Is the end of Vučić's regime in Serbia coming?

For more than a decade, Aleksandar Vučić has kept Serbia under a model of power that has withstood scandals, protests, the Kosovo crisis, and criticism from abroad. He built his authority on a formula that seemed simple but was very functional: control over institutions, dominance of the public narrative through the media, a party apparatus that extends to the administration and the economy, and a constant balance between the West and Russia. In this model, Vučić sold himself as the “guarantor of stability,” the only man who could keep the situation under control in a region where anything, according to this narrative, could explode.

For a long time, this worked. Every crisis turned into an argument for more power: if there were tensions, a “strong hand” was needed; if there was pressure from outside, a “good leader” was needed who “would not sell out the country”; if there was discontent within, “calm” was needed because “the alternative is chaos.” This is the logic of personalist regimes: not to govern by solving problems, but by managing the fear of deterioration.

But today, the question “is the end coming for Vučić?” is being heard more often not because the opposition is suddenly stronger, but because his model is showing signs of wear and tear. And what makes this situation more dangerous for him is the fact that the pressure is not coming from a single direction. It is coming simultaneously from the street, from social discontent, from Brussels, from the Kosovo issue, from the weakening of some of his allies, and from a name that continues to follow him like a political and diplomatic shadow: Milan Radoićić.

Protests in Serbia have happened before, but what is being seen now has a significant difference: it no longer seems like an emotional outburst that fades after a few days, but rather like an accumulated fatigue that is turning into persistence. It is not just a matter of economics or the next scandal; it is the feeling that the system is closed, that institutions do not function as institutions, that justice is no longer a guarantee, that the media does not inform, but disciplines, and that corruption has become the official language of the state. When a society reaches this point, the danger to power is not the protest itself, but the moment when people begin to no longer accept fear as a rule of the game. Strong regimes falter when citizens lose the feeling that “it is not worth it,” and this, in Serbia, seems to be gradually changing.

At the same time, Vučić is feeling that his European shield is no longer as strong as it once was. Viktor Orbán’s loss has implications that go beyond Hungary. Orbán was a kind of protection within the EU: a figure who could soften criticism, relativize pressures, and give the impression that the illiberal model is a European trend, not a Balkan deviation. When such an ally weakens, Serbia remains more exposed, and Vučić must pay more dearly for the same tolerance he previously enjoyed from some decision-making centers. The West has, for years, tolerated Vučić because it saw him as “indispensable” for regional stability. But this logic is being challenged whenever the stability he promises begins to look like dangerous stagnation, or a stability built on controlled tensions.

In this equation, Kosovo has become more of a burden than a card. For years, it has served as a powerful instrument for Vučić: sometimes for internal mobilization, sometimes for pressure on Pristina, sometimes as a bargaining chip with Brussels and Washington. But after Banjska, the cost has increased significantly. The armed attack of September 2023 was not perceived only as a security incident. For many international actors, it changed the way Belgrade’s role is seen. And because such events do not happen in a vacuum, Banjska turned attention to an old, but now more acute question: how much control did Vučić once have over what was happening in northern Kosovo, and how much does he tolerate it for political interests?

Here comes Milan Radoićić, a name that makes this question even more difficult for Vučić. The main man in the terrorist group who admitted to being part of the Banjska attack, and who now has no problem at all with being wanted to stand trial for the crime he committed. The fact that Radoić took responsibility for Banjska and yet remained free in Serbia has produced a serious credibility gap. For many in the West, this is no longer seen as a purely judicial issue, but as a political test: is there a state will for responsibility, or are people being protected who are considered useful for schemes of influence and control on the ground?

This is where Vučić falls into a trap that is more serious than previous crises. If he takes Radoić seriously and moves more towards Western demands, he risks offending part of his nationalist base and, more importantly, upsetting internal power networks that have kept the system together. If he does not act, then the international cost increases: diplomatic pressure, the conditioning of support, growing skepticism and a sense of isolation that does not help him either economically or politically. This is the trap: whatever he does, he pays a price. And when a leader cannot avoid the costs through maneuvering, he begins to look less invincible.

Does this mean the end is near? Not necessarily.

Vučić still controls many mechanisms of power: institutions, media, security apparatus, economic patronage. But the question today is not whether he has power; the question is whether his model is losing its sustainability. And here the signs are clearer than before. Protests are not fading easily. Social discontent is deepening. Kosovo is producing political costs, not only for Pristina, but also for Belgrade. International pressure is becoming more conditional. External allies that once served as a shield are weakening. And the shadow of Radoić continues to linger on the table as a problem that cannot be closed with declarations.

Vučić built his power by managing tensions. But the danger for him today is that some of those tensions no longer seem manageable in the old way. When the crises he uses to rule start to pile up, they no longer strengthen his power, they consume it. And that is the big change of the moment: for the first time, the combination of the road, international pressure, Kosovo, and the shadow of Milan Radoić is making Vučić’s power look more vulnerable than ever, not because he has suddenly weakened, but because his model is aging, losing credibility, and starting to produce more costs than benefits.

Not breaking away from Russia as a strategic burden

For years, Aleksandar Vučić was treated by the West with a kind of cold pragmatism: not because he was necessarily “the solution,” but because he seemed like the man who kept Serbia under control and the Balkans at a manageable temperature. Stability – even when it came with moral and political compromise – was considered an acceptable price.

Today, this calculation is breaking down. And the main reason has a name: Russia.

Serbia continues to refuse full alignment with the European Union's foreign policy towards Moscow. It did not join the sanctions. It keeps political channels open. In energy, diplomacy and public discourse, Russia continues to be treated not as an aggressor, but as a historical ally. Belgrade calls this "neutrality."

But in a Europe that has entered the era of security, such “neutrality” sounds like an excuse. In Western capitals, what Serbia sells as balance is increasingly read as deliberate ambiguity: we get the benefits from the EU, we maintain ties with the Kremlin, and we use ambiguity as an instrument of pressure.

This is the crux of the problem: Vučić is not balancing to survive as a small state among blocs; he is using balancing as a power strategy.

It is becoming increasingly clear in Brussels and Washington that an EU candidate country cannot simultaneously play the role of a European partner and maintain privileged relations with the Kremlin. This is no longer a matter of diplomatic protocol; it is a matter of strategic coherence.

In a climate where Russia is seen as a direct threat, any “gray zone” is a risk. And Serbia under Vučić has become exactly that: a gray zone with Russian influence, with alternative channels, with double-talking rhetoric, and with a foreign policy that often looks like permanent negotiation, not guidance.

The West can tolerate a lot for the sake of stability, but it finds it difficult to tolerate anything resembling the spread of Russian influence into the heart of Europe.

Vučić's problem is that he has built his political model on two major benefits: First, the internal benefit: Russia serves as a symbol, as an emotion, as an ideological "shield" and as a means to feed a part of public opinion. Second, the external benefit: by not completely breaking away from Moscow, he retains a negotiating card towards the West. The unspoken, but understandable message is this: "If you don't treat me as indispensable, I can slip somewhere else."

It's just that this strategy is becoming less and less functional. Because the West is no longer looking for "crisis management" as an absolute priority; it is looking for alignment...

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