreign investment, and the very soul of the city.

According to Reuters, the protests erupted on Tuesday, December 2, 2025, drawing a crowd of students, activists, and concerned citizens. Their target: a special law that fast-tracks the development of the historic site, bypassing previous legal obstacles and public scrutiny. Many carried signs and chanted slogans denouncing what they see as the erasure of national memory and the prioritization of foreign interests over local voices.

Kushner’s firm, Affinity Partners, secured a 99-year lease for the site in 2024. This deal came hot on the heels of the building’s protected cultural status being stripped—a move that many critics argue was orchestrated to pave the way for the redevelopment. The Serbian government, led by President Aleksandar Vucic, has been unwavering in its support. Vucic argues the project will inject at least 650 million euros into the local economy, boost tourism, and raise property values. "This is not a sale, but a lease," he insists, emphasizing the economic benefits and downplaying the emotional cost.

Yet for many Serbians, the building is more than just bricks and mortar. It stands as a scar from the NATO airstrikes of 1999, which targeted the Serbian military during the Kosovo war. The structure’s shattered facade is a daily reminder of national trauma, and its potential demolition for a U.S.-linked luxury venture has struck a raw nerve. "We will not allow the destruction of our history," one protester told local media, voicing a sentiment that resonates far beyond the immediate circle of activists.

The controversy is further complicated by the involvement of UAE-based developer Eagle Hills, already a familiar name in Belgrade’s contentious waterfront projects. Public suspicion toward large, state-backed developments runs high, fueled by longstanding grievances over corruption, lack of transparency, and what many see as the government’s willingness to bend the rules for powerful investors. According to iNews, the project was even suspended in May 2025, after investigators launched a probe into suspected falsified documents used to strip the site’s cultural protection. But with the passage of a new special law designed to bypass legal hurdles, the project’s opponents have only grown more determined.

As if the Belgrade saga weren’t dramatic enough, Kushner’s Balkan ambitions extend even further. The French weekly Le Point reports that Kushner and his wife Ivanka Trump, during a 2021 vacation in Greece, fell in love with the Albanian island of Sazan—a wild, uninhabited former military base known for its snakes, birds, and rugged beauty. Sazan, once a secret outpost bristling with bunkers and mines under the paranoid eye of communist dictator Enver Hoxha, has been off-limits for decades. Now, it’s at the center of a billion-dollar vision.

With the encouragement of Albanian officials, including Prime Minister Edi Rama, Kushner’s group signed a pre-contract in December 2024 for a 99-year lease on Sazan Island. The plan? To invest more than $1 billion, not just on the island itself but also on a vast tract of undeveloped land north of Vlora. Architects and lawyers have been hired, and discussions are ongoing with key figures such as Auron Tare, a former archaeologist and director of Albania’s National Coastal Agency, and Elira Kokona, head of the agency overseeing state asset sales. "The negotiations are professional. I’m not the one giving the green light," Kokona explained to Le Point, adding that her direct contact with Kushner has been limited.

The Sazan project, sometimes dubbed "Trump Island" by locals, is not without its own complexities. For sixty years, Sazan was a closed military zone, and even today, only a handful of tourists brave its beaches and hidden caves. Its transformation into a luxury destination would mark a dramatic shift in the island’s identity—and raise questions about environmental preservation, public access, and the role of foreign capital in shaping Albania’s future.

Kushner’s Balkan ventures have not gone unnoticed by those wary of outside influence. In Belgrade, officials and activists like Radovan Kupres, founder of CRTA, and Green MP Robert Kozma have been vocal in their criticism. Kozma described the land allocation to Kushner as an example of "false nationalism" and a clear case of favoring foreign interests over the needs of ordinary Serbians. The fact that a special law was passed to remove the Belgrade building from the National Register of Historic Places only adds fuel to the fire, as does the project’s association with the Trump brand and the perception of backroom deals.

Behind these controversies lies a broader pattern. As Le Point points out, Kushner’s activities in Serbia and Albania offer regional governments access to Middle Eastern investors and a connection—however informal—to the corridors of power in Washington. While Kushner holds no official government role today, his influence on negotiations in Ukraine and the Middle East is widely acknowledged. His network includes figures like Richard Grenell, former U.S. ambassador to Germany and Trump’s special envoy to Serbia and Kosovo, who has played a role in brokering Balkan deals.

For the governments of Serbia and Albania, the allure of foreign investment and high-profile partnerships is undeniable. President Vucic frames the Belgrade project as a matter of national importance, while Prime Minister Rama’s government in Tirana is eager to unlock the potential of assets like Sazan Island. But for many ordinary citizens, the speed and secrecy of these deals, the loss of cultural landmarks, and the specter of corruption raise uncomfortable questions about who really benefits.

As the dust settles in Belgrade and plans for Sazan move forward, one thing is clear: the debate over Jared Kushner’s Balkan real estate empire is about much more than bricks, mortar, or even money. It’s a struggle over memory, identity, and the right to shape the future of places that have already seen more than their share of history. Whether these projects ultimately deliver on their promises or deepen the divides they have exposed remains to be seen.