Depoliticizing Kosovo

 

By Maria Mazurek

Ethnic tensions escalating. 30 NATO troops injured in clashes with protesters. Boycotted elections. Army put on high alert. Stereotypes and preconceived oversimplifications shape our perceptions of countries, and it is headlines like these that have come to build the international narrative of Kosovo. If one has any image of this small country in mind in the first place – and, admittedly, many in my Western European surroundings still do not – the narrative is most likely mired in politics, heavy ethnic divides, relations with the Serbian neighbour and the status question. Particularly following the unsettling news a month ago, I could see why my well-meaning parents were not entirely convinced this was the right time for us to visit Kosovo. They, like myself, had a hard time placing the country outside the context of its troubled political dimension. And this makes perfect sense – this is the only dimension of Kosovo we had ever been exposed to. 

 

It is then in a sense compelling what 10 days of tuning into a country and its people’s rhythm can do to adjust this narrative. Sitting now back in an Amsterdam café ready to protest against the 5€ cappuccino, I am feeling very uneasy about our time in Kosovo gradually slipping away. It is in a way hard to reconcile with the fact that the individual stories of people we met, some profound, some mundane, still figure in my thoughts as crisp as the moment I heard them. Because all these stories challenge the solely political lens through which Kosovo tends to be painted – and the lens most readily available to me now back at home through media – I feel a strange sense of responsibility to keep them alive. 

 

Hanna, Nora and my project is partly aimed to do just that. Working on a little zine which explores what peace personally means to ordinary Kosovars, it became abundantly clear that many Kosovars are not interested in a conversation going the political route. Not because they had polarizing political views, but simply because they did not see their daily lives as revolving around politics whatsoever. Once the people we approached understood our intentions aligned – that is, we were not there to quiz them with pompous, somehow overworked questions about Kosovo’s political status, the relationship with the international community or even ethnic tensions – their eagerness to share their stories and approaches to peace blossomed instantly. And they had so much to share. Working, socializing with others, connecting with their families, finding happiness in passions and making a good life for themselves and their loved ones are what Kosovars we talked to spend most of their mental energy on. Violence, conflict or tensions did not appear once in our conversations. ‘Politics is for politicians’, while ordinary Kosovars focus on fostering peace within themselves. 

 

Though peace (and its lack) is often lined with political connotations and is increasingly turned into a triggering buzzword for divided communities, peace is never inherently political. It resides in the hearts and minds of individuals striving for tranquility, harmony, and well-being. I find a certain sense of irony in that it took going to a post-conflict, ‘politically complicated’ place for me to realise this. Yet more fundamentally, Kosovar voices are not political either. Treating them as only such risks silencing the aspirations, fears and hopes of 1.8 million individuals – the very variables the political dimension of a state is in the most fundamental principle there to complement. By creating narratives about Kosovo that transcend the political discourse, and centering the stories of ordinary Kosovars, we create space for a more holistic, inclusive perception of the country and its people, fostering reconciliation and empathy along the way. It made my heart full to see all project groups unintentionally engaging in this depoliticizing exercise. Exploring Kosovo’s art scene, third space or food as comfort all, indeed, come in the game.

 

None of this is to say that politics has no impact on the daily lives of 1.8 million people living in Kosovo. There is no way or reason to go around the fact that Kosovo is a post-conflict country with old political wounds which have not closed while new ones continue opening up, adding insult to injury. Passing desolate graffiti tributing KLA heroes on the way to a meeting with Prime Minister Kurti to discuss the kidnapping of three Kosovar police officers a few days prior illustrates the point. Having to zoom with the Mitrovica partners due to the ‘recent tensions in the North’ – a phrase which has come to mindlessly roll off our tongues while in Kosovo – and hearing them worry about the air-raid sirens going off any day was another tangible reminder that political tensions keep on greatly shaping Kosovo and its people. And yet, the way I see it, it is perfectly feasible not to downplay or ignore this fact while also strengthening the commitment to amplify depoliticized Kosovar voices. Narratives have power, and by consciously shaping and depoliticizing them, we create a platform for voices which deserve to be heard.