You will forgive me for today’s sloppiness. The text resembles an out-of-format CV. But it’s a slightly chaotic summary of 40 years of work compressed into little more than two “tables”. It’s more of a sign, to remind this society and all the post-war powers that people who qualify for retirement have NO system to support them as long as they live
Since the year when Chernobyl became the most famous place in the world. I don’t believe that anyone outside the then Soviet Union will have heard of this place a couple of thousand kilometers from Pristina. Few will have known more about nuclear power plants, even though the one in Krško, in Slovenia, had started work a few years ago.
We were enjoying the blooming days of acacia trees in Kosovo, which had a consolidated power as well as an economy that had significantly improved the general standard of living. This “idyl” would not last long. As if the Russian attempt to hide the catastrophic nuclear explosion would not last.
After the contamination had passed to Sweden, where radioactivity levels were recorded with sophisticated equipment of the time, the USSR announced two days later, via the TASS news agency, that a nuclear incident had occurred at a place called Chernobyl. That’s it.
I vaguely remember that the news on TV was illustrated with pictures of the plant in normal condition. Much later we would be shown the images of the destroyed buildings, and much later we would find out about the extent of the damage that the radiation had caused.
Five days after the explosion, May 1 was being celebrated in Kosovo (there were two days of official holiday), with the traditional burning of tires in Gërmi (which shows how stupid we are – black smoke in the only place that gives oxygen) and with the warning that was conveyed to us sometimes on the radio and sometimes on television: “don’t buy Bulgaria’s wheat, because it is irradiated”. While everything produced locally can be bought and eaten. What was the criterion for determining radiation, we never found out.
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May 1, 1986 fell on a Thursday, so Friday was also a day off. For many Kosovar families, it was four days that could be connected to enjoy even two days at the Kosovar resort in Kamenovo. There was no radiation at all, because the sea salt has eliminated it for sure. For me, this day was, on paper, the first day of work with the “Decision to establish an employment relationship in the capacity of an intern” (we did not have a contract at that time) and this was thanks to an action for the employment of young graduates who had difficulty finding work.
I was organized in a sui generis administrative body, which existed only in the former Yugoslavia, and was called the Self-Governing Community of Interest (in my case Provincial for employment) – where we were and were not independent in the work we performed. We all had “reports” (that is, job descriptions), but not all of us had the same job.
BVI taught me the geography of Kosovo – I learned the names of all the villages of Anamorava and a part of Dukagjin and Drenica – without even knowing how to get there – they were the birthplaces of seasonal workers who worked in Switzerland; taught me, professionally, how an article, perhaps deliberately misspelled, turns into a fraud scheme to illegally embezzle workers’ wages in Libya; proved to me that in small Kosovo, the majority was the one that was discriminated against and revealed to me how a human being can be transformed into a technological surplus.
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The violent Serbian measures left me without a job, but not without the discovery of some inclination that would enable me to survive. In this period, I discovered the saying “it’s better to work without money, than to stay without money”, work which, on the other hand, enabled me to get to know the term “freelancer”, which I still don’t even know what it meant. We had become like that from scratch, working without contracts, paid by the hour or by the day and dealing with things outside of our profession. There was no time to choose a job.
I spent two years as a volunteer at KMDLNJ and learned a lot about professionalism, sacrifice and solidarity under conditions of occupation. I learned that even in this period we were not all equal – because the 3% Fund persistently avoided the activity of the most reliable organization reporting on the violation of human rights. When he had to participate in the Human Rights Commission or Committee at the UN, he had to travel with tickets donated by a friend and had to sleep in the offices of the Ministry of Information or with family members across the Atlantic. This of course did not apply to the LDK – it had a special status there.
In the first year of work at KMDLNJ, war broke out in Croatia. In the second, in Bosnia. And this second one, no matter how heavy, made it possible for me to get a contract job again.
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The first international office opened in Kosovo was that of the CSCE (today’s OSCE), and immediately after it that of the ICRC (International Committee of the Red Cross), both in 1992. The third (the first of the UN in Kosovo) was the UNHCR (the UN High Commissioner for Refugees) in March 1993. One of the foreigners with whom we had almost weekly contact in KMDLNJ, he had referred me to the Swede who would open the office in Pristina. “We have nothing but an administrative position”, he told me, “you are overqualified for that job”. “I’ll bring my primary school diploma – does it qualify me enough,” I replied.
In this organization, I realized that not all of us are equal – while I was kept with a contract that the Belgrade office renewed every month, the colleague from Belgrade with “temporary work in Pristina” was rewarded with a higher rank and a year’s contract.
There I understood the ugliness of war and how many atrocities it could evidence. I learned from a Canadian and a Dutchman – both charged with protecting refugees and resettling them in third countries – what a difference working with passion makes.
The first victim I was instructed to interview to see if she qualifies for resettlement to the West was a 6-year-old Bonnie girl—a survivor of a mass execution—with over 20 gunshot wounds to her body.
* * *
The war took me to UNICEF, where I had started work in 1995. The villages whose names I had learned in the BVI became part of daily field trips, mainly to collect notes on the condition of children and women, but also for vaccination, for humanitarian and medical aid and education.
There I would learn that united we are more powerful; that even with a little you can do a lot; that in war you become brave and foolish and that everything you do, you do because you love Kosovo very, very much. Here too I understood, once again, that we are not all equal. Being local did not qualify you to lead the sector, despite the fact that thanks to local coordination, Kosovo managed to rehabilitate all the school facilities damaged in the war, not even a year after the end of the war.
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The question arose: would the locals be able to do reconstruction and development in the poor areas of Kosovo (which were not hard to find, but there was no money for everyone) with tenders and field supervisors according to the rules of the World Bank. The answer was yes, on the condition that it has an English name (Community Development Fund – CDF), which was known on the ground as a German, Swiss, American organization… all of them, but not Kosovar. There I learned how easy it is to set both price and quality standards. And respecting and maintaining them is easy too – provided you don’t intend to steal even if you are ethical.
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And ethics and professionalism I knew I would find among the great team of KOHA, when I took it under leadership more than 21 years ago. There I learned that dedication and single-minded journalism cannot be bought with money, nor with tenders, nor with blackmail. There I learned that like-minded professionals are able to sacrifice their time and comfort to get the real news out there. I learned many things there, and the readers and viewers of KOKA learned more than I did. And that’s where I learned to write the weekly newsletters.
* * *
You will forgive me for today’s sloppiness. The text resembles an out-of-format CV. But it’s a slightly chaotic summary of 40 years of work compressed into little more than two “tables”. It is more of a sign, to remind this society and all the post-war powers, that people who meet the conditions for retirement, do NOT have a system that will support them as long as they live.
If the law of socialist Kosovo were in force, on May 1, 2026, I would fulfill the conditions for retirement. I would be entitled to 80% of the ten best paid years, and I would count on periodic increases in the pension, depending on the rate of inflation. With it, I could have a mature, not to say old age, dignified.
This will be the year in which Kosovo will go down in history, because the behavior of this generation of immature and selfish politicians makes me believe that the June elections will not be the only ones we will have this year.
We don’t have Chernobyl, but we have Obiliq, the pollution of the rivers and Pristina’s pollution that has not covered us – and it would be better for us if we import the grain from Bulgaria, because we have no shortage either for work or for supporting agriculture.
We are so numb that we don’t protest on May 1st. Maybe that’s why we were banned from burning tires in Gërmi.
I envisioned this day much differently.
