When I was little, I often argued about my identity with my maternal grandfather. He died in 2018, at the age of 97. While he was alive, he always wore a white plis. From time to time, I would ask him with the curiosity and innocence that only children have: “What are we, Grandpa?” He would always answer me in a low voice, somewhat hesitantly, “Yes, Ashkali, they say… but before the war, in writing we were Albanians.”
This answer, along with the weight of memories from the difficult times of my childhood, accompanies me even today. My paternal uncle had told me something similar, with a dose of pride: “We have always been Muslims.” When I wanted to investigate further, I would ask him: “What did your father say we are?” A long silence would follow, ending again with the answer: “We were Albanians.”
In Kosovo, the issues discussed in relation to the Roma, Ashkali, and Egyptian communities rarely go beyond the framework of discrimination that these communities face in their daily lives. Nor is each community discussed based on the specific barriers they face. Instead, their needs and challenges are treated as the same.
Beyond discrimination, these communities — particularly the Ashkali community in Kosovo — are not offered sufficient discursive space to write about and better understand themselves.
For the Ashkali community, the identity dilemma is tied to family history; it reflects the collective experience of the Ashkali people in Kosovo — a community that has fluctuated between different names and labels, trying to find its place in a society that often refuses to accept them.
In the Constitution of the Republic of Kosovo, the Ashkali are recognized as a community with special rights and reserved seats in the Assembly — an official and legally guaranteed recognition. However, in reality, this constitutional recognition is accompanied by a lack of genuine will to understand and address the rights of one of the most complex communities in the country.
In practice, of the 10 seats reserved for minority communities, according to Article 64 on the structure of the Assembly, the fourth seat is allocated to the community that receives the most votes among the Roma, Ashkali, and Egyptian communities — not to the community with the largest population. According to the 2024 population census, even though the number of Ashkali is greater than that of the Roma and Egyptian populations in Kosovo, in recent years, they have not received the fourth seat in the Assembly. This makes their legal recognition more symbolic than substantive.
The Ashkali are often lumped together with the Roma and Egyptians. They are represented by a single star on the Kosovo flag, share a common representative on the Central Election Commission (CEC) on a rotating basis, are reported on or treated as a single community in strategic documents, and their cultural specificities are not included at all in school textbooks.
Meanwhile, in international reports, the Ashkali are often referred to as Roma and mentioned as a separate community only in footnotes. Referring to them in this way diminishes their identity, reducing them to a general category without recognizing their specific characteristics.
Even the Ashkali themselves do not dare to seek in-depth answers about their history, especially given the pressure they face from other communities to present the Ashkali as Roma or Egyptian.
The Ashkali claim they are brothers with the Egyptians, but here too, political and social dynamics have divided them, and in fact, neither community fully accepts the other as part of itself.
The way the Ashkali community is treated — legally, discursively and culturally — shows that the history and identity of this community are more complex than they appear on the surface and require a more serious approach to be properly understood.
The historical positioning of the Ashkali in Kosovo
A large part of the Ashkali, in a kind of silent patriotism, do not speak openly about their ethnic history. They are proud of who they are, even though they are not clear about what they are. It is no coincidence that the Ashkali community has no clear knowledge of their ancestors from 200–300 years ago, nor of their origins or collective history. In the absence of in-depth anthropological and historical studies, many members of this community believe that their roots extend to ancient Persia, namely the present-day territory of Iran. However, this claim remains in the realm of legend and oral history, as it is not based on documented scientific evidence.
The Ashkali community is historically linked to strategic self-positioning in relation to the political context of Kosovo. For decades, a large part of the Ashkali community has declared itself part of the Albanian majority — not to deny its identity, but to contribute to the numerical and political empowerment of Albanians during decisive periods for Kosovo’s future, for example, the time of the pre-war census.
In the pre-war period, especially in the 1980s and 1990s, the Yugoslav authorities — and later the Serbian ones — tried to present the Albanians as a “non-autochthonous minority” or “immigrants” in Kosovo, in order to portray Kosovo as a “historical Serbian land,” with rightful claims to sovereignty. In international negotiations (e.g., in reports submitted to the UN or in contacts with other states), the Serbian regime used falsified statistics to argue that Kosovo was predominantly inhabited by Serbs or did not have an “absolute Albanian majority,” thereby minimizing Albanian claims to self-determination. In these circumstances, the Ashkali declaring themselves as Albanians constituted a conscious act of solidarity and sacrifice — especially in the context of the political use of demographic statistics by the Serbian government to legitimize its rule over Kosovo.
Then, after 1999, with the liberation of Kosovo and a change in political reality, the Ashkali community began a structured process of self-declaration and political organization. This new identification was welcomed and strongly supported not only by international actors, through mechanisms for representation and the protection of community rights, but also by the national factor — the Albanian majority itself. This support created conditions for the institutional affirmation of Ashkali identity, which was also visibly reflected in the community’s political and social representation.
Silence and discursive void
In 2003, the Ashkali people declared their flag, an important symbol of their collective identity. The flag, similar to that of Iran — where some trace Ashkali origins to — features an eagle instead of the Iranian symbol, signifying ties to the Balkans and Albanians.
The flag, as a symbol of the people, has no corresponding anthem, which might override national identity in favor of a community seeking recognition for its existence. This is another example of the profound lack of collective consciousness and institutional support for preserving ethnic diversity.
These dynamics, marked by identity sacrifices that have cost the Ashkali community greatly, reflect both the deepest crisis and, at the same time, the most dignified attempt of this community in acknowledging itself. Simultaneously, in gaining knowledge about their identity, culture, language, and history, the Ashkali have begun to better understand how others perceive them.
Can we identify any institutional efforts to learn more about this community? Do we have the courage to speak openly and deepen our knowledge about their discourse, history, and identity? The answer is a clear “no,” and this silence causes great harm to society as a whole, especially to the Ashkali community, which continues to remain stigmatized.
It is absurd that no institution, media outlet or scientific discipline in Kosovo has had the courage to open a public debate about the Ashkali with a serious and professional approach. Perhaps there is a fear that such a discussion would challenge the status quo or incite tensions within the Roma, Ashkali, and Egyptian communities.
At the same time, there is a lack of comprehensive scientific studies, symposia, and genuine research to understand who the Ashkali really are, what their origins are, or what their cultural heritage is. In fact, not even the representatives of the Ashkali themselves have contributed to filling this knowledge gap, in order to place their history on a more formal level of writing, beyond oral history narratives.
We are defined by several books whose authors lack professional training in community histories. These books often rely on stories and narratives that are not properly documented. This is a great injustice: a community recognized and mentioned in the Constitution remains without a clear history and without a scientifically defined identity.
Meanwhile, this discursive gap only deepens the problem. If we do not fill this gap, we lose the opportunity to give the Ashkali their deserved place in history and society.
Should we continue to keep the Ashkali in the dark and silent?
The question “Who am I?” has still not been answered. At first, I began this writing with the question I asked my grandfather and paternal uncle; I continued to remain confused, with many questions in my mind and no clear answer about my identity.
Today, when I return to these memories, I understand that their silence was not a lack of knowledge but the consequence of a system that did not allow them to know more about themselves. From our ancestors, we inherited an incomplete identity: being “Ashkali,” but without documented roots, without written history, and without scientific arguments to define our belonging.
When I think that soon my little children, with their eyes full of curiosity, will one day ask me, “Dad, what are we?” I am seized by fear. Because even I, with all my educational background, will not have enough information to give them a complete answer. I will be able to tell them the stories of my grandfather, my uncle, my father… but I will not have the books, studies, or documents through which I might explain more clearly: “Here, this is your story.”
But it does not have to be like this. I hope that by the time my children grow up, our Kosovo will have the courage to break this cycle of silence. Because the question “Who am I?” should not remain a mystery. It should have answers that are documented and openly debated, in an environment where identity affiliation is respected by all. Only then will my children and all the Ashkalis of tomorrow be able to express with pride and certainty: “Here are our roots, this is our history.”
Ultimately, Kosovo is a state for all its citizens. We should all feel Kosovar and be proud of it. But it is equally important to remember and respect who we are — the history, traditions, and identity of each community. The time for silence is over. The time for answers begins now.
Feature image: Ferdi Limani / K2.0
This blog was published with the financial support of the European Union as part of the project “Diversifying voices in journalism.” Its contents are the sole responsibility of Kosovo 2.0 and do not necessarily reflect the views of the European Union.
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