How the past determines who we are in the present

By Antonia Luserke

 

            Every place around the world, encountered at a certain point in time, would never exist without a past experienced and constructed by the people within it. This is even more so the case with Kosovo. Its turbulent and violent past persists in the form of painful and traumatic stories and encounters experienced by the witnesses of these events. The country remains divided by an invisible line, with only a few multiethnic regions and municipalities. When talking to the locals that line still seems to be particularly dominant in the minds of Kosovars. A shared history thus also has a unifying power, creating what Benedict Anderson once called an "imagined community" in which a group of people shares a will to live together based on a shared past and a legacy, and likewise a will to build a common future.

 

            Today, more than twenty years after the end of the last war in Kosovo, a new generation has grown up, many of whom cannot remember the events of or were born after 1999. Although they may not have experienced the pain themselves, the narratives they are exposed to shape the way they construct their own identity and their relationship to others, as well as how they perceive the world around them.

 

As part of our project, my group and I tried to understand how Kosovar history is mediated and reproduced as a national narrative through education, thus perpetuating a sense of "us versus them." The reason for looking at this from a peacebuilding perspective is that Kosovo still has two separate education systems. One corresponds with the Kosovo Albanian government in Prishtina, while the other corresponds to the Belgrade education agenda. This allows for the perpetuation of a hostile narrative in closed spaces.

 

During our interviews, it became clear that the curricula in Kosovo tend to focus on the ancient and regional Ottoman occupation history, especially targeting the discourse on territorial claims between Serbs and Albanians. The more recent history of war and ethnic conflict, however, is mostly left out of history books. Thus, in addition to school education, family narratives seem to be of particular importance in the representation and processing of Kosovo's history since the 1990s.  

 

The power and meaning of the transfer of history as establishing, maintaining, and belonging to a particular group is even more evident in the case of the large second-generation Kosovar diaspora. About 800,000 Kosovars emigrated, either due to persecution during the war or because of economic and political persecution in the post-war period. The places they moved to include the EU, North America and Turkey. Those growing up in the EU, North America, or Turkey are therefore primarily shaped, in terms of Kosovo, by the stories and experiences of their family members.

 

We had the opportunity to meet three young women: Blerona, Arianita and Julia. They are currently working as teachers at the International Language Group School in Prishtina and were either born in Switzerland or have lived in Switzerland since their earliest childhood. When asked how they came into contact with Kosovar history, the three girls unanimously answered that it was always an important topic in their families; stories were often retold and experienced. Blerona told us how this inherited trauma affected her life in many ways, and as a result, the conflict was passed on beyond Kosovar borders, into her Swiss classroom.

 

“[…] when I was in 5^th grade one of my classmates was Serbian and I remember avoiding contact from the beginning […] you know in my mind she was my enemy. […] And after talking to my parents, who told me that she did not have any responsibility for what had happened during the war we actually turned out to be good friends.”

 

She went on to say that in her experience, people who have left Kosovo hold on to national and ethnic identity even more strongly than those who stay. In doing so, history serves to maintain the homeland connection and sustain their identity in their new homeland, insuring loyalty, and processing moral conflict.

 

"[...] I have the feeling that we, as Albanians living in Switzerland, are constantly trying to maintain the Kosovar culture, heritage, and tradition; maybe even out of a certain sense of guilt for leaving Kosovo, and that in this way we hope to preserve our identity."

 

“[...] It seems to me even sometimes that people in Kosovo are moving on way faster than we are in the diaspora […] we are holding on to this out of fear of losing our roots.”

 

            History is never objective; it is a form of narrative that persists across generations. Education is therefore one of the most important means of building consensus around a common history shared by a particular community. They identify an Other, an Us, and define what constitutes the latter. However, these stories are not limited to borders and can be exported to create a strong and important connection for those who live abroad and want to preserve their roots.

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.