Shortly after 9 a.m. on February 9th, the day of Kosovo’s parliamentary elections, Serafina Ferizaj joined a growing queue outside the Kosovo consulate in Munich, Germany. She could have mailed in her vote — it would have been easier, faster — but she didn’t go to the consulate for convenience. “I wanted to experience it the classic way,” she says.

Ferizaj wanted to vote the way people in Kosovo were voting that day, waiting in line outside a school that had been turned into a polling station.

One thing was different, though. In Kosovo, like most other places, the queues outside polling stations are usually calm, maybe intolerably so. But in Munich, in front of the consulate, the atmosphere was lively. Different generations of immigrants had gathered: former Gastarbeiter or elderly guest workers, former political refugees, more recent economic immigrants, and their grandchildren, like Ferizaj. All bound by a common nostalgia for a place that had shaped their identity, even though they now lived outside its borders.

At the age of 31, Ferizaj was voting for the first time in Kosovo’s elections. Until 2024, Germany did not allow dual citizenship, so Ferizaj had to give up her Kosovar citizenship to take on her German one. The day this changed was the first time she felt in complete harmony with all versions of herself — raised in Germany, rooted in Kosovo, not fully belonging to either, but somehow still belonging to both.

Her family history is closely intertwined with the history of the Kosovar Albanian diaspora in Germany. Both her paternal and maternal grandparents had gone to Germany in the early 1970s as Gastarbeiters, part of a wave of workers who helped rebuild West Germany after World War II. They left their mountain villages near Deçan and took the “Acropolis” train from Fushë Kosova, crossing Yugoslavia via Ljubljana, until they arrived at platform 11 at the Munich city train station.

In 1972, Ferizaj’s maternal grandmother also went to Germany. Ferizaj’s mother, then six years old, remained in Kosovo and, together with her own grandmother — Ferizaj’s great-grandmother — took care of her three younger brothers.

In 1981, when Ferizaj’s parents were still teenagers, student protests erupted in Kosovo, demanding that Kosovo have equal constitutional status with the other republics of Yugoslavia. By the late 1980s, both of her parents had become political activists, at a time when even the slightest engagement in politics— and the simple fact of being Albanian in Kosovo — resulted in constant harassment, beatings, and even death threats. In the early 1990s, they were forced to flee to Germany.

Ferizaj was born and raised in Germany, far from the turmoil of Kosovo, but was always connected to the country, which lived on in her parents’ dialects, in the food they cooked, and in their hopes.

“We grew up in Germany, but the house always smelled of pite and tea,” she says. “You try to keep that part alive.”

Her homeland was always there in the background. While days were spent in German schools, evenings were filled with conversations about a forthcoming war that was fast approaching.

“My brother’s first word was ‘KÇK,’” she says with a laugh, referring to the UÇK, the Albanian abbreviation for the Kosovo Liberation Army, which first appeared publicly in 1997, marking the beginning of armed resistance against the Serbian regime.

For years, Ferizaj tried to fit in and become fully German, but she never succeeded. Her friends and classmates did not see her as such. Later, when she met other Kosovar students in Germany, she realized how little she really knew about Kosovo. And yet, she felt like a foreigner; to the Germans, she was Albanian; to the Kosovars, she had been “Germanized.”

So, she began to explore the reasons why her parents had left Kosovo. Gradually, the evening conversations, the TV that was always left on, the silence that would accompany the news, and her brother’s first word — all started to make sense.

“My parents didn’t want to leave Kosovo,” she says. “They were forced to leave. When that’s your story, a part of you will always belong to that country.”

Her parents were once denied political rights in Kosovo, so when Ferizaj voted that morning in Munich, she felt like she was bringing something that had been left unfinished to a close. It reminded her of the first time she had voted in Germany, in 2013, in the elections there. That had carried weight, too, but this was different. Decades after her grandparents had arrived in Munich as foreigners, she now stood at the Kosovar consulate of the same city, voting for a country that had always been the backdrop of her life.

“In that moment, the divide between Kosovo and the diaspora seemed to disappear,” she says. “Even though people voted for different parties, we felt like one. Not, ‘us here’ and ‘them there.’”

Not simply a vote

Kosovo’s legal framework guarantees Ferizaj’s right to vote, recognizing voting from abroad as a means to include the diaspora in the country’s affairs. Every citizen with valid Kosovo documents has the right to vote, regardless of where they live.

In this year’s elections, the diaspora participated in record numbers. Of the approximately 105,000 registered voters abroad, around 80,000 managed to vote, either by mail or at embassies and consulates. Voting by mail continued to be the most widely used method, with over 68,000 ballots cast, while more than 15,000 people voted in person, marking a significant increase compared to previous years.

Yet still, for a country with one of the largest diasporas in Europe, voter turnout remains low. Only about 10% of those living in the diaspora exercised their right to vote. Although precise data is lacking — partly due to ongoing migration — estimates suggest that around 700,000 to 900,000 Kosovars live abroad, mainly in Germany and Switzerland. If the second generation is included, it is estimated that the total number could be up to one million.

The gap between voter turnout and the high number of citizens living abroad could be explained by the number of obstacles that have arisen in recent years. For most of the last decade, diaspora voting has been a complicated process, burdened by bureaucracy and hampered by poor communication. Many citizens living abroad do not have up-to-date Kosovar documents, and tight deadlines — especially during extraordinary elections — have left them with no time to register or renew them. Public communication about procedures has also often been unclear, leaving many in the diaspora unsure about the process of participation in the elections.

Nonetheless, the increase in voter turnout is significant. In 2010, the diaspora sent fewer than 1,500 ballots. In 2017, this figure increased to 15,000, of which about 9,000 were approved. In the 2021 elections, the Central Election Commission (CEC) received 74,000 mail-in envelopes, of which over 53,000 were approved. This year, however, that record was surpassed, marking the highest level of diaspora participation in Kosovo’s electoral history since the country’s independence.

The majority of votes from the diaspora went to Lëvizja Vetëvendosje (LVV), a trend that has continued now for almost a decade. Around 80% of voters at the embassies supported LVV, followed by the Democratic Party of Kosovo (PDK) and the Democratic League of Kosovo (LDK), both at around 7% each. Among the votes cast by mail, LVV received 51%, LDK 30%, and PDK around 9%.

The election results quickly ignited political tensions. The LVV and LDK accused each other of manipulating the diaspora vote. The LVV, the winner of the elections that took place on February 9th, demanded the annulment of all postal votes, claiming that some LDK candidates had received an unusually high number of votes from abroad, despite not enjoying much support at home.

Kosovo’s Electoral Panel for Complaints and Submissions (PZAP) dismissed these claims, a decision that was later upheld by the Supreme Court. In response, the LDK came out with its own allegations of irregularities in the voting process at diplomatic missions.

These new controversies brought to the surface a long-standing debate: the role of the diaspora in the life of Kosovo. This debate usually flares up every summer, when tens of thousands of expatriates return to their homeland, and it reaches its peak on the eve of elections.

Discussions often begin with the economic impact of the diaspora, from support for family businesses to their significant contribution in helping grow Kosovo’s Gross Domestic Product (GDP). It moves, from time to time, to cultural clashes that often end in stereotypes with orientalist overtones.

During election times, the conversation often changes tone and shifts to issues of identity, integration, and the role of the diaspora in Kosovo’s political life. In Kosovo, there are no political platforms that oppose the right to vote from abroad; on the contrary, all parties recognize the diaspora as an important political factor. However, on social media and in everyday conversations, doubt continues to circulate about the legitimacy of those living away from the country participating in decision-making about its future.

Conversations with diaspora members, before and after the elections, reveal a simple but often overlooked consensus overshadowed by the noisy debates about voting from abroad. For the diaspora, casting a vote is experienced neither as something controversial nor as a special privilege, but as a natural form of democratic participation in an increasingly interconnected world.

Today, most countries around the world recognize and practice voting from abroad. The diaspora is no longer seen as a distant or disconnected body from Kosovo’s reality; instead, they are increasingly viewed as an integral part of its political and economic life. About 150 out of 216 countries worldwide allow some form of electoral participation for citizens living abroad.

Indeed, the practice of voting from abroad is not new at all. Historical examples trace the practice back to ancient Rome, when colonial officials would send their votes to the heart of the empire. During the American Civil War, Union soldiers voted from the battlefield.

Over time, as global migration has increased and democratic institutions have expanded, the political presence of citizens living abroad from their country of origin has become increasingly visible and significant. What was initially a pragmatic exception for diplomats and soldiers has become a regular democratic practice in many countries.

This development, however, did not occur in a vacuum. For much of the 20th century, immigrants were seen to have no claim or right to remain involved in the political life of their homelands. Most states simply viewed these individuals as impoverished workers who had left their countries of origin in search of better opportunities. 

For the most part, state interest in maintaining political ties with the diaspora was largely negligible. The only exceptions were those who served in official capacities abroad. 

This approach began to change only after World War II. A new kind of diaspora emerged in the mass displacements of the Second World War, and the organized labor migration programs that followed it, like the Gastarbeiter program of the 1950s and ‘70s in Germany. In the latter half of the century, these programs would coincide with the processes of decolonization and the democratic transitions of the 1990s in Eastern Europe and beyond. These changes created a diaspora, which, while setting roots in their new host societies, also maintained strong emotional and cultural ties to their country of origin. The diaspora of this new wave mostly believed that their stay abroad would be temporary. But, year after year, what had started as a temporary separation from home slowly became a new kind of belonging.

As communities abroad grew and strengthened, traditional concepts of citizenship and political belonging began to change, prompting many states to rethink their relationships with their diasporas. At the same time, international discourse on human rights and technological advances — from the development of new postal systems to digital tools and electronic identity verification — made political participation from a distance increasingly possible and secure.

Among the voices that have long advocated for the political involvement of the Kosovo diaspora are Osman Osmani and Hilmi Gashi, diaspora activists in Switzerland. For them, voting from abroad is not just a democratic right but a meaningful expression of transnational connection, identity, and belonging.

“This ability to belong to two societies simultaneously, to participate fully in both, should be supported, not questioned,” says Gashi. “This kind of involvement, which scholars describe as transnationality — a concept that explains the enduring relationships that individuals and communities maintain across state borders — is simply normal.”

“It’s a kind of joke, this debate which tries to deny people the right to be politically connected to two different societies,” adds Osmani. “The diaspora should not be seen simply as a financial resource, but as an intellectual and political constituency with a legitimate role in shaping the future of their homeland.”

A deeply engaged diaspora

Both Osmani and Gashi represent two generations of a politically engaged diaspora. They see themselves as deeply integrated into Swiss society while maintaining a close connection to Kosovo’s political life. They vote in Swiss elections, lobby for inclusive policies there, and, at the same time, send their votes to Kosovo during the election period. 

Their personal stories connect to different, yet closely related, chapters of Kosovo’s political past. Osmani, now retired, left Kosovo in 1981, when, as a law student and political activist of the movement locally known as Ilegalja, the Illegal, his life became endangered following the student protests that had taken place that same year. This movement consisted of groups and organizations that had, during different periods, operated secretly since the Second World War. Although their programs and forms of action differed, they all shared a common goal: opposing Yugoslav — particularly Serbian — discrimination and oppression against Albanians.

In the 1974 Yugoslav Constitution, Kosovo was elevated to an autonomous province. Although many Albanian intellectuals and members of the League of Communists of Kosovo played a significant role in demanding the elevation of Kosovo’s status within Yugoslavia, Albanians who had joined Ilegalja saw this newfound autonomy as neither complete nor sufficient to ensure equality with the other republics of Yugoslavia.

Some factions of Ilegalja, from its earliest stages, had demanded the unification of Kosovo with Albania. Meanwhile, Osmani and his generation, as part of a new movement of social and political resistance, demanded the creation of an Albanian republic within Yugoslavia, which would unite all Albanians within the federation. For them, the right of the Albanians of Yugoslavia to self-determination had to go hand in hand with the struggle for social equality.

The ongoing persecution of activists from Ilegalja led to the exile of many political dissidents. Osmani fled to Turkey, and then Germany, only finally settling in Switzerland. After many years as a social worker supporting migrants, he joined the Swiss Social Democratic Party in 2000. He represented the party twice in the Schaffhausen Cantonal Assembly. He later initiated and represented the Social Democratic Emigrants, an internal structure of the Social Democratic Party, at the central party level.

Gashi, on the other hand, left Kosovo in the early 1990s. In a period that saw Albanians excluded from public institutions and political life, and saw the space for social and civic action shrink by the day.

He arrived in Switzerland and quickly became involved in political organizing. As a member of the Green Party, he currently serves as the chairman of the Municipal Parliament in Muri-Gümligen. He is also active in UNIA, the largest private-sector union in Switzerland, of which Osmani was also once a member.

Osmani and Gashi left Kosovo when they were 24 and 27 years old, having already lived a significant part of their lives there, like many others in the diaspora. For them, their journey as migrants, their personal experiences in Kosovo, and their continued commitment to the country mean that, like many others, they maintain a special identity and political connection with their homeland.

According to Liza Gashi, this connection is strong because Kosovo’s diaspora is still young. Gashi, the former director of GERMIN, the leading organization that advocates for diaspora issues in Kosovo, served as deputy minister in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs during the last government and was elected as an MP from the LVV list in the most recent elections.

“The Kosovo diaspora is still ‘young’ in a historical sense. It is made up of people who are still alive and still keep alive the memory of leaving behind their home — people like Osman and Hilmi. Most of them did not want to leave,” says Gashi. “For many in the diaspora, the sense of belonging to Kosovo is clearly reflected by the way they identify. They feel Albanian rather than German, Swiss, Austrian, or American.”

This identity and political continuity among the diaspora become even more apparent in light of the history of Kosovo and its migratory trajections. The first major wave of migration to Western Europe began in the late 1960s and continued throughout the 1970s — consisting mainly of economic migrants like Ferizaj’s grandparents, who left the poorest and most marginalized areas of Kosovo and Yugoslavia to seek work in the West.

In the 1980s, as labor migration to Western Europe continued, a new stratum began to form within the diaspora: that of political exiles. It consisted of people like Osmani, who were forced to leave under threat of persecution by Yugoslav authorities. Many of them had been involved in activism, student movements, or Ilegalja, and had sought refuge in Western Europe to escape arrest or political violence. It was the early workers, the Gastarbeiter, who offered them shelter and solidarity.

“[They] supported us, advised us, and even risked their own families to help us. And they did so with conviction and clear purpose. Sometimes it seems to me that they were more political than us, even though we were political activists ourselves,” says Osmani.

Figures like Osmani and, a few years later, Hilmi Gashi, became pillars of the political mobilization of the Albanian diaspora. Some of them worked to inform and raise awareness among the Swiss public about the situation in Kosovo, while others turned to the Albanian community itself, organizing their compatriots for collective action.

Much of this activism took place under difficult conditions and under strict surveillance. The Yugoslav secret service (UDB) maintained active networks throughout Western Europe, closely monitoring Albanian dissidents. Activists lived under constant threat; in some cases, they ended up not only being spied on but also killed.

By the early 1990s, when Gashi arrived in Switzerland, the nature of resistance was changing. The mass dismissal of Albanians from work in Kosovo in the early 1990s triggered a new and broader wave of emigration. In that context, Gashi says that even learning the language of the host country became a political act in itself — a means of making one’s cause heard. Gashi was responsible for Albanian language broadcasting in Switzerland since 1996, when Radio Bern — a local radio station — began broadcasting in Albanian. He produced a regular weekly show in Albanian, while in German, he covered the situation of Albanians in the former Yugoslavia until the end of the war.

“It was a big battle to convince people here that what was happening to Albanians in Yugoslavia was not just a random riot,” says Gashi. “There was violent and systematic oppression by the entire state apparatus, and we were fighting for our rights.”

During the 1990s, major cities across Europe — wherever there were Albanian communities — became centers of protest. They became sites where the international recognition of Kosovo’s right to self-determination was demanded and Serbian military and police violence was condemned.

Meanwhile, the diaspora also organized fundraisers, provided medical aid, and lobbied institutions, helping to bring international attention to the issues facing Kosovo. When war broke out, many of them joined the KLA.

“The Albanians abroad, those who stood in front of consulates and embassies protesting, were the ambassadors of Kosovo,” says Liza Gashi. “Their homes served as makeshift embassies at a time when we didn’t even have a state — all this, while trying to build a life in a foreign society which was not always hospitable.”

When Liza Gashi talks about inhospitable countries, she refers specifically to Switzerland, a country that experienced some of the largest waves of Albanian migration in the 1990s. It was there that Albanians seeking asylum, fleeing Kosovo on the eve of or during the war, faced harsh realities and a deep distrust from some parts of Swiss society.

This climate led to the emergence of xenophobic slogans and political campaigns that stigmatized the Albanian community. One of the most well-known cases of institutionalized xenophobia was the 1998 campaign by the Swiss People’s Party (SVP) in Zurich, which published an election poster emblazoned with the words “Kosovo-Albaner” (“Kosovo Albanians”) and a large “Nein” (“No”), opposing funding for an integration project dedicated to the Albanian community.

That period of protests, exile, and active political engagement shaped a distinct identity for the Albanian diaspora, particularly in Switzerland and Germany. This historical and collective experience did not stop with the first generation, it left traces on the generation that followed.

“Often, the way you leave your country directly affects how you relate to it, and it also [affects how you relate to] the country you migrate to,” says Albesa Aliu, a psychologist who lives in Montreal, Canada, where she obtained citizenship a few months ago.

She has been living in Canada since 2018 and is currently pursuing a doctoral degree in sociology. She is part of a new wave of the diaspora who have migrated to study abroad, and she believes that people like her have found it easier to navigate shifting feelings of identity in different cultural settings.

“We grew up in Kosovo, and we don’t need to constantly affirm our identity,” she says. “I am a child of the ’90s, a child of war, and I am fully aware of that. I don’t belong to an exclusive category of the diaspora. It is easier for me to negotiate what I leave behind from my Kosovar identity, the parts that don’t serve me. In a multicultural country like Canada, you become transnational without even wanting to.”

While living abroad, Aliu has noticed that, depending on the context in which people have migrated, their relationship to Kosovo and their identity also change as a result.

“Some second-generation children of the diaspora experience Kosovo through a romanticized, sometimes folkloric, and somewhat intangible image. It’s as if they are living in the nostalgia of their parents,” she says.

Drawing on this heritage, Aliu and others see it as quite natural that today many diaspora not only seek to maintain ties with Kosovo but also want to vote and make a concrete contribution to shaping its future.

Alongside Ferizaj, Djellza Pulatani, a 22-year-old born in the United States (US), similarly embodies a new generation of the diaspora. One that Aliu and Gashi convincingly argue does not see Kosovo as only part of their family’s origin story, but as an active and inseparable part of themselves.

Born in New York City to parents who fled Kosovo as refugees in 1999, Pulatani grew up hearing stories about hardship, war, and the KLA, amongst whose ranks her father had served.

Today, as an international relations student in Paris, she is the co-founder of F’oda Collective, a group of young women from the diaspora who advocate for feminist dialogue and women’s rights, both in the US and in Kosovo. Despite the geographical distance, her parents’ birthplace has remained deeply rooted in her daily life, kept alive by her father’s stories and the visits they make every year.

“Going to Kosovo every year has been mandatory,” Pulatani says. “My passion for politics and history comes from what I have heard about Kosovo. When I think about my future, I can’t imagine myself engaging in any project where Kosovo is not at its center.”

She says she knows many young people who feel the same way — connected to Kosovo and eager to get involved in some way, including participating in elections from abroad, even if they haven’t voted yet.

Shan Karemani, a US-born member of the diaspora, shares a similar sense of belonging, seeing the connection to the homeland as not only cultural or emotional, but also political. From a post-colonial perspective, he challenges the idea that the diaspora is disconnected. For him, the diaspora develops “within the structures of European modernity and colonialism,” forces that have led to the significant displacement and formation of diasporic communities.

Born in Michigan to Kosovar Albanian parents, Karemani rarely visited Kosovo in his childhood, going only once every three or four years. In his 20s, he decided to change this and visit Kosovo at least once a year.

“Living in the US made me feel somewhat less of a Kosovar Albanian,” says Karemani. “Over time, I have come to realize that being connected to Kosovo is not just about where I live, but about the effort I make to connect with its culture, history, and people.”

In recent years, Karemani has directly engaged with Kosovo, at times by filming documentaries, or teaching English to children in Kamenica, and, on other occasions, by collaborating with government institutions.

“The Kosovar diaspora I grew up with in the US is largely disconnected from Kosovo,” he says. “Many are unfamiliar with the country’s political leaders, and most don’t speak the language or have a strong desire to visit. With that said, I believe that the young diaspora in Europe is much more engaged and connected to developments in Kosovo.”

Between support and disappointments

Like Karemani, many members of the diaspora link political involvement and the willingness to vote with geographic proximity to Kosovo. Noting that the high number of voters from Switzerland and Germany is related to the significant diaspora there and the frequent flights they have to Kosovo, which makes travel easy and regular.

But Pulatani, drawing on her experience in the US, notes that there are also young people there who, like her, are interested and increasingly eager to engage in various ways — even if only through voting.

In the most recent elections, Pulatani voted for LVV. Karemani, meanwhile, was unable to vote as he is still awaiting Kosovar citizenship. Had he been eligible, he would have supported the same party, like most diaspora have done in the most recent election cycles.

“My family and I have always supported Albin Kurti for his anti-colonial stance and efforts to eradicate corruption,” says Karemani. “But I was deeply disappointed by his stance on Israel and his failure to defend the Palestinian cause. It pains me to see a leader I admire abandon such a fundamental principle of justice.”

Karemani’s disappointment stems mainly from the silence of the Kurti-led government as it relates to the genocide in Gaza. Although the government allocated half a million euros in humanitarian aid to the Palestinians in January of this year, it has not publicly condemned the violence and repression carried out by Israeli authorities, nor has it expressed a clear political stance in support of the Palestinian cause.

Many Albanians in the diaspora, including Karemani’s family, have identified politically with LVV from its early beginnings, seeing in it a continuation of the aspirations for social justice and self-determination that have remained unfulfilled since the war. In 2005, LVV formed as a political movement resisting the international administration of Kosovo. It openly opposed policies like privatization and other processes that, in its view, hindered the self-determination of the people of Kosovo and constituted colonial interference by international actors.

This cause also resonated with Njazi Pllana. He was only seven years old when his father lost his job at the Trepça mine, an event that had preceded his family’s departure from Vushtrri in 1992. The five-day bus journey to Sweden and then from Sweden to Germany remains vivid in his memory. Although initially skeptical of LVV’s tactics, his views changed while studying the social sciences. In fact, since 2016, he has been part of LVV’s structures in Germany.

“When I understood the meaning of self-determination, a fundamental value to European democracies and the country where I live, I felt a natural connection with Vetëvendosje,” says Pllana.

In addition to the ideological sympathies that the early diaspora had with the concept of self-determination, owing to their political efforts before the war, the governments of previous ruling parties, such as the LDK, PDK, and AAK, had became increasingly associated with high levels of corruption and a lack of accountability. It was precisely the strong anti-corruption platform that helped Kurti and LVV win over 50% of the vote in the 2021 elections in Kosovo.

Today, four years after coming to power with a full mandate, the Kurti government is also facing criticism for its handling of corruption issues, particularly for its institutional distancing and lack of response when its own officials come under investigation for corruption.

In the 2021 elections, for many in the diaspora, the promise of fighting corruption sparked hope that Kosovo could one day reflect the transparency and rule of law they see practiced in the countries where they live. About 80% of diaspora voters — out of nearly 57,000 votes in total — supported the LVV.

While in opposition, LVV promised radical reforms in the welfare system in addition to pledging to fight corruption. These promises also contributed to the party’s increased support from the diaspora, especially in the most recent elections.

After coming to power, the reform to the tax system, that had been promised, was not implemented — nor were many of the other social policies that LVV campaigned on. While several new schemes have been initiated, they have fallen short of the expectations and practices that the diaspora is familiar with in the countries they live in.

Nevertheless, the government has undertaken several policies that still resonate with the diaspora’s experiences and expectations. For many citizens, both at home and abroad, these interventions — while not radical — have been seen as necessary first steps, contributing to a strengthening of the diaspora’s support in this year’s recent election.

An example, is the monthly allowance for children up to the age of 16, a policy introduced by the government in 2021. During its mandate, the LVV government also launched a program that provides several more months of allowances for mothers on maternity leave. While these allowances offer immediate relief for women from economically disadvantaged backgrounds, they have also been criticized for potentially reinforcing traditional gender roles, linking women’s value in society primarily to motherhood in the absence of deeper legal and structural reforms.

Although social policies have played an important role in maintaining diaspora support, the main support for LVV in the recent parliamentary elections on the 9th of February is largely tied to the Kurti-led government’s efforts to combat parallel Serbian structures in the north of the country. This effort, which the government has presented as part of extending state sovereignty, has mobilized many voters in the diaspora and within the country to support LVV.

At the same time, Kurti’s approach to the north and the closure of parallel structures have drawn widespread criticism. In particular, the lack of internal dialogue with Kosovar Serbs has been highlighted as a shortcoming, an aspect that has not kept pace with the dismantling of these structures. According to critics, this has further deepened the distrust between the local community and Kosovar institutions. Meanwhile, the increased use of force by the Kosovo Police has raised concerns among both Serbian representatives and human rights activists.

For the Kosovar diaspora that formed as a result of the repression by the Yugoslav regime and later by Slobodan Milošević, support for parties committed to eradicating Serbia’s legacy of influence in Kosovo represents a natural continuation of the historical experiences that have shaped it.

This approach is seen by the diaspora as a way to finally remove the influence of the Serbian state from Kosovo. It has attracted the support of figures like Gashi, Pllana, Pulatani, and Karemani, as well as many other voters in the diaspora. One of them is Suad Sadulahu.

Sadulahu, who lives in Sweden, has voted for Vetëvendosje since 2017. He sees the child and maternity benefits as a step in the right direction, to a social welfare system that he believes Kosovo should model after the Scandinavian countries. He is aware, however, that support in Kosovo is incomparable to that of Sweden.

“It’s a start,” he said. “And it’s more than any other government has done before.”

But beyond the allowances for children and mothers, it was the promise of fighting corruption that ultimately pushed him to vote for Vetëvendosje in 2021. This year, he gave his support to the party because of the government’s interventions in the north.

“The word ‘corruption,’ which had pushed us to vote last time, has been replaced with ‘sovereignty,’” says Sadulahu. “I voted for sovereignty because I want to see a government that doesn’t drown in endless negotiations, but focuses on jobs, schools, and hospitals. This would shift the diaspora vote from an emotional act to a practical assessment: ‘You promised us these things. Did you deliver?’”

While for much of the diaspora a sense of trust and hope in the government’s promises still lingers, for others, the initial enthusiasm has waned. Osmani, who once voted for LVV and was even on its electoral list in 2017 — when he still saw it as a continuation of his leftist commitment to social justice — has now withdrawn his support.

“Since coming to power, the party has strayed from the fundamental principles of the left, having failed, among other things, to pass health and social security reforms, to implement a fair tax system, and to include unions and other interest groups in the process of drafting public policies,” says Osmani. “Regardless of which political force the diaspora supports, participation in elections is not enough, especially if it does not translate into progressive policies.”

According to him, the political engagement of the diaspora should be reflected in various forms: through its representatives in the Assembly, in institutions that address the needs of the diaspora, in reviewing the potential and resources mobilized, and especially through state agreements that directly affect the community.

According to Osmani, support for LVV among fellow expatriates is also fueled by disillusionment with the old parties and the gaps that they have left behind. After the war, the LDK — once a strong political network in the diaspora — and later the PDK, which also established branches abroad, failed to maintain these structures or cultivate lasting relationships with communities outside Kosovo. After the declaration of independence in 2008, the diaspora was left on the periphery of political attention and action. For many members of the diaspora, none of these parties made serious efforts to include them in the country’s political life or to facilitate their participation in elections. Voting at diplomatic missions was only made possible for the first time during the last LVV government.

“After the war, the message to the diaspora was: ‘Now you don’t have to worry about Kosovo anymore,’” says Osmani. “But they [the diaspora] didn’t stop caring, following their homeland through television broadcasts, and continuing to help it with remittances.”

Meanwhile, LVV and Kurti in particular treated the diaspora as an important political base. Kurti and other LVV figures frequently traveled to various European countries to meet with Kosovar Albanian communities there, at a time when other parties seemed increasingly elitist and self-centered.

In addition to frequent trips abroad, Kurti has strongly integrated the diaspora into his political rhetoric, presenting it as an essential part of national identity. An example of this is a speech he gave last November during a meeting with diaspora in Frankfurt: “When you have the most devoted workers and patriots in the diaspora, the brightest minds outside — that is, the heart, the brain, the muscle — then who is in and who is out?”

While some in the diaspora view Kurti’s pathos-laden rhetoric as calculated — even a form of instrumentalization — many others consider it acceptable, especially given the lack of meaningful engagement from other political parties. LVV’s ongoing attention, particularly during election periods, has been seen as a form of belated recognition of the diaspora’s contributions, which for many had long been lacking.

“I have the impression that Vetëvendosje really knows how to mobilize the diaspora. They are present, have a clear strategy, and connect directly with people,” says Aliu, who lives in Canada. “It seems to me that Vetëvendosje engages the diaspora by skillfully tapping into nostalgia and longing for the homeland. Kurti’s figure seems able to articulate their feelings and turn them into action. That’s why other parties probably don’t appear to them as alternatives.”

The role of the diaspora in Kosovo’s politics is expected to grow even more in significance. This has become evident in recent years, particularly after LVV’s overwhelming victory in the 2021 elections. In response, the major parties have begun showing more interest in the diaspora. For example, the LDK has recently formed a dedicated team for diaspora engagement, aiming to rebuild its structures abroad and win back part of the electorate that has shifted toward LVV.

Beyond domestic political dynamics, external developments are also expected to influence the growing electoral weight of the diaspora. As of June last year, Germany has allowed dual citizenship for the first time — a change that is expected to pave the way for thousands of Albanians living there to obtain Kosovar citizenship. This could significantly increase the number of diaspora voters in upcoming elections, making the diaspora an even more crucial focus for political parties.

In the context of the diaspora’s rising political role, Karemani says that how this vote is understood matters; according to him, voting only has meaning when it leads to progressive change, not when it is reduced to a ritual of participation.

“The fact that many in the diaspora remain politically engaged and participate in elections in Kosovo is important, but we need to move beyond the liberal fetishization of voting, as if participation in itself is inherently good. Millions of Americans voted for Donald Trump — should we applaud them just because they exercised their right?”

While the diaspora is becoming increasingly present in political discourse, and its influence on elections and the political orientation in the country is growing — whether as the subject of sincere appeals or political instrumentalization — for many expatriates, voting remains, first and foremost, an act of gratitude and collective memory.

“Kosovo has fought hard for democracy, and it is a miracle that we are able to vote. It’s incredible that I, from the generational cohort of ‘95, was able to mail my vote to the nearest embassy,” says Aliu. “To ignore this political fact is like failing to learn a lesson. We have to remind ourselves that this is something we’ve made possible, and we must preserve it as a practice — as a way of showing thanks to a history that has been on our side.”

Feature image: K2.0

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