From Pulpit to Putin: How Serbia’s Church Fuels Kosovo’s Crisis
In Kosovo's shadowed peace, church bells ring with Moscow’s tune, as monasteries shelter militants and priests pledge loyalty to Putin, forging faith into weapons of war.
In the soft echoes of church bells and the austere embrace of ancient stone monasteries, a perilous message is being quietly shaped, one that reverberates far beyond the sanctified walls of the Serbian Orthodox Church. The recent visit of Serbian Patriarch Porfirije to Moscow, his warm exchange with President Vladimir Putin, and the overt invocation of geopolitical allegiance signal a gathering storm that threatens to unsettle the already fragile peace of Kosovo. Reporting from Kosovo-based portal KoSSev1 reveals a chilling declaration:
“Without Kosovo and without Republika Srpska, the Serbian people have no perspective.”
These words, spoken by Patriarch Porfirije directly to Vladimir Putin on the second day of Orthodox Easter in Moscow, not only articulate a religious sentiment but underscore an ominous political alignment that may well herald a new phase of regional instability.
The Serbian Orthodox Church (SPC), long a sanctified institution, is proving to be an increasingly potent conduit for nationalist ideology, entwined with the Kremlin’s imperial ambitions. Porfirije’s statement that the Church’s stance on Kosovo, Republika Srpska, and Montenegro is contingent upon the position of the Russian Federation is not merely an ecclesiastical musing but a deeply political assertion. It is a testament to a historical continuity where faith, power, and territory converge in dangerous harmony. The Patriarch’s expressed desire for the Serbian Church and people to be closely aligned with the “Russian world” in the event of future geopolitical realignment is a chilling reminder of the Church’s instrumental role in past and present conflicts.
This alignment comes at a critical juncture. Since Serbia signed a foreign policy alignment treaty with Moscow in September 20222, the very year Russian forces launched a full-scale invasion of Ukraine, there has been an emboldening of Serbian rhetoric and actions against Kosovo. The treaty, a largely symbolic gesture in diplomatic terms, has nevertheless emboldened Serbian political and ecclesiastical actors to double down on aggressive postures towards Kosovo, under the veneer of religious solidarity and Slavic brotherhood.
Patriarch Porfirije’s visit to Moscow, and his subsequent remarks, echo the dark undertones of Serbia’s not-so-distant past. The SPC has long served as more than a spiritual guide; it has been a bulwark of nationalist sentiment, blessing and legitimising the ambitions of the Milosevic regime during the brutal disintegration of Yugoslavia. Through the 1990s, as the dream of a Greater Serbia was pursued with bloodshed, displacement and genocide, the Church provided not only moral but logistical support to the regime’s military ventures. It sanctified war criminals, laundered the image of genocide, and stood as a pillar of ethnonationalist ideology that sought to erase the pluralistic identity of the Balkans.
Now, more than two decades later, the SPC’s role appears undiminished, its ambitions recalibrated but no less dangerous. KoSSev’s reporting indicates that Porfirije conveyed to Putin the belief that “centres of power from the West do not want the Serbian people’s identity and culture to develop.” This rhetoric, invoking the spectre of Western hostility, mirrors the justifications used by both Belgrade and Moscow to frame their respective interventions in neighbouring territories. The invocation of an “orange revolution” in Serbia, a term often used pejoratively to describe democratic uprisings3 seen as Western-instigated, further cements the narrative of a besieged Orthodox world resisting Western encroachment.
For Kosovo, the implications are dire. The SPC, while maintaining a veneer of quietude within Kosovo itself, has tirelessly undermined the state’s sovereignty. It retains vast swathes of land, enjoys extraterritorial privileges under the Ahtisaari Plan, and serves as a focal point for Serbian irredentism. Its monasteries, though UNESCO-protected, are not merely places of worship but often serve as citadels of Belgrade-sponsored armed aggression against Kosovo’s independence. The Church’s influence extends beyond the spiritual, shaping political discourse and increasingly aligning itself with Russian geopolitical strategies. Notably, during the Russian-styled annexation attempt of northern Kosovo in September 20234, heavily armed men backed by Belgrade, led by Milan Radoicic, the chairman of the Kosovo-based Serbian List political party were allegedly hosted by the monastery.
Porfirije’s remarks that “without Kosovo and without Republika Srpska, the Serbian people have no perspective” are a clarion call for renewed claims over Kosovo, framed in existential terms. They suggest that the loss of these territories is not only a political setback but a civilisational death knell for the Serbian nation. This is rhetoric steeped in historical grievance and dangerous myth-making, capable of inflaming tensions and justifying future confrontations.
The presence of high-ranking Serbian clerics in Moscow, including the outspoken Bishop Irinej of Backa, known for his close ties to the Russian Orthodox Church, underscores the deepening entanglement of ecclesiastical and geopolitical interests. Putin’s warm reception of the delegation, and his reaffirmation of Serbia as Russia’s closest ally in the Balkans, signals not only a shared history but a shared future, one that could see Kosovo increasingly caught in the crosshairs of a larger geopolitical struggle.
European leaders, notably the EU’s new High Representative Kaja Kallas, have warned of the symbolic and substantive dangers of Balkan leaders attending Russia’s Victory Day celebrations on 9 May. Such gestures are not benign; they are potent signals of allegiance at a time when Russia is waging a full-scale war in Europe. Aleksandar Vucic’s expected attendance, conveyed by Porfirije to Putin, further complicates Serbia’s already ambiguous stance between East and West, and by extension, endangers Kosovo’s hard-won and still precarious sovereignty.
The Serbian Orthodox Church’s continued alignment with Moscow, and its framing of Kosovo as an inalienable part of a broader Orthodox-Slavic identity, lays the groundwork for renewed conflict. It is a cultural and political campaign, couched in religious rhetoric but driven by territorial ambition. The Church’s silence within Kosovo is not neutrality; it is a strategic pause, a quiet preparation for a future in which its influence may once again be marshalled for nationalist ends.
As Kosovo navigates these turbulent waters, the international community must recognise the SPC not merely as a religious actor but as a political force with a history of complicity in war and genocide. Its actions and statements must be scrutinised not only for their spiritual content but for their political implications. The bells that toll in Peja and Deçan of the Republic of Kosovo, do not merely call the faithful to prayer; they may also be tolling for the fragile peace that Kosovo has struggled to maintain. The shadow of the cross, long cast over the Balkans, grows darker still.
Kosovo’s Fight for Independence and the Quest for Justice
Kosovo’s struggle for independence traces back to the rise of Serbian leader Slobodan Milosevic in the late 1980s. Under his rule, Serbia dismantled Kosovo’s autonomy in 1989, triggering a decade of systemic oppression against ethnic Albanians. This led to a peaceful resistance movement led by Ibrahim Rugova, which ultimately gave way to armed resistance as Serbian forces escalated their brutal crackdown. From 1991 to 1999, Serbian forces, under the banner of Yugoslavia, committed widespread atrocities across the Balkans, massacres, forced expulsions, and systematic sexual violence against non-Serb civilians, with Kosovo becoming the final battleground of this unchecked campaign.
During the Kosovo War (1998–1999), Serbian armed forces carried out war crimes and crimes against humanity, killing over 13,000 people, mostly ethnic Albanians, while displacing nearly one million civilians. Despite the NATO intervention that ended the war in June 1999, Serbia has never been held fully accountable for its actions. Serbian President Aleksandar Vucic, who served as Milosevic’s propaganda minister during the war, played a key role in justifying these atrocities in pursuit of a Greater Serbia, an expansionist nationalist vision that sought to dominate the Balkans, including ambitions for a joint naval fleet with Russia in the Adriatic Sea.
Today, Kosovo remains a sovereign state recognised by over 100 countries, including the United Kingdom, the United States, and most EU nations. However, Serbia continues to deny Kosovo’s independence and actively obstructs its international integration. The victims of war still await justice, as Serbia has yet to be held accountable for its war crimes in Kosovo. Meanwhile, tensions persist, with Serbia maintaining a destabilising influence in Kosovo’s northern regions, backed by Russian political and military support.
Kosovo’s Crisis: How Serbia Threatens Kosovo's Future
On a chilly evening in London, the Kosovo Embassy opened its doors to a gathering of diplomats, scholars, journalists, and activists for a discussion on an issue as pressing as it is perennial: the security threats facing Kosovo. The event, featuring Dr. Aidan Hehir and Dr. Andi Hoxhaj OBE, renowned scholars of international relations, was not only an intellectual exercise but a reflection of Kosovo’s precarious place in an increasingly volatile world.