On November 7, 2025, Serbia’s parliament made a decision that has set the country abuzz and sent shockwaves through its political and cultural circles. Lawmakers approved a special bill—known by its Latin name, Lex Specialis—paving the way for a controversial $500 million real estate project in the heart of Belgrade. The project is backed by Affinity Global Development, an investment company linked to Jared Kushner, the son-in-law of former U.S. President Donald Trump. With a 130-40 vote in the 250-member assembly, the bill overcame days of heated debate and persistent street protests, marking a turning point for a landmark site that still bears the scars of the 1999 NATO bombing campaign.
According to the Associated Press, the legislation clears the path for the redevelopment of a former Yugoslav military complex, a site that has stood as both a symbol of resistance and a painful reminder of the country’s turbulent past. The complex, partially destroyed during the NATO airstrikes, is now slated to become a sprawling luxury compound complete with a high-rise hotel, luxury apartments, offices, and shops. The government’s decision to strip the site of its protected status last year—and to enter a 99-year lease agreement with Kushner’s U.S.-based company—sparked a fierce backlash from preservationists, opposition leaders, and ordinary citizens alike.
“We are demolishing the ruins in order to build,” declared Milenko Jovanov, a lawmaker from the ruling Serbian Progressive Party, during the parliamentary debate. His statement, reported by the AP, underscored the government’s argument that the project will revitalize the area, boost the economy, and strengthen ties with the current U.S. administration. Yet, not everyone is convinced. Critics have sounded the alarm, warning that the special law undermines Serbia’s legal system and threatens to erase a piece of its architectural and historical heritage.
Transparency Serbia, a prominent anti-corruption watchdog, minced no words in its assessment. The organization warned that the bill “represents a combination of the two most dangerous forms of corruption—the legalization of law violations and the tailoring of general rules to fit hidden interests in one specific case.” Their concerns echo those of many who see the move as an attempt to bend the rules for the benefit of powerful foreign investors.
The site in question is more than just a collection of concrete and steel. For many Serbians, it is a potent symbol—a testament to the country’s suffering during the 78-day NATO bombing campaign, which sought to force then-President Slobodan Milosevic to halt his crackdown on ethnic Albanians in Kosovo. The buildings, widely regarded as prime examples of mid-20th-century Yugoslav architecture, have stood as silent witnesses to both the destruction of war and the resilience of a nation. The Lex Specialis bill now allows for their demolition, a prospect that has stirred deep emotions among preservationists and the general public.
As the debate raged inside parliament, hundreds of protesters gathered outside, holding banners that read, “Culture is not for sale, we will not give up the general staff building.” The opposition was vocal and unyielding. Aleksandar Jovanovic, an opposition lawmaker, called the law a “crime” that would replace a treasured heritage site with “casinos and Jacuzzis.” Zdravko Ponos, a former Serbian army commander-in-chief and now an opposition party leader, took to the parliamentary floor to admonish the government. “You will demolish something that is a symbol for this nation,” he said. “With the agreement you signed with the most important son-in-law on the planet, you have obliged to tear this down and clear at the cost of Serbia’s taxpayers.”
The government, for its part, has insisted that the project will not only bring economic benefits but also honor the past. Authorities have stated that Kushner’s company has committed to building a memorial complex within the site, dedicated to all victims of the NATO bombing campaign. This addition, they argue, will ensure that the memory of those who suffered is preserved even as the city moves forward with new development.
Yet, the controversy extends beyond questions of heritage and memory. The project has been mired in legal challenges, including an investigation by Serbia’s organized crime prosecutors into whether documents used to remove the site’s protected status were forged. President Aleksandar Vucic, who has championed the project, has claimed that the investigation was launched due to pressure from abroad, aimed at “preventing Serbia from establishing better relations with the Trump administration.”
Public opposition to the project has been fueled by a broader sense of frustration with the government. Over the past year, President Vucic has faced waves of youth-led protests, with demonstrators accusing his administration of rampant corruption in state projects. The anger reached a boiling point after the tragic collapse of a newly renovated concrete canopy at a train station in Novi Sad, which killed 16 people. On November 1, 2025, tens of thousands gathered in Novi Sad to mark the anniversary of the disaster, a somber reminder of the stakes involved when public safety and transparency are compromised.
According to LaPresse, the luxury compound in Belgrade is not Kushner’s only venture in the Balkans. Earlier this year, the Albanian government approved a $1.6 billion plan from his company to transform a communist-era fortified island off the Adriatic coast into a high-end resort. The trend of high-profile, foreign-backed developments in the region has sparked debates about the balance between economic growth, national identity, and the preservation of historical sites.
Supporters of the Belgrade project argue that it represents a much-needed investment in Serbia’s future. They point to the potential for job creation, increased tourism, and improved relations with the United States. The government’s narrative is one of modernization and progress, with the new luxury complex seen as a symbol of Serbia’s emergence on the global stage.
Opponents, however, remain unconvinced. For them, the project is emblematic of a deeper malaise—a willingness to sacrifice the nation’s heritage and legal integrity for the sake of short-term gains and the interests of powerful outsiders. The demolition of the military complex, they argue, is not just about bricks and mortar, but about the soul of the country and its right to determine its own destiny.
As the dust settles on the parliamentary vote, Serbia finds itself at a crossroads. The decision to move forward with the Kushner-backed project has exposed deep divisions within society and raised difficult questions about the country’s path forward. Will the luxury compound become a beacon of progress or a symbol of lost heritage? Only time will tell, but for now, the debate in Belgrade is far from over.
