The teacher reads aloud: “I thought I had come to the door of the magjyp” (a derogatory term for the Egyptian, Roma, and Ashkali communities), while the class listens in silence. Somewhere in the penultimate row, an Ashkali boy lowers his gaze. After this sentence, the lesson continues as if nothing happened. This is what lessons, where school readings are read aloud, look like: a sentence with racist content is read out by the teacher, who assumes a position of authority; the child targeted by the racism internalizes the stigmatization, while the other children learn that discriminating against others is acceptable — and carries no consequences.
In the book Old Albanian Tales, written by Mitrush Kuteli in 1965, the phrase “I thought I had come to the door of the magjyp” is contrasted with the expression “I thought I had come to the door of my brother,” positioning the use of the term “magjyp” as the antithesis of Albanian tribal ties and trustworthiness.
The term “magjyp”, used as a synonym for malevolent tendencies, also appears in Malësorja, a work by Nazmi Rrahmani published in 1965. In a passage where the protagonist declares their personal integrity, this statement ironically relies on a derogatory term traditionally used to denigrate minority communities: “My integrity is not a thing to be messed with, by anyone, like a gypsy!”
In some of the most recommended readings for fifth to ninth graders, offensive, racist and discriminatory expressions directed at certain literary characters are based on terms that have historically been used to denigrate the identities of three minority groups in Kosovo — particularly the Roma, Ashkali and Egyptian communities.
What is most concerning is not simply the presence of these expressions in school readings, but their inclusion in children’s reading lists, without offering anything critical alongside them, from the teacher’s end, which explains the historical and cultural context in which the book was written, comparing the text to today’s reality.
The reading lists given to lower secondary school students play an indisputable role in developing literary knowledge and cultivating the habit of reading. If, for each school month, students are required to read a book, and by the end of the year they have completed around 12 titles, this regular and repetitive structure can help turn reading into a lifelong habit. It is therefore reasonable to assume that one of the main causes behind the worrying statistics of non-reading in Kosovo lies precisely in the content of school readings and the lack of pedagogical effort to make reading attractive and meaningful.
In Kosovo, the importance of developing children’s reading habits through school is even greater, given the lack of parental modeling in fostering such habits, the high cost of books, the absence of functional public libraries and the rapid pace of technological advancement. As a result, the list of reading materials assigned in schools represents the most systematic, stable and institutionalized link that children have with literature.
Recognizing this importance, in April of this year, the organization ETEA — dedicated to advancing the quality of pre-university education — published the research study “Critical Review of School Textbooks.” This research was guided by a question that has long been ignored in Kosovo’s education system: Are the language and content of school textbook texts appropriate for the age of the students who are required to read them, often individually and without further instruction?
To identify the ways in which language constructs and maintains social hierarchies, the research drew on reading lists from 10 lower secondary schools across Kosovo to examine how these texts — and the linguistic expressions they use — can influence children’s perceptions of themselves and others: the societies they live in.
Literary texts that reproduce racist and oppressive language
Reading lists are not issued as official documents by the Ministry of Education, Science, Technology and Innovation (MESTI) or the Municipal Directorates of Education (MDE). In practice, they circulate informally within schools and are passed down from generation to generation among teachers, remaining an unexamined and unaltered “tradition.”
Without clear guidelines, systematic teacher training or periodic review, outdated lists continue to be recycled for decades, even when they are no longer appropriate for the age, language or present reality of the students. In schools, these lists are often treated as “showcases” of national and historical importance — and are considered unalterable from a critical perspective.
Approaching it from a more critical angle, ETEA’s research shifted the discussion about textbooks beyond the role they have in the nation-building identity process. Precisely because of this perspective, the publication of the findings sparked wide debate — both among those who had read the report and those who had not. In some circles, the report was even considered an act of betrayal against national heritage, in a context where Albanian literature is regarded as sacred and untouchable.
The report’s findings highlighted several issues: outdated textbook lists, the derogatory, racist, and contemptuous language that continues to circulate across generations, and the teachers’ lack of a critical pedagogical approach.
Not only do current school textbooks reinforce the use of ethnically discriminatory language, many of the works recommended for reading also rely on narratives, which restrict the role of women, glorifying beauty and morality as their only “values.” These texts preserve outdated gender norms and stereotypes and, at times — read between the lines — contribute to the normalization of violence against women. Because these textbooks have long been outdated, the language they use continues to perpetuate both gender oppression and ethnic discrimination across generations. This dynamic is further reinforced by the fact that none of the authors recommended in these reading lists are women.
For example, the protagonist in the book Verorja is defined almost entirely by her appearance and moral “purity,” being described as the personification of “the two highest qualities of a woman, beauty and virtue.” This fixation on virtue and appearance is repeated in many of the literary texts on these school reading lists. In this book, Verorja, 15, is kidnapped and raped by her husband, in a forced marriage, the result of which she becomes pregnant.
In the play Nita, written by Josip Rela in 1954, the protagonist takes on a role that was considered masculine for the time, a role with which she defies tradition, in order to avoid the arranged marriage planned by her family and tribe. Nita represents sacrifice in the face of patriarchal norms. After her morality is questioned by the elders of the tribe, she faces social exclusion, ultimately ending her life.
The book Malësorja is another typical example of literature that, in its message, normalizes violence against women. In this work, Hajrija’s mother addresses her in these words after she refuses to return to her husband:
“[…] I, too, have given birth to a bad offspring, what a pity! But I never gave birth to a bastard […], where have you been for two nights, where did you wander? Are you with someone?!”
After being forced to return to her husband, Hajrija again faces severe verbal abuse and physical violence from Neziri:
“…he then rushed at her, grabbed her by the hair, and threw her to the ground. He punched her several times in the back… He also punched her several times in the body while still holding her hair with his other hand.”
These are the readings assigned to 12-year-old students, readings that contain ethnic and gender insults as well as scenes of domestic violence, without any critical reflection, contextualization or condemnation.
The reproduction of racist insults and gender norms in these literary texts sustains structures of inequality and creates models through which children might imagine themselves in the future, models that reproduce patriarchal hierarchies and ethnic differences.
This situation raises an inevitable question: Given that the texts contain such problematic language, should we rely solely on the hope that teachers will provide the necessary critical perspective, or should the relevant institutions, at both central and local levels, ensure that the curriculum is updated with alternative readings that reflect the current temporal and cultural reality?
Although lacking a clear plan, Kurti’s outgoing government took two promising steps related to the issues highlighted in the report. At the end of 2023, MESTI included the subject “Reading Comprehension and the Development of Critical Thinking” in the list of elective subjects. At the beginning of 2024, it created a working group to establish criteria for selecting readings aligned with human rights, initiating the drafting of a recommended reading list. However, this subject was introduced into the curriculum without supporting materials or teacher training, rendering the reform largely a formal change on paper rather than a practice in the classroom.
The working group for the selection of readings began with great promises but was followed by institutional silence. Attempts to obtain information about the progress of this process yielded unclear answers or indifference from the MESTI administration, while an unofficial communication stated that “the process has been stopped from above” — a phrase that, in our administration, usually means: it was blocked by politics.
Without a mechanism ensuring a critical approach by teachers to such texts, entire generations of children risk learning that ethnic and gender contempt are not only permissible but also natural. In each of the texts designated for reading that contain such insults, there is no note or reference to provide a critical explanation of the particular time or context in which such language was once acceptable. This was one of the recommendations ETEA made in its report, but it was neither understood nor implemented; in fact, it was misinterpreted and deemed inappropriate for school readings that are of historical and national value.
During a roundtable organized by ETEA after the report’s publication, a teacher from the Roma community asked: “Do you know what it means for us that we are forced to teach these words to our children?”
Public debate between criticism and so-called patriotism
The publication of the ETEA report sparked a public debate, accompanied by a wide range of reactions. On one hand, there were constructive responses that welcomed the report as a necessary effort to address long-standing concerns in public discourse regarding the linguistic inappropriateness of school readings, their misalignment with students’ ages, their perpetuation of gender and ethnic stereotypes and prejudices, and their outdated topics, which are disconnected from students’ experiences. On the other hand, critical reactions did not engage with the report’s findings but attacked its very existence, with terms such as “criminal tendency,” “made-to-order report,” “ideological from beginning to end,” “orchestrated attempt,” “cancel culture,” and “attempt to censor classical literature.” Some went further, describing the report as “an agentic attempt with roots somewhere else, further away that have aims to tear apart the national fabric.”
Despite the unfounded criticism and absurd claims, ETEA sought to foster democratic dialogue by creating opportunities for public discussion. However, as is often the case with online commentary, critics primarily chose to express their opinions through social media, without directly engaging in the debate.
This situation makes it difficult to determine whether these reactions reflect rational critical reflection or a climate in which emotions replace facts and myths dominate arguments. In his book Post-Truth, Matthew d’Ancona describes our era as one in which personal feelings are valued more than verified facts, and emotional narratives prevail over scientific analysis.
The fact that necessary questions cannot be raised about the literary canon — because doing so is considered an act of betrayal of the nation’s heritage — poses a serious danger. What kind of education can be provided if it is not subjected to critical analysis and if questions that challenge the status quo are discouraged? How can free and critical thinking develop when debates about book selection, age-appropriateness and didactic approaches in the classroom are shut down with hysterical labels?
At the heart of this clash lies a deep-rooted misunderstanding: literature in schools is treated as “national heritage,” sacred and untouchable. But, as disappointing as it may sound to some, we must accept a simple fact: schools are not museums, nor should they serve as sacred spaces where textbooks and readings are preserved as artifacts, untouched by time and interpretation.
On the contrary, literature should serve as a means to open the mind, stimulate sensitivity and imagination and connect students with the world — not only with the past, but also with the present and the future. School literature should foster reading habits in individuals, enabling meaningful engagement with the works of Gjergj Fishta, Fan Noli and Ismail Kadare.
Otherwise, we risk producing the same outcome indefinitely: children who do not understand the books, much less the temporal and cultural contexts in which they were written; teachers who do not take the time to explain these contexts, instead reproduce grand national narratives at the expense of minority communities and women; all in the echo of a public debate confused by so-called patriotism.
Feature Image: K2.0
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