In a community still haunted by wartime memories, political tension, and economic uncertainty, culture and art struggle to survive. Yet, it’s precisely here—in these cracks—that the most compelling stories emerge: stories of young people refusing silence, replacing it with voices of creativity, dialogue, and community.
In Mitrovica and the Peja/Peć region, two cultural leaders—Miljana Dunđerín of the private cultural center “Akvarijus” in northern Mitrovica and Redža Kojić of the “Young Volunteers” organisation in Vitomirica—are working daily to embed art in young people’s lives, overcoming ethnic, linguistic, and institutional barriers. But as Kosovo’s youth continue to leave, the critical question remains: for whom are they creating now?
Both opened up in the latest and final episode of KoSSev’s series “Let Me Ask You, Neighbour,” filmed from KoSSev’s studio in northern Mitrovica and Radio Goraždevac.
“Leaders need to put their finger on their smart—or not so smart—heads and see what they’ve caused. Youth aren’t being asked about how they’ll live. We must give them space for freedom; that’s how they survive, through happiness and satisfaction.
Mitrovica – A City Bearing Heavy Burdens, Yet Capable of Shining
For ten years, Miljana Bulatović Dunđerín has run the cultural centre she founded with an ideological mission: to make culture part of everyday life. Annual festivals weren’t enough—they aimed for sustained cultural presence. And they succeeded.
“We have a wonderful audience; without them nothing would work… People appreciate the space as a place of dialogue, where both positive and negative criticism can be heard.”
Despite the city’s challenges, people come—they visit, they stay. Dunđerín adds:
“Mitrovica must have culture to be an urban city. It’s always had it, and that spirit remains.”
She believes their cultural brand can one day reshape the city’s image—a city known only for its “ugly side”—saying:
“It can shine, and has shone many times in these ten years.”
Vitomirica – Reviving a Lost Cultural Tradition
Redža Kojić leads “Young Volunteers” in predominantly Bosniak Vitomirica, once rich in cultural life but now lacking—thanks, he suggests, to “political frustration” and interference.
“Every cultural activity tried to involve politics… our community ended up in a ghetto. Without any local institution or cultural centre for Bosniak youth.”
The cultural arts society Đerdan closed a decade ago, leaving a void that institutions haven’t addressed.
Kojić’s organisation now works to reverse that trend—bringing small-scale initiatives: a youth ensemble, a painting project, and a reading-culture programme exploring literature across Kosovo’s communities.
Though less youth than adults engaged in the reading project, the results speak volumes.
Youth Make Up 70% of Mitrovica’s Audience
In northern Mitrovica, Dunđerín reports, 70% of the cultural centre’s public is young people. Their goal has always been not just to present art, but to educate the next generation—even children under 12.
“Kids who once came to learn painting, acting, creative writing… now they’re our regular audience.”
Art’s Language Is Evolving – And So Must We
She notes that youth consumption differs:
“What once was a beloved book, to them is a well-listened audiobook… A painted picture—now is a print from Jysk.”
Despite these changes, she finds creativity uplifting—not victimising. Their art is generally positive, not expressions of trauma. It’s imaginative rather than biographical—a sign of rapid maturity and protest energy, she says.
She stresses:
“Even when they’re not right, we must support and accept them—because youth is the future.”
Kojić agrees—digital, social-media creativity is still creativity. And it’s positive.
“But Will the Youth Stay?”
Both cultural leaders agree: since 2020, many youth have left due to political, economic, and security factors. Migration is rising—and return rates low.
“Migration’s always existed… but we lack return. Mitrovica sees a one‑way trend: they arrive, then leave again.”
Their plea is clear: youth need freedom, they need space, or these cultural efforts risk being drowned in emptiness.
Is Art’s Language Universal?
Kojić has worked to bridge ethnic divides—supporting a mixed-gender, multiethnic football club, overcoming language barriers (many youth can’t speak Albanian or Serbian).
“Our activities include young people who’ve never met anyone of Serbian community before.”
Small steps, but significant. Adds Dunđerín:
“We have a trilingual website—not perfect, but better than nothing.”
Music, she insists, needs no translation:
“No musical event has been misunderstood—for art is universally comprehensible or intriguingly obscure.”
Challenges Beyond Language
Her center refuses political propaganda—art must remain free of censorship. She’s been surprised by exclusionary attitudes: “Why aren’t Serbs here? Because there is no good art,” she was told—“which is untrue.”
Dunđerín reflects,
“Professional discrimination is tragically comic… Without art and culture, society cannot advance.”
Past wounds linger; but both insist on keeping art forward-facing.
In a region scarred by division, arts and culture led by young Bosniaks and Serbs are carving spaces of freedom, understanding, and creativity. But without conditions that make them want to stay, even the brightest cultural initiatives risk fading into memory.
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