San Antonio Express-News (Sunday)
In Kosovo, a yearning for communality
Say the word “Kosovo” to most people and they have a vague recollection (if that) of some wartorn Balkan spot.
But we’d be wise to watch this confluence of East and West.
I spent seven weeks in Kosovo earlier this year as a Fulbright specialist working on government communications strategy. While there, I met many smart young professionals who are devoted to making their country functional and egalitarian.
Despite being immersed in an unknown language, it was easy to find a comfortable familiarity in communities with strong family bonds, a slower pace of living and bottomless generosity toward guests. Kosovo’s population is a little less than Bexar County’s 2 million people in an area a little larger than Bexar, Comal, Guadalupe and Wilson counties combined.
It also has its own historic battlefield. Centuries ago, not far from the capital city of Pristina, Ottoman Turks defeated the Serbian army at the Battle of Kosovo. Serbs can be very sentimental about this.
Kosovo’s government is dominated by the Albanian Muslim majority.
My assignment was with the Ministry for Communities and Returns, which helps nonmajority communities in Kosovo. These minority groups include Roma, Egyptian and Ashkali people, but the largest group, almost 10% of the population, is Serb. They are primarily Eastern Orthodox Christian. The minister, Nenad Rasic, is a Serb. Because he is associated with the Albanian Muslim majority government, he is often subject to distrust; it’s no easy job.
His ministry can reach people who live almost completely outside the rest of Kosovo government. In a country with bedrock fractures that are old and volatile, that’s an important task.
The bedrock was particularly unstable in 1989. Yugoslavia was shaking loose into its component countries — an atmosphere a politician can exploit. That’s when Serbian politician Slobodan Milosevic rallied a huge crowd of Serbs at the battlefield site outside Prishtina and said, “Six centuries later, now, we are being again engaged in battles and are facing battles.”
It was a dog whistle by a leader who was using nationalist rhetoric, media suppression and the removal of Albanian politicians to weaken the province. As Kosovar resistance increased, Milosevic launched a brutal ethnic cleansing campaign against all Albanian Muslims.
Interwoven with the violence and bloodshed was a chilling bureaucratic destruction of documents. The message was: We are erasing you. You no longer exist.
NATO and the U.S. intervened in 1999 with an air campaign, halted the genocide and supported Kosovo’s trek toward independence, formally
declared in 2008. Thus began the long climb toward peace and stability.
As part of that journey, in an effort toward fairer representation, Kosovo is trying to fill 10% of government positions with Serb employees. But almost all Kosovo Serbs go to Serbian
schools, directly funded by Serbia. Their diplomas are not recognized in Kosovo.
It’s one example of parallel institutions, including banks, serving the different populations so their lives rarely overlap.
There is now a concerted government effort to recognize Serbian-school diplomas. Because of its mission, the Ministry for Communities and Returns is helping spread the word. Setting up a plan for that was part of my work.
But it’s not just a question of getting one’s diploma stamped by the right bureaucrat. In Serbian schools in Kosovo, students learn Serbian, but no Albanian — the language of the majority. Albanian students learn Albanian, but not Serbian. Many younger people who grew up in the same country do not have a shared language.
It started to sink in for me how much more divided people are now in Kosovo than even in the previous generation. With no shared language, schools or institutions, how can healing begin? And, as global instability increases (Kosovars are keenly aware of the war in Ukraine and of shifting U.S. support) tensions are again building on the Serbian border to the north.
One evening I wandered into a shop across from one of the mosques. It was stocked with prayer rugs, Qurans, perfumes and teas. It was run by the owner’s son, Mirnad. He asked me how I liked Kosovo.
“I love it,” I said, describing the warmth and hospitality.
“We are very hospitable,” Mirnad said, sadly. “We are just not very nice to each other.”