A Memoir of Kosovo’s Resistance from our Democracy Expert in Kosovo – Rozafa Ukimeraj

Forged in Courage: From Walls to Freedom - The Journey of Rozafa Ukimeraj and the Making of Kosovo 

The name Rozafa comes from an Albanian legend of love, sacrifice, and resilience. According to the tale, Rozafa, a young woman, was willingly entombed within the walls of Shkodra Castle to fulfill a prophecy that promised the fortress’s lasting strength. It is said that even as she was sealed within the walls, she asked for her right arm, breast, and eye to remain uncovered so she could continue to care for her child. Her selfless act became eternal, symbolizing the enduring power of women who nurture, rebuild, and hold families and nations together (see the full story here). 

My father, an ethnic Albanian who lived in the then Yugoslavia territory of Kosovo, named me Rozafa for that reason, not only out of love for his Albania homeland and its culture but as an act of remembrance. I was born in the 1980s, a time when ethnic Albanians in Kosovo were separated from their relatives in Albania due to the country’s isolationist communist rule. My father wanted my name to carry the spirit of unity, endurance, and hope that transcends walls and regimes. 

Since my birth, my citizenship has changed three times, not by choice, but by history. I was born in Kosovo when it was part of Yugoslavia, lived through 1989 when Serbia abolished Kosovo’s autonomy, and now, since 2008, proudly hold the citizenship of the independent Republic of Kosovo. Each change has left its mark, shaping not only my identity but also my unwavering belief that belonging is not defined by documents but by the values we uphold. 

When I began school at the age of six in former Yugoslavia, I shared the same building with Serbian children. We learned each other’s languages; I studied poems about Yugoslavia’s leader, Tito, and took the oath of the pioneer — a symbolic ritual in communist countries where children pledged loyalty to the state, rather than to truth or freedom. But history shifted quickly. In 1990, just as I had only four letters left to learn in order to finish my “Abetare” (alphabet book), Serbian police barred Albanian children from entering schools. 

I ran home in tears, thinking I would never learn those final four letters. To my surprise, my mother was also home — she had also been sent home, dismissed from work simply because she was Albanian. Gently, she promised, “We will learn those letters together.” Starting that day, our kitchen table became my classroom, my parents my teachers, and home my first institution of democracy, where dignity, equality, and perseverance were taught before law and politics ever entered my vocabulary. 

My aunt, a medical student, also arrived home from Pristina that same day. She too had been expelled. Soon after that, my father was dismissed from his job. Our family joined thousands of others – fired and humiliated, but unbroken. While universities and schools were closed, Albanians transformed their homes into classrooms. In ethnic Albanian living rooms, education became resistance and, for me, learning those “four remaining letters” became my act of defiance. During this era of repression, when official institutions became off limits to ethnic Albanians, Albanians established our own parallel systems of education, healthcare, and democratic governance, gaining legitimacy within our communities through secret, but free and fair elections. 

In 1998, when the Kosovo War escalated, over one million ethnic Albanians in Kosovo were forced from their homes and fled to neighboring countries during the NATO bombing of Belgrade. In the late afternoon, Serbian police knocked on our door, giving us only moments to leave the small apartment where our memories had been created. Since my father was a peaceful resistance activist and a member of the parliament within Kosovo’s parallel structures, our family was deeply involved in the movement that sought to build a state from the underground. 

During the war, ten thousand lives were lost, and more than one and a half thousand disappeared. We sought temporary refuge in France, but my father’s words still echo in my mind: “We don’t have a replaceable motherland. We must go back.” And so, we returned to Kosovo. 

Back in Kosovo, I decided to study law, determined to use my degree to help build a country that had once existed only in our dreams. Later, I pursued advanced studies in the United States, where exposure to the high standards of democracy, freedom, and rule of law profoundly influenced my approach to governance. Those experiences shaped how I would help build Kosovo’s institutions, emphasizing meritocracy, transparency, accountability, and citizen-centered decision-making, reflecting both universal democratic values and the specific needs of my homeland. 

In the years that followed, my journey in public service led me to the highest levels of government in Kosovo. As Secretary General—first at the Ministry of Local Government and later at the Ministry of Defense—I was privileged to lead teams committed to integrity and reform. 

As a public servant, I dedicated my life to confronting the tension between merit and politics, ensuring that competence is recognized over connections, and championing the inclusion of women in leadership across Kosovo’s institutions. I learned that democracy is not only written in constitutions or declarations, but also cultivated every day through integrity, accountability, equality, and the steadfast commitment of each citizen.  

While Kosovo has made significant strides towards becoming a liberal democracy, our work is far from over. Over the next five years, Kosovo must navigate complex regional and geopolitical dynamics through strategic partnerships with international allies, advancing its path toward full EU and NATO integration to firmly strengthen statehood and sovereignty. Through merit-based governance, transparency, and inclusive leadership, Kosovo can rebuild trust and empower its citizens. A strong justice system, modern education, and firm democratic principles can make it a regional model of integrity, stability, and progress. Like the origin of the name Rozafa, whose courage and sacrifice became the foundation of a strong fortress, I believe that the strength of a nation lies in the institutions we build, the rights we protect, and the values we uphold.