In the 1990s, violence tore through the remains of Yugoslavia as President Slobodan Milosevic strove to create a “pure” Serbian state. Kosovo’s majority ethnic Albanian population fell victim to harsh discrimination, but responded non-violently through a system of civil disobedience that lasted until the formation of the Kosovo Liberation Army in 1998. Milosevic responded with escalating violence to this new guerrilla resistance, and in the aftermath of what the world was coming to acknowledge as genocide in Bosnia, international concern for the fate of Albanian Kosovars quickly mounted. NATO launched air strikes against Yugoslavia in March 1999; following the war, the United Nations created the UN Joint Interim Administrative Structure of Kosovo in order to establish a new system of governance in this post-Communist region.

Vjosa Dobruna was one of only three women appointed to the 20-member Administrative Structure. As national head of the Department for Democratic Governance and Civil Society from March 2000 until June 2001, she monitored and recommended laws on human rights, minority rights, equal opportunity, good governance, and independent media. She successfully worked toward a regulation requiring that one in every three candidates for the region’s assembly be a woman. She has collaborated with regional and international organizations on the restructuring of a post-conflict Kosovar society and was Kosovo’s “gender focal point” for the Stability Pact for Southeast Europe in 2001. An adviser to many groups, including the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), the Open Society Institute, and the Network of East-West Women, Dr. Dobruna co-chaired a conference that brought together the women in the Kosovar assembly for the creation of a multiparty caucus bridging ethnic and party lines—the only such cross-party body in Kosovo. In 2002-2003, Dr. Dobruna was a fellow at Harvard University’s John F. Kennedy School of Government, where she researched truth commissions and explored possible models for Kosovo. She is a pediatrician with a sub-specialization in neuropsychiatry, and she founded a number of safe houses and clinics for women and children before, during, and after the war.

Building a New Kosova

War and Peace
My understanding of peace is really based on my experience of it. Peace isn’t just the absence of war, but a stable life. Freedom. And something that comes with freedom: true respect for diversity. Peace is about choosing your methods, selecting your tools, deciding how you want to accomplish a goal. In the last century, choices were very limited in the Balkans. At some points, there were none.

Before 1990, I lived in Kosova [Vjosa, like many Albanian Kosovars, prefers the spelling “Kosova” to “Kosovo.”] and worked as a pediatrician specializing in child neuropsychiatry and epilepsy. I went on summer vacations. I went skiing. Mine was an ordinary, middle-class life. Although Milosovic began the war in 1991, real armed clashes didn’t happen in Kosova until 1998. We had a strong civil society with a long tradition of pacifism. But as events changed, so did my life. I was locked out of the hospital where I worked because I was Albanian—it was a system of apartheid. So, I joined the civil disobedience movement. When the war did come, I began trying to help displaced persons and wounded civilians. I went to the scenes of massacres to deliver first aid. As a witness to breaches of human rights, I sent out reports about violations of the Geneva Conventions.

On the first night of NATO air strikes—March 25, 1999—the special police forces came to arrest me

On the first night of NATO air strikes—March 25, 1999—the special police forces came to arrest me, but I managed to escape through the back. I remained in hiding for almost a week, but on the day that the wholesale “ethnic cleansing” of Pristina began, I came out, and was deported with many thousands of Kosovar Albanians to Macedonia. There, I tried my utmost to bring forward the issues of attacks on civilians and human rights in Kosova and the camps. I found an empty warehouse, opened a women’s clinic, and began to treat other refugees there.

Aftermath
In the UN structure after the war, each ministry was co-led by one Kosovar representative and one UN representative—it was an ideal model for transferring power from the UN to locals. I was offered the role of minister in charge of democratization, good governance, and media. I was optimistic, because it was designed for an independent person and that sort of person will serve the people best. When I started, I was responsible for things I wasn’t sure I understood myself: elections, the democratic process, and an independent media. The other ministers and I developed our knowledge of governance by attending courses and conferences abroad.

I stationed myself in cafes, where I learned what people were really thinking

I developed processes to gather input from almost every level of society before I created the ministry’s policies. I became a partner to Kosova’s civil society, and the whole department became a model of cooperation between internationals and nationals and among the Administrative Structure, central and local governments, and grassroots organizations. It wasn’t difficult: After the war, people in Kosova were eager to participate; they wanted to help rebuild. It was wonderful to go to public meetings and give people the space to express their views—honest, open views. For the first time, a ministry included marginalized minorities. We asked them what they wanted, and we listened to their responses. The policies were based on the vision of the people. For months, I had no office and only my cell phone. It was great, because I stationed myself in cafes, where I learned what people were really thinking. But although I enjoyed the process, the product simply was not there in the end. Final decisions were made by UNMIK (the UN Mission in Kosova), and they had certain “criteria” for accepting decisions that came from local actors. At the end of the day, we were somehow “ministers” with responsibilities but without power.

Problems became apparent early on. The UN’s opinion of what Kosova needed was different from my own, or from that of the majority of Kosovars, who cared about de-mining, rebuilding their homes, and having the genocide and apartheid they’d lived under acknowledged by the international community. For the international community, the first priority was “reconciliation.” Kosovars of different ethnic backgrounds had our first conversation only three months after the war, and it was just too early. It alienated people. Not surprisingly, that dialogue soon ended.

One of the biggest obstacles to those early talks was that many Serbs at the table had supported Milosevic and his policies, some of them actively participating in civilian atrocities. But in 2000, both communities were invited by the US Institute of Peace to participate in dialogue at the Airlie House conference, where I was a delegate.

In addition to reconciliation, the international community was eager to hold local elections in the 30 municipalities. Again, although the interim government had been appointed, I didn’t think we were ready. I said it at that time, and now I am even more convinced, that it was too soon. People were still being killed, and radical Albanian nationalists and Serbian secret police were everywhere. There had been violent backlash against those Serbs that remain in Kosova, though by and large, Kosovar Albanians condemned the violence. We didn’t know if the Serb minority would vote. What kind of election would we have if that key five to ten percent wouldn’t participate? So, we developed a model to bring minorities on board. We chose a region that had had few atrocities—only 12 killings and no rapes—and where the three ethnic groups were living together. We developed a forum where people—and not just the leaders—spoke in their local languages. At the end, we compiled a list of issues to be addressed that were identified jointly by the various ethnic communities. We presented them to the OSCE—which was responsible for setting up the first elections—as a wish list, rather than as conditions for participation. It made it easier for most people to accept, and therefore participate, in the elections. The first elections were held a year and three months after the war. The Serbian community, under the influence of Belgrade, used lack of security as a political reason for not participating, because at that time security was the sole responsibility of NATO troops and UN police.

A Woman’s Place

Everyone thinks people in the Balkans hate each other and always will. It�s not true.

In general, women communicate more easily than men. Women’s culture is inclusive and participatory. Women rarely engage in combat, so we don’t have experiences that prevent us from being more open to people of different ethnic and religious groups, or to people seen as former enemies. It wasn’t difficult for me to work with all the people in Kosova, and I’m proud to show others how it can be done. Everyone thinks people in the Balkans hate each other and always will. It’s not true. Yes, there is some hatred, but more often it’s anger or disappointment. And this can be overcome. We can create the conditions for everyone to have a dignified life, but it will take time.

They couldn’t close me out of the power structure.

There’s a tendency to think that women can work on social issues, but not in “higher” politics—that’s why women aren’t usually brought to the negotiating table. I was at the table because there was respect for my work. I listened to people, I knew what was going on, and was a problem solver. People started to recognize that I had the information, knowledge, and will. They couldn’t close me out of the power structure. There are plenty of other women in the Balkans who are in similar positions—they know their surroundings well, and they’re in close contact with people.

Working together is key—having a critical mass of women pushing for change. And networks! One person can’t do it. When I was minister, I had a vision for our work, but I knew that I needed to hear other views, including women’s. When we were preparing for the elections, we held several meetings with women’s NGOs. We women agreed that we needed a platform for action, and we talked about a quota for women in the assembly. But the male environment—the local patriarchy reinforced by the international community—said this wasn’t a priority for Kosova, and that the priority was the participation of ethnic minorities in the elections. I said, “Okay, but let’s see what women want.”

We organized workshops and conferences, where women made recommendations for the new government. Then we looked at the views of the different political parties. Finally, we looked at the opinions of the international community. I received a flood of emails from outsiders saying not to use quotas—some said it would not be democratic, others said the women in Kosova were too traditional to want to be in elected office. They were trying to define what was good for Kosova and for women. And I said, “I’m a woman, and we’re talking about women, so it’s my job to convince you the quota is the right choice for Kosova.” And I was successful! Kosova’s men and women agreed, and now women make up 30 percent of the assembly.

Based on the experience in Kosova, there’s now a great deal of research being done, and a lot of discussions happening, about how missions to countries should change. How, in any kind of intervention, women—and indeed the full local population—should participate. Until now, there’s been a top-down approach from the UN and other international agencies. When I was a minister, many of us thought this was wrong. It’s very slow, but during the last year, the process of transfer of power from the UN mission to elected government officials has started.

Not Enough
By June 2001, I felt my time at the ministry was over. I didn’t have anything more to contribute. For starters, there was the ambivalence of Security Council Resolution 1244, the so-called “Kosova Bible” that was intended to provide the means for governance. But when it came time to create a new constitution and basic law, the people of Kosova and the departments and ministries that had already been developed were not consulted. This was unacceptable to me. When I resigned, I sent an open letter saying I was leaving because there was no real partnership between the international community and Kosovars, and because women were being prevented from taking part in reconstruction—which was their right and responsibility. The ideal model for transferring power to the local people had, in my opinion, failed in practice.

People became more aware following that—in some ways, my resignation helped, though the situation is not yet satisfactory. Maybe now the efforts that have been made around the world to include women will pay off. Maybe UN Security Council Resolution 1325, which calls for the inclusion of women throughout all levels of peace processes around the world, will be implemented. It looks nice on paper.

Outside the system, you’re more focused; you concentrate your energy to advocate for a certain issue.

Although I was a minister, I also enjoy working outside the government. When you’re part of the system, you’re burdened with the fear that you’ll hurt many people with your decisions. Outside the system, you’re more focused; you concentrate your energy to advocate for a certain issue. So when I left, I felt it would be much better for me to be outside, advocating for the rights of the citizens of Kosova. I wanted to find a place where I could easily learn a lot and teach others at the same time—civil society. From there, I could network and gain access to the media and influence lawmakers. Unfortunately, in Kosova, there’s the sense that civil society is mostly in opposition to the government, not a partner. Many civil society projects are donor driven, and may not have the same priorities as local or central administrations.

On the whole, I feel more comfortable in civil society, although I think I’ll probably move into government and back out again my whole life, bringing to each position experiences from the other. I love challenges. Sometimes you have to be in the room where policies are decided, but it is also important to understand the opinions of the citizens. I will also always work with women, because it will be a long time before women are treated as equal partners with men—not only in Kosova, but also around the world.

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