Moderated by Kosovo 2.0 journalist Dafina Halili, the discussion brought together voices from academia, journalism, civil society and community activism, revealing the tensions, silences and competing frameworks that continue to shape how the missing are spoken about, remembered and, in many cases, overlooked.
From the outset, Halili positioned “narrative” not as an abstract concept, but as a deeply political and societal force. “When I mention narrative, I’m not saying something abstract or secondary,” she stressed. “This is deeply political and societal… the way society speaks of missing persons shows the way Kosovo understands justice.” This framing set the tone for a discussion that consistently returned to one central question: who gets to speak, who is heard, and who remains excluded?
For sociologist Dr. Vjollca Krasniqi, the dominant narrative on missing persons in Kosovo is rooted primarily in legal and human rights discourse, but it is also shaped by broader political and social dynamics. “Missing persons in Kosovo are framed through a legal and human rights discourse, deeply tied to moral questions about the war and who suffered. In public narratives, they are less associated with expressions of grief and sorrow, and more with constructions of victimhood,” she noted.
Yet, this “victim-centered” framing is not neutral. It often simplifies complex experiences and, more importantly, shifts attention away from those most affected. “Families of missing persons are not in the center of these narratives,” Krasniqi emphasized. Instead, they are frequently “used to legitimize different political processes.”
At the same time, the broader process of addressing the legacy of missing persons remains stalled. Despite legal frameworks and international obligations, “this process… remains slow and unfinished,” Krasniqi said, describing it as continuously postponed and deeply entangled in political agendas.
A recurring theme throughout the discussion was the selective nature of public memory. Narratives on missing persons are not only shaped by what is said, but also by what is left unsaid.
Journalist Serbeze Haxhiaj captured this dynamic with striking clarity: “In the media, it is defined as silent hatred. Don’t write, don’t criticize… simply don’t bother with it. Put a blanket on the part you don’t want to see.”
According to Haxhiaj, media coverage in Kosovo has largely failed to sustain a meaningful, human-centered engagement with the issue. Reporting tends to be episodic, triggered by commemorative dates or political developments, rather than investigative or reflective. “Journalism is reacting when it comes to events… it is a peripheral observer,” she said.
This response driven approach has contributed to the narrowing of narrative space. Stories that do not fit dominant frameworks, whether due to ethnicity, gender, or social stigma, are often ignored. Haxhiaj pointed to cases involving sexual violence or complex family dynamics as examples of stories that remain largely invisible in mainstream reporting.
Over time, this selectivity has produced what panelists described as “hierarchies of suffering” where certain victims are publicly recognized while others remain in the margins, including the dominance of narratives of men in contrast to those of women.
For families of missing persons, these narrative dynamics are not abstract. They shape everyday experiences of recognition, dignity and hope.
Nataša Božilović, program coordinator at the Missing Persons Resource Center, described a growing sense of isolation among families. “Families feel isolated, and as if this chapter from the past is closing slowly,” she said.
More than 26 years after the war, expectations have shifted. “Rarely anyone will believe that they [their family members] are alive, but what they hope is to find their remains and bury them in a dignified way. Nothing more.”
At the same time, families often feel instrumentalized by political actors. Their pain, Božilović noted, is “abused…[addressed and remembered] only when there are political campaigns,” turning personal loss and family tragedy into a tool for political and public legitimacy.
Yet, the discussion also highlighted alternative spaces where different kinds of narratives are possible. Missing Persons Resource Center, established to bring together families across all ethnic lines, has created a rare space of dialogue and empathy. “They [family members] are ready to sit next to each other and talk without any prejudice,” Božilović said, pointing to a level of solidarity that often contrasts sharply with public discourse.
Another critical intervention in the discussion came from Isak Skenderi, who addressed the systemic exclusion of Roma, Ashkali and Egyptian communities from narratives of missing persons.
Tracing this exclusion to deeper historical patterns, Skenderi argued that these communities have long been denied equal recognition. “Roma community citizens were not recognized as equal citizens,” he said, explaining how this marginalization has shaped both wartime violence and post-war memory.
As a result, their experiences of loss often remain unacknowledged. “Their family members were killed, kidnapped, disappeared… some still are on the lists of missing persons without any specific reason given,” he noted.
Professor Krasniqi reinforced this point by highlighting the role of silence in reproducing inequality. “Narrative is built not only with what is said and done, but also with what is not said and done,” she said, pointing to the absence of recognition as a form of structural discrimination.
This absence, panelists argued, is not incidental. It reflects broader patterns of exclusion that continue to shape Kosovo’s public memory.
The discussion further revealed a fragmented landscape of competing narratives. Krasniqi described it as “competitive [narratives] through ethnic divisions” and embedded in “a memory which is selective.”
These divisions are reinforced not only by political discourse but also by generational shifts. As Haxhiaj noted, younger generations, many of whom did not experience the war directly, inherit simplified, one-linear and mono-ethnic narratives that stripped out of complexities of experiences and lack empathy toward others.
The consequences are significant. As Božilović warned, unequal recognition of victims undermines trust and reconciliation. “While victims are not treated equally… we failed the test when it comes to transitional justice,” she said.
As the discussion drew to a close, a sense of urgency became increasingly apparent. With time passing, witnesses aging, and political processes stalled, the window for both truth and recognition is narrowing. At the same time, the persistence of selective narratives risks entrenching divisions rather than fostering a more inclusive understanding of the past.
Returning to her opening question, Halili asked: “What, based on the experience, is left in the center of the collective memory, and what is set aside? Who can be heard? What is accepted as history, and what is left out?”
The discussion offered no simple answer. But it made one thing clear: addressing the issue of missing persons in Kosovo requires more than technical solutions or political agreements. It demands a fundamental rethinking of how stories are told, whose voices are centered, and how society chooses to remember.
Without such a shift, the risk is not only that the missing remain unaccounted for, but that entire experiences, and the possibility of a shared, just memory, are lost.
The discussion was organized by Kosovo 2.0 and Pro Peace Kosovo, with support from the Federal Ministry for Economic Cooperation and Development.
