Call it peace

By Milan Matthes Kale

In “Farewell,” a poem regarding Kashmir, Agha Shahid Ali wrote the words, “They make a desolation and call it peace.” I find that it holds remarkably true for Kosovo as well. In our conversations during this trip, Kosovars often mentioned that peace rarely seemed to be the ultimate goal of interventions, yielding a quagmire of attempted ceasefires and incomplete resolutions. In this sense, what we saw on paper and what we heard in person often differed, something which, while expected, reminded us of the importance of fieldwork and classes that transcend text. 

 

Commenting on the dynamic between the oppressed and the oppressor, Tommye Blount says, “He never saw me—of course, I saw him.” While spoken in the context of American racism, in the context of Kosovo too, the powerful are chronically blind to the oppressed, while the oppressed are forced to keep their attention on their powerful "benefactors." It is this understanding of the inherent power dynamics of a context like Kosovo that drove my project.

In a time when "mundane" Kosovar perspectives are especially unheard, I sought to defer my biases and preconceptions by designing a project that allowed them to tell their own stories, and highlighted what they deemed important. My group based our project on “Humans of New York,” asking people to specify a moment, event, or chapter in their life that they felt was both significant to them and important to be shared. 

 

The answers we got ranged from stories of bread, food, and the wonders of a mother's cooking, to being a child of war, recovering from addiction, and finding home and community. Stories told with sparkling eyes and bursts of laughter from people who expressed feeling unworthy of praise and admiration for their actions. People who paved—and continue to pave—the way for LGBTQ+ rights in Kosovo. People who teach kids about the stars and unite us all under one sky. People who know the importance of language and art and work towards bringing people together. We listened to people and the stories they told, hearing a side we had not known before. They were stories of resilience, hope, perseverance, and honesty. Stories from the everyday peacebuilders of Kosovo. Stories of those too often unseen but those who were all but forced to pay attention to the politicians, the international community, the media. Stories of people who watched the news because they knew the way it was phrased there would dictate their realities. 

 

Stories which some did not wish shared beyond our class. Which remain in my heart and mind. People who I tried my hardest to see. People who I hope will live in peace and not its desolation. People who are people.