By Xhelal Neziri
The European Union has long asked Serbia for something deceptively simple, yet fundamentally decisive for its own democratization and that of the wider region: the opening of the files of the former Yugoslav secret services, UDB and KOS. This step, taken decades ago by most Eastern European countries once part of the Warsaw Pact, marked the symbolic and institutional end of communism and the beginning of democratic transition. It was an act of reckoning with a dark past in order to build a transparent future—much like the brief moment when night gives way to the first rays of sunlight.
Europe’s persistent demand
For years, Brussels has repeated this demand in reports and resolutions, but with little response from official Belgrade. The former capital of Yugoslavia continues to safeguard, with remarkable loyalty, the most sensitive secrets of the communist era—secrets that concern not only Serbia, but all former Yugoslav republics and autonomous provinces. By doing so, Serbia keeps alive the structures and networks of the former services, embedded not only in its own institutions but also, indirectly, in those of successor states.
These actors reappear under different labels: the “deep state,” monopoly oligarchs, or influential intellectual circles. Together, they retain sufficient leverage to exert malign influence across the region.
Brussels understands that the democratization of the Western Balkans cannot occur without the democratization of Serbia. And Serbia cannot democratize without confronting its past. Confronting that past, in turn, requires opening all archives.
A European Parliament report on Serbia for 2019–2020 explicitly urged Belgrade “to continue its efforts to eliminate the legacy of the former communist secret services by opening their files to the wider public.” The report called for full public access to the archives of UDB and KOS and for the return of documents to neighboring states that were part of Yugoslavia until the 1990s. The Parliament reaffirmed that unrestricted access to these materials is of “vital importance” for democratization and transitional justice.
This call was repeated in subsequent years. In 2021, the Parliament again urged Serbia to open the archives and return them to their countries of origin. In 2022, it went further, stressing that such a move would contribute not only to democratization but also to regional reconciliation. The same recommendation resurfaced in 2023 and 2024.
The European Commission, by contrast, has taken a more technocratic approach. Its latest report, published on November 4, 2025, emphasizes the rule of law, security-sector reform, political alignment, and implementation results, without explicitly demanding the declassification of communist-era files. Yet the underlying diagnosis is the same: unresolved legacies of the past continue to obstruct democratic consolidation.
The Balkans as hostages of history
A society that fails to reckon with its past remains hostage to it. This is the shared predicament of most Western Balkan states, which have spent decades aspiring to EU membership only to face recurring crises and unexpected obstacles. The tentacles of former security structures still occupy privileged positions, quietly shaping political and economic outcomes.
In the 1990s, these countries formally embraced democracy, but few truly democratized. One-party communist systems were replaced by multiparty systems, yet the underlying logic of power remained unchanged. The former ruling elites merely fragmented into several parties with similar mentalities. Many who once served Belgrade continued to operate within the same informal networks. In their worldview, the federation that once empowered them never fully disappeared.
The breakup of Yugoslavia began shortly after Tito’s death, when ethno-nationalist leaders rose to power across the republics—most decisively in Serbia, the largest and most influential member of the federation. Their agendas produced a violent disintegration that resulted in seven independent states: Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Montenegro, Serbia, North Macedonia, and Kosovo.
With the exception of Kosovo and Montenegro, which gained independence later, the early transitions of these states were largely managed by former communist structures that also won the first post-communist elections, echoing patterns seen in Bulgaria and Romania. While Slovenia and Croatia gradually stabilized, Bosnia and Herzegovina, North Macedonia, and Kosovo remain trapped in recurring political crises dominated by ethnic discourse rather than democratic competition.
Bosnia and Herzegovina, divided into three ethnically defined entities, is often labeled a “failed state.” Kosovo faces two persistent challenges: Serbia’s refusal to recognize its independence and the concentration of the Serb minority in the north. North Macedonia, meanwhile, has struggled with political instability rooted in the exclusion of ethnic Albanians from the original nation-building project. The 2001 conflict and the Ohrid Framework Agreement corrected part of that imbalance, making the state more inclusive, but not fully insulated from crisis.
Albania as an exception—and a warning
Albania’s transition stands apart. Emerging from Europe’s most brutal communist dictatorship under Enver Hoxha, the country entered pluralism without any prior opposition experience. After Hoxha’s death in 1985, Ramiz Alia’s leadership cautiously opened the system. Student protests in late 1990 triggered political change with minimal use of force. Elections organized by the communist government in 1992 were decisively won by the opposition Democratic Party.
Unlike in much of the region, the party formed by former communists lost power. Yet even Albania failed to fully open secret police files or conduct a comprehensive reckoning with the past.
The locked archives of Belgrade
None of the Western Balkan states have fully opened the archives of former communist services. North Macedonia’s lustration process, launched in 2008, devolved into a tool of partisan revenge. Albania and Kosovo never undertook a serious reckoning. Invisible networks—heirs to communist-era services—continue to operate across borders, with loyal guardians in Belgrade.
There, the archives that could illuminate decades of repression, manipulation, and conflict remain locked. But the lock is beginning to rust. Serbia’s gradual pull toward the EU, combined with recent protests, suggests a generational shift. Younger Serbs are less receptive to archaic ideologies and increasingly demand European values: rule of law, justice, development, and transparency.
That transparency will inevitably reach the secret archives. When they are opened, the long and distorted transition of Serbia—and by extension the Western Balkans—can finally begin to end. Only then can transitional justice be delivered and democratization move from rhetoric to reality. Until that moment, the invisible structures of the former communist services will continue to shape the region’s fate—a reminder of an old Yugoslav saying that once captured their power all too well.