In the heart of Belgrade’s bustling Autokomanda neighborhood, the remnants of Topovske Šupe, a Nazi concentration camp from World War II, stand largely unrecognized amid urban traffic and daily life. Established in 1941, this site detained thousands of Jewish and Roma men before many were executed during Nazi reprisals. Despite its historical significance, the camp remains insufficiently memorialized, with surviving buildings in deterioration and some repurposed for commercial use.
Topovske Šupe was among the earliest camps in which the Nazis imprisoned Jews, predating the establishment of extermination camps with gas chambers. Historians note that this period corresponds with the “Holocaust by bullets,” when mass shootings were the primary method of killing. Up to a third of the six million Jews killed in the Holocaust may have died in similar shootings. From August to December 1941, approximately 6,500 Jewish and Roma men were held at the camp, subjected to forced labor and systematic execution.
Following the Axis invasion and the dismemberment of Yugoslavia in April 1941, northern Serbia’s Banat region fell under the control of ethnic German Volksdeutsche, who initiated the internment of local Jews. These prisoners were transferred to Belgrade, where Topovske Šupe served as a detention center. The camp was part of a vast military complex and was initially used mainly to hold men assigned to forced labor clearing rubble in the city. After a partisan uprising in September 1941, German forces imposed brutal collective punishments, executing prisoners in reprisals—a pattern repeated as the camp’s population shifted from Banat Jews to Belgrade Jews and subsequently to Roma detainees.
The camp’s operation was overseen by the Gestapo, with local Serbian and Volksdeutsche guards. Historian Milan Koljanin of the Memorial Center Staro Sajmište highlights that Topovske Šupe functioned as part of a two-stage genocide in Belgrade, with the killing of men preceding the murder of women and children at the nearby Staro Sajmište camp where mobile gas vans were employed.
Despite its historical role, Topovske Šupe largely vanished from public memory after the war. Its grounds shrank and were sometimes used for unrelated activities, including as a paintball arena. A small, barely visible memorial plaque installed by the city’s Jewish community is one of the few markers of its past. Local Roma organizations have held commemorations since the early 2000s, but the site has not been integrated meaningfully into Serbia’s broader cultural or educational landscape.
Progress toward formal preservation has been slow. The Memorial Center Staro Sajmište, established by law in 2020 to protect former concentration camp sites in Belgrade, is now nearing an agreement to assume stewardship of several Topovske Šupe buildings. However, legal complications persist because parts of the camp remain in private hands. Heritage authorities have initiated procedures to designate the site as a cultural monument, supported by recent historical and technical studies prepared by the Memorial Center.
Plans include restoring two stable buildings that housed Jewish prisoners and creating a memorial park, while other commercial structures owned by private investors will likely continue their current use. Earlier proposals to develop a shopping mall on the site were dropped following opposition from historians, civil society groups, and Serbia’s Jewish and Roma communities. Aron Fuks, president of the Jewish Community of Belgrade, stresses the importance of preserving a dedicated memorial area that acknowledges the atrocities committed there.
Roma representatives emphasize that remembrance must extend beyond physical preservation. Dejan Markovic of the Roma Forum of Serbia calls for meaningful community involvement in shaping the site’s future. He argues that decisions on commemorative initiatives should include Roma voices from the outset, encompassing planning, governance, and the conceptual development of any museum or memorial.
As the city continues to grow around the former camp, efforts to reconcile its historical legacy with contemporary urban realities are slowly advancing, reflecting broader challenges in preserving and commemorating sites of trauma within living cities.