Gas borders

When the wind from the Balkans carries the smell of cheap Russian gas, Brussels doesn’t wince from the cold — but from irritation. Serbia — a country knocking on the door of the European Union — has long since learned how to keep warm without asking Europe’s permission. While the European Commission demands a turn away from Moscow, Belgrade unfolds the map of the TurkStream and signs yet another contract with Gazprom — until autumn, maybe longer (S&P Global).

On the outside, it looks like energy pragmatism. On the inside — a prolonged indecision where pipelines matter more than borders, and cubic meters more than ideology.

“You can’t speak of European values while inhaling gas from pipes welded in the Kremlin,” mutters the interlocutor, tapping ironically on a globe.

“What if the air from Moscow is cheaper?” replies the author, staring at the screen, where gas ticker updates scroll alongside a statement from Ursula von der Leyen.

Serbia receives 89% of its gas from Russia (CARNEGIE EUROPE). The route is well-established: across the Black Sea, through Turkey and Bulgaria, and straight into Vojvodina. On May 26, Belgrade extended its contract with Gazprom. The details of the deal were not disclosed, but the very fact of the agreement stirred not excitement, but quiet concern in Brussels: in a year when Europe is reducing its energy dependence on Russia, one of the EU candidate countries still clings firmly to the old valve.

Serbia’s gas dependence didn’t start yesterday — its roots go back to the feverish 1990s, when the collapse of Yugoslavia gave rise to a new political geography, and along with it, new dependencies. Amid international isolation and economic decline, Russian gas became more than just a resource: it turned into a symbol of predictability in chaos, a breath of warmth paid for not only with currency, but with strategy.

The first major turning point came in 2008, when Gazprom Neft took control of NIS — Serbia’s oil and gas giant — through a non-transparent privatization process that laid the foundation for a special energy relationship between Moscow and Belgrade. That same year, plans were announced to build the Serbian section of the South Stream pipeline — a project that was never completed, but already signaled a clear turn to the East.

The next step came in 2013. Supplies were increasing, and with them, the infrastructural linkage deepened: the Banatski Dvor underground gas storage facility was modernized, with Gazprom acquiring a stake. Serbia increasingly became a logistical hub through which Russian gas promised to flow not only into homes, but also into politics.

The true strategic shift happened in 2021, when Belgrade connected to the TurkStream — a new pipeline route running from Russia under the Black Sea, through Turkey and Bulgaria. Today, 89% of Serbia’s gas comes through this pipeline.

The 2022 contract established an “oil-indexed formula,” securing Serbia a “fantastically favorable price” amid Europe’s energy storm. President Vučić personally thanked Vladimir Putin — for the volumes, the terms, and, in his words, the “friendly conditions.”

This dependency is not merely economic. It is geopolitical inertia — infused with past wars, Orthodox ties, and decades of “special relations” with Russia. For the EU, every cubic meter of Russian gas flowing into Serbia is not just fuel, but a signal flare: a country unable to sever its energy umbilical cord with Moscow is not ready to enter European political maturity.

Of course, Belgrade speaks of diversification. Greece, Bulgaria, reverse flows, and Azerbaijani gas are mentioned. But pipelines are not built overnight, and in some countries, as we know, the construction of alternative routes lasts only until the next winter heating season. Vučić claims he is ready to move toward energy independence — but moves cautiously, as if across a minefield, where each step could blow up either the economy or relations with the Kremlin.

“How much does neutrality cost in gas equivalent?” the interlocutor asks again.

“Still cheaper than sanctions,” replies the author — though the words sound less and less convincing.

This is precisely why the visit of Kaja Kallas to Belgrade on May 22 came across as a diplomatic verdict (Euronews). But it started earlier.

On May 9, Aleksandar Vučić took his seat in the grandstand on Red Square. Seated nearby were the presidents of Belarus, Cuba, and Laos. From Europe — only Slovakia’s Prime Minister Robert Fico. And only Serbia — a country with EU integration ambitions — did so without hesitation. Belgrade at the parade, Moscow in focus (The Guardian).

“It’s cultural memory, not a political statement,” they explain in Belgrade.

“It’s a soft capitulation to the sound of a marching band,” reply officials in Brussels.

For Europe, the war in Ukraine is not an abstract conflict but a moral watershed. For Vučić, it is someone else’s war — beyond Serbia’s borders, and not a reason to give up gas, loans, or arms deals. His multi-vector approach is more than a strategy. It is a philosophy of survival on a fault line.

Serbia has not joined the sanctions against Russia. It has not frozen its contracts. It has not changed its rhetoric. And this has become a red line in every European Commission report. Compromises may be possible in almost everything — except in the matter of loyalty.

Thirteen days later, Estonian Prime Minister Kaja Kallas arrives in Belgrade. Her visit is not just a diplomatic gesture. It is a response.

“You can’t sit in both camps,” she tells Serbian officials.

“You need to pick a side.”

It was not advice. And it was not a figure of speech. It was an ultimatum.

The European Union doesn’t just make statements. It proposes. It builds. And it funds. In 2023, the Serbia–Bulgaria interconnector was opened, capable of transporting up to 1.8 billion cubic meters of gas per year — theoretically from Greece, Turkey, or Azerbaijan (EU Commission Energy News). In 2024, work began on transitioning to renewable energy, including through projects with the EBRD and the Energy Community (EBRD). Brussels says: you have an alternative. You just need to want it.

“But what if it’s more expensive?” they ask in Belgrade.

Because the alternative isn’t just about pipelines. It’s about infrastructure, logistics, new contracts — and, above all, political cost. Russian gas comes steadily and cheaply. European gas comes with conditions. And those conditions are becoming increasingly strict: foreign policy alignment, renunciation of ambivalence, participation in sanctions, and a demonstrative turn away from the Kremlin.

On paper, it looks like a deal. In reality — a loyalty test.

Serbia must not simply “switch to new gas,” but sever a symbolic tie with Russia. Symbolic — because economically, Moscow is becoming less stable, but emotionally and historically it still evokes in Belgrade the sense of an “older brother — albeit one wearing a patched-up fur coat.”

“You want us to give up our memory?” Belgrade seems to ask.

“We want you to become part of Europe,” Brussels replies.

And at that moment, they are speaking of different things.

To Brussels, Serbia is not yet a member. To Moscow, still an ally. And to itself, Serbia is a country that does not want to choose. But the era of living between interests is coming to an end. The war in Ukraine has sharpened all the lines — energy, ideological, symbolic. Gas deliveries have become markers of political allegiance. Contracts — declarations. Parades — résumés.

Serbia calls it balance. The EU — inconsistency. And Russia — gratitude.

Vučić continues to speak of neutrality. But in Europe, neutrality is not absence of participation — it’s absence of position. And the absence of a position, in times of continental realignment, is seen as evasion.

This is why gas is no longer just fuel. It is a marker. If you heat your country with Russian gas while others freeze in the name of solidarity — you are not neutral. You have chosen.

“But what if the choice wasn’t conscious — but forced?” the interlocutor asks.

“Then it’s time to admit that in geopolitics, there are no forced gestures — only accepted consequences,” replies the author.

Serbia can move toward the EU. But it cannot do so while standing on a pipeline that leads to the Kremlin. It cannot attend parades in Moscow and ask for candidate status in Brussels at the same time. It cannot maintain strategic silence and simultaneously ask for political support.

Europe no longer offers — it demands. Russia is no longer an ally — it is a reason for questions. And Serbia can no longer be just an observer: either you keep warm with the old pipeline, or you build a new route. But not both.

Because in geopolitics, a route is direction.