By: Dragutin Nenezić
The dynamics of global events (mostly conflicts and scandals) are such that very significant, though less “interesting,” developments are often overlooked—such as the situation of Serbian education and healthcare in Kosovo. While the main political actors are busy either with TikTok and conversations with Americans about restoring Baka Prase’s (Serbian YouTuber) YouTube channel, or with sharp statements related to the electoral odyssey of the Serb List, I believe it is time to offer several clarifications regarding this situation, which so far has been publicly addressed only by a small number of my friends.
Aware that here, as was the case with the dinar nearly two years ago, there will likely be no real help—only a postponement of the inevitable—I would, on the Sunday of the Tax Collector and the Pharisee, rather be the tax collector than the Pharisee.
What the Implementation of the Law on Foreigners Brings
This topic has already been discussed many times and, at this point, can be reduced to the following:
- The law has been adopted, and to my knowledge has never been challenged before the Constitutional Court, although there are grounds for doing so;
- The implementation of the law has been postponed until March 15—while I do not rule out another postponement, for the reasons listed below I consider it less likely; and
- The institution that will be hit hardest initially is the University of Priština with its temporary seat in Kosovska Mitrovica, as it is not accredited within the Kosovo system (though it is recognized within European frameworks, a fact that is often overlooked and insufficiently utilized).
Indications that something serious is being prepared for March 15 include information that Serbian institutions are rapidly compiling lists of who holds Kosovo documents, as well as the sudden acceleration of the process of verification of Serbian diplomas. Kurti’s statement regarding licenses for Serbian doctors may or may not be true, but it follows the same line.
Finally, the complete absence of any visible and public reaction (aside from confirmation that some sort of expert team is being formed) on the Serbian side suggests yet another example of tacit implementation of what has already been agreed.
Whether teaching will be physically relocated, as everything connected to the dinar has been, or conducted online, as it was during the COVID-19 pandemic, is of lesser importance. The moment students without Kosovo documents are prevented from physically attending the University, along with professors in the same situation, marks the beginning of the end of the University in the form that—one can freely say—has strengthened North Mitrovica over the past 25 years, with all the consequences such weakening entails.
What Awaits Education and Healthcare
When that happens, only primary and secondary schools, as well as the healthcare system, will remain. According to the (in)famous draft statute of the Association/Community of Serb-majority Municipalities (ASM), these institutions are envisioned, as one of my aforementioned friends puts it, under a sort of public–private partnership model, financed from Belgrade through the Pristina treasury. Until that statute is adopted (which will almost certainly be preceded by constitutional review, leaving open the question of what will ultimately remain of it), Kurti’s plan of gradual integration is being implemented—whatever that may actually mean.
Whatever is applied, it offers little consolation for schools, because under Article 46 of the Law on Pre-University Education in the Republic of Kosovo (full official title, to avoid confusion), all programs—including those of private institutions—must be approved by the Kosovo ministry.
As one of my friends who is enrolling his child in primary school in North Mitrovica this year (and who does not speak publicly) says, mathematics is the same everywhere, but some other subjects are not—for example, history, which, judging by the above-linked residence criteria, would be taught according to Kosovo standards. Not to mention technicalities such as the fact that the Kosovo system has nine grades divided into two levels, and similar issues.
As for healthcare, the situation is technically even more challenging. In Kosovo, health insurance contributions practically do not exist, which makes it uncertain how Serbian insured persons would receive treatment in Kosovo healthcare institutions (not to mention the issue of Serbian medicines, which the Kosovo system currently does not allow).
That aside, the essence of the problem is that even if the 50 Serbian doctors with Kosovo licenses mentioned by Kurti do exist, they currently have nowhere to physically work (unless the private sector is taken into account).
If, however, Serbian healthcare institutions are expelled or relocated (which goes hand in hand with the issue of the dinar), those doctors would have physical facilities in which to work—but those new institutions would have no means of financing, and it is also questionable to whom they would be able to provide services due to insurance-related problems, as well as how and which medicines these unfortunate people would be able to procure. That is, unless the issue is resolved through an agreement on cooperation in the field of health insurance, as is done with other states, or through the ASM—whose draft statute only partially addresses these problems, primarily the issue of financing and the use of premises of Serbian institutions.
Conclusion
It is difficult for me to write this, but it seems that the choice facing Kosovo Serbs (equally those in the North and the South, when it comes to education and healthcare) is binary: either to leave Kosovo – which nearly every friend of mine with school-age children is already considering, if they have not already left—or to stay and wait, either for Kurti-style integration (which, like everything Kurti does, will be anti-Serb), or for the ASM (for which it is unknown when it will be formed, under what framework, but which will in any case exist within the Kosovo system, with everything that entails).
Before that, students and professors of the University without Kosovo documents will likely leave, until the University itself leaves as well—whether to Raška or Novi Pazar, or into the wastelands of the Serbian internet.
From my side, all that remains is regret that I did not help in this situation, and shame that we collectively allowed this to happen, accompanied by loud silence (precisely like that of Koča Popović at the Brioni Plenum).
Therefore, I ask everyone:
Are the Serbs in Kosovo and in Metohija truly so worthless that we so easily handed them over to Kurti—or is that rather something that can be said about us, because we allowed it?
And after that, can anyone even minimally aware really be surprised by the accelerated dismantling of what little rule of law remains, accompanied by the shameful comments of the President of the Constitutional Court (who, it should also be noted, as a member of the Venice Commission regularly votes in favor of opinions on Kosovo regulations)?
Finally, if the authorities commit such wrongdoings, what can be expected from the opposition (which is also shamefully silent), and even from students (who speak out on this issue only at the level of individual faculties)? On the anniversary of the protests on March 15, will anyone remember colleagues who will no longer be able to study in Kosovo?
All views expressed in this text are the author’s personal opinions and do not necessarily reflect the views of the editorial board. KoSSev is not the author of this text.
Preuzimanje i objavljivanje tekstova sa portala KoSSev nije dozvoljeno bez navođenja izvora. Hvala na poštovanju etike novinarske profesije.
