Gazeta Lazerati, 2007 By Islam Buci & Hito Brahimi
Every time April comes, we cannot help but remember the early spring of 1999, when nearly half of the Albanian nation was at risk of being exterminated by the army of a neighboring Balkan people — the Serbs. The images broadcast by foreign television networks were truly unbelievable. In the heart of “civilized Europe,” right next to Bosnia‑Herzegovina, where only a few years earlier monstrous ethnic and religious crimes had taken place, even worse crimes were now being repeated — crimes more severe than those committed by fascism and Nazism during the Second World War.
Every day we saw mass executions of Kosovar men and boys in streets, in house courtyards, in streams and meadows, especially in the villages. This spring, when almost every day in Albania, Kosovo, and international forums the question is being raised — what will happen to this long‑suffering people? Will they be granted independence and allowed to live free on their own land, or will they be forced again under the rule of the same state and army that reminds them of their murdered and missing loved ones? — the images of those crimes appear even more vivid in our minds.
We recall the mass graves filled with executed Kosovar boys, the endless lines of elderly people, women, and starving, exhausted children heading toward the borders of Albania and, to a lesser extent, those of Macedonia. The suffering faces of thousands of Kosovars in the streets and squares of Kukës cannot be easily erased from Albanian memory, nor the endless line of buses and cars that carried them across Albania.
Even more moving for us were the scenes inside the sports palace of the city of Gjirokastër, where the Kosovars were initially sheltered before being distributed throughout the district. Although certain anti‑Albanian circles inside and outside the country spread propaganda in the South claiming that Kosovars should not be brought to Gjirokastër because of the minority issue, the patriotic people of Gjirokastër — especially the villagers — acted just as they had 55 years earlier, in April 1945, when they welcomed the Cham brothers expelled from their lands. They went straight to the sports palace and extended a helping hand to their Kosovar brothers.
The people of Lazarat, historically known for their patriotism and nationalism, were among the first to rush to the sports palace, taking in and sheltering hundreds of Kosovar families. Almost all Lazarati clans participated, hosting families from nearly every region of Kosovo.
Thus, in the Birbilaj clan, at Nebiu’s home, the Pukaj family from Gjakova was sheltered; in the Krishtaj clan, at Hajriu’s home, the Mulaxhela family from Gjakova; in the Mahmutaj clan, at Ziveri and Enveri’s homes, and in the Brahimaj clan at Hitua’s home, the Delasylaj family from Gjakova. The large Kafexholli clan from Malisheva was sheltered in the Gërveshaj clan at Zeneli and Rizai’s homes; in the Bashaj clan, at Nylbiu, Shkëlqimi, and Embrua’s homes, the Berisha family from Malisheva; in the Bocaj clan at Lefteri’s home and in the Alikaj clan at Shuraipi’s home, the Morina family; in the Pollaj clan at Muharemi’s home; in the Bocaj clan at Demua, Rebaniu, and Pëllumbi’s homes; in the Bejkaj clan at Izeti’s home and in the Alikaj clan at Dashua’s home, the Thaçi and Sunaj families from Malisheva and Deçan; in the Bucaj clan at Elmazi and his brothers’ homes, the Hoda family from Gjakova; in the Dalanaj clan at Neimi’s home; the Dobrunja family at Hysua’s home in Bejkaj; the Shalaj family of Malisheva in the Bashaj clan at Hafuzi’s home; the Krasniqi family of Gjakova at Nesimi’s home in Bocaj; the Mustafaj and Deskaj families of Klina in the Buzheraj clan at Dermushi’s home; and the Metaj family of Gjakova in the Meçaj clan at Mirtja and Astriti’s home. The Lonkari family from Peja was sheltered in the Meçaj clan at Isufi’s home.
Not only the businessmen of the village participated in sheltering the Kosovars, but the entire village — including simple working families such as Memo Basha, Kapo Gaba, Çlirim Proko, and many others. Even the Lazarati residents living in the city, such as Dr. Hodua, Alim Alikua, and others, were among the first to take in Kosovar families.
The noble people of Lazarat did everything they could to make the Kosovars feel at home. They spoke with them, tried to ease their pain, and shared their anxiety and worry for their loved ones fighting in the ranks of the KLA, as well as for their missing relatives.
But as the saying goes, every evil brings some good. The arrival of the Kosovars — our blood brothers — in Albania allowed the two communities to truly get to know one another, forming friendships that will be difficult to forget. After returning to their homes, the Kosovars continued to maintain gratitude and friendship with the families who sheltered them during their darkest days. They not only kept in touch by phone but invited the Lazarati families to every important occasion — weddings, circumcision ceremonies, and family celebrations.
Thus, Elmazi, Demua, and Sherifi visited Malisheva; Nebiu, Xhelali, Melqezi, Ziaj, Muharemi, Izeti, and Dashua visited not only the families who had sheltered them but traveled across almost all of Kosovo. They participated in weddings and gatherings — such as Naipi, Telau, and Harizi with their families — at the home of Ylber Dalhysa in Gjakova, for the circumcision celebration of Ylber’s sons (Çerçiz and Egzon). I, Hitua, together with Naipi and Enveri, traveled to Gjakova in August 2000 to visit the Dasyla family, invited by Ylber and Kija. In the center of Gjakova, we were welcomed by Iliri (the initiator of the Argjiro–Shota association), Ylberi, Agimi, and Dukagjini.
That night, Ylber’s home was full of celebration. Around 50 men and women came to honor us. In their large oda, after asking about each other’s health and remembering the hardships we had shared, the singing began. The next day, they accompanied us around Gjakova. The “Çarshia” neighborhood — the oldest and most historic part of the city — had been completely burned, but reconstruction had begun. We were struck by the names of the people — almost all Illyrian and Albanian names, from Dardania, Berati, Vjosa, Arta, all the way to Saranda and Vlora.
We visited the city cemetery. In the section where the most distinguished citizens were buried, we found the grave of the brother of the great Albanian linguist, Prof. Eqrem Çabej, who had been a teacher in Gjakova and was killed by the Serbs. Near the house where we were staying, there were also Serbian homes — none of which had been damaged. We also visited the Jashari Tower, where 56 members of the family were massacred, and we placed a wreath of flowers in their honor.
Even this summer, Lazarati families have been invited to Kosovar weddings.
Remembering those days of Serbian crimes against the Kosovars, the statements of Serbian politicians claiming “we will not give up Kosovo” sound cynical. These politicians, who now present themselves as democrats, never uttered a single word against Milošević when the monstrous crimes were being committed in Kosovo by their soldiers and paramilitaries. Equally absurd is their supposed concern for Orthodox religious sites in Kosovo, when it is well known — and recognized worldwide — that Albanians have an extraordinary tradition of religious tolerance.
The continuous delays in approving the Ahtisaari Package for Kosovo’s independence by the UN Security Council leave a bitter taste. But without losing hope in the democratic forces of the world — the United States, the United Kingdom, and the entire progressive international community that stopped the Serbian genocide — we wish and hope that our Kosovar brothers, with whom we shared a part of their suffering, will finally be granted independence, live free, and never again witness the horrific scenes of Milošević’s crimes.
