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Serbian regulators shut down the go-to bank for Russian exiles, costing many their life savings

Source: Meduza

Many Russian emigrants in Serbia lost all their savings after Alta Bank’s license was revoked on October 31. Some had been keeping money in the bank to buy property, others had planned to spend their savings on a vacation, and still others now find themselves unable to run their businesses. According to a map compiled by the human rights group Kovcheg (The Ark), more than 100 Russian entrepreneurs used Alta. Serbia’s Deposit Insurance Agency has promised to begin paying compensation as early as November 13, but the most any customer can recover is 50,000 euros. Meduza spoke with Russians who lost all their savings overnight.

‘We buy enough food for a day or two at most’

Elena Artemenkova, founder of the Sunrice restaurant in Novi Sad. Had more than 50,000 euros in her account when the bank closed

We moved to Serbia two years ago with our big family: four children, two dogs, three cats, and, as I like to say, 18 suitcases. We left without return tickets, for good. I’d been an entrepreneur my whole life in Russia, so my husband and I started thinking about what we could do here, too. After a year in Serbia, we opened a small Japanese restaurant.

We initially opened personal accounts at Alta because we needed them to apply for residence permits. At the time, all the relocation helpers recommended Alta — people were posting about it in every chat group. There were always lots of Russians at the branches; I never even heard anyone speaking Serbian. Nothing about Alta seemed suspicious, and we didn’t try any other banks. Later, we opened a business account and also transferred money from Russia to Alta. Everything ran like clockwork.

On the morning of [October 31], I found out from social media that the bank’s license had been revoked. It was a shock. My husband and I couldn’t even believe it had really happened. There was no official notification from the bank. I’d been to a branch just two days earlier, and there was no sign anything was about to happen.

I don’t want to say exactly how much was in my account, but it’s more than the insurance limit. This is a catastrophic loss for our family because it’s our life savings. I’m 48 and my husband is 56 — we’ll never be able to earn that much again. We were counting on that money for our future. It was our safety net: If we couldn’t get a business up and running quickly in Serbia, we could get by without worrying [about running out of money].

When we found out what had happened, we went to Alta, like many other Russians. But the only other people outside the locked doors were journalists. Once it was all confirmed, I joined chat groups for people affected so we could look for solutions together and share information about our legal options. And, of course, to feel that we weren’t alone. I haven’t contacted any lawyers yet because we don’t have the time or the money for that. Right now, we need to get the insured amount back. Then we’ll try to recover the rest, though we know the chances are slim.

By Monday [November 2], I was already running into problems opening a new account. In our group chats, we shared information about which banks were opening accounts for Russians and which weren’t. There were huge lines everywhere. At one bank, they told me sole proprietors had to email their applications. I sent mine, but I still haven’t heard back. Another bank accepted my application in person, but five days went by without a reply from them, either. I submitted documents to another bank yesterday — nothing from them yet. So it’s still not clear whether I’ll be able to open an account at all.

For the first two days, I was even afraid to count the cash we had left, though I had a rough idea of how much there was. I was just afraid to do it. Now we’re cutting back on everything. We have a big family, and we buy enough food for a day or two at most because we don’t know what tomorrow will bring. On top of that, we have a business to run. It’s still operating for now, but next week we’ll have to sort things out with our suppliers and deal with the rent. We have no money to pay the rent right now — we’ll have to work something out with the landlady.

Our restaurant’s card terminal was from Alta, too, so it’s no longer working and our customers can’t pay by card. We let regulars run a tab so we don’t lose them: We literally say, “Eat, drink, you can bring the money later.” The bank didn’t send us an official notice saying we could no longer use the terminal until five days after its license was revoked, even though the terminal stopped working on the very first day. It felt like they were mocking us.

I know Russian-Serbian communities organized help for people affected: They collected food, essential items, and pet food. Some people were literally left with 3,000 dinars [about $30], and they don’t just have to buy food — there’s rent, utilities, internet, and phone bills, too. My family hasn’t asked for help: We know some people need it much more urgently. We do still have a little money in reserve.

On the first weekend after it happened, an unusually large number of customers came to our cafe, mostly Serbs. Every table was taken. People came in and ordered food and drinks. We later found out that this was their way of supporting us. That day, we took in several times as much as usual.

What really touched me was how thoughtful they were about it. Nobody said they’d come to help or made us feel like we were getting handouts. They just came in like regular customers. They treated us with such dignity. I’m very grateful to those people.

Lots of Russians we know wrote, too, asking how we were and offering to help with groceries if things got really bad. And, of course, people sent messages of support. All of that matters so much.

At the same time, I’ve read so much hate on Telegram. People wrote things like, “You shouldn’t have put your money in that bank. You’ve only got yourselves to blame,” or “Serves you right.” Others said we should have stayed in Russia instead of moving abroad.

We came to Serbia with money we’d earned honestly. Of course we put it in a bank. Keeping that much money at home seems crazy to me. I don’t think an ordinary person should have to analyze a bank’s finances themselves to decide whether they can trust it with their savings. That’s what banking regulators are for: The government should make sure financial institutions are sound. We thought our savings were safe.

I don’t know what’s true and what isn’t in everything people are writing online about why Alta collapsed. But ordinary people shouldn’t have to pay for it. We’re not asking for privileges or special treatment just because we’re Russians living abroad who have found ourselves in a difficult situation. We’re just asking for our money back.

‘Living abroad, you get used to things like this’

Tatyana, clinical psychologist. Had 17,000 euros in her account when the bank closed

Our whole family emigrated to Turkey in 2022, and two years later we moved to Serbia. I have three children: a 20-year-old daughter and two sons, ages 17 and 7. When we arrived in Serbia, almost no bank except Alta would open accounts for Russians. We went to Russian relocation helpers, and that was the option they suggested — it was straightforward.

We could have opened an account ourselves [without the helpers], but we had so much to do with moving to another country that we wanted to make life easier. Some [emigrants] opened accounts at other banks, but as soon as you walked into Alta, you could see that all the [customers] were Russian.

We had no concerns about the bank itself — it seemed like any other bank. After moving, we deposited more than 150,000 euros there, the money from selling our apartment in Turkey. This summer, we managed to use that money to buy an apartment in Serbia. In that sense, we were lucky.

When the license was revoked, I had 17,000 euros in my account. I’d been saving that money for my older son’s education — he’s now been accepted into a bachelor’s program at a Spanish university. To get a discount, we have to pay for the entire first year by the end of April. I don’t owe anyone anything yet, but if the situation isn’t resolved by then, I’ll have to use a credit card and borrow money from my mom.

I found out that Alta’s license had been revoked at 7 a.m. on Saturday [October 31], when I opened Threads. The bank hadn’t sent me any notifications. The evening before, we’d learned that my son had been accepted into the university. I could have made the first payment then, but I decided to wait: I was afraid I might make a mistake in all the excitement and send the money to the wrong place. It wasn’t a big amount — 1,500 euros.

Still, it really stings that I could have transferred it and didn’t. The money had to be sent within a week, so I had to rush to get the rest of my savings out of Russia, withdraw the money through a currency exchange, and deposit it into a friend’s bank account so he could make the payment for me. Other than that, I didn’t panic. I think living abroad, you get used to things like this. Besides, I knew I’d get the money back: It was within the insurance limit.

That first weekend [after the license was revoked], I had no money at all. It was such a strange feeling, like being a kid again: You want to do something, but you have no money, so all you can do is watch TV shows and relax. We have money for food now, but my older son lives on his own, and [soon] his rent will be due. (I rent him a place closer to school.) Whatever I earn this week, I’ll give to him.

I’ve already submitted the documents to open an account at another bank. I live in an area where there aren’t many Russians, so when I went to the Yettel Bank branch at the nearest mall on Tuesday [November 3], there were no lines. Two days later, there were. To start the process, all you need to submit is your boravak and passport. You only have to send the other documents if your application is approved. I haven’t heard back yet.

It would take me more than six months to earn the amount left in my Alta account. But it’s not about the time. That money kept me from worrying. Now I’ll have to work flat out, because I’m completely broke. I believe I’ll get my money back, though I’m not counting on any particular timeline: It’s a big system, after all, and the process could drag on.

I don’t think there was any way to protect ourselves against this, because we’re outsiders [in Serbia]. We don’t fully understand this country’s cultural and political context, so we’re inevitably going to run into things like this.

‘We saved that money over three years’

Liza and Maxim (name changed), a designer and a front-end developer. Had 25,000 euros in their account when the bank closed

We opened an account at Alta because there weren’t really any other options. When we moved three years ago, the bank was welcoming to customers from Russia, and we didn’t have residence permits. Alta seemed like a safe choice.

When the bank’s license was revoked, we were just starting our trip to Asia — we’d been planning for a long time to spend two months in Thailand and Vietnam. The license was revoked on the first day of our trip. We were walking around Istanbul when we realized our cards weren’t working. We messaged the bank, and they replied that transactions had been suspended and more information would be available on Monday. At first, we thought nothing serious had happened — maybe some kind of hack. We didn’t see the news until that evening. We realized we needed to find some money.

All our savings were in Alta — about 25,000 euros. We’d only recently deposited it to show we had enough money when applying for a German freelance visa. We saved that money over three years. My husband is also formally employed in Serbia, and his salary goes into his Alta account. His employer was understanding and agreed to pay him in cash for these two months when we get back.

Even though the bank collapsed on the first day of our trip, we didn’t change our plans — that would have cost even more. We’d only brought a thousand dollars in cash. We had to borrow money. Thank God our friends were able to send us money through Zolotaya Korona [Golden Crown, a Russian money transfer service] — they have locations in Istanbul where you can pick up cash. They all look pretty dubious; we picked ours up at a souvenir shop, for example. The employee really wanted to help us, but he didn’t have much cash, so he gathered dollars and euros from wherever he could and somehow scraped together a thousand dollars for us. I don’t know what we would have done in Asia without money.

Right now, we’ve only booked places to stay for half the trip. We still don’t know how we’re going to book the rest without [foreign-issued] cards. Of course, we’d planned on a relaxing trip, and instead we’re stressed out. We’re trying to save money. I’d been thinking of buying some shoes on this trip that I’ve wanted for ages. Now I’m wondering, do I need them? I’m leaning toward no. Better to hold on to the money in case some emergency expense comes up.

We won’t be back in Serbia until winter, and that’s when we’ll open a new account. I hope there won’t be any problems because my husband has a Serbian employment contract. At first, we were worried we’d have to rush to open an account at another bank to get our money back, but then we learned we had three years to do that, and we felt a bit better.

Sure, you could say we could have withdrawn at least half the money that’s still in Alta. But we’d have had nowhere to keep it: We don’t have an apartment in Serbia right now — we’ve just moved out of our old one. Taking that much cash on a trip isn’t safe, either. We could have converted the money into crypto, but how safe is that? Binance was hacked just recently, for example. What we’ve taken away from all this is: “Keep your money under your mattress.”

‘At least we don’t have to go into debt’

Vladimir (name changed), DevOps engineer. Had 20,000 euros in his account when the bank closed

My wife and I moved to Serbia from Georgia a little over two years ago. In our very first month, we both registered as sole proprietors, started paying taxes, and began sorting out our residency status. When we arrived, only three banks were actually opening accounts for nonresidents: Banka Poštanska štedionica, Alta Bank, and API Bank. The first one seems to have simply ignored our applications. API Bank has ties to Russia, and that was a red flag for me.

What reassured us about Alta Bank was that its head office had a “nonresident department” and even Russian-speaking assistants. That made dealing with the bank much easier and was a big plus. We had no doubts about Alta.

On the morning of October 31 [the day after the license was revoked], I woke up to a panicked call from my wife — she was abroad and hoped I could sort something out since I was there [in Serbia]. But there was nothing left to do: People in the chats were saying it was impossible to withdraw money from accounts or transfer it anywhere. The only consolation was that we had a total of 20,000 euros in our personal accounts. Of course, that’s all our savings, but since it’s below the insurance limit, we’ll be able to get it all back.

We had about 1,500 euros left in cash. That will cover our rent (900 euros including utilities) and my taxes as a sole proprietor (about 300 euros), leaving another 300 euros for food. For the next few weeks, about all we’ll be able to afford is staying home, going out for groceries once a week, and walking in the park. We can’t complain, since at least we don’t have to go into debt.

Knowing I wouldn’t be able to open a business bank account within a week, I arranged with my employer’s accounting department to get paid in cryptocurrency. Over the weekend, I managed to register with Bybit [a cryptocurrency exchange], verify my identity, and get a virtual card. I’ll have to pay my taxes as a sole proprietor through a currency exchange or the post office.

Our landlady said how sorry she was and gently suggested we could put off paying the rent until next month. But we assured her we’d already found ways to get money and paid on time.

The Telegram chat and website Oleg’s Guide to Serbia have been a huge help in this situation — both are packed with useful information. I haven’t had to ask for help in the chat myself: Once you get the hang of searching, it turns out most questions have already been discussed more than once.

My wife and I have already applied to open accounts at UniCredit, OTP, and Yettel. Because of the influx of customers, the banks haven’t responded to any of our applications yet. Still, you could say we’ve been lucky already: We’re residents, and at least they accepted our applications. As I understand it, nonresidents have far fewer banks to choose from, and the account-opening process is less clear.

Serbia’s Deposit Insurance Agency has promised to reimburse insured deposits in full. But the fact that Poštanska štedionica will be making the payments doesn’t inspire much optimism. The bank is already stretched thin paying pensions and serving Serbian customers. Given how often Russians get dismissive treatment here, I’m worried it won’t be easy to get the insured money back.

But many people are in a much worse situation than we are — some have had the proceeds from selling an apartment frozen, for example, and that’s more than the insurance limit. We even joke with our friends that we’re too poor by the agency’s standards.

We’ve definitely learned our lesson from this: For the rest of our lives, we’ll keep at least three months’ worth of expenses in cash and keep our savings in accounts at two or more banks.