PEJA, PAST AND PRESENT

While filming in Kosovo, we have been living mainly in Peja/ Pec. Situated at the foothills of the Accursed Mountains on the border of Montenegro, Peja/ Pec emerged as a regional hub in the middle ages and is now the second largest city in Kosovo. It is framed by some of the country’s most beautiful scenery: rugged mountains above, rich, fertile valleys below, and the Bistrica River running through the center of town. There is nothing starting the day by enjoying a coffee on one of the house’s three patios while taking in the view. We are very happy to be staying here.

The 1999 war hit Peja/ Pec particularly hard: nearly all of its Albanian residents were displaced as the Yugoslav army and Serbian police burned down over 80% of the city, including many traditional stone kullas and Ottoman-era homes. Although its setting is still quite beautiful and much of the city has been nicely rebuilt, almost everyone that we met from Peja/ Pec still greatly laments the loss of the city they knew. To make the loss even more acute, few residents have anything other than their memories to help them recall what that beautiful past looked like, as they were not allowed to take any of their belongings when they were forced to leave. You can still get a tiny glimpse of what the city must have looked like from a walk through the few remaining buildings of the old bazaar, but the old city is lost forever.

Staying in Peja reminded me of a book that I read many years ago in an urban planning class in college. Written by Bogdan Bogdanovich, a former mayor or Belgrade and a virulent opponent of Serbian nationalism, The City and Death discusses the consequences for urban environments in civil war. Bogdanovich muses that the seemingly gratuitous destruction of everyday built environments (such as houses, shops, squares, car parks) is done not simply to terrorize the population. The destruction actually reflects the conqueror’s desire to completely eradicate any trace of human or material variety in his quest to construct an “uncomplicated” historical narrative that denies the complexity of the place’s history. He suggests that perhaps this widespread destruction of the buildings of civilian life should be prosecuted as a distinct form of political violence. The civilized world, Bogdanovich writes, will never forget the way we destroyed our cities. We Serbs shall be remembered as despoilers of cities, latter-day Huns. The horror felt by the West is understandable: for centuries it has linked the concepts 'city' and 'civilization' - associating them even on an etymological level. It therefore has no choice but to view the destruction of cities as flagrant, wanton opposition to the highest values of civilization.