Kosovo revisited: crucial role of civic conversations remains
by Allan LEONARD
5 September 2024
On the desk of my hotel room in Pristina was a postcard inscribed, “Dear Allan, Welcome back to Kosovo! As a returning visitor we’re sure you’ll enjoy your time here!” It was signed “AJK Team”, from the Association of Journalists of Kosovo, the lead partner organisation of an exchange of journalists between Kosovo and Northern Ireland. After a long day’s journey, our cohort from Belfast and beyond arrived for our four-day session of a peace journalism project, Reporting on a Troubled Past, facilitated by Professor Steven Youngblood.
My previous job brought me to Kosovo a few times, first in 2010 as co-secretariat of an international network, the Forum for Cities in Transition, where I had responsibilities for coordinating a global summit in Mitrovica. My most recent visit was 10 years ago, exploring shared learning and practical knowledge exchanges between Kosovo and Northern Ireland.
Addressing the 20 participants of this current project, I explained the premise of the forum’s work, as outlined by its creator, Professor Padraig O’Malley at the University of Massachusetts Boston — those societies that have or are experiencing deep conflict or divisions are in the best position to assist other societies that have or are experiencing the same. This takes into account that each conflict is unique to its history and circumstances, as well as the fact that each society will be on different rungs of the ladder of peacebuilding.
I continued by saying that I was curious to see how much has changed, for better or worse, since my last visit.
I described a practical outcome of the 2010 summit — a subsequent study visit to Northern Ireland of Kosovo Police Service officers, who met counterparts from the Police Service of Northern Ireland. This consisted of a 50/50 mix of officers of a Kosovo Albanian and Kosovo Serbian community background. How feasible would such a project be now?
I quickly learned the answer — not much. In November 2022, there were mass resignations of Kosovo Serbs from the Kosovo Police, as part of a wider protest against alleged breaches of EU agreements made between Serbia and Kosovo.
On the second day of our visit, we travelled by bus to Mitrovica. I got more excited as we entered the city, physically divided by a river much like Derry/Londonderry is. “Look! Restaurant Charlie is still there!” I exclaimed, forgetting that no one else would care. In my multiple previous visits to Mitrovica, many locals and “internationals” (those from foreign agencies and NGOs) would frequent this establishment. (I still say it serves the best macchiatos in the land.)
KFOR (the UN peacekeeping force) and Carabinieri cars were parked on the iconic Mitrovica Bridge, which was open to pedestrian traffic on both sides, but one-meter-high concrete barriers on the northern, Kosovar Serbian-populated side prevented vehicular traffic; one could consider this a visible improvement from the previous mounds of dumped earth.
We got to witness “normalisation” in action, as Xhelal Svecla (Kosovo Minister of Internal Affairs and Public Administration) and Elbert Krasniqi (Kosovo Minister of Local Government Administration) made a public walk across to the northern side, to take a refreshment from a café. Such actions displease the US and EU governments, as being out of accordance with their own normalisation plans vis-à-vis Serbia.
Later, I was asked what I thought about this particular event. Publicity stunt? Electioneering? Impatience with the internationals? My reply was that while I can understand the Kosovo government’s exercise of authority, any constructive way forward requires dialogue and relationship building. Using the example of the peace process in Northern Ireland, I argued that the relentless work of civil society organisations provided the space for politicians to take risks for peacemaking. Politicians want to take their community (of voters) with them, and CSOs can serve as a barometer of where the people are on various issues.
Well, I was told that much of this civil society work in northern Mitrovica has been “captured” by Serbian government interests. I wasn’t able to interrogate this, but I do remember how challenging this bi-communal work was, even in the more conducive working environment a decade ago.
From Mitrovica we travelled to the Adem Jashari Memorial Complex, where family members are buried in stylised tombs. My first impression was of Arlington Cemetery, the resting place of those who served their country. In fact, one can argue this is a primary intention, with the memorial serving as part of an ethno-national narrative of a post-war nation- and state-building exercise. Also, the memorial has become part of historical memory and is included in history textbooks with organised school visits. I observed parents directing their children to stand next to the guarding sentinels for photographs.
A museum curator was pleased to provide our group, and others, with a narration of the Adem Jashari story. I observed the younger listeners, teenagers and children, wondering how they’ll deal with narratives that conflict with this state memorialisation programme.
For example, Kushtrim Koliqi at the Barabar Centre explained how their radio programme of interviews with families of missing persons from the Balkan War started well. However, there was outcry with the third episode, which featured a Kosovar Serbian. The programme was pulled off the air.
All this made me appreciate all the more an exhibit that we visited earlier in the week, at the Documentation Center Kosova, Biblioteka “Hivzi Sylejmani”. “Once upon a Time and Never Again” is a multifaceted display of names, objects, and stories of those who disappeared or were killed during the war. The artefacts and written annotations tell a heartbreaking story.
But its provocation is its inclusivity. The names of all those killed or disappeared are there to be seen and read.
This exhibit was organised by the Humanitarian Law Centre. Intrigued, I reached out to its managing director, Bekim Blakaj. A colleague and I met up with him to learn more about the organisation’s work. He described their meticulous documentation of every single killed and disappeared person’s case. Blakaj confirmed that their Memory Book project — a publication of the names and biographies of all these people — was based on a Northern Ireland publication of biographies of all those killed during the Troubles, called Lost Lives.
Blakaj generously presented another of their published books, Memorialization: Its Role and Importance in Dealing with the Past. The book examines how important the memorialisation process is and how well (or not) this is being practised in Kosovo. It also includes 12 creatively illustrated cases of sites where serious violations of human rights occurred and how they are marked.
One case, for example, is that of Lluzhan’s Bridge, when a NATO plane fired and hit a bus, killing 44 people: 31 Albanian civilians and 13 Serbs, of which 7 were civilians and 6 were members of the Serbian forces. The names of the 31 Albanian victims are written on the memorial plaque, but then there is an ordinal number “32” with three dots and no further names. The book chapter concludes: “All memorial services in honor of the victims should involve all victims, regardless of their gender, race or ethnicity, in order to empower inclusive narratives.”
Indeed, for me this is the primary challenge for us participants in this peace journalism project — can we employ principles of responsible journalism so that we can challenge authority and uphold the humanitarian ethos of inclusivity?
This article is cross-published at The Peace Journalist.