Part One
Jeta Rexha: Mr. Xhevat, can you tell us a bit about your childhood, the rreth[1] you grew up in, what was your family like, what were you like as a child and the things you remember as a child?
Mulla Xhevat Kryeziu: Well, as a child, like every Kosovar child, we grew up in difficult economic conditions. I come from a family with sort of traditional values, with national, humane, ethical, religious traditions and so forth. So, as a child, we went through difficult times. Our living conditions were extremely harsh. We walked about six-seven kilometers to get to school. Then we didn’t have books, we didn’t have clothes, we didn’t have nice food, until we got slightly older, we started to… because my father was uneducated, my mother uneducated, an uneducated and unemployed family. I mean, I have experienced and remembered very difficult conditions for the time.
Therefore, seeing the need for education, literacy, and engagement, we were forced, perhaps beyond our possibilities, our capacities, to get by, to cope while growing up, [to gain] literacy, employment, and to support the family. Thus, we had difficult conditions, harsh conditions and not only I, but I remember the whole village, my entire generation, my friends. I went to school, I do remember, I went to school with leather opangë.[2] I remember that instead of a bag, I carried, how to say, a bag or a leather jangjik,[3] handmade, which was made by my mother.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: Which year were you born?
Mulla Xhevat Kryeziu: I was born on April 19, 1958. Thus I have things to tell, I have things to tell about my childhood, because we suffered, we went through hell. Then, the ruling regime, my family suffered. My grandfather…
Jeta Rexha: Which was your village?
Mulla Xhevat Kryeziu: The village of Bubavec, nowadays in the municipal of Malisheva. My grandfather was sent to prison on political grounds. He was sentenced four years in prison in Niš. He gets killed there from torture and up to this day we don’t know where his grave is. We weren’t even able to have a pame[4] for him. So, then the family was ostracized, it was isolated, people didn’t dare to visit. The state kept an eye on us, hence we had a difficult existence and living conditions. Therefore, that was a difficult situation and time, heavy for the time. And often perhaps, even when I tell my children about how we did suffer, “How come father, how is that possible?” It is possible because the circumstances were such, we experienced horror, we experienced everything.
Jeta Rexha: Can you tell us about the grandfather, what was his activity?
Mulla Xhevat Kryeziu: My grandfather was the eldest of the village. Back then the movement of the kaçak[5] sheltered those people who provided resistance for the national cause, who did not agree with the Yugoslav regime of the time, and he sheltered those people also because we supported them, because he was the eldest of the village. And those people were caught in my family, they were executed without trial, Mustafë Dërguti with his son Nuredin and a stepson whose name I don’t remember. The three of them were executed. My grandfather and three other cousins were taken and sent to the prison of Prizren. They were tried in Pristina, and they suffered, they sent them, they sent them to internment in the notorious prisons of Niš. Whereas my grandfather in Pozarevac and Niš, my grandfather died in the prison of Niš. And we don’t know even to this day where his grave is. In other words, his physical extermination came from the abuse, from torture, from beating.
And even worse, when he died, we found out from other people, “Limon Azizi has died,” and we didn’t dare open the door, because we were outcast by the state. The friends didn’t dare, they came to see us at night. You know, we didn’t dare to open the door as it is the custom in our families. We didn’t dare! This was the painful part, which was terrible, not daring to keep the tradition of pame, not daring to manifest the sadness in front of others, you could not manifest sadness, because it was the state that committed this deed. This was the Serbian-Slavic state.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: How many children were you?
Mulla Xhevat Kryeziu: We were, we were six brothers and two sisters in total. One of the sisters died, thus we are six, seven. Six brothers and a sister.
Jeta Rexha: How was your life as a child back then? Which school did you go to?
Mulla Xhevat Kryeziu: We went to the primary school Adem Bajrami in Kieva. That is where we finished primary school, all of my brothers and sisters and I. And afterwards, I continued at the secondary Madrasa[6] Alaudin, here in Pristina, I did finish five years. And then I finished the Pedagogical college, history-geography in Gjakova, in Bajram Curri. And I have been working from the year ‘79 till the present, in the position of a member of the staff, or as an Islamologist at the mosque of the village of Bubavec. Simultaneously, I am the chair of the Islamic Association of Malisheva for four terms in a row.
Jeta Rexha: So when did you go to Gjakova?
Mulla Xhevat Kryeziu: Yes, after I finished the Madrasa here, I wanted to enroll in the Faculty of Philosophy, in the department of Oriental Studies. But at the time Sarajevo had opened the Faculty of Islamic Studies and they wanted that the Madrasa staff goes to the faculty in Sarajevo, and I was denied the right to enroll in other schools, a type of agreement with the Ministry of Education. This was an unfortunate agreement for us. Thus you had no right to get educated wherever you wanted to. Because with the Madrasa you were entitled [to study] in all faculties, as long as you were able to get accepted. Because that was a school that had cadres, there were generations, and they, the students of the Madrasa, were successful in every school they went to.
And so we were obliged, back then we couldn’t enroll in the Faculty of Oriental Studies, back then we were plenty of children, we were… we had the elderly, we had a grandfather, it was the brother of the grandfather, therefore I was forced to find a job, to avoid studies for a while and provide for their living . Gradually, slowly later on, afterwards in the ‘90s, I enrolled, finally I enrolled in the college and finished my studies there. So I did not interrupt the work, I continued with it. Hence I am qualified even in the field of history-geography and in my profession which I started [practicing] after the eighth grade, you know, in the Madrasa.
Once I finished the eighth grade, I was passionate about, I wanted to do [religion], since my parents were religious, they were into religion. They always educated us in the spirit of human, spiritual, ethical and national education. So that’s how I started to think where would I want to be after the eighth grade, as a student or a semi matura[7] back then. Each with their dreams of where to enroll, where to go, where were the reasonable people, which direction to take to achieve success. And so I found my calling, I stated, “I want to enroll in the Madrasa.” So I speak to father about this, he says, “Wherever you like, I am not stopping you, whatever you wish for.” And what happened here? I came and enrolled in the Madrasa.
And when I applied for the Madrasa, I was accepted, “No problem!” And during this time, the ‘70s, ‘71-’72, those years, someone comes from my rreth, I don’t know who even to this day, and he comes and withdraws the documentation, pulls it out of the Madrasa. He doesn’t want me to pursue this path, supposedly it is primitive, supposedly we have to move ahead, supposedly I was taking us back. And I don’t know who came and pulled out the documentation.
And when I come here, the learning process begins, I arrive in September, and they tell me, “What do you want here boy?” “But I was accepted at the school, more.[8] Why, what do you mean what I want? You have accepted me.” They say, “No, your documents are not here.” “It is not true.” “True, not true, listen you sir, you boy,” the director tells me, “your documents here were picked up by someone.” “But who has taken my documents, more?” “A next of kin came, and took them.” “Well sir, but don’t I have to sign, myself, or someone else. Do you know who took them?” “No, I don’t know, but someone has taken them.” And what happened? I was forced, I did return, I came to enroll after I lost a year, to the gymnasium[9] of Kieva. The gymnasium was being opened at the time and so I applied. But my mind was always with the Madrasa, my mind was always there.
And back then I didn’t want to learn, I didn’t want to learn. So I had a professor, now already deceased, who was a good connoisseur of Albanian grammar, not to say perhaps the best in Kosovo and I mean one of the top. There was Tafil Kelmendi, he was a lecturer of studies here, of Albanology. He died in Vushtrri. And Tafil comes and enrolls me at the gymnasium of Kieva, by alleging that it is primitive, it is not current, it is not progressive, [questioning] what kind of ideas are these and so I stopped there. And to my good fortune Tafil was my principal teacher. And I didn’t want to study at all. And I was an underachiever, because I didn’t want to learn. And Tafil says… I had six-seven poor grades , but I didn’t want to learn, he says, “Xhevat Kryeziu, he had been evaluated with two poor [grades], but I pleaded to the council of teachers, I kindly asked and I do have connections, and so Xhevat Kryeziu passes, and Xhevat passes.” I said, “No, no, I didn’t pass. I don’t want to.” “But, you boy, are you normal?” “I am normal professor, I don’t want to stay, I don’t want to stay in the gymnasium.” And as soon as the year finished I took back the documents, I arrived again at the Madrasa, with documents.
Jeta Rexha: Which year was this?
Mulla Xhevat Kryeziu: The years ‘73-’74. And so I arrive at the Madrasa, I tell the headmaster, “I am Xhevat Kryeziu, I have applied last year, I have applied. They withdrew my documents, I was in the gymnasium, I didn’t pass, I didn’t want to stay. I am focused on the Madrasa.” “Do come boy, there is no problem.” And I decided and continued, and finished the Madrasa with high grades.
And the learning process started, the first day I arrive in the Madrasa and I happen to sit in the last row, next to a window. The window was open, an iron window. And professor Mulla Sadriu introduces me, “What is your name?” I stand up, “Xhevat Kryeziu” and I hit my head on the window. He says, “I know about Kryezi,[10] but…” I said, “Well, Xhevat Kryeziu.” And I hit my head on the window. I can’t forget that, you know, I am talking 40 years ago. And he, the deceased, rest in peace, mercy upon him as we say, always used to say, “C’mon Kryezi, c’mon you Kryezi…” and this was the first day at the Madrasa that I will never forget when I hit my head on the window. “Xhevat Kryeziu,” he said, “I know about Kryezi, but…” I mean, I hit the window, Xhevat Kryeziu, so on.
Even at the Madrasa, for me it was still a very difficult time. The economic situation was heavy for me, it was heavy again. But I do thank the creator of the universe and all those donors that helped the Madrasa. And it was 50/50, 50 percent we paid ourselves, you had to pay 50 percent, which was the food, it was the dormitory. I mean, at least some relief, a 50 percent, an opportunity which was enough for me, it was sufficient. Perhaps because had it not been for that 50 percent, perhaps I wouldn’t be able to continue my studies there either.
I left for Pristina, as they say, it costs now from Kieva to Pristina, two Euros and a half for the bus. I came here with two and a half Euros to stay for a week and I spent two and half Euros there, I gave it to the conductor and I was in Pristina for a week without a dime. And I borrowed two and half Euros from a friend to go back, hoping that the following week perhaps I would bring some more money and give it back to that friend. And so my friends helped a great deal. So, this was a heavy situation, generally for some families. In a way we were ran over by the wheel of history. It ran over us, it ignored us, it put us on our knees. Not permitting you to get schooled, not allowing you to get employed, not allowing you to progress also because there was a crisis. My family survived from agriculture, animal husbandry. And so it was a difficult situation.
Hence I have enough, I have enough memories of how I got here and how I went back, how I lived for a week, how I managed. I see it today, my children receive four-50 [40-50] Euros], five-60 [50-60] euros, they are not satisfied, they are not pleased. They have nice clothes, they have good food, they have telephones, they have good living standards, they go to driving schools and they are still not satisfied. I am not satisfied with their studies, “Father, well I didn’t pass the exam, father…” “Because bre,[11] father, all the conditions, the electricity…” They come back, I go to pick up my children in Kieva with a car. I take them to a bus in Kieva by car. I, who else? I woke up at five o’clock, I went past 50 dogs to get to Kieva. Through 50 dogs, through 50 sacrifices, through dangers. A child, 16 years old. Waking up at night, at five o’clock, to go and get the half past seven o’clock bus, to get to Kieva. It was terrible! Snow, frost, cold. At God’s mercy, without anyone escorting you, absolutely no one.
And this was a heavy situation. Therefore the difference between that time and this time, we are worlds apart, wide apart, wide apart, very apart. Therefore, the young generation doesn’t make the maximum of its opportunities, to get educated, to know the value of education, school and knowledge. Because knowledge is the generator of the goods that God brings into this world. And then I finished the Madrasa, I graduated. Some of my friends went East, to the Eastern world, the Arab states. Some of them moved there, finished their studies. I was left behind for economic reasons and to support my family. I got employed immediately, you know, right after I finished school, right after I graduated I got employed as Imam. And these were the things I experienced, [as well as] many other friends and I, even my family, even my relatives, and many other fellow countrymen. But the situation was such that you had to go through those life challenges. Nowadays it is completely different.
Jeta Rexha: Eh eh!. What was your activity during the ‘80s?
Mulla Xhevat Kryeziu: During the ‘80s, I started my young career working in a very sensitive profession. Though I turned this old, I don’t know what it is like to wear jeans, not wearing sneakers, not going out and playing with a ball, nor doing any sport activity. That was the mentality of the time, “How can a hoxha[12] play with a ball? How can a hoxha wear sweatpants? How can a hoxha grow his hair? How can a hoxha put sunglasses on? How can hoxha get in a car, drive a car? Shame!” I happened to live at that time. During the 37 years that I was on duty, 37 years, it is quite a long time. I caught… you know, I belong to that generation where it happens to know people who were born in the year 1880 or ‘90. So 1800, now 2000, it means I have met people from the 18th, the 19th century and we are now in the 20th century. So almost 58 years.
And so that was the ordeal, those… and that nostalgia, and that suffering, and those sacrifices. Occasionally some pleasant moment, but very few, and more bitter ones. Always making effort: what to do, what to achieve. Even my profession was such, as I said. It was a profession that required caution in behavior, in conversations. It was a divine mission, sacred, the preaching of God’s message. I have to be an example of moral and ethics myself, so I can give an example to someone else. I said it, I didn’t dare, I didn’t dare to do those things. I wasn’t allowed to do that, absolutely. Somebody seeing me play with a ball, out of the question. Somebody seeing me play chess, somebody seeing me play cards, it was a disgrace. And that is how I grew up, how I got educated, I got mature this way. Always, “Kuku,[13] shame! I am disgracing myself! Shame!” and to give something to somebody, to educate them, to help them. And so until the ‘90s there was, you know, my engagement in terms of my profession, in educating people, improving their character, morals, being close to them, how to emancipate them, how to be educated, how to grow up, how to be humane, how to love school, how to love the fatherland, how to love their parents, how to love their teacher. And these points were suggested by me, and I have taught generations and generations.
And then, even since the beginning, the events of ‘81, it was those events that… you haven’t experienced them, luckily you didn’t experience those. Because the Albanian world started to get shaken, the concept of national cause in general [started] to get shaken-up. Whatever it was, Albanian started to fall apart, the students, imprisonment of the intellectuals, massive imprisonment of people, massive expulsion of generations abroad. Exercising pressure, beatings, not issuing you a passport. With great repression, to intervene, to give lots of money, to get a passport issued, to escape abroad. That was heavy stuff.
And while seeing the situation, while living like that, always seeing the demands of the people, people’s will for changing such situation, because you could not carry on like that. The intellectual elite is imprisoned: professors, intellectuals, patriots, people who love, people who want to see… we didn’t have, we didn’t have the territorial aspiration of going to occupy Serbia’s territory. We only wanted to learn in Albanian, to work in Albanian, to die in Albanian. This was our wish. And this was taken away by the regime of the time. It didn’t allow us, “You Albanians shouldn’t get educated. You Albanians shouldn’t learn. You Albanians are good enough [like this]. You should be the lowest class in the world, should be the servants of Serbia.” And they could do everything they want with us.
Jeta Rexha: I understand. Where were you in ‘80, ‘81?
Mulla Xhevat Kryeziu: In ‘81? I lived according to the times. I supported the student protests, I supported the move [ment]…
Jeta Rexha: As a speaker or…
Mulla Xhevat Kryeziu: No, I came, I took the post in the year ‘79.
Jeta Rexha: OK. What was your duty?
Jeta Rexha: My duty was in Bubavec, I said it. I finished the Madrasa, in ‘79 I graduated. In ‘79 I got employed. And accordingly to the time, even in the processes of ‘81 and later, we were never out of bad luck. And that time was… even since ‘74 there was a relative silence, temporarily, but with no rights. You had no right to think differently than of Kosovo within Serbia. You dared not to think of Kosovo as a republic, because, how does Kosovo dare to become a republic? How dare you to have institutions, this right, or that right? You had no right to have an academy, you had no right to have this, or that, or this. You had no right.
A large number of these faculties were prohibited back then. So, it was a suppression of basic human rights and you couldn’t overcome these. Those who read, who knew a bit more, observed the situation. And I lived like this, with this situation, my family and friends and I. By trying to make something, by saying a good word, by doing a good job. By empowering the people, by preparing the people that there is danger approaching, and has the danger come? It did come. We saw that we were heading towards the danger of extinction, being exterminated by Serbia, being erased from the face of earth.
Because it wanted to take… it didn’t need the people, it needed the land, and to take the underground minerals, this Kosovo full of minerals, full of mining, full of land. We live on top of gold, you must have followed, there was this interview with an American, saying, “You are sleeping on black gold.” But unfortunately we haven’t reached yet that economic development, and for it to be launched, dug, promoted in the world market. However, it can be done, it’s none of my business. And thus I say that we went through a very difficult situation.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: And how do these political changes affect your work?
Mulla Xhevat Kryeziu: I was in touch with the people, and I was in touch with the masses. And they always reflected, “How to act? What to do? How to find alliances, to work on it.” Adem Demaçi[14] was in prison. The intellectual elite was in prisons. They were released a few times, persecuted, some of them. I was taught a lesson by my grandfather. I knew it. My father… my grandmother lived as a widow. After ten years of marriage they killed her husband, she raised orphans. And I was always body and soul with those persecuted persons. Because we were ourselves a persecuted family.
Then there were those, those who were anathematized, I told you about it, the expulsion was accompanied by punishment measures. Back then they introduced, they called it , I don’t remember, the otkup.[15] They collected material goods: you have to hand over this thousand tons of wheat, and all that wheat, and those animals, and that livestock, were given away under orders. And the time of otkup was the time of… gun action and collection of surplus, of višak, these were two unfortunate time periods for the Albanian people. The expulsion of Albanians to Turkey was a punishment measure. And the unfortunate memorandum between Yugoslavia and Turkey, four thousand Albanians who fled during those years, they got displaced from their land under pressure. They went to Turkey. Serbia telling them that, “You have your religion there, over there you have mosques, over there you have… and there is no place here, so leave from here.” And they fled, they were chased away.
You saw those shows broadcasted by TV 21, two years ago there was a [show] by Bahtir Cakolli about Albanians in Turkey. If you noticed a little those experiences by the elderly, how they migrated, how they fled, with wooden vehicles, they left for Turkey on ox carts. And they went there, they were thrown mercilessly into the deserts of Anatolia. And this was terrible for the Albanian nation. It means all of this was painful for the Albanian people, one we lived with, we experienced terror together with the people. And we were always supposed to empathize with one another, to give strength, to give courage, to give them strength in order to overcome and resist, so we don’t leave the country, don’t migrate, but we get educated, confront it, because the aim of Serbia… Serbia wanted this: for us to leave from here, not to get educated, to remain illiterate and to do whatever they like with us.
But thanks to God and our commitment, we had intellectuals, we had honored professors, we were… we were encouraged by Adem Demaçi’s actions, we supported the actions of the intellectual elite that taught us, our professors, I thank them. They kept our memory alive, they taught us about love for the fatherland. Then it is the family, the rreth we were raised in. And this kept us alive so that we know where we are heading to, and where are these winds taking us, and how to bear it. Therefore those years were difficult years, difficult years.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: This type of a national education, was it a part of your preaching?
Mulla Xhevat Kryeziu: Yes, this was part of my preaching as well, no doubt part of the preaching. We used examples, concrete examples of what happened to people in the past and what may happen to us in the future. We merged, we intertwined the national with the religious. It is an undisputable right and we said it when we explain the martyrdom. It is the highest level where God ranks a human who protects the interest and the threshold of his home, as it was our case with Serbia. Everything that was Albanian… we didn’t want to, I’ve said it before, we didn’t aspire to occupy Serbia’s territory. We protected our threshold. We had nowhere to go. Therefore the one who is murdered, the one who receives a bullet in the chest, that person is one of those martyrs, as we call them sheit.[16] Everything is cleansed by water: the hand gets dirty, the body gets dirty, water cleans it. Water makes the martyr’s blood dirty, you ought not to clean the corpse. Even from a religious aspect I’d say, the corpse remains with the head uncovered, and its blood and clothes shouldn’t be removed, because it is the most sublime blood, the most precious blood that God pays for and rewards with Heaven’s nectar.
These were our preachings, so to protect our identity. Because this language, the Albanian, was offered as a gift from God. We didn’t know to speak it, we didn’t create it ourselves, the Albanian language. Because we weren’t someone else to invent the Albanian language. This is how we were born. And now God left it as a testament, “Xhevat, you have the Albanian language.” “Yes.” And the others, they wanted to ban it, “Don’t speak Albanian! Speak Serbian, you are a good man. Work in Serbian, you are a good man. It’s not allowed to speak in Albanian.” Why? It was in their interest. They knew it, our education, our liveliness, will threaten them. Why? We will be our own masters. They got used to us being their servants.
And so, you have a responsibility before God if someone takes away this language, to protect it, you will be rewarded by God. This has to be clear, Albanian language is God’s gift. Who says it there, it’s Naim,[17] “How beautiful, how pure, Albanian language, how nice.” I mean, he sang to the Albanian language. He glorifies Albanian, because this language was a gift from God and we have to protect it. And you are obliged not to allow anyone to take away your language and identity. You might be a Muslim today, you might be a Catholic, an Orthodox the day after tomorrow, a Buddhist a day after that. Yet you are always an Albanian, you always have to be. Because you have Albanian genes, blood. You can change your faith, but identity, absolutely not. Thus, it is a duty from God to protect your identity. To die for that, it is the highest rank of heaven. And this is how we have educated and taught generations after generations. And this kept us going, it gave us strength and kept us alive, in order to resist.
In Kosovo we are a nation with two religions, we are brothers. In Albania there are three religions, brothers again: the Muslim faith, the Catholic faith, the Orthodox faith, but we have always kept the straight line of the nation without cracks, without a tendency for some division. The individual ones, those are isolated [cases]. However, I mean, we have gotten along well, mainly. We will get along, because the nation unites us. Because we are of one language, of one blood, of one tradition, of one gene.
And our preachings has been in service of this cause. And it was in its service not only with me, but with my friends too. And so slowly-slowly, being confronted with times, with processes, slowly-slowly (inc.) this, that, this. Then, during the ‘90s, during ‘89, Serbia’s aggression started to show, now, killing Albanians. They put them in prison for a while, then killed them. It was killing students, it was killing intellectuals, it was killing the peasants, and those wearing plis,[18] those with a tie, those with a hat. So, now Serbia was not picking anymore because everyone became an enemy. First, it went with classifications, “No these are the good ones. This social class is good, but that one is bad.” But when it became obvious that we are one, it then extended the action even further, whomever they found in the streets, they ran over them with a tank and exterminated and wiped them off and didn’t want to see them alive because we were an obstacle to them.
And these were the problems that later, following these murders, in the course of these murders, during the mourning rituals, the pame, as we say, another great initiative was born from the prisoners of conscience and the underground miners of Trepça, an alarm, as sort of a prevention, sort of a measure to respond to Serbian repression, to reach national unity. And this was called the Movement for Blood Feuds, Wounds and Disputes Reconciliation.
Erëmirë Krasniqi: How did you get involved there? How did it happen that you got involved?
Mulla Xhevat Kryeziu: And now from here, the alarm came from these two categories: the intellectuals in prisons, the miners stuck in a cave there. You are young, you didn’t… perhaps you do remember, or you don’t remember, no you don’t, no, no. You the cameraman, perhaps you do?
Noar Sahiti: I’m younger than she is .
Mulla Xhevat Kryeziu: You are younger then? No, you don’t remember it either. And, and what happened? Back then [the time] required to get together, to unite, to be united, to give besa[19] to one another. There is the besa-besë of Haxhi Zeka.[20] A number of times Albanians got united before danger, and they tied besa-besë, to be prepared for a danger ahead which was being prepared, prepared in the notorious kitchen of the Serbian Academy, those Çubrilovićs,[21] vićs, and other ićs,[22] to carry on extermination and wipe off this nation. Something that happened even in the past throughout history. This has happened even earlier. It means, the pressure didn’t happen only in ‘81 and later, but throughout history, this nation shed a lot of blood throughout history.
And there came a moment to establish the Movement for Blood Feud Reconciliation. This movement was led by the best class of people of the time. And they were, they were the angels of that time, the students. The students are the best strata of this nation. They are innocent, they are young sprouts that get educated, look forward, we expect their engagement, we expect their contribution. And it was they, exactly the youth of the village of Lumëbardh, on Feb 2 of the year 1990, it started a… to tie a besë, for two-three months, afterwards a wound, a blood feud, and so we consolidated the cadres, established the Councils, and gradually became a full army and we began the action, this action was successful, this action was crowned with getting closer, unity, reconciliations.
When we started I, I was in Lumëbardh sometimes around February 2, we started to shake, what is happening, what shall be done. And for the first time I had a contact with Anton Çetta[23] in a TV interview. And here is what, what I understood… and Anton says, I contacted him through the television, Anton says, “Once someone committed a brave deed and people started, the rhapsodists composed songs and sang a song to that gentleman. And one day, he happens to be at a celebration. He came to a wedding or something, and rhapsodists started to sing a song. And when he heard his song he pulled out the gun and started to shoot in the air. A wise old man who was there says, ‘Oh, don’t. May God punish you, what have you done, bre! Because you have killed your song.’ And never again, from that moment on, did they sing a song to that man. A person can kill his song while being alive. Thus, it is not good to sing to someone while they are alive, but sing about them after they have wrapped up the second semester, as we say. Whoever travels to eternity, whoever leaves this world, because they cannot be sung to while they are alive, because a person is able to kill his song.” I saw Anton Çetta for the first time.
The movement, the action began amidst students, it began in Peja, c’mon now, what shall we do? Then the initiative started in the municipal assemblies. And it got established even where I live, in Malisheva and they gave me a call. Some times ago, on the 31st, now it is… today it is the 26th, the 26th today, on January 31, 1990, Ali Kryeziu is killed in Malisheva, Abdullah Mazreku is killed in Malisheva, and someone else who is not known today was wounded, and eleven others were wounded by the forces of Serbian barbarity. Ali was a close relative of mine, our grandfathers were brothers. Ali’s grandfather and my grandfather were brothers, and I got organized together with cousins and brothers, I organized the pame, the funeral. And when the Movement started, they gave me a call, “Mulla Xhevat, can you come to the Council to help us because your contribution is significant, and we need you.” “Yes more, of course.”
And I went and started off together with friends. We scored some success. And they send me an invitation, on the 20th… on April 14, 1990, on Easter day it was held, a religious gathering was held at the church of Zllakuqan, related to some blood feud reconciliation over there. And I did take part as a guest. It was on April 14. And after that I took the commitment to do it myself… because now, in those places where reconciliation was taking place, in shops, oda,[24] they were small now. The action started to grow. The requests were pouring, people looked forward to it with enthusiasm. People wished to do something. And back then odat were small, small yards. I was forced to organize the blood feud reconciliation in the mosque of Bubavec, which is nowadays called the Mosque of Reconciliation, as we have named it. And there…
Erëmirë Krasniqi: Did reconciliation take place in Zllakuqan?
Mulla Xhevat Kryeziu: Yes, Zllakuqan took place. Now, I wanted to imitate Zllakuqan, and I wanted to do something similar. It was dangerous, because we were under violent measures. You dared not put three Albanians together. You had to apply for permission from the police authorities. Unfortunately they, they were still, our police had few competencies, still. And I had to… four-five days earlier we were preparing to reconcile 27 blood feuds in Bubavec, and some wounds and disputes. We gathered , we prepared for the official reconciliation to take place there. So I consulted with friends, I had to go and notify the authorities. There was a young man, someone called Faik Jasiqi from the region , now the municipality of Junik. He was a new employee in Malisheva, a police commander. He was replacing someone else. He didn’t know me, neither did I know him.
I said, “Sir, commander, I have a request…” it was April 26, Eid Day,[25] “something special, there is a blood feud to reconcile and I just came to let you know, alright?” He said, “Fine, fine. Your name is Mulla Xhevat? Mulla Xhevat,” he said, “tell me the whole purpose of the action.” He heard, it was spoken about in Bubavec, “It will be held in Bubavec, in Bubavec.” Because back then something was about to happen, we wanted someone to do something, to make a move. “But c’mon commander, there is only a blood feud to be reconciled, a wound, not much.” “No, no, no, you have to tell me.” And now I, if I told him, he would not believe me. If I didn’t tell him, he already heard of it. What will happen? “Commander,” I said, “well fine bre, on Eid Day, people do come there. I am telling you, a blood feud will be reconciled bre man, that’s it.” He said, “No, no, you have to tell me.” “Well, I am telling you.”
When he said to me, “Listen Mulla Xhevat, I will come to Bubavec with my patrol.” Violent measures have been imposed in the station of Malisheva. There were Serbs, they came from Serbia, from Bosnia. I think I’m wrong, not from Serbia, from other places, Vojvodina. He says, “I want to give them a leave day and I will take over the action, the responsibility, and come to protect you and that region and unless I get killed first, nobody else will be killed.” Eh, what do I gain here! So I told him everything about what is going to happen. “We have invited many people. There will be a few reconciliations. We will have a song, a recital, there will be a stage there, there is a rally there too.”
And this happened on April 26, 1990, Eid Day. We had just finished our Eid prayers, we had set the stage, the sound system. We had put placards at the door of the mosque. Something I will never forget, we had a banner with a slogan written by Muhamet Pirraku, may he rest in peace, on the door of the mosque of Bubavec: “And not look to church or mosque, the faith of the Albanians is Albanianism!”[26] Professor Anton Çetta said, “Muhamet, this is too much for Mulla Xhevat. Mulla Xhevat, what do you think?” I said, “Professor, it is a bit much for me, but the times want it.”
And strange enough, this slogan was in place and some of my colleagues got insulted by me, “In Bubavec mosque it says: And not look to churches…?” The point isn’t not to look at churches, mosques. Because they are our religious sites where humans express their will, faith and wish. The message wasn’t not to look at, but the message was not to get divided by churches and mosques, because the Albanian religion is… I mean, it is obligatory, important, primary for us was to strengthen and liberate ourselves from the Serbian occupation, to recognize our fatherland, to create our state, and then there is freedom of religion, go ahead and do whatever you want. That was it.
But someone, those who didn’t see far, those who used to see only like this {places both hands at the edge of his eyes}, found it offensive, “How come, Xhevat?” And it did happen here… something else. In this very mosque, on Eid Day, five [Catholic] priests came over to the rally for the reconciliation of blood feuds. There were five on stage, because ten or twenty were sitting down, the others as spectators in the crowd.
[1] Rreth (circle) is the social circle, includes not only the family but also the people with whom an individual is in contact. The opinion of the rreth is crucial in defining one’s reputation.
[2] Alb. Opingë – moccasin tied on with thongs, clogs with hard rubber soles and rubber or leather uppers.
[3] Turk: Jan icik, small hand-made bag.
[4] Alb. Traditional ritual among Albanians to honor the deceased.
[5] Outlaws, bandits, also known in other regions of the Balkans as hajduk or uskok, considered simple criminals by the state, but often proponents of a political agenda of national liberation.
[6] Madrasa, Medrese – Muslim religious school, the only school where teaching could be conducted in Albanian until 1945.
[7] Semimaturë was the old set of examinations given to students after the fourth year of elementary school.
[8] Colloquial more! – used to emphasize the sentence, it expresses strong emotion. More adds emphasis, like bre, similar to the English bro, brother.
[9] A European type of secondary school with emphasis on academic learning, different from vocational schools because it prepares students for university.
[10] Mulla Xhevat’s surname Kryeziu literally means black head. In the given context, Mulla Xhevat hitting his head against the window while saying his surname is a funny coincidence.
[11] Colloquial: used to emphasize the sentence, it expresses strong emotion.
[12] Hoxha; haxhi – Local Muslim clergy, mullah, muezzin.
[13] Colloquial, expresses disbelief, distress, or wonder, depending on the context.
[14] Adem Demaçi (1936-) is an Albanian writer and politician and longtime political prisoner who spent a total of 27 years in prison for his nationalist beliefs and activities. In 1998 he became the head of the political wing of the Kosovo Liberation Army, from which he resigned in 1999.
[15] Serb: otkup, head tax.
[16] Arab. Sheit – shaid hero, martyr.
[17]Naim Frashëri was an Albanian poet and writer (1846-1990.) He was one of the most prominent figures of the Rilindja Kombëtare ( National Awakening), the the nineteenth century Albanian national movement, together with his two brothers Sami and Abdyl. He is widely regarded as the national poet of Albania.
[18] Traditional white felt conic cap, differs from region to region, distinctively Albanian.
[19] Alb. Besa – In Albanian customary law, besa is the word of honor, faith, trust, protection, truce, etc. It is a key instrument for regulating individual and collective behavior at times of conflict, and is connected to the sacredness of hospitality, or the unconditioned extension of protection to guests. In this context it is truce.
[20] Haxhi Zeka (1832-1902) was an Albanian nationalist leader and member of the League of Peja, an alliance which in 1899 tried to negotiate autonomy for Albanians within the Ottoman Empire. In this process, a truce was declared among people involved in feuds in order to unite against the Ottomans.
[21] Vaso Čubrilović (1897-1990) was a Bosnian Serb political activist and academic, a member of the conspiratorial group Young Bosnia, which executed the assassination of the Hapsburg Archduke Franz Ferdinand in Sarajevo in 1914. He advocated the ethnic cleansing of minorities from Serbia, notably the Albanians of Kosovo, in a memorandum published in 1937 and entitled Iseljavanje Arnauta (The Expulsion of the Albanians).
[22] Serbian patronymic.
[23] Anton Çetta (1920-1995), folklore scholar. The leader of Reconciliation Campaign in 1990-92.
[24] Men’s chamber in traditional Albanian society.
[25]Bajram is the Turkish word for festival. Albanians celebrate Ramadan Bajram, which is the same as Eid, and Kurban Bajram, which is the Day of Sacrifice, two months and ten days after Ramadan Bajram. On the day of Eid, there is no fasting.
[26] The line quoted is from Pashko Vasa’s poem, “O Moj Shqypni” [Oh Albania, Poor Albania]. It is the most influential and popular poem in Albanian language. Pashko Vasa (1825 – 1892) also known as Vaso Pasha or Vaso Pashë Shkodrani, was an Albanian writer, poet and publicist of the Albanian National Awakening, and Governor of Lebanon from 1882 until his death. Most of Vasa’s publication were in French and Italian.
