The ongoing shape of peace

By Elena Landwehr

I didn’t expect peacebuilding to start with us. When I started Peace Lab, I thought I had a decent understanding of what peacebuilding looked like. I had already been part of Peace by Peace and was familiar with its work. And still, I imagined peace as something tied to signing treaties and other “visible” outcomes. What I’ve come to understand is that peace often unfolds differently, in a quieter, slower way, that is made up of moments that only later reveal how connected they are. That change in perspective built gradually, through conversations, through the project my group and I worked on and through our class sessions and meetings. I can’t point to one “aha” moment. If I had to conclude, I would describe this whole month as a slow shift, shaped by connection, and, of course, peace.

Whenever we were reminded that we couldn’t visit Kosovo, we felt disappointed. But it also pushed us to look beyond what we thought we’d find there. We already knew the country through a political lens. Now, we wanted to understand something else: how people connect and what their everyday lives look like. We ended up creating our magazine, Kosovo Konnect, that tries to reflect just that: a more personal view of a place we had only known from afar. At first, I was hesitant to call what we were doing “peacebuilding". We were interviewing and putting together magazine pages. It didn’t feel like something that fit the word. But when Anne told us that every one of us had been a peacebuilder this month, I knew she was right. It made me realise how much of peacebuilding is a process. It is made up of the choice to care and listen to people’s stories with an open mind.

The cover page of our magazine Kosovo Konnekt

Throughout this course, I kept coming back to the idea that peace is less of a destination and more of something in motion. Sometimes it looks like an interview where someone unexpectedly opens up. Or like a group meeting where we couldn’t agree but kept trying anyway. It looked like visiting the Kosovo Specialist Chambers and then talking through the day at the beach with classmates. These moments didn’t feel heavy or life-changing at the time. But together, they made space for something to shift. Before Peace Lab, I saw Kosovo mainly through conflict. I didn’t picture people living full, joyful lives. It sounds simple, but realising that people dance, make plans, and joke with their friends, just like we do here, was something I had to unlearn and relearn. I’m embarrassed to admit that I had been thinking this way, but now, I pay closer attention to the smaller stories that often don’t make headlines. I’ve also come to understand that connection is where peace often begins. Whether it’s with people from Kosovo or within us, peace needs space to grow. Let’s not think about fixing something right away, but more about staying present in the work, even when it feels unfinished.

I have to admit that what changed for me isn’t a clear answer or outcome. It’s a shift in how I think and how I reflect. I’m less focused on finding the “big” solutions and more interested in noticing the smaller ways peace takes shape: through space and connection. That feels less overwhelming, but also more honest. We might not change the world with one course or one project. But we do get to decide how we move through it. And if that includes more listening and more connection, then I think that’s something worth continuing.

A month of layered learning and unforgettable experiences

By Julia Kowalczyk

Us during our meeting with Prime Minister Albin Kurti

Peace Lab certainely is one of the most unforgettable classes I have taken during my university career thus far. Even though we did not go to Kosovo physically, I did feel like for a while I was teleported to a completely different place – one where it is possible to meet Kosovar Prime Minister Albin Kurti, visit the Kosovo Specialist Chambers, and swim in the North Sea--all in the span of barely two days.

Those experiences were, however, not only insanely fun and fascinating, and a great addition to my future icebreakers and party anecdotes. They taught me a lot about myself and helped me grow, as a person, as an academic, as a Social Sciences major and as a future worker. I rediscovered the passion that drove me to Amsterdam University College in the first place--a passion for politics, social justice, research and, first and foremost, helping the people around me. If I can talk to a Prime Minister at 21, what will I be able to do at 30, 40, or 50? God only knows, but I cannot wait to find out.

It was especially the meeting with the Kosovo Specialist Chambers spokeswoman that made me realise I really love qualitative research and interviewing, and I hope to properly integrate this element into my future career, be it as a professor, a writer, an NGO worker, or a journalist. There is nothing that can teach you more about the world better than talking directly to the people about their lives, their choices, the motivations driving them and, as we certainly found out this month, their fears. That is why I particularly loved the opportunity to spend a big chunk of the class on our final group project.

Peace Lab was an insanely satisfying class for many reasons, including because it left me with a tangible product of our labours to take with me and remember it by. I am very proud of the “Stop, Stop, Ibar River” zine my classmates and I created – and thus I attach a link to it below for whomever might be interested in checking it out. Maybe that is because I had the luck of working with a great and equally motivated group of people, but it is this project specifically that rekindled my enthusiasm about cooperating in collaborative environments, and about being a team player in general.

Together, completely from scratch, we created a real, high quality magazine on a “quote unquote” niche topic which deserves more public attention. And is that not the point of education? Now, the knowledge we have gained through intensive research can be accessed not only in a small university classroom but by anyone who so wishes; we made it our goal for the writing to make it as accessible as possible, while of course still being attention-grabbing and information-wise valuable at the same time. The fact that it is so illustration-rich makes it a pleasure for the eyes as well, and allows the described situation of community divides in North Mitrovica to be seen as even more palpable and easier to imagine and contextualise for an “outsider.”Personally, if I saw it at a book fair, I would pick it up! I only hope it will reach more people than just ourselves, ideally in Kosovo and North Mitrovica; it already has  reached all of my friends.

Peace Lab also added a new goal for 2026 to my long list of accessible dreams – visiting Kosovo, more prepared to actively engage than ever!

Us during our Leiden boat trip, vigorously discussing our Peace Lab experience

You can find our “Stop, Stop, Ibar River” zine here.

The Bigger Picture and the brain cell

By Anna Sushko

I have a brain cell at home--one made of green fabric, filled with wadding and looking sort-of cute, with sewn-on eyes. It's a kind-of neuron cuddly toy. My friends gifted it to me, after we started dreaming about neurons, because we learned so much about them for our final biology exam.Today it is my emotional support neuron. When I have so much to do for university that my brain refuses to process any more information late at night, I hold one end of the neuron to my head and the other end to the computer and I hope that the textile axon of the cuddly toy comes to life and really does transfer information via electrical signals right into my brain.

In the first week of Peace Lab, I regularly relied on the assistance of my emotional support neuron. During this time we had to read around 420 pages about the history of Kosovo, the political entanglements, the current situation and the principles of peace and security activities. In addition, we prepared and held presentations, which meant additional background reading. The most complicated part was that we had to remember all this information, because on the first day of the second week we wrote an exam based on all the 420ish pages as well as the presentations and what we talked about in class. Needless to say that my emotional support neuron played an important role in the study sessions, which went well into the night and consumed the entire weekend.

This historical painting depicts the battle of Kosovo field from 1389. Thanks to Peace ab I could tell you in detail why this was an important event. I have no idea what happened in 1389 in Germany or Russia.

However, after this first week I felt like I knew more about Kosovo’s history than about German and Russian history put together, which are the places my family comes from. When we started to meet civil society organizations, representatives of international institutions and even of the Kosovo government via zoom, I felt like everything they told us became embedded into a pre-exiting context in my brain. The conversations brought to life what I had only read about theoretically. They added many unknown details and personal stories and put so much more depth to what I thought I understood before. I am very thankful that the people we talked to took the time to share their knowledge, perspectives and experiences with us. 

Some conversations have been very sobering and distressing, others have been inspiring and awe inducing. Sometimes, when the workload at university is very high, I start to feel resentful, because I have to push myself beyond my limits. Yet in Peace Lab I was glad that I was made to prepare so thoroughly in the first week, because this was the best I could do to show respect for the time of the people who met with us over zoom. Hearing their perspectives brought peacebuilding closer to me than anything I had read in university.

Community Building Mitrovica, New Social Initiative and the Center for Social Group Development, emphasised or at least mentioned the importance of international attention, awareness and pressure, when they talked to us. However, friends of mine, who are already interested in international politics, human rights and human security, know surprisingly little about Kosovo. Just as shocking, I knew not much substantial about the country, its historical background or the current situation, before I took Peace Lab. Therefore, for my group project, we wanted to synthesise all we had learned during the class, combining the theoretical and historical input from the first week with what we had heard during the meetings and present it in an approachable format. So we developed a digital exhibition, called "The Bigger Picture". This is a space where people can move through and engage with the beautiful landscapes, diverse cultures, moving history and changing present that is Kosovo.

We created exhibition rooms which inform you about education, the governance system, the role of international engagement, what peacebuilding looks like and the importance of dialogue, in an interactive way, supported by engaging pictures. Do you know what it looks like when elections are thoroughly boycotted by one group and what the consequences for democratic legitimacy are? In our exhibition you can see it and read about it. As an unexpected gift, a peacebuilder from a civil society organisation sent us her personal account of why she became a peacebuilder and why she is passionate about it. We were able to include her testimony in the peacebuilding room.

The "Governance" room in the exhibition 

Talking to these different stakeholders felt very enriching. As I wrote before, I am grateful that all those people shared their perspectives and experiences with us and that they took the time. With this exhibition, we wanted to honor that but also ensure that some part of this valuable insight becomes accessible to even more people. Hopefully, others will feel compelled to inform themselves about Kosovo. Maybe this project will be a small contribution to directing more attention towards the country and the multiplicity of voices and perspectives within it. Moreover, we were aware that this would be the last Peace Lab class, and we wanted to create a project which might facilitate access to at least a fraction of the many perspectives and education we had experienced.

Least but not last, we made this exhibition, so you can learn about Kosovo without having to read and remember 420 pages, because I am not sure how you would accomplish that without an emotional support neuron.

A sense of responsibility

By Neve Clements

Before starting this course, I knew very little about Kosovo. Honestly, I had barely considered the region or its conflict. Somewhere deep down, I held an unconscious bias—the idea that because it was a European country with white populations, the crisis couldn’t be as urgent or violent as those in places like Africa or the Middle East, which I’d long felt drawn to. That belief wasn’t just naive; it was limiting.

Over the past month, engaging in this Peace Lab course has shifted everything for me. Even though I’ve never physically been to Kosovo, I’ve felt deeply connected to the stories we’ve heard. The dialogues, testimonies and honest conversations made me reflect on the emotional layers of conflict, and how easily injustice can be normalised when it's hidden behind borders or shaped by global indifference.

When we spoke online with local organisations and leaders, especially during our discussion with Prime Minister Kurti, I was struck by the level of disconnect between political narratives and lived realities. When he stated, “There is no ethnic inequality in Kosovo,” it left me stunned. It reminded me that denial, even at the highest levels, is one of the most dangerous obstacles to peace.

This experience has shown me that peacebuilding isn’t always about grand interventions. It’s about listening. It’s about recognising pain, acknowledging injustice, and holding space for complex truths. Whether between individuals or nations, lasting peace depends on communication, dialogue, understanding and accountability.

What I’ve learned this month has equipped me with the tools to approach peacebuilding on both small and large scales. I’ve realised that I want to work with communities not just to study them, but to stand alongside them. I feel a real sense of responsibility now, not just toward Kosovo, but to all places that are quietly surviving conflict outside the global spotlight.
I may not have stood on the bridge in Mitrovica, but I’ve learned what it means to build one.

Connection

By Ella Haeusgen

 

In my last blog entry, I wrote about our meeting with UNMIK. UNMIK has been present in Kosovo since 1999, and its role has evolved over the years. As previously mentioned, opinions on UNMIK’s work are mixed, reflecting the generally negative perception of UN peacekeeping missions. Both UNMIK and EULEX have contributed to Kosovo’s institution building and continue to enhance interethnic dialogue and community building. We learned about these institutions' standpoint, but didn’t gain much insight into local people's opinions of them. 

For our group project, we interviewed several people who had either lived in or visited Kosovo. Interestingly enough, we often heard that people in Kosovo don't seem to care much about politics. So, are the tensions in Kosovo merely playing out on a political level between different governments? Although we had learnt a great deal about the history and ongoing tensions in Kosovo in our class, it still felt very distant. We knew that we wouldn’t be able to visit Kosovo, so we never imagined that we would experience life there. Despite all the knowledge we had acquired in class, we lacked an understanding of everyday life there. More importantly, we didn't have the opportunity to socialise with locals, share meals and drinks with them and learn from them. In one of our guest lectures, we learnt the importance of going to the places that local people go to in order to soak up their lifestyle, to listen and to observe.

 

Szymon, Elena and I consequently decided to focus our final project on everyday life in Kosovo. Although we wouldn't be able to experience it first-hand, perhaps we could imagine what it was like. With the help of our ‘reporters’, we created a magazine about life in vibrant Kosovo. Our aim was to capture the sparkle in our reporters' eyes when they spoke about Kosovo and convey it in this magazine. Where do people go to dance, eat and swim together? Essentially, it was a question of connection. No matter where we come from, we all know the importance of friendship, sharing a meal, connecting with people and getting to know strangers. What would we be without human connection?

“Peace in every home, every street, every village, every country – this is my dream” – Malala Yousafzai

We learned a great deal during the process of creating this magazine. We listened to our reporters and found out about places in Pristina, such as the Tiffany and Soma Book Station restaurants. We also discovered the vibrant bar district of Rakija and the Mother Theresa Boulevard with all its shops and cafés (see link below). It took us many hours to finish our project, and throughout the working process, Kosovo slowly but surely became more tangible to us. We could imagine what life, and perhaps even a peaceful life, might look like there.

Although we had never been there, we could now make suggestions and recommendations for people travelling to Kosovo. We became so passionate about it that, when listening to our reporters, we felt an overwhelming urge to go to Kosovo ourselves. It was almost a mystical, controversial place that was close to us, yet so far away. During one of our working meetings, we started looking for flights so that we could go on a spontaneous weekend trip, just the three of us. For about an hour, accompanied by much laughter, we searched for every possible way to travel to Kosovo, including hitchhiking, walking, taking the train or bus, or flying. It seemed possible for a moment, but then we had to face reality and accept that travelling on a very low budget at such short notice would not be possible. But who knows... perhaps we can go at some other time, and then we can create a magazine in cooperation with the people of Kosovo. For now, we hope you have time to take a look at our magazine ‘KosovoKonnect’. It is not just a travel guide for people going to Kosovo; it is also a collection of places where people in Kosovo connect, and is therefore hopefully also of interest to Kosovars. Here is the link:

https://www.canva.com/design/DAGrKyBPPIM/z27diUToyyeua6tCltnCKQ/watch?utm_content=DAGrKyBPPIM&utm_campaign=designshare&utm_medium=link2&utm_source=uniquelinks&utlId=he7a1f45078

 

Here is a link to an online map showing all the recommendations made by our reporter https://padlet.com/landwehrelena/karte-yl75asf60b1959ls

The places described in our magazine are places of connection. People come together to mingle and to share their hopes, fears and desires. That is local peacebuilding every day. However, many of our featured locations are in Pristina, the vibrant capital of Kosovo. As we know, Pristina is mainly inhabited by Kosovo Albanians with some other non-majorities also living there. If there are many places to connect in Pristina, then that is a good thing! But what about the other cities in Kosovo, most notably Mitrovica? What about the outskirts of big cities and the countryside? Can local peacebuilding be achieved there as well by connecting people in their everyday lives? We don’t know the answers. In fact, we know too little about the life outside of Pristina. Is it true that the people don’t really care about politics? Or would other non-majorities in Kosovo tell us a different story? That is something we might be able to find out in the future if we were to go ourselves.

Perhaps this is where we can bridge the gap between local peacebuilding and the efforts of UNMIK and EULEX, whose resources could enhance the effectiveness of local peacebuilding. Ultimately, creating sustainable peace requires a joint effort on multiple levels. I strongly believe that peace is possible, but it requires cooperative and willing attempts at all levels of society, and we can all play a part in achieving it.

Moral imagination

 By Thomas Jurgens
 
For the final project, I worked together with Ben, Ema, Dave, Johanna and Julia to create an informative zine regarding Mitrovica’s social polarisation and its manifestation in the ‘Peace Bridge’. The first time we met was during the third week of Peace Lab, while we were still conducting the online interviews. We’d started with an idea of moral imagination: the inspiration a person can gain from reading a book or listening to a story. By granting people access to a vision of the future they might otherwise not have unlocked, we believed that inspiration can lead to change. 
            We had to workshop our idea quite a bit: there weren’t enough authentic myths to work with or ancient narratives to mould into a pebbled road towards the future. In the end, we decided to make a zine that was more informative than inspirational. I was in charge of the third section, looking towards the future and attempting to give the first few pebbles for this road without laying them myself. One thing I learnt about peacebuilding through this course is that it always has to come from the people within the given context; we always have to know when it’s not our place. It’s a tricky balance to hold, between trying to help and giving people the space to decide their own futures without any interference. An intention can be good, but that doesn’t mean it’s welcome.
            To maintain this edge of moral imagination, we used an ancient Serbian poem as the throughline of our zine. Stop, stop Ibar river is the opening line of the poem and the name of the zine. It paints a vision of the future with brushstrokes of pleas, as the speaker begs the Ibar river to stop flowing so they can reach their lover. The rest of the zine is entirely informative – it explains the history of Mitrovica and the development of the Peace Bridge, from a point of connection to a point of division. It emphasises the difference between generational perspectives, the impact of policy and international influence on growing up. Even in fact, we find the foundations for the road of moral imagination. Imagination is a flimsy thing if it’s contained to an individual, but the hope of our zine is to inspire a community. In that context, imagination can be a wave, the water of the Ibar river flowing beyond its bounds and fertilising the ground for peaceful growth.
            I hadn’t expected Peace Lab to have an equally invasive effect on me. Halfway through the course, I asked our teacher Anne if she had any tips for imposter syndrome, as I felt like a grand imposter in our interviews with leaders of states, founders of NGO’s, etc. Talking to these people made me acutely aware of my positioning as a white man from a small Dutch town, inexperienced and unfamiliar with the world outside my narrow perspective. Before starting this course, I tried to construct a new plan of attack for every unfamiliar situation I entered, but these interviews were all different – people are different. Some people had long and winding answers, whilst others were curt and to-the-point. Some people shared deeply vulnerable things after a few minutes, wearing their hearts on their sleeves, while others took half an hour to open up to our group. Plans constantly had to be made and remade, questions forming in the moment and the moment passing before you manage to write it down. It felt unfamiliar and scary, not to have the opportunity to take a step back from the situation, reassess, and plan accordingly. I felt out of my depth.
            The problem was that my skills had been associated with a specific context. Outside of this context, I could not harness them. While working on this final project, with the changing plans, I came to realise that I no longer needed a plan to rely on. I had grown beyond the bounds of plenary confidence, to a point where I could rely on my skills alone to get me through a situation. In short, participating in Peace Lab has made me more equipped to be a peacebuilder and for this I will be eternally grateful.

Serbian:
Стани, стани, Ибар водо.
Куда журиш тако?
И ја имам јаде своје.
Мени није лако.
Тамо где се Ибар вода
у Мораву слива,
једна кућа усамљена
моју драгу скрива.
Ту ме она очекује
скоро сваке ноћи.
Стани, стани, Ибар водо,
морам драгој доћи
 
Albanian:
Ndalo, ndalo, ujë Ibar.
Ku po nxiton?
Edhe unë kam problemet e mia.
Nuk është e lehtë për mua.
Atje ku uji i Ibrit
derdhet në Moravë,
një shtëpi e vetmuar
fshihet e dashura ime.
Ajo më pret atje
pothuajse çdo natë.
Ndalo, ndalo, ujë Ibar,
Duhet të vij tek i dashuri im
 
English:
Stop, stop, Ibar water
where are you rushing like that?
I also have my sorrows
and it is not easy for me.
There where Ibar water
in Morava streams,
one lonely house
hides my darling.
There she waits for me
almost every night.
Stop, stop, Ibar water,
I have to go to my dear.
 
(The zine can be found here.)