By Darko Dimitrijević
The representatives of the Serb List have returned to the Kosovo Assembly after an absence of nearly six months. However, their return was marked by the abrupt suspension of the session and a sharp rebuke from the Assembly President, Glauk Konjufca, who addressed them with, „Shame on you,“ and, „Go stand at attention before your criminal boss, Radoičić.“
Glauk Konjufca, the President of Kosovo’s Parliament, chose to exercise autocracy in the name of democracy—a move that could be described as the pinnacle of political paradox in the Kosovo Assembly.
In Kosovo, as in much of the Western Balkans, democracy is often treated as theater. This latest act, unconstitutional and unlawful, prompted a reaction only from the Kosovo Democratic Institute (KDI).
If this is the „democratic standard“ Kosovo’s political establishment prides itself on, it is no wonder that both Serbs and Albanians are increasingly choosing to leave Kosovo rather than stay.
I believe that each day, the Serb List sees in its political reflection the same things we, ordinary citizens, often recognize—a repetitive role, a recycled script, and characters cycling through, attempting to justify their failures without taking real responsibility.
As the radio in my car plays the song „Parody of Life“ by the iconic group Babe, I reflect on how it was written to capture the individual’s everyday struggles, yet it perfectly encapsulates the current political reality of Serbs in Kosovo:
„Like a roll of toilet paper, life unravels…“
But in this case, the paper isn’t used to solve problems—it’s used to wipe away the traces of failure.
In this political play, the Serb List often appears as a character trapped in an endless series of missteps—subservience to Belgrade, boycotts, and excuses for lofty goals. It’s not easy to play this role, especially when the audience is growing increasingly skeptical of the main actors—from local power brokers to those in Belgrade pulling the strings.
As the „roll“ of their governance unravels, most citizens are left facing the reality of emptying villages and a harsh daily life in northern Kosovo. Meanwhile, those entrusted with the public’s confidence—and thus its responsibility—remain silent.
„Indifferent and lazy, we’ve become to everything,“ sing Babe. And we, the people, watch as the seats in Kosovo’s parliament are left empty under the banner of boycotts, while few bother to ask—what will become of us in the end?
Excuses abound: „This is an attack on the entire Serbian people,“ one representative told reporters last night, justifying their presence as a bid to retain their mandate.
And while we await „strategic decisions on behalf of the people,“ people continue to leave—quietly, with suitcases and painful choices, driven out by the apartheid regime from Pristina. Those who hide behind the people, instead of standing in front of them, have proven incapable of offering protection through their disastrous political actions.
The song laments, „In the end, there’s nothing left to wipe with.“ Indeed, the Serb List is running out of excuses, out of paper for political pamphlets, and, at least in informal conversations, out of the people’s trust.
Satire has become our sad reality—a political life resembling a roll of toilet paper, rapidly depleting, leaving us empty-handed and with the feeling that we’re part of someone else’s game.
Perhaps it’s time for all of them to listen to the song. Maybe then they’d realize that when the performance ends, the audience goes home—not because they’re satisfied, but because they’ve lost hope.
Darko Dimitrijević is the editor of Radio Goraždevac
Preuzimanje i objavljivanje tekstova sa portala KoSSev nije dozvoljeno bez navođenja izvora. Hvala na poštovanju etike novinarske profesije.
