Narrating Kosovo

By Annemijn van Marle

“Where is Kosovo?” is a question many of our classmates encountered at home from our friends and family. One person asked me where exactly in Asia Kosovo was again. And even our own class of IR students was not immune to the ignorance; a fair portion of us did not know about the existence of Kosovo until recently. Granted, it is small and young country, even Kosovars don’t hesitate to admit that. But as I spent more time learning about Kosovo and talking to the people living there, the more it dawned on me that our widespread but seemingly innocent unknowingness is seriously harmful for Kosovo’s future. 

When you ask young people (in Prishtina) what the biggest issue is in Kosovo at this moment, most will not mention the war, or the ongoing disputes between Serbs and Albanians in the region. Instead, they will tell you about European integration and visa liberalization. In short, Kosovo – though recognized by most European countries – is not part of any important European institution such as the EU or the Council of Europe. And while a significant portion of the Dutch population might like the sound of that, the reality for a small upcoming state is pretty bleak: businesses struggle to set up transnational networks and clients; families are torn as they are unable to visit their relatives who have migrated during the war or after; students are unable to travel abroad or get their diplomas recognized beyond their borders; and the list goes on.

Contrary to what you might believe, the reason that our political representatives in the EU have not allowed Kosovo to become a member is not because Kosovo is unable to set up a well-functioning democratic system or rule of law. For example, Kosovo has much less corruption than Croatia did when it gained accession to the EU. Besides, Kosovo fulfilled all the 95 criteria set for visa liberalization in 2018, but still four years later, it has not been granted. Rather, it seems that the issue lies with Western European states more than with the incapacity of Kosovo. The EU fears a repetition of Poland or Hungary, where current political climates are posing a threat to the unity of European values. But any close-up look at the current Kosovar poltical and social reality will make it obvious that such a comparison does not really hold. 

It is here that our inability to place Kosovo on the map starts to matter. When there is a lack of stories coming from those living within a society, we base our assumptions on what we hear around us. Our biases and mental shortcuts come into play. In the case of Kosovo, we stick to stories about the war we used to see in the media, or lump it together with the issues of countries once tucked away behind the same Iron Curtain. Rarely do we get exposed to a new perspective, someone who maybe went on a summer holiday and realized how lovely and hospitable the people were, or how good the ajvar, baklava and cheese cream tasted and who tells their friends about the beautiful blue lakes they saw surrounded by lush hills; because why would someone ever go to such a conflict-ridden society, supposedly overrun by druglords and human traffickers? And this is how the cycle repeats itself: a single story reproduces itself to become the only story. 

After I came back from Kosovo, many of my friends asked me, “How was Kosovo?”. Still overwhelmed by all the different impressions and new questions that had filled my mind after ten long days, the first thing that came out of my mouth was: “Amazing!” or “So beautiful”. In no way does it justice to the complex realities of the Kosovars we spoke to, or does it capture the hardships of so many non-majority communities. But in a way, that is not what Kosovo needs. What it need is for us to take a serious look with a fresh pair of eyes at this neglected part of the European continent. We need to create a new narrative around Kosovo. It doesn’t have to be only positive, but just a bit more complete; one that puts Kosovo on the map.

Home Sweet Home?

By Sara Jelijs

 

Friday 24 June, it was late in the afternoon and a plane had brought the three of us back to Amsterdam. Only Lexa, Finn, and I could fly that day, the rest of the group had to wait until Saturday very, very early in the morning. We dragged ourselves to baggage belt 9 with all the energy we had left. All ten days in Kosovo had been full of impressions, experiences, and loads of information to process. During the night, we immersed ourselves in the Kosovar nightlife. Accompanied by cocktails a third of Amsterdam prices, a nice-and-easy beer, or home-brewed rakia, we talked, laughed, and danced the nights away. But now our batteries were more than empty, and the time had come to return to the land of canals, tolerated cannabis use, and overpriced grocery stores.

 

During our trip, as a group, we had drawn quite some attention. We had wandered the streets, and looks had come our way. Men would peer over their sunglasses, staring at all the pretty girls Anne had taken with her to Kosovo. “You look so beautiful today”, they would say, and we would laugh, look away, and discard the compliment as divas would. A flirt on the street was easily done in Kosovo, but back in Amsterdam, not so much; reality hit us hard. The Dutch atmosphere was different, we had gotten used to the Kosovar friendliness, and maybe taken it for granted. Sure, Dutch people are nice, but more closed-off, they keep more to themselves. Here, restaurant staff are more in a rush, ‘time is money’ seems to be the religion of some.

 

On the train on our way home, it became apparent just how much everyone is absorbed in their own little bubble. People look at their phones, and close themselves off with AirPods and giant headphones. “Don’t talk to me” is almost written on their foreheads. Another thing typical to Amsterdam I recognized only after coming back from Kosovo was a certain ‘center-of-the-world-illusion’. I would classify this as a type of megalomania, as pomposity, of which I am not very much a fan. Recognizing this made me consider the possibility of studying or moving elsewhere at some point in the future, something which I had not considered before. I have grown a bit tired of the arrogance and pretense people can sometimes carry with them, and although it never is this black-and-white, it is good to be aware of it. I can safely say I experienced a tiny little culture shock coming back to Amsterdam from Kosovo, only to settle in very soon afterwards, too. After all, it still is this Dutch culture, that also has good sides, of course, that I am used to.

 

Back in Amsterdam, we also had time to spend on our Peace Lab projects. My group, consisting of Lenka, Fleur, and myself, had decided to make a little film about Kosovar identity, and about the question of whether we can even speak about such an identity. During our trip, we had filmed interviews with people and taken shots of all the surroundings. Looking through all the footage we had collected made the return to Amsterdam not so bad. That was exactly one of the reasons we had decided to make a film; we wanted images, stories, and people to look back at, to always remind us of the wonderful time we had had.

 

Albert Heijn did have good deals the week we got back.