What does solidarity truly mean – especially in contexts where ethnonationalism is deeply entrenched? This question has guided much of my work as a community organizer, creating inter-ethnic spaces for Balkan diasporas in the UK. As someone with roots in Kosovo, I’ve often faced the erasure of my identity – even in so-called progressive circles.

Growing up in the digital age, I was accustomed to slogans like “Kosovo je Srbija” (Kosovo is Serbia) and “Dogodine u Prizrenu!” (Next year in Prizren) – normalized expressions of Serbian ethnonationalism that reveal how deeply such ideologies still run. But perhaps most concerning is their persistence among self-identified progressives, whose calls for peace often echo the very rhetoric that hinders true reconciliation.

No example is more timely than the current protests and demonstrations sweeping Serbian society. Since November 2024 –– following the death of 16 people after the collapse of a concrete canopy in the recently renovated Novi Sad Train Station –– protests, demonstrations and student blockades have erupted across Serbia. These demonstrations have drawn people from all segments of Serbian society, each expressing their own personal qualms with the state. I understand that Serbian citizens, living under an autocratic state led by President Aleksandar Vučić, are focused on their daily difficulties. I do not take these experiences away or wish to diminish them. Their struggles with political repression, economic hardship, corruption and a general lack of democratic freedoms are very real and deserve attention. 

However, the persistent silence from various self-proclaimed progressive groups, individuals and organizations in the face of ethnonationalist symbolism is deeply concerning. Among protest signs and calls for political freedom, there are nationalist banners featuring maps of “Kosovo covered by the Serbian flag and the words ‘Nema Predaje’ (No surrender),” a slogan calling on Serbian ethnonationalists to not surrender their claims on Kosovo. In these protests, such signs continue to be displayed, and yet there has been little to no critique from Serbian progressive voices. Video footage from the protests in August this year surfaced across social media, depicting Serbian protestors chanting “Aco Šiptare.” Here, “Aco” refers to Aleksandar Vučić, his surname twisted into the derogatory term for Albanians, “Šiptari,” in Serbian. 

Anti-Albanian sentiment in Serbia dates back to the late 19th century, when negative depictions of Albanians became deeply embedded and widely disseminated in the Serbian public discourse. By fostering this sentiment, the new Serbian ethno-state dehumanized Albanian communities inhabiting the regions it aimed to annex (in Kosovo, parts of North Macedonia and in territories of what is today Southern Serbia). So, while I am disappointed, I am not surprised by the anti-Albanian sentiment in these demonstrations, after nearly a century of othering, propaganda and dehumanization.

Yet, witnessing Serbian voices frame these protests as progressive or as ones striving for justice, while promoting Serbian ethno-nationalist interpretations of Kosovo, is deeply problematic. For example, the student-led account on X (formerly Twitter), Blokada Pravni, representing student protesters from the Faculty of Law at the University of Belgrade, states in its bio that “Lawyers want Justice.” Yet, at the same time, they reinforce Serbia’s doctrine on Kosovo by supporting Serbia’s efforts at undermining Kosovo’s independence, effectively reproducing official state narratives. 

Samir Beharić, a human rights activist and  PhD Candidate from Bosnia & Herzegovina, has sharply criticized representatives of the group mentioned above, particularly for their demonstration on the anniversary of NATO’s bombing campaign of Yugoslavia, which saw the recirculation of disinformation about the event. Nataša Kandić, Serbian human rights activist, also spoke out on student groups focused on striving for justice, while continuing the same traditions of violence, anti-Albanian sentiment and misinformation the Serbian state has now taken in its approach to Kosovo for over a century. 

Beharić goes on to argue that “the narrative pushed by Serbian student activists is no different from the long-standing nationalist rhetoric in Serbia – powered by Vučić.”  Which makes me question how a movement that tolerates dehumanizing narratives could ever genuinely bring about the downfall of an autocratic government? While inter-ethnic solidarity remains at the foundation of my work, how can we build solidarity with progressive voices in Serbia when they remain firmly bound to ethnonationalist interpretations of Kosovo? 

Selective solidarities 

I spoke to Ana, a progressive Serbian activist, writer, researcher and friend, to find out what the situation was like on the ground. Ana, who supports Kosovo’s independence and strongly opposes “racism, chauvinism, ethnonationalism and all forms of oppression,” tells me about the difficulties she has experienced in Serbian progressive circles. She states that the “irony within the progressive community in Serbia is that many who fiercely oppose and criticize the Serbian government’s policies… have no problem supporting its ethno-nationalist and racist aspirations to… subjugate Kosova and Albanian people.”

She used the phrase “progressive except for Kosova,” a reference to the concept “progressive except for Palestine,” highlighting how many self-identified leftists, liberals or progressive voices in the western world and Israel, who champion causes such as LGBTQ+ rights, and civil and racial justice, fail to acknowledge the state of Israel’s historical disenfranchisement, systematic oppression, genocide and colonization of the Palestinian people. This stance of being “progressive except for Kosovo” mirrors a broader pattern in Serbian society, where calls for democracy and self-determination are treated as rights reserved for oneself and those deemed “like them,” yet systematically denied to other communities in Kosovo. This exclusion exposes how deeply entrenched anti-Albanian sentiment remains, sustained by a century of dehumanization and the persistent othering of Kosovar-Albanian communities.

This is also supported by how the movement seeks to market itself externally. The need to project movements as “inclusive” (in terms of diverse ethnic communities, genders, sexualities, etc.) becomes essential in gaining clout. This serves a defensive function: as any critique can be quickly dismissed with the claim, “Look, we have ethnic minorities participating too.” A prime example of this has been the images of Bosniaks from Muslim-majority cities like Novi Pazar in southern Serbia attending protests, used as evidence to support the movement’s progressive position. While the image above captures a moment between two individuals, who I have no doubt are well-intentioned, it highlights a prominent issue: the rise of a pseudo-solidarity, or rather a kind of neoliberal performance of unity, that shapes much of post-Yugoslav space both online and in person. 

As someone of Kosovar ancestry, watching solidarity be extended selectively within Serbian society is troubling. Photographs of Bosniak women in Hijabs standing alongside Serbian men in Šajkača hats may project an image of inclusivity, but where are Albanians from Serbia in these conversations? Where are the so-called progressive voices or gestures of solidarity toward the ethnic Albanian communities of Preshevë, Bujanoc and Medvegja, who continue to face state violence through systematic removal from population registers, the erosion of basic rights and policies that render them effectively stateless?

Social media platforms like “BiH SRB HR CG” on Instagram sustain this narrow vision of solidarity, one largely reserved for Serbia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Croatia and Montenegro (with occasional nods to Slovenia and North Macedonia). But, they continue not to acknowledge Kosovo’s existence, as if we do not exist within the region they claim to represent. 

Movements that implement a hierarchized form of solidarity and don’t consider the specific ways state structures impact communities differently will inevitably be forced to confront this contradiction. Ultimately, movements that accommodate or appease violent narratives for the sake of one community are destined to fail because they are not rooted in a genuine challenge to state violence but in the effort to redirect that violence away from themselves.

False equivalencies, both sideism and whataboutism

There are other barriers that exist to building solidarity between our communities. Much of my experience with so-called progressive Serbian voices has been marked by both-sidesism and false equivalences. Whenever I mention the displacement my ancestors faced from Toplica (present-day Southern Serbia) in the late 1800s as Muhaxher refugees, or the violence they endured under the Aleksander Ranković period (1947-1966), I am almost always immediately met with responses like, “What about Kosovo Serbs?”. 

This response weaponizes the grievances of Kosovo Serbs to undermine my family’s history, as if acknowledging one instance of injustice erases the other. The script that follows is predictable: it typically begins with an arbitrary reference to Kosovo’s ethnic demographics in the Middle Ages in an attempt to invalidate Kosovar Albanian claims to our ancestral homeland. Often, this then leads to a very specific line of questioning: “What about 2004…?” referring to the March 2004 unrest in Kosovo, which saw Kosovo Serbs displaced and both Kosovo Serbs and Albanians dead. Then, the line of questioning will quickly move into “What about the destruction of our churches?” pointing to the damage done to Serbian Orthodox sites during this time. I have encountered this repeatedly, often from self-identified progressive Serbian voices. 

Even more troubling is the underlying assumption that I somehow support the displacement of Kosovo’s communities, or the destruction of cultural sites, regardless of their religion. We all need space to express our grievances, and I personally take deep issue with exclusionary narratives in my own community, using my resources, platforms and voice to call it out – particularly when these members attempt to undermine the experiences of diverse ethnic communities from Kosovo and their history. As someone working to advance progressive values in our Balkan diasporic communities, I don’t accept state-sponsored versions of history as gospel. Instead, I strive to interpret history in ways that break, rather than perpetuate, the cycles of violence that have sustained those narratives.

As an extension, “both-sideism” impedes the necessary solidarity needed between our communities. “Both-sideism” falsely equates Kosovar Albanian and Serbian experiences; it often strives to promote the impression that Albanians under the former Yugoslav structures held the same systematic power comparable to the Serbian state, when historical evidence demonstrates otherwise. The tactic of blaming both sides in Kosovo and Serbia’s relationship is often used as a way of creating false equivalencies between unequal actors, obscuring the very real historical power imbalances that truly strain the potential for both solidarity and accountability. 

This is an intervention and call for those individuals who label themselves progressive in Serbian spaces: criticizing and rejecting the violence of your state should not come with ifs, buts, or maybes. Holding on to the labels of progressiveness while maintaining your state’s violent and colonial position on Kosovo is frankly an inherent contradiction. True solidarity requires clarity, accountability, and a willingness to confront historical and ongoing injustices without equivocation.

Feature Image: Ferdi Limani

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