Kosovo: An Undeniable Nation
- Aug 4, 2019
- 6 min read
If you ask any locals what a visitor should add to their Kosovo must-do list, it is unanimously agreed upon that trying a macchiato is a necessity. “We’ve been called the home to the best macchiato in the world!”, a tour guide told me excitedly. And it is probably true; as a serial macchiato order-er, the refined and hearty flavors of a Kosovo macchiato take home the gold. What struck me most, however, was the symbolic irony that there is international recognition of a macchiato, while Kosovo itself has still not obtained unilateral recognition as a nation.
This is due to the fact that Kosovo itself only officially declared its independence from Serbia as recently as 2008. To briefly give an idea of the progression of a conflict that runs deeper than my words or even my understanding can convey:
Kosovo is a nation that declared its independence from the Federal People’s Republic of Yugoslavia during the violent upheaval that took place in the late 1980s and early 1990s.
The population of Kosovo has a majority group of ethnic Albanians, and a Serb minority (amongst many other groups).
When Kosovo broke off from the FRY, many Serbs in both Kosovo and Serbia were in great opposition.
After the declared independence, Serb militants targeted Albanian people with violence and even acts of ethnic cleansing.
Violence mounted from both sides, and this incurred international concern and UN involvement.
This involvement peaked after a brutal massacre of Albanian people in 1999, and a full-fledged NATO bombing campaign was brought against the Serbs, ending the brunt of the brutality (meaning the most obvious climax of the violence).
As can be imagined, heavy tensions between Serbs and Albanians dominate the region to this day, but notable efforts towards progressing as a Kosovar nation mark the goals of the people and politics. Regardless of many unfulfilled negotiations and initiatives, between the governments of Kosovo and Serbia as well as those prompted by the UN, optimism still hangs in the air, drips from the passersby’s hopeful words, and resounds in the beauty of the evening call to prayer.
In the most affable manner, I now wish to state what is perhaps my purpose in writing this; that it is not wise or even possible to address issues of such debilitating proportions from an outsider, legal, or courtroom standpoint. Especially until one has walked through the streets of Pristina under the waving rainbow flags of the first of many Pride festivals, learned to throw a proper punch from an exuberant stranger, or spoken to a mild-mannered historian who had to live through a sorrowful time in history himself as a young boy who had to be prepared to fight simply because of his ethnicity.
I travelled to Kosovo with a small group of students while studying humanitarian law and armed conflict. We stayed and explored from the lovely Hotel Ora in the capital city Pristina, where we had the opportunity to hear from people like the Deputy for European Integration, and organizations such as the Ministry of Kosovo Force and the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees. We visited sites like the Gazimestan memorial of the Battle of Kosovo in the 14th century, the fairytale city of Prizren, the Šar mountains, and the Gračanica Monastery (a UNESCO World Heritage site). These experiences shaped and developed my knowledge of varying perspectives, but would be incomplete without the more intimate human interactions I encountered.
Strolling aimlessly through the narrow meandering streets, there would often be a looming hotel next to the crumbling façade of a building that had been reduced to a shell. One evening a friend and I set off with no destination or direction, basking in the warmth and authenticity of Pristina and the new hues of orange that the afternoon sun saved in secret to cast over the street markets. We walked underneath a labrynth of canopies and umbrella tunnels, where any treasure could be found; vegetables, spices, Crocs, cassette tapes, ornate Turkish teapots, and brilliant smiles.
The refreshingly raw and honest aura of the country did not exempt itself from the welcoming people who called out kindly for us to look at their goods or just converse with them. Upon their discovery that we were Americans, my fellow student and I received a confusing taste of celebrity, stemming from an appreciation for U.S. former president Bill Clinton’s lead role in pushing for the NATO airstrikes that halted the ethnic cleansing of Albanians. It is not often that I have travelled abroad and people have been excited to talk to Americans.
The friendliness was heartfelt, but it mostly made me worry in lieu of the common pattern whereby U.S. concern or aid only comes in situations where a national interest may be met. I wondered at the Clinton statue and the other Americans who instead enjoyed the praise that wasn’t really theirs to accept. My heart ached for the kind people saying they loved America (when most Americans I know have never heard of Kosovo) and I hoped that America would love them back.
We grew comfortable with our tour guides for the five days we spent roaming Kosovo, and they were able to share with us their knowledge, insight, and experiences. On one hazy afternoon, we visited the town Mitrovica. After eating delicious sandwiches outside of a deli and discussing the politics of compromise, our guide led us to the Mitrovica Bridge. No cars were permitted to pass, and barricades served as an unavoidable reminder. We walked across what seemed to serve as just a scenic way of viewing the Ibar River from on high. Once we reached the other side, our guide stopped abruptly. Just yards from where we stood, a roughly constructed fence stood with just a narrow opening for an entrance. He told us that this fence was a physical division between where the Albanian people lived (where we stood) and the beginning of a Serbian enclave.
Next to the fence, feet away from the guards, some children played among a pile of rubble, hurling rocks at one another. In perfect professionalism, our guide told us that we should feel free to explore the other side of the fence, but it would be unwise and potentially unsafe for him to join us. Despite his encouragement, we all stood in still silence out of an agreed respect for our friend and recognition of the solemnity behind his eyes. Not to pick sides, not to take a political stance, but to recognize quiet sorrow and the belief that no person should be unable to cross a threshold because of his or her ethnicity.
I have experienced few moments so profound in my life; one where my privilege was laid out before me so obviously, palpable. While I was able to explore a lovely new country, its inhabitants like my new friend were limited in what they could do and where they could go in their every day life because of a sequence of events that I had previously only studied from a textbook.
Later on, we travelled with a Serb guide to Gračanica, another Serb enclave, and we heard from a panel of local authorities. When they were asked anything regarding the ethnic cleansing, or recognizing Kosovo as separate from Serbia, the panelists expressed an inability to simply forget things like the destruction of their religious sites and artifacts during the conflict.
The panelists grew frustrated, and the room filled with a tangible discomfort and heat that rose with each passing question. Both Albanians and Serbs in Kosovo are faced with challenges like what language to teach their children, both choosing their own and prolonging an inefficiency in communication. Both groups expressed a desire to move forward, but a distaste for any finger-pointing and an inability to accept blind progress without resolution.
Before, in our classroom, we had discussed the merits of moving beyond tragedy to make a better future. We spoke about how people need to be held accountable, but civil and collaborative efforts and dialogue need be upheld. When we returned, we were stuck. None of us knew a simple route forward; how could we? It wasn’t our hardship or our place to adjudicate. Millions of displaced people, countless of lives lost and horrors reaped; this did not happen a century ago. Rather, this occurred when I was a small girl playing at being a warrior princess, and most Americans were raving about the release of The Matrix.
Conflicts are always easy to solve on paper, but in reality the levels of grief that people endure daily are not subject to an analytical or apathetic fix. Kosovo is arguably the most beautiful country I have ever travelled to, with a resilient people who share a history and culture that the rest of Europe and the world couldn’t begin to comprehend, nonetheless commandeer. Kosovo is a nation with a people and progress that are undeniable. Why fail to recognize what already exists?
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