THE POLITICS OF LANGUAGE

Between us, Michaela and I speak English, German, French, and enough Spanish to get by in a pinch. What we don’t know – and which would obviously come in very much handy here – is either Albanian or Serbian. Because of this, we hired a translator. Fluent in Albanian, Serbian, English, and German, Kesi worked as a professional translator in Germany for many years before moving to Kosovo to start a business as an environmental engineer. He’s quick enough to do simultaneous translations, which really helps keep the flow of an interview going. He is culturally sensitive to the idiosyncrasies of both Serbian and Albanian culture. He is fun to be around, which is a big bonus since we are all spending so much time together. As the person we had planned on working with turned out to have taken another job when we arrived, we are especially lucky to have found Kesi through the friend of a friend.

In the United States, the idea that language is political is usually framed in terms of “freedom of speech” or of a powerful person strategically using euphemisms or vagueness to conceal or prevent thought or action. Both of these issues were relevant in Yugoslavian Kosovo too: conditions were hardly conducive to people expressing themselves freely or hearing their realities reflected in the words of those who governed them. But there was also another dimension to the politics of language, which was that although Albanians made up almost 70% of the population, the language of public life was Serbian.

This meant that while Albanians were free to speak their own language at home, outside the home - at school, at work, and for any business related to the State - they were forced to use Serbian. This had been the case since the Yugoslav state was formed in 1918. Although Tito eased this a bit by stopping the “Serbian-izing” of Albanian names and allowing some Albanian-speaking schools to be established, Serbian nationalism rose again after his death and saw many of those changes reversed. The Albanian-language university in Pristina was closed in 1991. Government funding was withdrawn from the few existing Albanian-language schools. Street signs were renamed in Serbian and written in Cyrillic script. No state-owned television or radio was allowed to broadcast in Albanian. In the U.S. it is easy to forget this language aspect of human rights, because English is a world language and it would be almost impossible to take away our right to use it when we please. In Kosovo the effect of this policy was to reinforce a structure where Albanians and Albanian culture were continually suppressed – something which greatly contributed to ethnic tensions and resentment.

Since the end of the war, Albanians have regained the public use of their language, and Albanian now stands with Serbian and Turkish as the country’s official languages. Additionally, Kosovo recognizes Gorani, Romani, and Bosnian. Sadly, the legacy of the language policies of the Serbian nationalists who long controlled the region is still divisive: although many Albanians learned both Albanian and Serbian in order to get by, few Serbs of the same age group speak Albanian - which helps make it difficult for Serb communities to become a part of the new Kosovo. And unfortunately, fewer and fewer young people of either ethnicity are fluent in both languages. Young people of both groups are usually working very hard on their English or German, as most of the few well-paying jobs are with internationals, and knowing these languages can be a ticket to opportunity. As Kesi pointed out one day, it will soon be easiest for people to speak to each other in English, which isn’t even one of the country’s official languages.