Resistance in impossible conditions
Mass firings, apartheid and the struggle for the right moment to achieve independence.
By Shkumbin Brestovci | March 18, 2025
On Monday, September 3, 1990, the first day of school, the streets were empty, the market deserted and the shops closed. Prishtina looked like a ghost town. In fact, all of Kosovo was on strike that day.
The Union of Independent Trade Unions of Kosovo (BSPK), formed just a few months earlier, had called on workers to stage a one-day general strike as a symbolic act of protest against the illegal dismissal of over 15,000 Albanian workers. The strike was also meant to send a clear message to the regime of Slobodan Milošević, then the president of Serbia, that without the labor of Albanian workers, despite their marginalization in society, many aspects of life in Kosovo would be paralyzed. Craftsmen, traders, farmers and nearly the entire population joined the strike.
At the time, Kosovo had a population of around 1.9 million. Approximately 230,000 Albanians were employed in the public sector, while the working-age population numbered around 1 million. Only around 7,000, at least according to official Yugoslav statistics, were employed in the private sector, which had only just begun to grow.
Strikes are often a very powerful tool of resistance because they can cause significant economic damage to a regime. However, as we came to understand, this regime did not care about either the economy or the value of labor.
By the late 1970s, the entire Eastern Bloc was experiencing the rapid decline of the socialist planned economy, a crisis that only deepened throughout the 1980s. The word “crisis” became the most overused term among the cadres of the League of Communists of Yugoslavia, who debated day and night about possible solutions to problems, many of which were entirely fabricated.
One of the most widely discussed of these fabricated problems in Kosovo and Serbia in the 1980s was the case of Đorđe Martinović. On May 1, 1985, Martinović, a 65-year-old man from Gjilan, arrived at the city’s hospital with a broken bottle lodged in his anus. At first, he claimed that two Albanians had attacked him while he was working in his field. A few days later, on May 7, the Secretariat of Internal Affairs (SUP) issued a statement saying that Martinović had confessed that he had inflicted the injuries on himself. Various investigative teams were then assembled to assess the course of events. As documented by American author Julie Mertus in her book “Kosovo: How Myths and Truths Started a War,” there were at least four different opinions regarding the case, some claiming the injuries were self-inflicted, others suggesting external involvement. The fourth opinion, given in November 1985, was that Martinović’s wound could have been caused either by himself or by others, without drawing a conclusion that would hold the Albanians responsible.
In other words, nearly half of Kosovo’s adult population had been subjected to police measures.
Nonetheless, Serbian media flooded the public with nationalist and anti-Albanian interpretations of the case. Svetislav Spasojević, a journalist from the weekly newspaper Nedeljne informativne novine (NIN), who led the media campaign on the incident, published a book in 1986 titled “Slučaj Martinović” — “The Martinović Case.” The book compiled statements and transcripts of political, literary and journalistic discussions that had been used to fuel the controversy — everything but the facts. The very idea of publishing a 485-page book with an initial print run of 50,000 copies demonstrates the hysteria that had developed around the case.
Similar themes about alleged crimes committed by Albanians against Serbs were not only prevalent in tabloid media but were also discussed at the highest levels of politics. Former Serbian President Ivan Stambolić later acknowledged in his 1995 book “Put u bespuće” — “The Road to Nowhere” — that many reports in the 1980s about Albanian crimes were fabricated. As the head of state at the time, Stambolić would have known this, but he chose to remain silent.
Beyond propaganda and economic decline, Kosovo in those years was also plagued by severe police repression. In November 1988, the head of Kosovo’s police, Rrahman Morina, summarized law enforcement’s commitment to combating “Albanian nationalism” in a speech at a meeting of the League of Communists. Every expression or action aimed at affirming the position of Albanians, which was perceived as ultimately aimed at separatism and hostility toward Yugoslavia, was considered nationalism.
Morina reported that, since 1981, criminal charges had been filed against 72,223 individuals, misdemeanor charges against 95,030 individuals and additional punitive measures, such as arrests, detentions and restrictions of liberty, had been taken against 314,120 individuals. In other words, nearly half of Kosovo’s adult population had been subjected to police measures.
This repression was, in fact, the result of a carefully orchestrated campaign in Belgrade to resolve the “Serbian issue” by fueling Serbian nationalism.
Serbian liberal politician and historian Latinka Perović, in a 2016 interview with Peščanik, recalled a conversation she had in 1987 with Antonije Isaković, then vice president of the Serbian Academy of Sciences and Arts (SANU). Isaković explained that the time had finally come “for Serbia to resolve its issue, because Slovenes and Croats do not want Yugoslavia.”
“Wait, so you want war?” Perović interrupted him.
“Yes,” he admitted, “but there will be no war in Serbia. Some 80,000 people will be killed and…”
“Which 80,000 people? Whose heads are you talking about?”
Interestingly, almost simultaneously with this nationalist madness, another faction of politicians, those who believed in the democratization of Yugoslavia, was actively working to address the economic crisis, with some notable success.
In December 1988, this faction managed to pass a series of amendments to the Yugoslav Constitution that paved the way for a market economy, allowing for the creation of private enterprises and foreign investment. This was a radical shift for Yugoslav communist society, where all businesses had previously been state-owned.
When Ante Marković took office as Yugoslavia’s prime minister, he managed to stabilize the country’s rampant inflation. Marković assumed leadership in March 1989, almost simultaneously with Kosovo’s loss of autonomy.
In retrospect, these two factions seem to have operated in complete disregard of each other, as if existing in parallel universes, oblivious to the consequences of the opposing side’s actions. But in the end, Serbia’s destructive faction won out, while Marković’s reforms faded away in their own parallel universe, as if they were nothing more than a summer dream.
Political articulation of workers
In communist dogma, at least in theory, workers were sacred. They were seen as the progressive force of society, especially those working in industry, as industrialization was viewed as the primary goal of progress. When the 1974 constitution, and with it Kosovo’s autonomy, was under threat, some of the first to mobilize in its defense were the miners of Trepça, who were seen as the saints of industrialization.
In February 1989, around 1,300 miners went on a hunger strike deep in the mine’s tunnels. Their main demands were: to guarantee the foundations of the 1974 constitution and the resignations of Morina, Ali Shukrija and Hysamedin Azemi, politicians considered submissive to Serbia. In addition to these demands, the miners called for the cessation of persecution against individuals the regime considered to be organizers of the first marches of November 1988. “There is no single organizer, we are all organizers,” they said. They also demanded that wrongful policies against Albanians be stopped and that representatives of the provinces and republics be informed about the situation in Kosovo.
This echoed loudly.
From this episode, the legend of the police commander Radovan Stojičić, “Badža,” was created in Serbia. It is said that he was almost ready to send in the Serbian police’s anti-terrorist unit to the tunnels to either force the miners to leave or even execute those that refused to leave until all their demands were met.
Morina, who called himself a communist, resigned, visibly affected that the miners were demanding this from him. The resignation letter he sent to the miners seemed sincere, and perhaps his resignation offer wasn’t just a farce, but it seems that for Milošević, the time wasn’t right to accept it. Morina returned to his position.
All these events came in response to a series of actions in preparation for the annulment of Kosovo’s autonomy. One of these was when the League of Communists’ regional leadership began to discuss the dismissal of Azem Vllasi and Kaqusha Jashari, who at that time were prominent figures of the communist party and close associates of Stambolić, individuals whom Milošević considered obstacles to his plans.
A meeting on this issue was scheduled for the evening of November 17, 1988. Word had reached the miners in Stantërg. On that morning, 3,000 miners left their pits and started marching from Stantërg toward Prishtina, a distance of around 45 kilometers. The front row of the march prominently carried photographs of Yugoslavia’s longtime leader Josip Broz Tito, the Yugoslav flag and the Albanian flag tied together, miners’ flags and flags of other nationalities. From all over Kosovo, other citizen marches headed to Prishtina to join the miners. By evening, around 300,000 people had gathered in Prishtina.
The nonviolent nature of the marches was also a completely new phenomenon. Howard Clark, author of the most thorough work on Kosovo’s resistance, “Civil Resistance in Kosovo,” which was published in 2000, noted that these marches’ genuine spontaneity stood in sharp contrast to Milošević’s “truth rallies,” which were made up of workers bussed in from factories.
These rallies were initially organized by Serbs from Kosovo, who expressed their anger over what they described as the difficult situation of Serbs in Kosovo. This anger mainly stemmed from dissatisfaction over the gradual loss of the privileged position for Serbs, which had started with the dismissal of Aleksandar Ranković, head of the Yugoslav secret police (UDBA), in 1966. Ranković had imposed an UDBA-led dictatorship in Kosovo after the end of World War II. Through strict police control, Ranković exploited every opportunity to imprison and torture Albanians.
In fact, during the 1970s and early 1980s, there were instances of violence and revenge by Albanians against Serbs in response to the repression during Ranković’s time in Kosovo, but these were not organized or on the scale that Serbian propaganda claimed.
Later, these rallies were instrumentalized by Milošević and took place wherever he aimed to change political power.
Among the largest and most consequential rallies was one in Novi Sad, Vojvodina, on October 5, 1988, which became known as the “Yogurt Revolution.” Serb demonstrators, gathered by Milošević, threw yogurt cups toward the provincial government building, after which the government of Vojvodina resigned and was replaced by Milošević’s people. Then there was the rally in Titograd — now Podgorica — in Montenegro in January 1989, where the republican government also resigned and was replaced by Milošević’s people. With this, Milošević only lacked Kosovo to secure four out of the eight votes needed to maintain control over the Yugoslav presidency.
Thus, despite the 1988 march and the subsequent miners’ strike, by 1989, Milošević’s plan of violently altering the constitution was nearing its final stage. Kosovo, for the rest of Yugoslavia, was an entirely unknown black stain. The propaganda noise coming from Belgrade was louder than any sound coming from Kosovo. Yet, for a moment, the miners’ strike seemed to break through this barrier.
It was a coup d'état par excellence.
On February 27, 1989, in the far-off republic of Slovenia, the party leader, Milan Kučan, came out openly in support of the demands of Albanians in Kosovo. At the largest conference center in Ljubljana, Cankarjev Dom, Kučan declared that in Stantërg, not only the rights of Albanians were being defended, but also the Yugoslavia of AVNOJ, the Anti-Fascist Council for the National Liberation of Yugoslavia. This council had held the famous meeting on November 29, 1943, which was considered a sacred event in Yugoslavia and laid the foundation for the federal Yugoslavia based on the principle of peoples’ right to self-determination.
After the miners’ drama, on March 23, the drama of voting to abolish autonomy in the Kosovo Assembly followed. The Assembly building was under siege, with tanks, armored vehicles and heavily armed police. To this were added uninvited guests — party functionaries and workers from the security services — who had even entered the Assembly hall. Around 300 people were in the hall, despite the fact that the legislature had 190 delegates, the majority of whom were Albanians. In these circumstances of siege and threat, only 10 of the Albanian delegates voted against it. It was a coup d’état par excellence.
After this, the legislature was dissolved, and a new one was elected. Many in Kosovo expected that the new group of delegates, the majority of whom were Albanians, would be even more submissive to Serbia’s demands. However, this group would surprise everyone on July 2 of the following year.
Pluralism, and also apartheid
Until then, very few organizations were active in the political and social life of Kosovo. The leadership of these organizations had remained silent in the face of Serbian violence, which is why they no longer enjoyed any particular respect.
A new elite, composed of intellectuals actively opposing Serbian nationalism, had begun to emerge. These intellectuals were coming together in newly founded associations and political parties, collectively known as Alternativa. The trust and hope placed in them were extraordinary. Among them, the members of the Writers’ Association were particularly prominent, having engaged in sharp debates with Serbian writers throughout the 1980s, boldly criticizing Serbian nationalism.
Additionally, in mid-December 1989, the Council for the Defense of Human Rights and Freedoms (KMDLNJ) was established to document the Serbian regime’s violence against civilians. Just a few days later, the Democratic League of Kosovo (LDK) was founded, with Ibrahim Rugova as its leader. Within a month, it gained 100,000 members, and by the end of the following year, membership was said to have reached 700,000. In early 1990, the Youth Parliament was also founded, later transforming into the Parliamentary Party of Kosovo, alongside several other new political parties. Every initiative was met with unprecedented enthusiasm.
Organizations and membership
The Statistical Bulletin of Yugoslavia for Kosovo identified the following organizations, along with their membership:
The Communist League of Kosovo with 110,000 members
The Socialist League of the Working People with 930,000 members
The Trade Union League with 220,000 members
The Socialist Youth League with 320,000 members
The League of National Liberation War Veterans with 80,000 members
The Red Cross with 500,000 members
The air in Kosovo smelled of war.
At the same time, significant events signaling the end of Yugoslavia began unfolding. On January 20, 1990, the 14th and final congress of the League of Communists of Yugoslavia was held in Belgrade. In a carefully orchestrated scenario, Serbian delegates outvoted Slovenian and Croatian delegates on all key issues, mainly concerning pluralism and democratization. Frustrated by this demonstration of Serbian dominance, the Slovenian and Croatian delegations walked out. This marked the end of the League of Communists of Yugoslavia and the beginning of Yugoslavia’s dissolution.
Shortly before this event, Macedonian police had killed Nuredin Nuredini, an Albanian from Haraçina, near Skopje, while attempting to demolish his house with a bulldozer. This ignited a wave of protests across Kosovo. As was often the case, peaceful demonstrations were violently dispersed by the police, triggering even larger protests.
Despite brutal police repression and multiple casualties, the protests continued for days. In the Belgrade press, protesters were labeled as terrorists, while the police killings of demonstrators were falsely attributed to blood feuds among them. At least 30 people were killed, hundreds were injured and over 1,000 were imprisoned. One particularly impactful event was the killing of 16-year-old Ylfete Humolli on February 1, 1990, in Lupç i Poshtëm, near Podujeva. In several places around Kosovo, including Malisheva, police armored vehicles fired automatic rounds at shops, the city courthouse, medical clinics, elementary schools and even private homes.
The air in Kosovo smelled of war.
At the same time as this uprising erupted, the Kosovo Association of Sociologists and Philosophers launched a signature-gathering campaign for a petition titled “For Democracy, Against Violence.” The petition began with an appeal written by Isuf Berisha, the association’s president, calling for an end to the violence against Albanians. The appeal was soon joined by the KMDLNJ and the Association for the Yugoslav Democratic Initiative (UJDI).
The petition quickly gathered 400,000 signatures. These signatures, complete with names, surnames and addresses, marked the first public sign of civic mobilization in Kosovo.
Initially, the LDK did not sign the appeal, but it later expressed its support. With the mobilization of its activists, the petition quickly gathered 400,000 signatures. These signatures, complete with names, surnames and addresses, marked the first public sign of civic mobilization in Kosovo.
Alternativa’s member organizations worked tirelessly to prevent direct confrontations in the streets between citizens and the brutal Serbian police. However, the protests continued, and in February 1990, the LDK also joined the call to end them. On February 2, Rugova issued an appeal through the daily newspaper Rilindja, calling on citizens to halt the protests. He made this plea on behalf of the LDK, UJDI, the Writers’ Association and the KMDLNJ.
Nonetheless, workers continued to be deeply involved in supporting the protests. Among them were more than 1,000 workers from the tube factory in Ferizaj, who went on strike, but the strike was quickly punished. When these workers returned to work after three weeks, they found the factory gates closed. After the miners, who were fired following their strike, the workers from Ferizaj became the second group to be fired in large numbers. During this time, a large number of Albanian police officers were also dismissed, under the pretext of restructuring the units, during which Albanian officers were replaced with Serbs.
In response to Serbian propaganda that Albanian protesters were killing each other over blood feuds, the campaign for reconciliation began in February. The campaign was initiated by two persecuted students from the University of Prishtina, Hava Shala and Myrvete Dreshaj, and quickly spread across Kosovo.
Despite calls for peace and nonviolence, the Serbian regime took advantage of the chaos to implement extraordinary measures and curfews in Kosovo. In response, the Youth Parliament organized protests by clanging keys from balconies at the time the curfew began, symbolizing that citizens held the keys to solving the problem. In all of Kosovo’s balconies, keys would clink at the start of the curfew, but since the keys didn’t make much noise, they were joined by pots and pans.
Kosovar society had already committed itself to peaceful resistance.
The Serbian regime’s provocations did not stop. In early March 1990, the next provocation happened: the poisoning of Albanian students. Around 4,000 Albanian pupils across 13 municipalities were poisoned with the military-grade nerve agent sarin. The poisoning took place mainly in schools attended by Albanian children, as well as in some mixed schools. However, due to the segregation that had begun in September of the previous year, it was easy to target only Albanian pupils. Serb pupils had no contact with their Albanian peers, neither in shared spaces nor during school hours. The Serbian regime dismissed the incident as mere mass hysteria.
The case of the poisonings was likely the most serious provocation, seriously testing Kosovars’ patience. In some municipalities, there were reactions in which enraged citizens attempted to use violence against Serbs suspected of involvement in the poisonings, but activists from the Alternativa movement prevented them. The poisonings were clearly a provocation intended to incite an uprising that would justify a war in Kosovo, but Kosovar society had already committed itself to peaceful resistance.
By this time, it had become standard practice to document every act of violence by the Serbian regime through LDK and KMDLNJ activists, and to inform the world about what was happening in Kosovo. The act of documenting violence transformed the previous sense of submission into a spirit of resistance and resilience. After every act of violence by the Serbian police, the victims would usually report to the nearest LDK branch, where they were provided with a doctor who attested to their injuries and a photographer to document the case. The case file was then submitted to KMDLNJ, while reports on the violence were published in the Kosovo Information Center’s daily bulletin and in KMDLNJ’s periodic reports.
In this context, the Independent Trade Unions also expressed their support through symbolic actions, calling on workers to take a walk on the promenade from 10 a.m. to 10:30 a.m. in pairs, as the Serbian regime had banned gatherings of three or more people. At 10 a.m., the promenade was crowded not only with workers but with many others, all walking in pairs, though later, groups of three or four could also be seen.
Amid all the violence, control and constant pressure to comply with Serbia’s agenda, the delegates expressed their defiance. Contrary to expectations, on July 2, 1990, they adopted the Constitutional Declaration, proclaiming Kosovo an equal part of the Yugoslav Federation — in other words, a republic. The Serbian regime responded by illegally dissolving the Assembly and imposing harsh measures against the media. On July 5, 1990, the police forcefully entered RTP, Prishtina’s radio and television station, and the only Albanian-language daily newspaper, Rilindja, expelling Albanian journalists and employees. Rilindja was banned. From that point, the mass dismissal of Albanians from all enterprises and public institutions began to escalate.
Everyone became poor
In the wave of crackdowns on Kosovar institutions and enterprises, a pattern seemed to emerge. First, the media outlets were targeted, followed by large enterprises and especially, quickly and with great zeal, the health care institutions. Finally, the educational institutions were struck.
In March 1990, the Serbian Assembly passed a legislative package with a name that could have come straight from the works of English writer George Orwell: “The Program for the Establishment of Peace, Freedom, Equality, Democracy and Prosperity in the Autonomous Province of Kosovo.” Among other things, this program stipulated the urgent dismissal of all leading personnel in enterprises and public institutions who had participated in or supported the demonstrations.
In June, the “Law on the Operation of Republican Bodies in Special Circumstances” was passed, which stated that the Serbian Assembly, in special circumstances, could take over all the powers of the provincial bodies and make decisions on their behalf. Naturally, special circumstances applied in Kosovo, and in July, the “Law on Labor Relations in Special Circumstances” was passed. This law stated that the director or senior official of an organization or company had the authority to decide whether a worker had broken rules and determine disciplinary measures, which were sanctioned by law.
According to this, a violent director did not need any committee or complicated procedure to dismiss a worker. This was followed by a wave of special laws that replaced the leaders of social enterprises throughout Kosovo, dismissing Albanian directors and appointing Serb ones in their places.
These directors used various excuses to dismiss Albanian workers: for not welcoming the authorities; not accepting temporary measures or not cooperating with temporary bodies; not signing declarations of loyalty to the authorities, laws and the state of Serbia; for their involvement in the Independent Trade Union; for their speaking and writing in Albanian and refusing to speak and write in Serbian and the Cyrillic alphabet.
Popular solidarity grew stronger every day.
Simultaneously, Serbian propaganda found a special target in its attacks on Albanian doctors. An example of this was the book “Kosovo: kontrarevolucija koja teče” — “Kosovo: The Counterrevolution that Continues” — published in 1989 by the Serbian journalist Vuksan Cerović. Cerović spread monstrous accusations that Albanian doctors were sterilizing, and even killing, Serb and Montenegrin babies and mothers. This kind of propaganda resonated in the Kosovo public as a warning that this was exactly what Serb doctors intended to do as soon as they took over the clinics.
After the imposition of violent measures in hospitals, almost no Albanian citizens sought medical help there. In fact, private clinics had opened, although very few could afford treatment.
Apart from poverty, another painful consequence of the mass firings was the loss of homes for 650 families, who had been placed in collective housing where they worked. Many social enterprises in Kosovo provided housing for workers, which the workers could eventually buy after a certain period. In the case of these 650 families, this was no longer an option.
Thus, an immediate effect of this rapid and mass dismissal of Albanians was that most families were left without income, and the social and economic differences within the Albanian community were temporarily erased — everyone was poor. This led all Albanian citizens of Kosovo to be in the same situation and have more solidarity with one another.
In this situation, popular solidarity grew stronger every day. The Mother Teresa Society, a charitable organization and the Family Helps Family humanitarian initiative were founded. Very quickly, thousands of individuals and families throughout the region were reported to have been helping a Kosovar family in need.
Mother Teresa Society
In 1991, the Mother Teresa Society documented the distribution of aid to 26,000 families in need, which had around 160,000 members. Each year, this assistance grew almost twofold, and on average, during the entire ‘90s, around 60,000 families with approximately 350,000 members were helped by the Mother Teresa Society.
A health care service was also established within the Mother Teresa Society, arguably the most emblematic solidarity project of the ‘90s. It began operating in March 1992, thanks to the tireless efforts of Gani Demolli, a doctor who opened the first clinic in Vranjevc, Prishtina. In a short time, the service expanded across Kosovo, providing free medical care to those who had no other access to it — an ever-growing part of the population.
At the same time, the regime’s crackdown intensified, and in 1991, it was education’s turn. Starting in January, salaries were cut off for first grade teachers, then fifth grade teachers and then first year high school teachers. This affected around 3,200 teachers, 400 principals and 80,000 students. Then, in April, the Serbian regime decided to stop paying the salaries of all Albanian educators at every level.
While the mass firings had mobilized Albanian solidarity, the attack on education unified them in collective resistance.
The regime also took measures to drastically reduce the number of Albanian students in schools. A high school admission quota announced in June of that year allowed fewer than one-third of Albanian primary school graduates to enroll in secondary education, while the number of spots for Serbian-language students was increased.
When the new school year started in September 1991, it became clear that this wasn’t just about limiting the number of Albanian students, but to completely deny their right to education. On September 2, Albanian high school students were not allowed to enter their schools. Serb school directors had locked the doors, and in some cases, police were stationed outside. Many elementary schools also banned Albanian students from attending. This pattern would repeat itself at the start of every school year.
While the mass firings had mobilized Albanian solidarity, the attack on education unified them in collective resistance. By June 1991, the Central Council for Financing (KQF) had been formed, which was institutionalized in early 1992 by Kosovo’s government. This government, led by Prime Minister Bujar Bukoshi, was known as the “Bukoshi Government” and was formed after the 1991 referendum. This government functioned in exile, unable to work under the oppressive conditions in Kosovo.
The KQF, originally created to fund education, soon became the main institution for financing resistance and collecting contributions. The funds KQF collected covered about 65% of the needs, while the remaining 35% came from the Ministry of Finance in exile, through the 3% Fund.
Meanwhile, dismissed workers filed complaints, but these were silenced. In 1997, Agim Hajrizi, head of the BSPK Assembly, reported that of the 150,000 Albanians fired from their jobs, around 70,000 had submitted legal appeals.
“There were cases where people were never even summoned for hearings, meaning that their cases never even entered the legal process. Some found their court summons tossed in trash bins or lying on the street. The postal service either refused or was ordered not to deliver them,” Hajrizi said in an interview in October 1997.
Workers who did receive their summons would have had to attend court proceedings in Niš, Kraljevo, Subotica or other faraway cities in Serbia, making it nearly impossible for them to pursue their cases. Even in rare instances where individuals managed to see their cases through and won in court, the newly-appointed directors would veto their reinstatement.
At the same time, Trepça kept an open call for 2,000 new workers. No one applied for the jobs, as the union urged people not to take positions that had been unlawfully stripped from Albanian workers.
Between lack of coordination and solidarity
The union’s belief that the general strike of September 3, 1990 would shake Serbia to its core resonated with many workers and citizens, and turnout was truly remarkable.
However, there had never been full consensus on holding the strike. It was contested even before it took place, and even more so afterward. The main disagreements were between the LDK and the BSPK. Despite the LDK’s insistence, opposition from many Alternativa leaders and regime warnings that all strikers would face repercussions, the BSPK remained firm in its decision to proceed, and so the strike happened.
That day, all of Kosovo came to a standstill. The sheer scale of participation was also driven by the overwhelming social pressure — anyone who refused to join was considered a traitor.
The strike went ahead, but it also caused a lot of damage. As reported by the newspaper Bujku in 1991, in a letter from then-Minister of Education Muhamet Bicaj addressed to the European Parliament, among others, over 600 private shops in Kosovo were fined and banned from operating after the strike, while legal proceedings were initiated against 9,000 tradespeople. Many of them went bankrupt and lost their businesses.
Additionally, after the strike, many of the Serbian-appointed managers in various workplaces demanded that Albanian workers sign loyalty declarations to Serbia. Almost all workers refused, and the managers used this refusal as a pretext to fire them.
The workers’ withdrawal did not achieve the desired outcome. In his book, Clark sums up BSPK’s fate in the 1990s with the observation: “Far from being able to threaten withdrawing the fruit of their labor, soon the main task of the new unions was keeping count of those dismissed and raising solidarity funds.”
Nevertheless, the union achieved an extraordinary international success, although it remained unrealized due to formal legal reasons and thus often went unrecognized by the public, both then and now.
Through the efforts of BSPK Secretary Adil Fetahu, the International Confederation of Free Trade Unions requested that the International Labour Organization assess the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia’s actions. The issue was reviewed in June 1992, and the reviewing committee concluded that the measures taken by the regime constituted discrimination based on ethnicity and political beliefs. Although this conclusion had no immediate consequences for the regime, since at the time it was unclear who the legal successor of Yugoslavia was, it was nonetheless a success in the internationalization of the Kosovo Albanian cause.
In reality, Kosovo’s international position was very weak. Very few people in the world cared about Kosovo’s problems. Rugova seemed to have understood this better than anyone, dedicating the 1990s to the internationalization of Kosovo’s struggle. Kosovars’ faith in Rugova, at times, appeared almost religious. He had become a symbol of resistance and hope. His party, LDK, which had the widest reach across Kosovo, with branches in every village and active members in every neighborhood, was a crucial pillar of survival.
Despite initial lack of coordination, Kosovo’s civil resistance quickly managed to unite around a common goal, which became its strongest weapon against Serbia’s violent strategy of reducing the Albanian population in Kosovo and establishing full control over the region.
On one hand, the Serbian regime’s actions appear to have been well-planned, and whatever the main Albanian actors did would likely not have significantly altered their course. On the other hand, among Albanian leaders at the time, there were disagreements over rushed actions and the voluntary offering of pretexts that the Serbian regime could use to justify violent interventions.
Looking back, especially from the perspective of today’s geopolitical developments, a place like Kosovo would have had no chance of achieving independence. The ability to seize the right moment to realize such an idea, one that had no real foundation in international politics, was simply astonishing.
Feature Image: Enver Bylykbashi.
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