The Importance of individual agency

By Isaac Otter

The homepage of our website--you can find it here

This course has taught me many things, but what I think I will take away from it more than anything, is the agency we have to build peace. Before this course, my viewpoint of peacebuilding was centred around international aid, and although this does play a major role, I feel like there is a serious neglect – especially in IR theory – of the importance of individual agency in peacebuilding. On the local level, it is arguably much more important for the realisation of individual agency, rather than top down, bloated institutions, many of which seem to perpetuate the neo-colonial dynamics they were implemented to stop. Hearing talks from people like Dieudonné, someone so passionate about local peace building, it caused a genuine shift in my perception of what is possible.

 
This gradual shift in perspective over the course of Peace Lab culminated in the final project and our excitement for it. In the beginning we were going to write stories for a book, but instead we decided to make a website (you can find it here). This website has the aim of being a space for people to share inspirational stories of people in Kosovo, to promote transformative dialogue. One key feature of the website is the ease to switch between: English, Albanian, and Serbian – aligning with our goal of accessibility. This project showed me the individual agency I had to create something. In a world of increasing commercialism, there is little room or value given to acts of kindness without reciprocation. This sad truth is partially the reason for my blindness against my own agency, as without monetary value it is often deemed unimportant.
 
So how will I take this into my future? Remembering my own agency is what I aim to do with the teachings I have received in this course. Although its perceived value may be undermined by the capitalist systems at play, I think its relative local importance can be incomparable to that of larger institutional work – for example, projects enacted by the UN. The empowerment of people to act on their own terms, for their own problems, seems to be either an overlooked, or under-published version of peacebuilding – which I plan to pursue further.  
 
Overall, this course has not only taught me about the history of the Balkans, but also about the realities of peacebuilding. Although sad we were not able to visit Kosovo due to different financial priorities at our school, I think that the course (and its very intensive nature), broadened my insight into the value of individual agency. 

The Spark of Youth

 By Ana Vladescu

Albin Kurti circa 1997

A few weeks ago, I went home for the first time in two years and found myself flipping through old primary school yearbooks. The little kids I grew up with are completely different now, as expected. But as I looked through those old photos I noticed that we all had something in common. There’s this glint in our eyes that you don’t usually find in our eyes as the years pass. It’s what united us then, and maybe still does. As people age, we learn to suppress our expressions, speak more cautiously, carry ourselves like we’ve seen too much. But why is it that the older we get, the more we mock or dismiss the idealism of the young? I’ve heard it all my life: “You’ll understand when you’re older,” “the world doesn’t work that way,” or my personal favorite, “you only believe that because you’re still young.” I used to believe I’d be the exception—that I could get older without getting duller. But lately I wonder: is losing the spark inevitable?

Our meeting with UNMIK was very emotional for me; it made me feel small. When I was 16, I told everyone I would become president someday. It was overambitious and naïve, but I felt it deeply. I just wanted to make things better, to prove that politics didn’t have to be dirty. My family laughed, and I understood why, but this feeling of “smallness” lingered. Over time, I’ve been told again and again that my belief in people and peace is just a side effect of being young. And maybe they’re right. Sitting in that meeting, listening to career officials who couldn’t (or wouldn’t) answer basic questions about what motivates them now, I felt something close to heartbreak. They used to be passionate “when they were young,” one of them said, like youth was a condition they’d outgrown. It hit me hard: is this what adulthood looks like? Still working, still important on paper, but no longer moved by the purpose that brought you there?

When we met the prime minister of Kosovo, Albin Kurti for our online meeting, something shifted. I’d done my research. I knew he had once been a student protester, politically outspoken and driven by ideals. And I was skeptical—wondering if power had turned him into just another polished politician who forgot where he started. My question to him was: “As an opposition figure, your voice was powerful because it stood against the system. Now that you are part of the system, how do you hold yourself accountable?” His answer surprised me. He spoke not just with care, but with conviction. He acknowledged the difficulty of accountability in a government without a functioning parliament, but said he holds himself accountable by staying adaptable—by not changing his social class. That struck me. Most politicians avoid this topic entirely, especially in my home countries (the U.S. and Romania), where power often comes with distance. Kurti’s answer wasn’t perfect, but it felt honest. He remembered. And that memory, I realized, might be the key. The spark doesn’t have to die—it just needs to be protected.

I’ve often felt trapped in this strange in-between: legally an adult, socially still a child. “Proper adults” (as I refer to them) talk down to me, assume I don’t understand how the world works. But what if I do—and I’m just not jaded yet? Our virtual journey through Kosovo has been full of emotional whiplash: UNMIK’s disillusionment, the dry hopelessness in the room during our NSI conversation, the passion in the voices at the Peace by Peace workshop, and the thoughtful optimism of Besa Luci from Kosovo 2.0. There, I saw humanities taken seriously, media used as a tool for empathy and dialogue. In their work—and in Kurti’s voice—I saw proof that some people carry their spark with them, even as they grow. Maybe being young isn’t about age at all, but about refusing to forget why you started. Maybe it’s not naïve to believe in change, just deeply, stubbornly human. And maybe, just maybe, the real work of growing up is learning how to keep your spark alive in a world that keeps trying to smother it.

On the horrors and beauty of being human, or Our Den Haag trip

Bu Julia Kowalczyk

The past two days (19 and 20 June) are a story my future children will hear about, whether they want it or not. I see it as a slide progression of contrasting pictures. The Prime Minister of Kosovo, Albin Kurti, sat between two Kosovar flags in a Zoom window, and the serious yet fascinated faces of my classmates surrounding him on the screen. Postcard-like Den Haag glowing with the light of Dutch June’s most favourable weather. The cold and sterile court room of the Kosovo Specialist Chambers (KSC). The hot sand of the beach and fresh strawberries immediately after. 

I thought nothing could possibly beat the experience of hearing perhaps the most important person in Kosovo flawlessly and with hypnotising conviction reference Albert Camus and Pierre Bourdieu in response to our questions about creating a peaceful society of equals. But it was still visiting the KSC that brought me the closest to Kosovo that I have ever been, even though different financial priorities at Amsterdam University College regrettably stopped this semester’s Peace Lab from seeing the country in person.

The Kosovo Specialist Chambers, Den Haag

We had the privilege of being invited to an extensive meeting with a public relations person in a setting similar to that of a real press briefing. There we learned about the KSC’s mandate and its inner workings straight from the source. The Kosovo Specialist Chambers is a court established to investigate and prosecute war crimes and crimes against humanity committed during the Kosovo War, between 1998 and 2000. The most notable and contentious case up to date is that of Hashim Thaçi, the former president of Kosovo. While the court operates under Kosovo law, it is staffed by international judges. The reasoning behind that hiring policy centres around mitigating political influences and ensuring impartiality.

My classmates and I demonstrated the interviewing skills we have developed over the few weeks of Peace Lab by asking a number of critical, nuanced questions, amongst others about the inclusion of Kosovar Albanians and Serbs directly in the restorative justice process, the neocolonial perspective on international organisations, and the community outreach efforts in Pristina. That riveting experience further fuelled my passion for qualitative research and journalism. It also made me reflect on how much more personal it feels to talk to officials in person as opposed to via a video conference. Additionally, I believe hearing the public relations person’s insightful advice regarding building a career in the field of social justice was very inspiring for all the driven young people present.  

What possibly made the biggest impression on me was sitting in the same exact place where the families of the people indicted for war crimes do during trials, from above watching their detained loved ones stand in front of the judges and defend themselves against organ harvesting and torture allegations. I wish I will one day have the opportunity to visit this room again during an active hearing. 

Even after leaving the official part of the excursion, many of us stayed together as we simply could not stop discussing our impressions all the way until the late evening. Some even described the KSC visit as a “before and after” moment in their lives. I could not shake off the feeling that while we came close to themes which make one question how depraved human nature can appear at times, we also, against all odds, saw something very uplifting. While the overall effectiveness of institutions such as the KSC or the International Court of Justice (ICJ) can be constructively questioned, they do exist and keep standing as a tangible representation of society’s ultimate quest for justice, materialising our unwavering commitment to collectively bringing about a better future.

Optimism in a world of division

By Dave van Twuijver

On Tuesday 17 June we had our meeting with Community Building Mitrovica (CBM), a peacebuilding organisation located in the tense northern part of Kosovo. CBM is mainly involved in facilitating contact and dialogue between the citizens of the whole of the Mitrovica municipality. The NGO was established by Valdete Idrizi, who was forced out of her home in North Mitrovica during the Serb invasion of 1999. Its staff is made up of both Albanians and Serbs, which enables the NGO to be attractive to both ethnicities.

I was excited for the meeting, but also didn’t quite know what to expect. We had one other meeting with a different NGO from Mitrovica, which wasn’t as positive as many of us had expected. It seemed like they nearly had lost hope in their cause and were questioning if what they did even mattered anymore. This was an eye opener for us, as it showed us that peacebuilding is not always successful and can be very difficult. Because of this, I was excited about our meeting. On the one hand I was nervous as I feared that the meeting would have a similar tone. However, when our meeting had started, I quickly realised that this would not be the case.

The meeting we had was very inspirational. CBM was very excited to talk about what they have achieved over the years and were eager to explain and answer all of our questions. They explained to us how they measure success through different methods. However, what stuck with me the most is what they described as success. We were told that as an NGO, or any other individual or company, you have to appreciate the little successes. CBM would already deem their whole NGO a success if they influenced one single mind into being more open and accepting towards the other.

I think that the main lesson that I learned from this meeting is that people with a similar goal and in a very similar environment can have very different stances on their success. Whereas New Social Initiative was very pessimistic about a lot of things, CBM was very positive and happy with the progress that they were making. Like CBM, I think that it's not all about the big victories won in front of a large crowd. These big victories are all built upon smaller ones won throughout time, which we must celebrate as well.

Reform of the Kosovo Specialist Chamber: The only way to achieve true justice

An image from a trial involving former Prime Minister and President of Kosovo Hashim Thaci (pictured top left) on 03/04/23.

By Ben Sweeney

On Friday 20 June, I (as part of the Peace Lab course) travelled to The Hague to visit the Kosovo Specialist Chambers (KSC) to learn more about the body. The KSC was created in 2017 to judge perpetrators of the Kosovo Liberation Army’s violence from 1998 to 2000. At the KSC we met with a public relations person who gave a presentation about the history of the KSC, how the Chambers works and ongoing trials. Additionally, she answered questions from us students about the KSC.

Coming away from the meeting, I was struck by her view of the goal of the KSC. During the Q&A session, I asked about how the court manages to reconcile its desire to bring justice to victims in Kosovo while directly contributing to political instability in the country through the summoning, arrest and jailing of leaders. Another colleague questioned the lack of Kosovar involvement in the body aside from the Defence's counsel. Both answers shocked me. She made it clear to me that the KSC’s job is not the reconciliation of communities within Kosovo, but rather bringing people to justice. Additionally, her defence of the KSC not employing any Kosovar (or Serbian) national on the staff left myself and others with a sour taste in our mouths – as if the KSC had decided that those communities could not be trusted in bringing alleged war criminals and those accused of heinous crimes to account.  

Over the last three weeks, our studies have focused on how to bring groups together and create a shared identity with the aim of building a sustainable and inclusive peace for Kosovars. We have heard from civil society groups who organise safe spaces for citizens to share their feelings to move towards a less divisive society, alongside political figures such as the Prime Minister who spoke of his goal of establishing an integrated education system within Kosovo to bring majority and non-majority groups together. Their focus has been on making Kosovo better for the next generation and ending the decades of tensions between rival ethnic groups. This is not the feeling I got from the KSC. Their goal of trying alleged criminals is unpopular within both ethnic Serb and ethnic Albanian communities with disagreement over to what extent the KSC should try to attain justice for victims of horrifying acts. However, the KSC does not change its tactics despite its stated commitment to community outreach – continuing its institutionalised actions. This (while having the ironic effect of creating a shared identity of opposition) is not beneficial to Kosovo’s future.

While I see the benefits of putting criminals in jail, I feel there needs to be a significant re-thinking of KSC operations. The body has to emphasise the inclusion of Kosovar communities in the decision making – top-down strategies won’t work in the long-term to create spaces for Kosovars to live in. Instead, I see further engagement with both groups as key – taking on board their views and wishes is the only way to achieve true justice for the communities and end the needless violence which dominated the 20th century in the Balkans.

Where hope meets mandate: The limits of international peacebuilding

By Ella Haeusgen

As of 20 June, we had been learning about Kosovo for roughly three weeks: its politics, its history, its people and cultures. When studying Kosovo, it is impossible to avoid the recurring theme of the important ongoing role of international actors. UNMIK (the United Nations Interim Administration Mission in Kosovo) is a particularly important yet controversial actor in Kosovo. While UNMIK representatives label UNMIK's influence as having 'birthed' Kosovo, it is often criticised by Kosovo's population and faces unfriendly opposition. 

Throughout our Peace Lab course, we have learned about UNMIK's achievements in the immediate post-war period. However, we have also gained an understanding of UNMIK's shortcomings. The general perception of UNMIK is one of dislike, frustration and anger, as it has failed to achieve certain aims. With its top-down approach and its way of 'forcing democracy', as PM Kurti would later label it, UNMIK faces allegations of imposing certain conditions on the Kosovar population in a – perhaps – post-colonial manner. 

At the same time, Kosovo might be much worse off without UNMIK's assistance. Its presence contributed to the stabilisation of the region and the restoration of order and the rule of law in Kosovo since 1999. However, it is now 2025 and UNMIK is still in Kosovo, mainly in a monitoring and reporting role, with no exit strategy. An end to UNMIK is impossible until there is a change in the mandate, which is highly unlikely. There is no real solution to the status question in sight, no clear pathway for UNMIK's work and increasing, inter-ethnic tensions. This all tends to create a sense of hopelessness among the people. 

Thus, when the day finally came to meet UNMIK, we had many questions. It was an exciting day for us, with both the (online) meeting with UNMIK and the meeting with Kosovo’s Prime Minister, Albin Kurti, scheduled back-to-back. This meant preparing for two meetings that required careful consideration and an open mind. We couldn’t let our existing perceptions guide us in these meetings; rather, we had to create space for other, new perspectives.

The UNMIK meeting itself was very interesting in parts; for example, we learned that there is a plan to build two more bridges in Mitrovica, a rather surprising plan that could have a significant impact on the city (although one might wonder why two more should be built if the current one is not working to bridge the communities). Moreover, we learnt about one of UNMIK’s achievements, namely the creation of the first dictionary since 1993. As we have learned, learning one’s language is crucial in the peacebuilding process and thus this is an important step. 

However, overall, the class felt underwhelmed after the meeting. While we now had a better understanding of UNMIK’s work and its ongoing community building efforts, we were disappointed not to receive clear answers to our questions. When we tried to find out what motivates the peacekeepers, we received uninspiring answers, often delivered with a tone along the lines of, 'as long as there is a mandate and a budget, the mission will continue and we'll be here'. Nevertheless, it is understandable that UN personnel face many challenges and may eventually lose the enthusiasm and drive of students who are only at the beginning of this long journey to work towards a better world.
 
One day later, we met a woman who prefers to stay anonymous – an inspiring woman – who had worked for the UN in Kosovo for six years after the end of the war. She gave us another picture of the interaction between UN staff and the local population. It is a picture characterised by cultural diversity, openness on all sides, perhaps shyness, but also curiosity about the person on the other side and a strongly interwoven, local cooperation. 

Things change over time and perhaps the truth lies in the middle of things. As Anne said after the meeting with UNMIK, there is a lot we don't know and we will probably never see the whole picture - if that is even possible. It's a frustrating and intractable situation: we don't really like the status quo, but it may be the best we have. It resembles the inherent compromise we find ourselves in when attempting to mitigate the complexity of human nature, be it in a democratic or humanitarian context.

UN Resolution 1244 is passed by the UNSC on the 10th of July, 1999

Unlearning

By Szymon Bajerski
 
“[…] what matters even more than what we learn, is the unlearning.”
                                                                                    Besa Luci, Co-founder of Kosovo 2.0
 
Over the last three weeks we have heard (and shared) strikingly different stories. From hope to despair, from ambitious plans to chaos, our Kosovar speakers gifted us 45-minute-long insights into their daily struggles. It is impossible not to notice contradictions appearing between those testimonies. I sometimes found it difficult to make sense of such incoherent tales. A difference in perspectives — between individuals, groups, nations — leads to construction of parallel narratives, already predestined to never meet in the aphoristic middle. Generations share stories of hatred, mistreatment, offence. Misunderstandings only deepen with time as truth is lost somewhere in the story. We learn what (or whom) to perceive, but also how to perceive it.
 
To become an actor of change is to learn how to speak. It is to learn how to listen. But it is also to unlearn. Old habits die hard: leaving narratives, especially those shared throughout centuries, behind is not easy. Sometimes the discriminatory meaning is incorporated in the everyday language so deeply, that we don’t even realise what hurtful words we may use. Reconciliation is however not possible, unless the conflicted groups allow themselves to think of each other as equals. They must be given a voice, to create a new, shared story to tell.  

Kosovo’s Prime Minister Albin Kurti shared with us his idea to create common schools for kids of Albanian, Serb and other origins. Although I often don’t agree with Mr. Kurti, this time I was truly fascinated. Such schools attempt to reshape the narrative through collective experiences: of growing up together, forming friendships, falling in love, intermarrying.  “Forgetting” the never-ending tension. Unlearning the way they’re spoken about.
 
Personally, Peace Lab Kosovo has proven to be an unlearning process. Every time I started to form a somewhat coherent opinion on the conflict, the next interviewee would successfully shutter it into pieces. At first it resulted in frustration. With time, I could see the impact the process had for me. To leave one’s damaging presuppositions behind is to free self from the negative emotions one carries. Prejudices have the power to ruin the conversation, but they do so from the inside. They shape minds, close ears, open the door to violence. Only a real striving for forgiveness can make one truly understand the other.
 
So I urge you to think: What do you have yet to unlearn?