Part Two
Selatin Novosella: That day, Sabri was very happy and said, “Have you heard the news?” I said, “No.” “Why?” I said, “We took a train from Fushë Kosovë to Belgrade and then switched. From Belgrade to another place, Zagreb. In Zagreb, we boarded a train to Rijeka and from Rijeka to… we haven’t heard anything, we’ve been traveling for three days,” he said, “They have surrounded Aleksandar Ranković.” Ranković was Marshall Tito’s closest associate. But the fact that he was a shka and had been the head of the UDB was good news for them, and it turned out to be good news. It turned out to be good news. If you were older [addresses the interviewers], we would speak more freely because you don’t know these things, of course. You have heard something but you don’t…
Anita Susuri: Yes, yes, I know…
Selatin Novosella: No, I mean you don’t know the details because you certainly know a lot. But if you were older, you would have more information because I know you know a little bit about everything. Actually, ‘66 was good news, very good news. The prison releases began. Those of us who were expelled from school were accepted back into studies. I started at the university, meaning I had lost… I was in the same class as Ibrahim Rugova, Sabri Hamiti, and many others, but I had fallen behind because I had spent two or three years as a shepherd.
Now, from ‘66 to ‘68, it was a time, a kind of romanticism of its own kind. Why? Because the press from Albania started coming in, illegally. Books from Albania started arriving, Historia e Skënderbeut [Alb.: The History of Skanderbeg], Trimi i Mirë me Shokë Shumë [Alb.: The Brave Man with Many Friends], from Pitarka, Skanderbeg’s photographs, Skanderbeg’s emblems. It was the 500th anniversary of his birth. Songs about Skanderbeg, the movie about Skanderbeg. There was a Kino Armata here somewhere. People would sleep [camp], they slept to be able to buy tickets in the morning to go see the movie Skanderbeg, it was a time of romanticism.
Anita Susuri: Did you see it too?
Selatin Novosella: Yes, of course.
Anita Susuri: What was it like? What kind of feeling?
Selatin Novosella: Now it’s this, go on Google and look up Skanderbeg, the main role is played by a Russian. It’s the best film that has been written and shot so far. Why? Because it was made by a Russian-Albanian production. When we saw Skanderbeg’s war, his heroism, I mean… then the dramas started to come, Cuca e aleve, Shtatë Shaljanët [Alb.: The Seven Shaljans], Trimi i Mirë me Shokë Shumë [Alb.: The Brave Man with Many Friends] and others. Plaku i Maleve [Alb.: The Old Man of the Mountains], about Bajram Curri. In fact, with us, a kind of reactivation began, not just for us in ‘64 because it had happened even earlier, in fact, there was a growing sense of optimism that things were getting better.
Meanwhile, after the fall of Ranković, Tito was now a well-known strategist, a great patriot, a very great Yugoslav patriot as a Croat. In fact, Kaqusha Jashari once said, I said something in this context about Tito. She said, “I am a Titoist. But, if someone hears you talking about Tito in good words,” I said, “First of all, Tito was neither a Serb nor a Montenegrin, Tito was a Croat and he was a great patriot. Not a Serb or a Croat, but a Yugoslav, he loved Yugoslavia very much.” Yugoslavia was the most stable, the strongest, the most democratic, the most economically strong state compared to all the eastern states. Now they might say, “How can you say that? You were imprisoned three times during Tito’s time?” I am telling the historical truth. This is the historical truth.
Tito used to take advantage of the situation, sometimes Kennedy would come to Belgrade, sometimes Khrushchev, he was a genius, a strategist who knew how to exploit circumstances like few others until now. Maybe no one. This is the truth. And then discussions began about constitutional changes, to advance the status of Kosovo, to become a Republic, to gain the right to self-determination, to open the University of Pristina, to allow literature from Albania. It started to breathe. An international conference was held, not a national one, an international conference in the hall of the Assembly of Kosovo.
Aleks Vuthaj was the president of the Academy of Sciences, they brought the bust of Skanderbeg, and Fadil Hoxha unveiled it, the bust of Skanderbeg in the solemn hall of the assembly. There were French, Russians, Turks, and Italians. About 80 papers were read. It was read, until recently they took your photo and tore it up, Gde se rodio Skenderbeg?[Srb.: Where was Skanderbeg born?] and now, there was a huge change. These things need to be critically evaluated. Only the ignorant, and in Turkish, in Arabic it means uneducated, without knowledge, without education, liars. One must not lie, the truth must be told. There was a great change. Only Adem Demaçi and many of his friends were still serving heavy sentences.
Then the idea to organize demonstrations came to us. Because shkije were saying, “Only some nationalists, some irredentists, some Enverists want the Republic of Kosovo,” so in order to show that it wasn’t just them but also the students and the people demanding it, we went out in demonstrations. We didn’t know what demonstrations were, we had never seen them, we watched on television how they did them in Paris, how they did them in Berlin, how they did them in America, how they did them in London, to see technically how they were done. We thought that if we went out, they would kill us all. In fact, one of our organizing friends said, “If they wound us or kill us, what should we do?” May he rest in peace, Osman Dumoshi said, “Put them on the sidewalk and continue the demonstration. There will be time to deal with them.” Because young people, as they say in Albanian: “The young are like the north wind,” they are fearless.
The demonstration turned out to be very powerful, very. Despite the fact that a boy was killed, that boy died in my arms, Murat Mehmeti, about 12 of us were wounded by firearms, dozens were injured, and over 70 were arrested and sentenced… the first demonstrations took place, it is important for you to know, in Prizren, precisely in Prizren. Then, in Peja, Pristina, and other places. The demonstration was very successful. We were later tried along with many others. I was sentenced with nine of my friends. I was sentenced to five years and so on.
Anita Susuri: And how was the organization? Was there… surely there was some kind of organization for that kind of demonstration?
Selatin Novosella: To talk about the organization, we would need to talk for two hours. But if your brother wasn’t allowed to know if it was being organized, if your mother didn’t know it was being organized because we held the meetings in people’s houses. For example, when they were at my house, they would put out a krelanë and some cheese, bring a cup of tea, and the friends would come and sit. When a family member came inside, they didn’t know we were having a meeting, Sabri, who had just gotten out of prison, didn’t know. He couldn’t know. Mother Naile couldn’t know. “The friends are just sitting and chatting.”
There, we would decide what we were going to demand, who would write, who would raise the banners, who would organize the demonstrations, who would make the connections with other cities. I mean, it’s a history in itself. So far, I’ve written six books, I mean, it was done in strong secrecy. And the demonstrations turned out powerful, then spread to Podujevo, Gjilan, and Ferizaj. They were successful, and the main demand was self-determination, which is much more than a republic. But of course, also the Republic of Kosovo.
We were then punished and dispersed throughout Yugoslavia, and… actually, there’s a family element, I got engaged about three months before I was imprisoned, and of course, this is my wife {points to a photograph} and she waited, of course, for four years. I even wrote her a letter after I was sentenced… I will publish it in the meantime since next year is her 50th birthday. I have gathered all the letters I sent her and all the ones she sent me in prison, and I will publish a book of letters. Only I know how I managed to get them out of prison.
In that letter, I told someone, I didn’t tell them, I even wrote a book. My friends asked why I didn’t say, “Dear,” I didn’t say dear. I wanted to make it more distant, I wanted to free her from obligations towards me. I said, “Respected girl,” not dear, “Respected girl, I have been sentenced to five years of heavy prison,” I shouldn’t have said it, but I did, “I will serve these years,” I told her something I shouldn’t have, to hurt her, “whether I get out of prison or not, it’s unknown. You have no obligation towards me, you are young, marry, start a family, look after your life. You have no obligation towards me at all.” Did I really mean that? It’s not true (laughs). But I wanted, as they say, to be at peace with myself and with God. “If I am destined for this, you have no obligation.”
She wrote to me, told me, “Not just five, but even if you were sentenced to 15 years, I wouldn’t seek another fate. I will wait for you my entire life, and this, this, this…” This phenomenon, you should have taken up this topic, not them, the phenomenon of waiting, a worldwide phenomenon. Not just women with children, not just women without children, not just fiancées, how many girlfriends have waited? Five, ten, 15 years. Ali Lajçi didn’t have anyone for about 15 years, no marriage for 15 years. My friends, their wives went to Stara Gradiška, they got engaged, educated girls, working in banks in Pristina, and they went there to get married and wait. This is a phenomenon to which we have dedicated very little attention. When I say we, I mean us, you, science, knowledge. The phenomenon of women waiting is a miracle.
And then after my release from prison, of course… I was released on January 27, I was imprisoned on January 27, ‘69, and I was released on January 27, ‘72. After a week, I got married and it was a special wedding. The dinner was held in a house… dinners were held in houses back then. When we heard that in Turkey they were being held in salons, we used to say what is that, like shkije, that’s what we used to say. In one house was the bride, the women, and the girls, in another house were the men, uncles, and whoever else, and in another house were my friends. And there was a wedding, it was phenomenal for the time. Even the Shota Ensemble was there, not singers but the music, I mean, and it was a very, very well-known moment.
Even my mother Naile, while I was in prison, dedicated a poem to my wife, while my three sisters, Igballe, Magbule, and Meleqe, were wonderful women. At that time, all three of them were students… she [my mother] wrote the text, she said it in her own way because she was illiterate. My wife’s name is Elife, and she says somewhere, “Oh Elife, how beautifully you have waited for your husband for five years,” (cries), “for five years, oh Elife, how beautifully you have waited for your husband for five years. For five years, he has been in captivity to make Kosovo part of Albania” (cries).
Anita Susuri: To say Kosovo is Albania, is that correct?
Selatin Novosella: “To make Kosovo part of Albania.” And my three sisters with three tambourines, singing like only sisters can for their brother. It was a moment that cannot be repeated. And then, in the meantime, my son was born on November 28. What should I name him? Flamur [Alb.: Flag]. But I couldn’t name him Flamur because my older brother had already named his son Flamur. So, I named him Valon [Alb.: waves]. Meanwhile, when my other brother’s daughter was born, we already had a Flamur, now Valon was my son, and now Sabri’s daughter, who is in Sweden, is named Vlora. So, it came together, Flamuri Valon në Vlorë [Alb.: The flag waves in Vlora]. What do I mean by this? Not just that we understand each other. But a large number of political activists, even through names, have shown their dedication, they have shown their commitment. Nothing in life is a coincidence at all.
In the meantime, I began my studies. I had started in ‘68, but I had some significant problems during those years. They wouldn’t let me work as a teacher. At that point I had a child. In the meantime, my daughter, Donika, was also born. And simply, this new generation of Kadri Zeka, Jusuf Gërvalla, Ilmi Ramadani, and many other friends had arrived [on the scene]. Then the activities continued, and a political process began, which is a history in itself. The political process and the framed political process have an essential difference. The political process is when you are punished for something you have done, while the framed political process is when you are punished for something you might do. The latter is more terrifying.
Again, I got involved in this trial, there were 19 of us. Of course, Adem Demaçi was sentenced to 15 years, Rexhep Mala and Isa Kastrati are martyrs, and many of them were sentenced to ten to 12 years. I was sentenced to seven years. This started the waiting period for my wife, not seven years, but I served five. When I got out of prison, Valon had already started his first year of elementary school. It was a somewhat emotional moment. So, this was my third trial, and the third time in prison began. They usually moved us around in these prisons. For these four prisons of mine, I say I was, but I wasn’t really there, they took me to the prisons of Pristina, Mitrovica, Prizren for about a year, Gjilan, Niš, Požarevac, and Belgrade. But I served my sentence in these prisons.
Anita Susuri: Why did this transfer between prisons happen?
Selatin Novosella: It’s a police matter. It’s a long story why. For example, we would go on strike. What kind of strike? We wouldn’t take the food. What kind of strike? We wouldn’t work. Then, to prevent the entire prison, which has a minimum of 1000, 1,500 inmates, from rising up, they transferred those who were a bit more troublesome, a bit more rebellious, from one prison to another. They also put them in cells, put them in solitary confinement. During my time in prison, around ten years, they kept me in solitary for about two and a half years. As for Adem Demaçi, I researched a lot about his life and work, and I estimated that he spent around six years and four months in solitary confinement.
But then I heard in an interview, Adem Demaçi on a television program said, “I was in solitary confinement mainly for five and a half years.” And who came to my mind? Big Brother [Reality TV]. What kind of poor souls are they? What kind of nobodies are they? They haven’t seen their mother for a week, they cry. They haven’t seen their wife for a week, they cry. They haven’t seen their daughter… nobodies, poor souls. For five and a half years Adem Demaçi was alone, with God. Mainly in solitary… and the world didn’t end…
Anita Susuri: What was the difference between these prisons? Were the prisons different in terms of conditions or what was it?
Selatin Novosella: We had a trivial question, and I say trivial because it was meaningless. When you are transferred from one prison to another, “Which prison is better? In Požarevac or in Stanište?” The question should be asked differently, “Which prison is worse?”, “Which prison is better?” (laughs). All prisons are the same, that’s it.
Anita Susuri: Did you have contact with your family at that time?
Selatin Novosella: Yes, of course. Regularly. Only in the investigative prisons was it not regular, for example, for months I didn’t have any contact. But when they sent you to Požarevac or Niš, they called those trenches. There, you had scheduled visits, you had a 30-minute visit once a month, that’s it. My fiancée couldn’t come because there was no proof that we were engaged, married. For four years, obviously, I couldn’t see her, that was the rule. One letter per month, one page, and that’s it.
So, the conditions… those who are in other prisons don’t understand, it’s normal, it’s normal that they can’t understand. But the prison conditions… Adem Demaçi gave an interview after he got out of the third prison. A Serb from Belgrade asked him, “Can you describe to us what a day in prison is like? Just one day?” Adem Demaçi knew Turkish very well, and that’s how it is in the newspaper too. He said, “Kako bi rekli Turci gjyr da gör” [Srb.: As the Turks say, look and understand] “Anladin mi?” [Tur.: Did you understand? – He addresses the interviewer].
Anita Susuri: Mhm [nods].
Selatin Novosella: “Prison cannot be explained, prison cannot be commented on, prison cannot be analyzed, prison is experienced.” If they tell the truth. Don’t say this and that, just let it go. For example, a pig’s ear would come like this {explains the size with hands} full of hair, dirty and filthy. Some rotten cabbages were put there, and you got that. You had to eat, to survive. You threw away the pig’s ear in the trash. You washed those cabbages, added a bit of salt and some oil if you had it. Or they put pig’s nails in the beans and you removed the pig’s hooves and ate the rest. Prison cannot be explained. Prison cannot be explained. I don’t intend to repulse you.
One day, the girls from the ministry came, I said, “Oh girls, don’t tell fairy tales. The Prison of Pristina must be restored to its former state. These makeshift toilets must be removed. We relieved ourselves in a can.” There was a potty, you don’t remember, they were from long ago. A potty, clean and plastic, it’s disgusting. But when a man gets up, he relieves himself. Today, there are no animals, in the zoo they don’t treat animals, beasts, wild creatures the way Serbia treated us. To make you relieve yourself publicly. Why did they do that? To humiliate you, to strip you of your dignity, to strip you of your personality.
Therefore, the treatment of prisoners, especially Albanians, was unimaginable. For example, I was kept in the Prison of Prizren for 14 months alone. I requested it, I requested it myself. I went to the prison director, and I said, “Everyone smokes.” One Bozhur [smoked], he was a Serb from Belgrade and smoked some type of Zodiac that was this long {explains length with hands}. One smoked a cigarette, they brought it in shirt boxes. Three people smoking tobacco. The window was as big as the photograph of Adem Demaçi, not to smear the photograph, even smaller. In June, July, August, you would lie on your belly to stick your nose through a five-millimeter gap between the door and the floor to get some oxygen. They were actually poisoning you. I’m not even talking about the unwashed feet, the filth, and dirt that accumulated there.
I went to the prison director in ‘78 and said, “Director,” I said, “I am not returning to the cell,” he said, “God bless!” I said, “Blessed be you! You need to put me in a cell alone.” “But why? You are very quiet,” he said, “you don’t cause problems with the guards, you don’t cause problems with me as the director, you don’t cause problems with the other prisoners,” he said, “I need to write something. It’s true that I am currently your boss, but I also have bosses. I need to justify why you are in a cell,” “Tell them he can’t stand the smoke, he can’t stand the dirt, he can’t stand the filth.” “But we can’t put you in a cell alone.” I said, “If you don’t, there will be a problem.” “What will you do?” I said, “I will go on a hunger strike.” “How many days will you not eat?” “I won’t eat,” I said, “for as long as it takes. Three days, a week, a month, I won’t eat at all. You will have to deal with taking me to hospitals, infusions, troubles. You will have to allow it.”
For investigative prisons, there are two visits per month. “When my family comes,” I said, “I won’t go out to the visit, and you will have to bring them to my cell, which the law doesn’t allow, or you will have to explain that I am sick and in which hospital, or that I am dead and give them the corpse. Now we have a problem,” he said, “Let’s make an agreement, you,” he said, “stay. I won’t write any letter at all. But when the prison inspectors come to visit and open the doors and ask you, you say you had a problem with other inmates and were brought here yesterday afternoon. When they ask me in the office without you, I will say he had a problem with other inmates, we haven’t reported it yet, and I haven’t punished him in the cell yet. Do we have an agreement?” I said, “Yes.” I stayed there for 14 months. Like Big Brother (laughs) a catastrophe, it’s a pity when I see them.
Anita Susuri: Did you regret asking to stay alone?
Selatin Novosella: No, I requested it myself, why would I regret it? I read at least ten to 12 hours a day there. I read all the newspapers of Kosovo, Rilindja, Shkëndija, Fjala, Jeta e Re, Përparimi, Epoka e Re, and I always ordered three newspapers from Belgrade: Politika, Borba, Novosti. Whatever book was published, if someone visited me and didn’t bring me a package of books, that day for me was… I didn’t care if there was sausage, white cheese, or cheese, it didn’t interest me. Books. That’s why Albin Kurti said something wise, because he is a smart guy, he said, “The quality of reading in prison,” he said, “cannot be compared to any other reading.” And that’s true. I spent over 95 percent of my time reading, and I was at peace. How I was at peace, I know (laughs). Like that. I was released on June 15, ‘79, and then I returned to life…
Anita Susuri: And how were the trials?
Selatin Novosella: Excuse me?
Anita Susuri: Did you have a lawyer, for example? How was the trial process?
Selatin Novosella: I never wanted a lawyer. But according to the law, for serious offenses, you can’t go to trial without a lawyer. The court appoints one and gives a fee. But the lawyer in political trials, do you know what they do? They take the fee and go home. Because political prisoners are sentenced before they even go to trial. They are sentenced by the committee, the police, the UDB, they just call witnesses, ask them questions, they tell their stories, and those stories mean nothing. For example, when Adem Demaçi was sentenced the third time on January 6 or February, I think it was ‘76, there is a term in the law called the final statement [allocution]. Whether they sentence you for a month, six years, or execute you, it’s called the final statement, that’s the juridical terminology.
They asked Adem Demaçi, “What do you have to say for your final statement?” He said, “I will say that the first time I worked, it was just because I didn’t know more and I organized just because I didn’t know more. The goal was to unite with Albania. This time I haven’t done anything at all, I didn’t have time, I just got out of prison a few days ago.” There was a bastard from Prizren, Durmish Kaqinaj, a judge, who had said, “If it’s okay, I’ll go,” because they didn’t go to court in Pristina, “I’ll go and judge Adem Demaçi.” And when he judged him, they immediately promoted him.
Albanians who were worse than shkije in power competed to get positions. These things need to be said, need to be emphasized. And the truth is, it was a terrible trial. We were 19 prisoners, we had 19 police officers, and we had 19 family members. Each of us was handcuffed, linked to a police officer. You couldn’t dare look left or right. Those who smoked weren’t allowed to, and if someone needed a light from a friend, the police would light it for them.
During Adem Demaçi’s final statement, he said, “That girl who is writing there, write this down. I haven’t done anything at all this time, neither Selatin nor Osman, the two or three friends I see here who you have put on trial with me. I haven’t done anything with them either. You want to know my opinion, my political belief, I will tell you. Until Kosovo and the Albanian regions under Yugoslav occupation are liberated, there will be no peace in Yugoslavia, in the region, in Europe. Keep this in mind.”
I will not stay this time because the second time I stayed around four years with Adem Demaçi, and this third time I didn’t stay. Friends had asked him during prison, “Why bac? Why did you need to say that? You could have kept quiet, didn’t you think it was enough that you were being judged?” “Swear to you, I knew they would sentence me to 15 years. How could I pay 15 years? And secondly, we have a soul, I couldn’t die in prison and let them think I had changed my mind,” and so on. Then after the liberation in the ‘80s, the demonstrations of ‘81 began. They arrested me again, but not as an organizer. They kept me for two or three months in prisons and so on.
Anita Susuri: Until what year were you involved in this movement? In these underground movements [Ilegale] that existed?
Selatin Novosella: Underground? I told you. The year 1964, the year 1968, and later in some not very well-organized movements, but from ‘64 until what was called the democracy of the ‘90s, I was involved all the time in the underground movement. Then the ‘90s came, different times, different circumstances. Now, asking for the Republic of Kosovo wouldn’t get you imprisoned, it simply became a matter of freedom of speech. I was a member of the Central Council of the Democratic League of Kosovo [LDK], the chairman of the Pristina branch. In 1992, when the first parliamentary and presidential elections were held, I was a member of that assembly, meaning with [Ibrahim] Rugova and others.
We made efforts to do a lot during these years, and I believe they were arduous, exhausting, and painful years. But the political movements were never what we aimed to achieve. We always made a peaceful movement, a mournful one. A peaceful movement of waiting, a peaceful movement of sitting, a peaceful movement of silence. We did not make an active peaceful movement. Because the authority that the political prisoners and the Democratic League led by Rugova had from the ‘90s to ‘96 was such that you could have aimed for the sky. We had that kind of authority, I know.
First of all, Rugova and others, but Rugova had the theory to stay, to wait, to be silent. Quit work? Quit. Leave the hospitals? Leave them. Leave the universities? Close them. Send the children home? Send them. That was a catastrophic policy. I was with Ibrahim Rugova for eight years. They were very terrible years. But over time, it became clear that this tactic needed to change, needed to change and wouldn’t work without change. In fact, ideas emerged that we needed to have a peaceful movement, but an active peaceful movement in the style of Martin Luther King in America, in the style of Gandhi [in India].
This term that the movement was Gandhian-Rugovian is totally untrue. Here, it was a cowardly movement, while there it was a democratic peaceful movement. India, which was a colony of Great Britain, what happened? Colonies are kept 99.9 percent, nearly 100 percent for political reasons. All wars that are fought today, all of them, including the Kosovo war, were fought for economic reasons. If you look at it fairly. Now Gandhi, with his sandals, with a white cloth, with a goat, with goat milk, a philosopher of his kind. Goods would arrive, according to history, with ten ships from England, ready-made items, food, bedding, clothing to be sold. He just told them, “Don’t unload the ships of our occupiers, leave them.” What? They would stay for a day, a week, a month, they would spoil, their expiration date would pass.
Now, to take the primary goods like bananas, cotton, wool, ores, and minerals by force, the British police would load them onto ships for processing. “Don’t load them.” They were being blocked. Demonstrations, hundreds of police, thousands being separated, beaten, trampled. He would say, “Don’t turn back, let them beat you.” This turned into a movement… In fact, the strongest empire of the time, like America, when America hit… I heard from Adem Demaçi, addition, subtraction, multiplication, division, all equaled zero. We could have created an active peaceful movement in Kosovo. I was among the troublemakers, along with Adem Demaçi and Ramë Buja, but it didn’t work out for us.
The time came when the cards had to be shuffled. When the cards of the other movement came, it became an armed movement. Under what conditions? None. No conditions at all. With no chance of winning. But fortunately for us, our great fortune was that these years of waiting, as Rexhep Qosja and many others called it, had a positive outcome. They say every good has a bad, but also every bad has a good. Now it happened that the uprising, the UÇK war in Kosovo, did not happen when it did in Croatia, Slovenia, or Bosnia. And three events of global significance happened. What could the Albanians do? Be killed. But you don’t get killed just to die, you get killed to have an impact.