Why are Elektrodistribucija (Power Distribution) and Elektromreža Srbije (Grid Operator of Serbia) importing conductors from Turkey, China, Poland, and other countries? Why does a country that once possessed serious metallurgy, engineering, electronics, and cable industries, along with expert staff, now have to buy even what has been technologically known for half a century?
The problem isn’t Turkey. On the contrary, the Turks are doing what a serious state and economy should do: producing, employing, exporting, developing supply chains, and conquering markets. The problem lies with us. We used to know how to manufacture; today, more and more often, we only know how to issue tenders, import goods, hire foreign contractors, and take on debt to finance infrastructure that is frequently built by others. That is the essence of our industrial tragedy.
In the past, conductors, including copper ones, were produced locally. There was an industry that knew how to melt, roll, draw, strand, measure, test, and guarantee quality. There were master craftsmen, technicians, engineers, lab technicians, designers, technologists, and production managers. And it wasn’t just one factory that disappeared. An entire industrial ecosystem vanished.
When a factory closes, it’s not just the building that disappears. The crafts, work habits, suppliers, tools, laboratories, mid-level technical staff, and student apprenticeships disappear too. The place where a young engineer can learn what a production process, a standard, a warranty claim, technical acceptance, and responsibility for delivered goods actually mean simply disappears.
A system neglected for decades
That is why today there is a shortage of electrical engineers for supervision. It is no surprise that distribution companies lack linesmen, dispatchers, and experienced field personnel, or that in Belgrade it is hard to find qualified workers who know how to lay kerbs correctly, carry out installations, make a proper joint, finish off a job properly, or take responsibility for the quality of their work. It is no surprise, because expertise isn’t created overnight. It is passed down through the system. And we have neglected that system.
For decades, children have been sent the message that manufacturing is something dirty, outdated, and unappealing, and that everyone should become managers, consultants, lawyers, economists, influencers, administrators, or middlemen. Hardly anyone tells a child: become a good electrical engineer, mechanical engineer, technologist, welder, linesman, toolmaker, lab technician, designer, or dispatcher. Hardly anyone explains that without these people, there is no state, no infrastructure, no energy sector, no hospitals, and no schools.
A state cannot survive long-term on services alone. They are important, but they cannot replace manufacturing. A country cannot develop solely on retail, imports, cafes, rentals, consulting, and loans. Healthcare, education, the military, the police, roads, railways, the power grid, water supply, science, and culture all require money. And in a healthy economy, money is earned by creating new value—through manufacturing, exports, technology, and knowledge embedded in a product.
If you don’t produce, you buy. If you buy, you must have the means to pay. If your exports fall short, you pay through loans. If you live on credit, sooner or later someone else starts making decisions for you. This is not just an economic issue; it is a matter of sovereignty.
Today, our infrastructure is largely built by foreign companies, whilst the guarantor of these investments is the Serbian state budget. Foreigners design, build, and deliver the equipment, often bringing their own workers, whilst we are left with the debt, the maintenance obligation, and the question of how much the domestic economy actually participated in any of it. Of course, engaging foreign companies where they are better, faster, or technologically superior is not an issue. The problem arises when the domestic economy is no longer even capable of being a serious partner.
That was then, this is now
Our companies used to build projects across the Middle East, Africa, and Latin America. Our engineers managed construction sites, our workers executed the projects, and our designers solved problems in the field. Prva Petoletka, Mašinska Industrija, Elektronska Industrija, construction firms, energy companies – these were all components of a larger, self-confident system. Not everything was ideal, far from it. There were failures, political economy, inefficiencies, and debts. But there was a manufacturing base, alongside the knowledge and ambition to build things.
Today, we often see the inverse logic: buy off-the-shelf, import, resell, outsource, take a loan, cut the ribbon. Such a model cannot last indefinitely.
It is particularly dangerous that we have neglected technical education. Engineering faculties must not be mere places to pass exams. They must be linked with industry, laboratories, factories, power distribution, the transmission system, design firms, and contractors. An electrical engineering student needs to see a substation, an overhead line, a cable line, a dispatch centre, a production line, and an equipment testing lab. A mechanical engineer needs to see tools, the manufacturing process, tolerances, machining, and assembly. A technologist needs to see materials, furnaces, alloys, and quality control. Without this, a degree remains a mere piece of paper.
We cannot be surprised when young people shun technical professions if society fails to show that these fields are essential, well-paid, and respected. We cannot expect electrical engineers, linesmen, and dispatchers if for years we have broadcast the message that those who talk, mediate, and manage are paramount, rather than those who know how to build, repair, commission, and maintain the system.
The energy sector is the prime example. A power system does not function on conferences, panel discussions, and slogans. It functions because someone designs, builds, maintains, stays on duty, goes out into the field in rain and snow, and understands loads, short circuits, voltage drops, protection, selectivity, earthing, power cuts, breakdowns, and accountability. Without those people, the system begins to erode from within.
Where are we, where is Turkey, and who is to blame?
The idea for this text came during my stay in Turkey, at a FAT (Factory Acceptance Test – quality verification performed by the manufacturer prior to delivery) for conductors intended to be imported and installed in Serbia’s energy infrastructure. I was at the factory, filmed the manufacturing process, toured the laboratories, monitored the testing, and participated in drawing up the FAT documentation. So I didn’t just hear about it second-hand; I saw what a serious industrial organisation looks like – from raw materials entering the plant, through manufacturing and quality control, to testing the finished product ready for dispatch to the customer.
At first glance, it all looks impressive. Vast bays, orderly production lines, laboratories, measuring instruments, conductor drums, documentation, standards, procedures, signatures… But stepping back from that initial impression to look at the core of it, you realise something else – this isn’t futuristic technology. This isn’t a space program. This isn’t something Serbia never knew how to do. On the contrary!
We are talking about technology that has been known for decades. The production of aluminium and ACSR (aluminium conductor steel-reinforced) conductors relies on long-mastered processes. With ACSR conductors, a steel core in the centre carries the mechanical load, while aluminium layers handle the primary conductive function. Other conductor types use aluminium alloys depending on the required conductivity, tensile strength, weight, and operational conditions.
Then come the tests. Wire diameters, lay length, mass per unit length, electrical resistance, tensile strength, elongation, surface quality, potential defects, and compliance with standards and technical specifications are all measured. Raw material documentation, certificates, lab results, logs, and packaging conditions are examined. A FAT test is no mere formality. It is the moment when the buyer must confirm that the goods to be delivered genuinely match what was contracted.
And that is where the core question of this text arose. Why are we importing this today? That is why a FAT test in a Turkish factory was not merely a technical event. For me, it became the catalyst for a much broader reflection. Watching the production of a conductor destined for installation in Serbia, you cannot help but ask: why isn’t this produced at home? Why aren’t our young people working in such plants? Why aren’t our universities and schools supplying such factories with skilled personnel? Why aren’t our companies exporting this kind of equipment? Why have we settled for being a market rather than a producer?
Naturally, it is not enough to talk nostalgically about how everything was better in the past. Not everything was better. But there was greater industrial courage. If we want a serious state, we must rebuild our industrial logic – not by copying old models, but by building modern, technologically disciplined, and market-sustainable manufacturing.
Serbia must relearn how to produce
This requires several steps. First, technical education must become a genuine national priority -not just declaratively, but in reality. Secondary technical schools, vocational trades, dual education, engineering faculties, and laboratories must be linked directly to the real sector.
Second, state-owned enterprises and major infrastructure systems must use procurement and investment to develop domestic industry wherever possible, while adhering strictly to quality and standards. Domestic shouldn’t mean inferior. But the easiest solution shouldn’t always be importation, either.
Third, we must restore respect for engineers, master craftsmen, and skilled workers. Without them, there is no digitalisation, no green transition, no energy security, and no transport infrastructure.
Fourth, the state must understand that industrial policy is not obsolete. All serious countries protect their critical capacities, develop local suppliers, and invest in knowledge. Only we have been told for years that the market alone solves everything. It doesn’t. A market without strategy often merely exposes who is weak.
Fifth, we must stop fooling ourselves. If we import conductors today, we will import equipment tomorrow, maintenance services the day after, and expertise next. Once expertise is lost, it is the most expensive thing to reclaim.
That is why the issue of conductor production is about far more than a single tender, a single FAT test, or a single delivery. It is a mirror reflecting the state of domestic industry. If a country cannot produce the basic elements of its own power infrastructure, it must seriously question where it is headed.
Serbia must relearn how to produce. Not out of nostalgia, but out of necessity. Not to close off the domestic market, but because without manufacturing, there is no stable economy. Not to reject foreign partners, but because partnership only makes sense when you bring your own knowledge, capacity, and industrial backbone to the table.
The FAT test in Turkey demonstrated the impressive organisation of a factory. But even more so, it laid bare our own void. It showed how far we have drifted from manufacturing, from technical knowledge, and from industrial self-reliance. And a state that loses its manufacturing capacity gradually loses the ability to decide its own future.
(Radar, 04.08.2026)
https://radar.nova.rs/ekonomija/gde-je-nestala-domaca-proizvodnja/