Serbia’s enduring denial and Kosovo’s one-sided, politicized memorial landscape have produced a deeply divided ethos of remembrance that validates some suffering while marginalizing other experiences.
When the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTY) was created in 1993, many hoped it would spur state efforts in Serbia and other former Yugoslav countries to rebuild social cohesion and contribute to truth and reconciliation. The Tribunal did establish crucial facts offering an opportunity to confront the past.
In contrast, the entire political spectrum in Serbia continues to deny any wrongdoing and pursues a policy of denial, portraying war crimes as a Western fabrication and framing Serbia as the victim, with the NATO bombing presented as the defining event of the 1998–99 Kosovo conflict.
Similar expectations surrounded the outset of the EU-facilitated Kosovo - Serbia dialogue, which has produced little that meaningfully addresses the wartime legacy that keeps both sides trapped in unresolved history.
Held back by the weight of their past
“It is a fear of responsibility,” said Nataca Kandic, founder and director of the Belgrade-based Humanitarian Law Center, which documents mass human rights violations across the former Yugoslavia during the armed conflicts. “Serbia is politically and socially responsible for crimes in the former Yugoslavia countries and must be dedicated to finding solutions for the future and showing sympathy for victims,” she added.
Normalization of relations between the two countries requires addressing past crimes and unresolved issues, yet this goal still seems distant. “Such a policy cannot guarantee that what has happened will not be repeated,” Kandic said.
Racism and the language of war persist despite more than a decade of dialogue. In 2019, then–Prime Minister Ana Brnabic referred to Kosovo Albanians as “people from the woods.”
Kosovo’s efforts to construct its narrative of the past
Serbia’s enduring culture of denial, rooted in political, social, and institutional factors, continues to shape Kosovo’s memorial landscape, producing one-sided narratives and a deeply divided ethos of remembrance that validates one group’s suffering while dismissing the other’s.
Dubravka Stojanovic, a historian and professor at the University of Belgrade, pointed out that Serbia is not yet ready to confront its past. “To reconcile with 'the other' means, first and foremost, to reconcile with oneself, to critically rethink one's responsibilities,” she said. “This is the only way our societies can escape the nationalistic traps that have kept us petrified for so long.”
In this context, Kosovo remains largely limited to addressing certain aspects of transitional justice internally. Different Kosovo governments have pursued a range of initiatives, but these often ended with the tenure of the respective administration and lacked inclusive, long-term structures.
Kosovo’s first-ever transitional justice strategy was adopted in 2024, almost 25 years after the war ended. Experts argue that, although it represents a step forward, the strategy does not sufficiently address the problems that have persisted since 1999.
Criticized for its top-down approach, the strategy has nonetheless created some mechanisms, such as the Institute for Research of War Crimes, which aims to establish facts about war crimes and support Kosovo’s potential legal efforts against Serbia, including genocide claims.
In 2021, Kosovo’s Prime Minister Albin Kurti vowed to revive a controversial plan to bring a genocide case against Serbia before the International Court of Justice over the 1998–99 war, despite experts’ warnings that it was unlikely to succeed, echoing similar claims by former Assembly Speaker Kadri Veseli two years earlier.
With the establishment of the Museum of Genocide, supporters of the initiative in Kosovo argue that the absence of an international court ruling on genocide does not negate its occurrence, seeking to shape a collective memory.
The museum follows a fragmented policy of memorialization, which has, in effect, replaced the exercise of political power.
Compensation for victims, although limited, addresses recognition and some of their needs. Some elements of the strategy call on the government to advance initiatives documenting victims’ needs, but significant gaps remain.
Kosovo’s president is poised to launch a transitional justice commission with a three-year mandate, potentially allowing survivors to address public hearings. However, concerns remain about the initiative’s independence and fairness.
The Commission reports directly to the Kosovo president, which according to experts could make the mechanism appear highly political.
The commission aim to preserve collective memory, ensure recognition of victims, help restore their dignity, and foster a culture of solidarity with those affected by the conflict.
The statute provides psychosocial and logistical support for survivors, as well as documenting their stories, with particular attention to those who endured wartime sexual violence. It also envisions public hearings involving both survivors and perpetrators, a hallmark of truth and reconciliation commissions. In Kosovo, an initiative to establish such a commission was launched in 2017 under former President Hashim Thaci, but it foundered following his arrest for war crimes.
However, Kosovo’s culture of memorialization has left little space for victims, women, survivors of sexual violence, minorities, and even the peaceful resistance movement, while mostly glorifying the liberation movement for political purposes.
For over two decades, Kosovo’s main political parties, the LDK, led by the late pacifist Ibrahim Rugova; the PDK, led by former KLA figures; and the AAK of former guerrilla commander Ramush Haradinaj, have competed to shape historical narratives.
The PDK has often highlighted KLA fighters over the peaceful FARK movement, while Vetëvendosje similarly emphasizes the KLA and civilian victims, reinforcing ethnically divided narratives. This factional rivalry for symbolic dominance has led the PDK, LDK, and AAK, in many municipalities, to pursue independent memorial practices. As a result, in very limited areas, memorials have been established to honor KLA fighters, FARK figures, or Ibrahim Rugova, reflecting the fragmented and highly politicized nature of Kosovo’s memorial landscape.
Law professor and transitional justice researcher Gjylbehare Murati questioned the prioritization of one movement over another. “Memorialization policies prioritize the heroism of one movement over another, while political actors work to appropriate these narratives for their own interests,” she said. “This creates polarization, making it difficult to build a shared memory. Kosovo needs a more neutral approach, one that acknowledges the diversity of contributions and opens space for discussion of historical dilemmas and taboos,” she added.
Kosovo’s struggle with remembrance is layered, contested, and often resistant to nuance. Many stories and experiences remain on the margins of public debate. Through these articles, we aim to highlight some of these overlooked realities: the disorderly construction of monuments, the fragile acknowledgment of wartime sexual violence, and the fragmented ways in which society remembers. In this effort, I acknowledge the Heinrich Böll Foundation’s attempts to support and encourage more inclusive discussions on these themes, even if only in small but meaningful ways.
