Residents of Biljane Donje have lived for years in the shadow of a landfill of carcinogenic slag from Šibenik's TEF factory. As remediation nears its end, questions remain about responsibility, groundwater contamination, and suspicious property registration.
In the Škorić family home in Biljane Donje, Mrs. Antica speaks to journalists through the mosquito net on her window. She arrived in this village as a young bride from Split, where she spent 2010 and 2011 with her late husband and his brothers, while heavy trucks continuously transported thousands of tons of hazardous slag from the closed TEF factory in Šibenik.
After the deaths of her husband and his brothers, her children moved her back to Split. Since then, she only comes to Biljane in the summer, staying for a month or two. Her story reveals the scale of the human tragedy that accompanied the growth of Crno Brdo (Black Hill).
"Last year, eleven of them died," says Mrs. Antica. When asked if they were elderly, she replies: "Both younger and older. Three or four younger ones, around sixty years old, and the others... My husband was 74, my brother-in-law 76, the other brother-in-law 85..."
Her brother-in-law was the last to go. "My brother-in-law was the last one," she confirms. Near Crno Brdo, there were several Škorić families, and today, she says, they have all passed away. "Down there, a husband and wife died within two days," she gestures toward Crno Brdo.
When asked if the cause was cancer, she shrugs: "Who knows. I don't know... If you catch a chill, you get a little cold..."
Journalists spent two hours wandering through Biljane Donje, looking for a local resident who could tell them what it was like to live in the shadow of Crno Brdo. Wherever they saw signs of life, the houses were closed, shutters drawn, gates wired shut. Empty houses and ruins dominate the surroundings of the former Crno Brdo.
Those they did find wave dismissively at the journalists. "We're only here in the summer. We come for a few weeks, and that's it," people reluctantly say next to their cars with license plates from Germany, Sweden, Serbia, and Ukraine.
One resident named Davor agreed to a brief conversation over the fence. "We moved here about ten years ago. Crno Brdo? The last trucks left about ten days ago," he says.
About the rumors of cancer, Davor says: "I've read in the newspapers, people here say that people are dying of cancer because of the slag. I don't know, but I do know that almost all who died were of advanced age." He adds that the village is mostly populated by older people: "We've been here for ten years and haven't had such problems."
Davor points to the black road that runs past his house toward the former Crno Brdo. According to village lore, it was made from the slag itself, used instead of stone aggregate for asphalt. The difference is visible: regular asphalt fades over time, but this one is still black, with visible slag in its texture.
At the center of the Crno Brdo story is Vladimir Ćupić, the owner of the land where the slag was dumped. In an interview with Novosti in May 2025, he stated that he was unpopular in the village because of the black hill and that residents had accused him for years of poisoning them.
Ćupić explained to them that he had been deceived and had followed bad advice. He was told that construction material would be brought to his land, which he had leased out, but instead, hazardous waste was delivered.
Zdravko Belušić, former president of the now-defunct association "Ravni Kotari," confirms that residents did not consider Ćupić the main culprit. "They didn't see him as the main culprit. He told them he had been tricked. He rented out his land for construction material, and they brought slag from TEF," says Belušić, who at 80 years old is in excellent shape.
Belušić uses a vivid comparison: "It's like if I sell you a car, say it's a Mercedes, and you open it and see it's a Trabant inside. The man was deceived."
Thanks to the efforts of the "Ravni Kotari" association since 2013, the Crno Brdo issue became the number one environmental topic in Croatia. When they realized the state was not reacting and did not want to resolve the situation, they decided to take the problem to the international level.
They managed to trigger European Union mechanisms that resulted in legal proceedings against Croatia, and an independent German laboratory confirmed the presence of heavy metals and carcinogenic substances in the slag. Croatia eventually received a fine and must pay €6,500 per day until the remediation of Crno Brdo is completed.
All the slag, a total of 140,000 tons, has been transported to Sisak, where it is being processed into construction material. Crno Brdo is no more, but questions remain.
Belušić expresses fear for groundwater: "We are afraid that the groundwater is contaminated. I have a letter from Dražen Kurečić, then Deputy Minister of Agriculture, from the Water Protection Department. He says that since an adequate base layer was not constructed and the material was not covered due to rainwater, groundwater contamination is occurring. So, not that it could happen, but that it is happening."
Belušić adds a chilling claim: "Half of the residents of Biljane Donje have died. They were treated for lung cancer and cancers of internal organs." He is aware of his limitations: "I'm not a medical professional, but... We fought as best we could, and I'm telling you what I know..."
Belušić also raises the question of the speed of the property registration: "How did Ćupić manage to register ownership of the inherited plot within 24 hours? He inherited the plot from his mother's grandfather. To register an inherited plot in your name, you need six months, going door to door, begging. He got it in 24 hours."
When asked if he is sure about this, he replies: "That's what the residents told me. It's not a problem to go to the cadastre and check. It means someone influential pulled strings so he could get ownership so quickly. Because he couldn't rent the land without ownership."
Belušić also explains how part of the material ended up on state land: "There was too much material, so they dumped it on land used by Hrvatske šume (Croatian Forests). At the time, the director was Božidar Longin, a former county prefect. They sued and won the case, but what good is it when the material stayed there anyway..."
Checking the plots where the slag was deposited through the digital system of the State Geodetic Administration, journalists were unable to find a single owner in the name of Vladimir Ćupić. On almost all disputed plots, dozens of owners and co-owners are registered.
At the site of the former Crno Brdo, there is now a bare clearing with a parked excavator and a pile of reinforced steel. Remnants of slag are still visible on the ground and along the edges of the plots. Crno Brdo is gone, but it doesn't seem like the remediation is completely finished. People forget quickly, but nature remembers for a long time.
