In times of polarisation, we should look at what unites us
A man stands behind the flag of Kosovo. Kosovo celebrated their anniversary of independence on 16 February 2025. Photo, Canva.com, AFP, Armend Nimani
Christian Life
“What will happen?” This question kept popping into my head as I sat in the van, winding through the rugged mountains of Kula, somewhere between Montenegro and Kosovo.
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Together with the artists from the acting troupe Magic Theatre (Magični Teatar), we were on our way to perform a play with women living in Kosovo. The project aimed to bring together women of Albanian and Serbian ethnicity, using theatre and artistic expression to empower those from areas affected by conflict.
The twist? The actresses weren’t professionals — they were local women who had never performed before but were willing to give it a shot.
I had no idea what to expect. Who would be on the other side? And how on earth were we supposed to rehearse and stage a play in just eight short days? The director assured us it was doable, so I decided to go with the flow.
Gunfire
Kosovo’s history is marked by turmoil, which escalated in the late 1990s with armed conflict between what was then the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (now Serbia) and the Kosovo Albanians. The conflict had territorial and deep religious roots, pitting Orthodox Serbs against Muslim Albanians. It ended in 1999 with NATO intervention. While the gunfire ceased, the conflict never truly did.
Growing up in Bosnia, I knew of Kosovo as a place where people had survived a war —just like us. We even had a couple of refugee kids from Kosovo in my elementary class. But beyond that, I didn’t know much.
We arrived in the town of Orahovac (Rahovec in Albanian) just in time for dinner. Our hotel was a grandiose yellow castle standing in the middle of vineyards, surrounded by half-finished houses with bare concrete facades.
Wow, I whispered to myself, this reminds me of home. The aesthetics were quintessential Eastern Europe—breathtaking nature woven with human resilience. People surviving interruptions, and those who learned to thrive, displaying their yellow castles as ultimate trophies. Needless to say, the Balkans are one of the best performative art displays in the world.
Translator
What followed in the days ahead was nothing short of pure love and connection. This incredible group of women, initially hesitant to speak Serbian (due to the conflict, older Albanians often refuse to speak Serbian, and younger generations never learn), began communicating with us directly by the second day. Since Bosnia and Serbia are essentially the same, the translator quickly became unnecessary.
They shared their life stories, their work, and their talents. Not only were they great actresses, but they were also incredible farmers, knitters, lawyers, businesswomen, directors, cooks—you name it, they had it. Many opened their homes to us, offering gifts of homemade food, knitwear, and the kind of human love that exists everywhere, if only we open our horizons and see the other as ourselves.
Jokes
Yet, the wounds of the past were visible everywhere. Animosity lingered. Serbian and Albanian territories remained divided — in schools, healthcare, government, and language. But these women showed a different path. By acting together, sharing meals, drinking coffee, and sending a powerful message of peace and reconciliation, they crossed the invisible lines.
In the end, I was again reminded that art is therapeutic and holds profound healing power. I learned that peace can be achieved by taking risks, choosing to see the other as a human being, breaking bread together, and finding joy in small jokes along the way.
Our differences—whether religious, ethnic, or political — fade away compared to what unites us: our ability to recognise one another’s humanity, give and receive love, and embrace acceptance no matter who we are.
Ultimately, the greatest art in the world is the one where we can be human.
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