On the windswept shores of the Adriatic, a small, rugged island known as Sazan has become the unlikely center of international intrigue and controversy. Once a secret military outpost, littered with ruined bunkers and haunted by the legacy of Albania’s communist era, Sazan Island now stands on the cusp of a billion-dollar transformation. According to ProtoThema English, the Albanian government is preparing to grant the island to Jared Kushner, the son-in-law of U.S. President Donald Trump, for a sweeping tourism development project. But this is only one front in Kushner’s ambitious Balkan ventures—his company is simultaneously moving forward with the construction of a Trump-branded tower in the heart of Belgrade, Serbia, igniting fierce debate across the region.
Sazan Island, a rocky sliver in the Adriatic Sea, has long been off-limits to the public. For decades, it served as a secretive military base under Enver Hoxha’s paranoid communist regime, riddled with landmines and guarded against imagined invasions from all sides. Today, its wild vegetation shelters snakes, birds, and, if local legend is to be believed, even a few elusive bears. The summer brings a trickle of tourists, ferried over for a dip in the turquoise waters and a peek inside the cave of Haxhi Ali, where, according to lore, a pirate once stashed his treasure. The island has also become a refuge for sea turtles, adding to its air of untouched paradise.
This sense of isolation and mystery was exactly what captivated Ivanka Trump and Jared Kushner during a family holiday in Greece four years ago. Their visit to Sazan, orchestrated by Auron Tare of the Albanian National Coastline Agency, quickly became the stuff of local legend. The couple, joined by high-profile investors like PSG chairman Nasser Al-Khelaifi and a UAE entrepreneur, were whisked by helicopter and yacht to tour the island, enjoy a seafood lunch at the region’s best restaurant, and meet Albania’s Prime Minister Edi Rama—himself a former basketball teammate of Tare and personally acquainted with Donald Trump. As ProtoThema English recounts, the visit was a resounding success, sparking open discussions about what the Trump-Kushner team could bring to the island.
The momentum didn’t stop there. Kushner returned the following year, this time with partners and an offer: over $1 billion in investment, not just for Sazan but also for a vast, undeveloped stretch of land north of Vlora. In December 2024, a month after Trump’s re-election, Kushner inked a preliminary 99-year lease agreement for both Sazan and the adjacent land. The deal, according to Elira Kokona, head of the Albanian agency responsible for granting state assets to investors, was seen as a lifeline for a struggling economy. “The country is poor, and we need development,” she explained, noting that her dealings with Kushner’s team had been polite and professional.
Kushner’s Miami-based investment group, Affinity Partners, is no small player. Backed by $2 billion from Saudi Arabia’s Public Investment Fund and an additional $1.5 billion from the UAE and Qatar, the fund recently made headlines with its $55 billion acquisition of Electronic Arts. This immense war chest underscores the scale—and the stakes—of the Sazan and Belgrade projects.
But not everyone is celebrating. In Albania, environmentalists are sounding the alarm about the potential consequences of such rapid development. Ornithologist Jonny Vorpsi, working with the PPNEA environmental group, warns that new infrastructure could devastate Vlora’s lagoon, a vital stopover for migratory birds. Olsi Nika of EcoAlbania is equally concerned, especially about the massive new Vlora airport, which he says was awarded to companies with dubious records, including the Swedish firm Mabetex, previously convicted of corruption in Russia. “For a handful of dollars, we’re going against the course of history,” Nika cautions. “Politicians sell us dreams: ‘We’ll become the next Saint-Tropez.’ But in reality, we’ll sink under tons of concrete and become the money-laundering hub of Europe.”
Meanwhile, across the Adriatic in Serbia, Kushner’s ambitions have sparked a political firestorm. As reported by European Western Balkans on December 10, 2025, his company has acquired an entire city block in downtown Belgrade—the site of the former Serbian army headquarters, bombed by NATO in 1999 and left derelict ever since. The plan: a gleaming Trump Tower, complete with a luxury hotel, high-end residences, a shopping center, and a small memorial to the victims of the bombing. The Serbian government had to pass a special law to remove the site from the National Cultural Heritage Registry, a move that prompted at least one Ministry of Culture employee to resign in protest.
The ruling party in Serbia touts the project as a boon for the economy and a bridge to improved relations with the United States. But opposition parties, student movements, and cultural advocates are up in arms, arguing that the demolition of the General Staff buildings erases a critical piece of urban and historical identity. Lawyer Katarina Kostić, for one, is outraged: “Whether we like the original building’s style or not is one thing. But the Trump Tower project denies our history.” Radovan Kupres, head of the CRTA transparency organization, is equally blunt: “The problem isn’t really the Trump family. The problem is our political class. We are among the most corrupt countries in the world, and everything happened under the table.”
For some, the controversy is less about foreign investment and more about the murky processes that have come to define Serbian politics. Green Party MP Robert Kozma accuses President Aleksandar Vučić of “playing poker with national assets” and courting foreign powers with little to show for it. He points to the recent U.S. decision to hike tariffs on Serbian goods and impose sanctions due to Russian involvement in Serbia’s state oil company as evidence that the country is getting the short end of the deal.
Back in Albania, the debate also rages over the transparency of the deals being struck. Critics argue that the rush to turn the country into a luxury destination—complete with new airports, hotels, and resorts—risks destroying the very natural beauty and cultural heritage that makes it unique. Yet for others, the promise of jobs, investment, and international attention is too compelling to ignore. As Elira Kokona puts it, “We need development.”
What’s clear is that Jared Kushner’s Balkan ventures have become a lightning rod for broader debates about economic development, national identity, and the costs of globalization. Whether Sazan Island and the heart of Belgrade will emerge as symbols of renewal or cautionary tales remains to be seen. For now, both projects stand as testaments to the enduring allure—and peril—of grand ambitions in a rapidly changing world.
