The theatre in Kosova

In 2004 I boarded a plane at Glasgow Airport. I knew it would take me to a former war zone. I didn’t know who would be meeting me at the other end. Email contact with them had been lost two days before and I was not going to re establish contact before my plane landed in Prishtina later that day.

Within two years I returned to be a judge for the International Theatre and Film Festival SKENA UP. There I met Shamil Amin and Nigar Hasib of the Vienna based Lalish theaterlabor. A veteran of three wars, Shamil Amin, a Kurdistani from Iraq who had studied, despite many obstacles in Baghdad was my co judge. His English was good, my German non existent as we tried to discuss theatre. His hero Grotwoski, mine Brook, our common language performance.
As I touched down in Kosova that first time I was greeted, to my relief, by Jeton Neziraj of MULTIMEDIA – a children and young people’s company – and Arben Zharku of SKENA UP. In an attempt to explain to me the circumstances in which they worked, they asked if I had ever been in a country where the culture and language had been vigorously suppressed, which did not have self determination and was denied its own parliament. As a Scot I felt right at home.
Obviously, as I settled into a hotel room that had what looked like bullet holes in the curtains, the similarities were overtaken by the differences, but artistically I found real common ground with my hosts.
Kosovar Theatre began with a tradition of telling historical stories which then grew up post World War Two. By the 60s and 70s the stories of the Albanian majority began to symbolise the desire for free expression. Artists needed to talk to the people whilst being hidden to their Yugoslav masters. It became a theatre sophisticated in symbols that were easily recognisable by the people only. Freedom ‘arrived’ with Milosevic and the Serbian regime. In Kosova this meant theatre became an underground force. The Dodona Theatre in Prishtina became a place that audience snuck into, artists slept in through fear, and eventually arrests and deaths for artists followed. A resistance was easy to contemplate. Resistance against oppression found an easy audience.
On my second visit, Shamil inspired me and I was awe struck at the fundamentally impressive nature of his work. As an artist, he asks us to contemplate what is meant by ‘being’ and ‘performance’. His war experience helped develop that artistic joy. He was enthusiastic and infectious. Together we judged, with that joy, work from all over Europe. It seemed so hopeful then and the independence for Kosova seemed to be ultimate expression of that hope.
The problem for Kosovar theatre now is what does freedom mean? Once you have slipped off the yolk of oppression where does that take you artistically? National theatres are all very well and the National Theatre of Kosova makes headlines in national newspapers in ways we don’t see ours doing. When I was at SKENA UP we were on the national TV daily! The problem of a notion of nationhood is that national organs can be used to send out the message of the majority. Artists in Kosova report the Theatre is being used to promote the majority governing view and not to question, as it should, the nature of reconciliation or revenge. The Albanian Muslim majority suffered horrifically under Milosevic and theatre can help heal.
The problem here though, is not just one of state interference. Jeton speaks of the rehearsals of one of his plays being challenged and questioned because the Albanian characters were not sympathetic enough and the foreign character too sympathetic. Artists and the populace are struggling to find a comfort in being self reflective. Fledgling nations need guidance.
It has been some time since I was in Kosova, although Shamil returns regularly and works alongside the people we met whilst there. I will return one day and hope a visit to the National Theatre is one where I can see the artists question searchingly whilst the nation performs confidently.