Kosovo is young. I'm not referring to the four year old declaration of independence; the median age of Kosovo is 27. As a 27 year old, I find this objectively disconcerting. Personally, a successful day is when I aptly dress myself in the morning; it’d be a whole other hurdle to 1. dress myself and then 2. help run a country. And while many national leaders around the world have disparaged Kosovo as a fake nation, too young too succeed, Kosovo’s youth has helped beat the Lord of the Flies scenario that some had expected and hoped for.
The Executive Director of the Kosovo Law Institute (KLI), my affiliate organization, is one of those young people. Since graduating college in 2009, he has positioned himself to be a commodity in rule of law reform in Kosovo. Nine months ago, he left his last organization to join KLI. To do so, he wrote his own ticket and decided that KLI was going to be run his way. When his eyes narrow at the mere mention of corruption, you know he was meant to be doing rule of law work.
Since he started this position, he has elevated KLI to a new level. KLI’s Justice Newsletters have been used by journalists as the basis for questioning of EULEX—the EU rule of law program in Kosovo—and investigating institutional problems like judicial salary and judicial independence. Just the other day, an article was published about ongoing presidential pardon reform. Of the six or seven columns the article was allotted, KLI’s analysis of the reform bill took up four. To say the least, the Executive Director was very pleased with the respect and recognition KLI was receiving. He proudly summed it up to me in this way:
“There are cars, and then there are Mercedes. There are phones, and then there are iPhones. There are NGOs, and then there is the Kosovo Law Institute.”
Over the top? Yeah. Overly confident? Sure. Justifiable considering he has accomplished all of this by 25? Most definitely.
His position and passion at such a young age is indicative of the country as a whole. As I mentioned before, the median age here is 27. On account of the nation’s recent history, the professional ladder here is missing a few rungs. This isn’t to say that there aren’t professionals in their 40s, 50s, and 60s in Kosovo. There are. However, generally speaking, there is a temporal and ideological chasm that sits between the new and old guard. In Kosovo the "taboo of the old life is invisible, yet strong." The older sect was communist educated, and professionally trained when “rule of law” and “governance” meant something entirely different, if anything at all. The older generation woke up one day to find out that everything they knew to be foundational about civil society was wrong. If you can’t understand just how earth-shattering this was, there’s a movie about Tom Hanks lost in an airport that sums it up.
It should also be mentioned that Kosovo is not some kind of above-the-fray, economic miracle. 18-30 year olds in Kosovo face a 65% unemployment rate. The people I've met are a minority when it comes to the average experience of Kosovo’s young adults, educated or not. For better or worse, my work will introduce me to the employed few, as opposed to the unemployed masses. This, undoubtedly, colors my view. My experience at the American University exemplifies this.
On my first day at the American University in Kosovo (AUK), there was a department meeting for the Public Policy and Government section, of which I am a part. A handful of professors sat around a small table at the end of a sterile hallway. As introductions went around, I was incorrectly introduced as AUK’s new "Fulbright Scholar”. Even with this anointed—yet inaccurate—title, I was very intimidated by those who bordered the table. The purpose of the meeting was to see who would be teaching what course for the next term. Professors spoke up one at a time as the conversation moved clockwise. When the metaphorical speaking conch made it to a young woman kitty-corner from me, she said that she couldn’t teach any classes before 5PM because of her day job. Her day job, of course, is being a member of Kosovo's parliament.
After the meeting, they showed me the desk I would use for the term. They said it would be shared with one other woman, but not to worry, she is never there during the day. Her job? National security advisor to the prime minister of Kosovo. I should also mention, neither of these women have ages dissimilar from my own. I thought it would be intimidating enough to work alongside actual professors—of which, I do not count myself; it’s a whole other level of intimidating when you share a department and a desk with a member of parliament and the prime minister's national security advisor.
After all of this, the Executive Director of KLI and I went out for a drink, and this pattern of young professionals solidified for me. At the café, we met with one of his best friends, a journalist-come-business-woman. I was curious to know about her journalistic background. She said she worked the security beat for eight years; she got her start with a newspaper in her home town, moved to radio, and then ultimately worked as a TV reporter for Kosovo’s largest channel. Shocked by her CV and her young appearance, I told her she looked far too young to be an eight year veteran of Kosovo’s journalism scene. She reassured me that she wasn’t that young, but all the same she got her start at 15.
I think this young cadre of leaders is indicative of the optimism that permeates Kosovo. For a number of years, Gallup International found that Kosovars were the most optimistic people in the world. In some cases, this small nation would poll as high as 60% when it came to optimism about the future. As one Kosovoar cynically told me, “[the optimistic poll results were because] it would be hard for things to be any worse.” Undoubtedly, the challenges in this country are well documented and generally known—unemployment, corruption, and an ambiguous international status are just the start. However, the youthful energy and boundless hope—realistically, the country’s only natural resources—have the opportunity to overcome these institutional barriers and cynicism.
Kosovo stands at a unique place in history: it is fundamentally free and sovereign for the first time, and it is able to learn and adapt from the trials and tribulations of other, recent start-up nations. As one student summed it up for me the other day, “Kosovo has all the best laws. We just don’t know what to do with them.” And it’s true, Kosovo’s civil institutions are shiny and new, but everything else is up for negotiation.
As I write this, I know that corruption and lack of experience are massive, generational hurdles for this country. But on account of the young leaders I’ve met so far, I’m cautiously optimistic that they will clear those hurdles in ten or 15 years. The young individuals I've met are a part of the post-founding generation. That group of people that witnessed a war, saw a country created, and a constitution written that were then handed the reins and asked, “Now what?” What I’m saying is that if John Quincy Adams embodied a nation, it would be this one. The youthful energy and will for change is here in Kosovo; and when one can reach their professional zenith at 25, it gives one a lot of time to try and move mountains, which is exactly what Kosovo needs.
The irony in all of this was the reception I got when I met the 25 year old Executive Director at KLI. When introducing myself on that first day, I told him that I’d be working on my own project, but that I also wanted to help his organization as best as I could while in Kosovo. He nodded and thanked me. He seemed to think I was too young and wet behind the ears to be any institutional help to him. It wasn’t until he dug into my past and heard the brand name organizations I previously worked for—American Bar Association, UNODC—that he said, “Oh, well, I was just being nice before, but we might actually use you.”
“Thanks,” I thought. Apparently a lot like Kosovo, I appear be too young to succeed. However, I, like Kosovo, refuse to wind up like Piggy in the Lord of the Flies. I think I can beat those odds; after all, I can dress myself, and that's half the battle.
The Executive Director of the Kosovo Law Institute (KLI), my affiliate organization, is one of those young people. Since graduating college in 2009, he has positioned himself to be a commodity in rule of law reform in Kosovo. Nine months ago, he left his last organization to join KLI. To do so, he wrote his own ticket and decided that KLI was going to be run his way. When his eyes narrow at the mere mention of corruption, you know he was meant to be doing rule of law work.
Since he started this position, he has elevated KLI to a new level. KLI’s Justice Newsletters have been used by journalists as the basis for questioning of EULEX—the EU rule of law program in Kosovo—and investigating institutional problems like judicial salary and judicial independence. Just the other day, an article was published about ongoing presidential pardon reform. Of the six or seven columns the article was allotted, KLI’s analysis of the reform bill took up four. To say the least, the Executive Director was very pleased with the respect and recognition KLI was receiving. He proudly summed it up to me in this way:
“There are cars, and then there are Mercedes. There are phones, and then there are iPhones. There are NGOs, and then there is the Kosovo Law Institute.”
Over the top? Yeah. Overly confident? Sure. Justifiable considering he has accomplished all of this by 25? Most definitely.
His position and passion at such a young age is indicative of the country as a whole. As I mentioned before, the median age here is 27. On account of the nation’s recent history, the professional ladder here is missing a few rungs. This isn’t to say that there aren’t professionals in their 40s, 50s, and 60s in Kosovo. There are. However, generally speaking, there is a temporal and ideological chasm that sits between the new and old guard. In Kosovo the "taboo of the old life is invisible, yet strong." The older sect was communist educated, and professionally trained when “rule of law” and “governance” meant something entirely different, if anything at all. The older generation woke up one day to find out that everything they knew to be foundational about civil society was wrong. If you can’t understand just how earth-shattering this was, there’s a movie about Tom Hanks lost in an airport that sums it up.
It should also be mentioned that Kosovo is not some kind of above-the-fray, economic miracle. 18-30 year olds in Kosovo face a 65% unemployment rate. The people I've met are a minority when it comes to the average experience of Kosovo’s young adults, educated or not. For better or worse, my work will introduce me to the employed few, as opposed to the unemployed masses. This, undoubtedly, colors my view. My experience at the American University exemplifies this.
On my first day at the American University in Kosovo (AUK), there was a department meeting for the Public Policy and Government section, of which I am a part. A handful of professors sat around a small table at the end of a sterile hallway. As introductions went around, I was incorrectly introduced as AUK’s new "Fulbright Scholar”. Even with this anointed—yet inaccurate—title, I was very intimidated by those who bordered the table. The purpose of the meeting was to see who would be teaching what course for the next term. Professors spoke up one at a time as the conversation moved clockwise. When the metaphorical speaking conch made it to a young woman kitty-corner from me, she said that she couldn’t teach any classes before 5PM because of her day job. Her day job, of course, is being a member of Kosovo's parliament.
After the meeting, they showed me the desk I would use for the term. They said it would be shared with one other woman, but not to worry, she is never there during the day. Her job? National security advisor to the prime minister of Kosovo. I should also mention, neither of these women have ages dissimilar from my own. I thought it would be intimidating enough to work alongside actual professors—of which, I do not count myself; it’s a whole other level of intimidating when you share a department and a desk with a member of parliament and the prime minister's national security advisor.
After all of this, the Executive Director of KLI and I went out for a drink, and this pattern of young professionals solidified for me. At the café, we met with one of his best friends, a journalist-come-business-woman. I was curious to know about her journalistic background. She said she worked the security beat for eight years; she got her start with a newspaper in her home town, moved to radio, and then ultimately worked as a TV reporter for Kosovo’s largest channel. Shocked by her CV and her young appearance, I told her she looked far too young to be an eight year veteran of Kosovo’s journalism scene. She reassured me that she wasn’t that young, but all the same she got her start at 15.
I think this young cadre of leaders is indicative of the optimism that permeates Kosovo. For a number of years, Gallup International found that Kosovars were the most optimistic people in the world. In some cases, this small nation would poll as high as 60% when it came to optimism about the future. As one Kosovoar cynically told me, “[the optimistic poll results were because] it would be hard for things to be any worse.” Undoubtedly, the challenges in this country are well documented and generally known—unemployment, corruption, and an ambiguous international status are just the start. However, the youthful energy and boundless hope—realistically, the country’s only natural resources—have the opportunity to overcome these institutional barriers and cynicism.
Kosovo stands at a unique place in history: it is fundamentally free and sovereign for the first time, and it is able to learn and adapt from the trials and tribulations of other, recent start-up nations. As one student summed it up for me the other day, “Kosovo has all the best laws. We just don’t know what to do with them.” And it’s true, Kosovo’s civil institutions are shiny and new, but everything else is up for negotiation.
As I write this, I know that corruption and lack of experience are massive, generational hurdles for this country. But on account of the young leaders I’ve met so far, I’m cautiously optimistic that they will clear those hurdles in ten or 15 years. The young individuals I've met are a part of the post-founding generation. That group of people that witnessed a war, saw a country created, and a constitution written that were then handed the reins and asked, “Now what?” What I’m saying is that if John Quincy Adams embodied a nation, it would be this one. The youthful energy and will for change is here in Kosovo; and when one can reach their professional zenith at 25, it gives one a lot of time to try and move mountains, which is exactly what Kosovo needs.
The irony in all of this was the reception I got when I met the 25 year old Executive Director at KLI. When introducing myself on that first day, I told him that I’d be working on my own project, but that I also wanted to help his organization as best as I could while in Kosovo. He nodded and thanked me. He seemed to think I was too young and wet behind the ears to be any institutional help to him. It wasn’t until he dug into my past and heard the brand name organizations I previously worked for—American Bar Association, UNODC—that he said, “Oh, well, I was just being nice before, but we might actually use you.”
“Thanks,” I thought. Apparently a lot like Kosovo, I appear be too young to succeed. However, I, like Kosovo, refuse to wind up like Piggy in the Lord of the Flies. I think I can beat those odds; after all, I can dress myself, and that's half the battle.
