Flanked by the EU, its powerful member states like Germany, and a collaborating national elite, transnational corporations are trying to turn Serbia into a mining colony. The struggles against this socially and ecologically devastating development are particularly intense outside the centers of capital, such as in Majdanpek, a geographically isolated town where a marginalized group lives. In her contribution to the “Kin City” series, Zoë Aiano looks at the city’s mining history and shows how current struggles are bridging the gap between claims to the right to the city and environmental justice.
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The history of the city of Majdanpek in eastern Serbia is largely readable at first glance. Dominated by distinctive 1970s high-rises in various states of disrepair, it is clear that investment in the city’s infrastructure peaked during the socialist era, and no one has taken much interest in it since the dissolution of Yugoslavia. The famous K67 Yugo kiosks, now treasured elsewhere as design classics, slowly rot away along the main street.
The goldsmith’s factory that once exported jewelry throughout the Balkans, earning Majdanpek the nickname “The Golden City” – and, importantly, the main source of employment for women – still occupies pride of place in the center, but is now boarded up and dilapidated. Inside, the city’s only hotel has retained the room that was prepared for a visit by Tito in the 1960s. A makeshift office and private bar, decorated in gaudy red leather, has been solemnly patched up with black tape.
Dump trucks and magical practices
Most obvious of all, even before you reach the city itself, is the gaping pit of the copper and gold mine. An ever-widening chasm, the town teeters on the edge, as if it could fall into it at any moment – and if it did, the entire mass of its rubble would be barely noticeable in the colossal abyss. The mine’s presence is equally impossible to ignore from within the city. Constant sirens announcing impending explosions give the city the vague feeling of a war zone, while the massive dump trucks rumble day and night, and the dust produced by mining permanently clogs the air.
Almost invisible, however, is the cultural specificity of the local community, which is largely made up of Vlachs, a minority group spread throughout the Balkans, but with a particularly high concentration in eastern Serbia. Despite their demographic importance in the region, the Vlachs are often overlooked. They remain unrepresented at the parliamentary level, and their language, which is derived from a historical variant of Romanian, has not been recognized as official, in part because there is no standardized written form. While it’s still widely spoken in more rural areas, it’s in rapid decline in urban centers like Majdanpek.
The Vlachs have their own belief system and customs that are distinct from, but often integrated with, those of the broader region. Most notoriously, they are known for their magical practices, and in popular culture they are often portrayed as ‘exotic’ or ‘spooky,’ contributing to the isolation of the area and its perceived separation from the rest of Serbia. In reality, while the use of witchcraft as a solution to personal problems is very popular (even among people who come from far away), the most common Vlach rituals are centered around the commemoration of the dead.
Discovery of copper
Mining in eastern Serbia dates back to the Neolithic period, with nearby Rudna Glava considered one of the first mines in Europe. Thus, these two seemingly opposing sides of Majdanpek’s identity – the rural and the industrial – have long coexisted, both sharing a dependence on the natural bounty found locally. However, this balance was massively tipped in favor of extractivism in the twentieth century, when the discovery of huge copper deposits in the 1950s led to the expansion not only of the (recently nationalized) mine, but also of the town itself to accommodate the influx of workers. This process inevitably coincided with the depopulation of formerly agricultural areas, with many people being drawn to the growing centers of Majdanpek and its larger neighbor, Bor. The separation between state, community, and industry was effectively dissolved, as the mine built not only all of the town’s public infrastructure, but also most of the workers’ housing.
With this shift, many Vlachs recruited as miners found themselves inadvertently complicit in the destruction of the environment on which their traditions were based. An emblematic example is the case of the decline of the local dragon population. Dragons are believed to have inhabited the nearby forests for centuries, but a combination of deforestation and pollution has now apparently driven them away, demonstrating how mining erodes both the natural and cultural landscape.
The mine has attracted foreign interest since Roman times, with the Austrians, Germans and French, among others, operating there. After the breakup of Yugoslavia, the Serbian state retained ownership of the Bor and Majdanpek mines without making significant investments, essentially keeping operations at a minimum. It was therefore not surprising when the mines were sold to China’s ZiJin Corporation in 2019, although the preceding negotiations and subsequent agreements were deliberately kept opaque.
Intensification on all fronts
On the surface, this new ownership has changed little in the city beyond the appearance of a few new cafes and the plastering of ZiJin logos and corporate slogans in public spaces. The Chinese themselves are rarely seen, most of them living in a purpose-built enclave outside the city. Despite the fact that the takeover deal included all municipal property, it is obvious that Zijin has no interest in the community beyond maximizing extraction and profit. This has led to intensification on all fronts. Increased extraction has led to increased employment and increased wages. It has also meant an increase in existing pollution, with excessive levels of heavy metals and arsenic found in both groundwater and air. No wonder cancer rates are so high and life expectancy in the region is 10 years less than in the rest of Serbia.
Obfuscation of information is weaponized in Majdanpek, so people rely on gossip. Rumors abound that the town itself will be blown up to allow better access to the ore deposits, leaving the locals in limbo. Those living in poor conditions are reluctant to invest in improvements in case they are destroyed, so the infrastructure continues to fall apart. Whether the city remains intact or not, at the current rate, it will not take many years for Zijin to extract all they can and then simply leave. Despite this, there are currently no plans in place to fill the impending void in the local economy.
The most blatant act of destruction to date came in 2022, when Zijin blew up the summit of nearby Mount Starica without warning, scattering debris and dust across the city. While the company claimed it was acting to protect residents from falling rocks, few were convinced, and the local activist group Ne Dam/Nu Dau (I Won’t Give Up) duly set up a camp to prevent further detonations. They managed to hold out for several months, but their efforts came to an end when they were arrested and subjected to police violence. Although a court ruling eventually determined that the mountain was still the property of the state and not the company, the government has done nothing to intervene.
Against the Goliath of globalized industry
Recently, the Serbian state has become increasingly blatant in its preference for profit over the needs of its citizens. In the capital, rampant construction of ‘luxury’ housing, most notably the Belgrade Waterfront project, has led to the destruction of entire neighborhoods, and now the relocation of both the train and bus stations from the city center to inaccessible peripheries. The demolition of the iconic and beloved Hotel Jugoslavija was not only fiercely contested, but is likely to have released tons of asbestos into the air. The fight against the dismantling of the Old Sava Bridge – which is not only another landmark, but also a vital transportation link between old and new Belgrade – is still ongoing at the time of writing. Most egregious and tragic of all is the Novi Sad train station disaster, when shoddy workmanship during a recent renovation caused the canopy to collapse, killing 15 people.
With such brazen acts of corruption taking place in the big cities, it is not surprising that a geographically isolated town, home to a marginalized group, is left to fend for itself against the Goliath of globalized industry. Nevertheless, Majdanpek and Bor remain important battlegrounds in the struggle for a decent future. In recent years, an impressive national movement has emerged to oppose the proposed opening of new mines. The narrative often centers on Jadar, where there is strong international pressure to open a lithium mine to meet the needs of the so-called ‘green transition.’ In reality, Jadar is just one of the fronts in a larger war, with plans for new mines throughout the Balkans. To take just one example, the Canadian company Dundee Precious Metals is frantically preparing to open another copper and gold mine in Homolje, not far from Majdanpek. There are suggestions that Zijin itself will eventually buy it and link it to the other two, essentially turning a huge swath of the country into one giant pit.
Majdanpek and Bor may serve a useful purpose as a warning of things to come, and in particular as a demonstration of how seriously we can take the government’s claim that future mining projects will be carried out in an environmentally responsible manner. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t still worth fighting for in their own right. The pits can never be filled now, but the situation can always be improved. Pollution can still be mitigated, workers can still have better rights, residents can still have a better quality of life. Alternatives to extractivism can and must be imagined and implemented.
Note from the editors: The author of this text has co-directed a documentary film about the urban-environmental struggles in Majdanpek entitled “Flotacija” (2024). Watch the trailer here. Together with other activists, Aiano co-founded the ZBOR initiative, which is currently working on putting together a film program about the struggles against extractivism in the Balkans, which will also be screened in Berlin in 2025 in cooperation with the Harun Farocki Institute.