Justice Demands More Than Words: Belgin Jashari Is Our Test
Silence in the face of racism is complicity. Kosovo must choose: uphold justice for all, or betray the very struggle that birthed its freedom.
There are moments when the moral temperature of a nation rises suddenly, demanding not only reflection but action. The events surrounding the violent assault on fifteen-year-old Belgin Jashari, a young footballer and member of the Ashkali community, mark such a moment for Kosovo. They represent not merely the failure of one individual’s restraint, but the unravelling of the fragile threads of a society still grappling with its own promises of justice and equality.
As we reckon with this episode, it becomes necessary not only to condemn, but to understand the deeper implications of both the act and the responses it has elicited. The initial silence that greeted Belgin’s ordeal was chilling. A child was attacked, not by a peer, but by an adult, a figure whose age and position should symbolise protection, not harm. That this happened on a football field, a supposed sanctuary for youth and community, only deepens the sense of collective failure. Yet perhaps more telling than the assault itself was the deafening quiet that followed from those in power, from those whose voices are charged with the responsibility to set the moral compass of a nation.
It was only after public outcry began to stir, following my own reflections published1 shortly after the incident came to light2, that we witnessed a reluctant awakening. The members of Parliament3, the Minister of Justice4 and the President5 took to social media, issuing statements of condemnation. Their words, though necessary, arrived with a lateness that underscored the very apathy I had lamented. To their credit, these leaders recognised the gravity of the crime, and their language struck the right chords of solidarity and outrage.
Yet one is left to wonder: is this enough?
Kosovo's leaders must come to terms with a reality that social media posts, however eloquent, cannot substitute for the heavy machinery of law, justice, and structural change. A nation does not heal from the wounds of discrimination through hashtags and carefully crafted paragraphs. Justice is not meted out in the comment sections of Facebook. The weight of governance lies not in performative empathy, but in the relentless pursuit of real, measurable, and enforceable equality.
The Ashkali, Roma, and Egyptian communities in Kosovo have lived too long on the periphery of our national consciousness. Their struggles, though acknowledged in reports6 and fleeting initiatives, have rarely been met with the sustained commitment necessary to dismantle systemic barriers. Belgin Jashari’s beating, therefore, is not an anomaly; it is a symptom of a deeper, more persistent malaise, the failure of integration, the absence of solidarity, and the quiet persistence of prejudice.
Reactions from government officials, however welcome, must now transcend the realm of rhetoric. It is not sufficient to speak of a Kosovo where all are equal; it is imperative to build one. The instruments for this transformation are already at our disposal: the law, public policy, education, and community engagement. What remains is the will to wield them fully and fearlessly.
We must demand of our institutions that they move beyond symbolic gestures. The investigation into Belgin’s assault must be thorough, impartial, and exemplary. The perpetrator must face justice, not as a sacrificial scapegoat, but as a clear message that no act of racially motivated violence will go unpunished in this republic. Yet beyond the individual case, we must ask: what protections are in place to prevent this from happening again? What resources are being allocated to ensure that marginalised communities are not only protected, but empowered?
The Ministry of Justice, in particular, must lead a comprehensive review of how hate crimes are addressed in Kosovo. The existing frameworks must be strengthened, their enforcement made consistent, and their reach extended to every corner of our diverse society. Education ministries must embed anti-racism and diversity into the heart of our curriculum, ensuring that future generations grow up not only aware of difference but respectful of it. Our media, too, must be held accountable, not just for delayed reporting on violence after the fact, but for highlighting the everyday lives, contributions, and aspirations of our minority communities, thus weaving them into the broader narrative of Kosovo’s future.
Let us not forget that Kosovo was born of a struggle for recognition, for dignity, for the simple right to exist as equals in the face of an oppressive order. That legacy is sacred. But it is betrayed when we, in turn, become blind to the injustices within our own borders. We cannot claim the moral high ground on the international stage if we are unwilling to confront the injustices that flourish in our own streets, our own schools, our own football pitches.
The path forward demands more than just momentary outrage. It requires a sustained commitment to building a society where every child, regardless of their community, feels the embrace of their nation. A society where institutions serve not merely the majority, but all who call this land home. A society where integration is not a buzzword, but a lived reality, evidenced in schools, workplaces, and the halls of power.
This is a call not only to our leaders but to each of us. The responsibility of shaping the moral character of Kosovo does not rest solely on the shoulders of ministers and presidents. It belongs to all citizens, in every interaction, every judgement, every act of inclusion or exclusion. The fight against racism, discrimination, and violence is not a singular battle; it is an ongoing campaign that requires vigilance, courage, and an unwavering belief in the fundamental equality of all human beings.
To Belgin Jashari, and to every young person who watches this unfold with fear or hope, we owe more than our sympathy. We owe our action, our voice, our unrelenting demand for justice. The measure of a nation is not how it treats its powerful, but how it protects its most vulnerable. Kosovo must rise to this measure, not in word, but in deed.
We have reached the point where silence is no longer an option, where passive regret must give way to active resolve. Let us, then, take this moment not as an indictment of what we are, but as a challenge to become what we aspire to be: a just, inclusive, and compassionate society, where no child fears the prejudice of their neighbour, and where every citizen knows that their dignity is sacred, protected, and upheld by all.
Belgin’s Beating: Our National Disgrace
There is a moment in every nation’s history, when silence itself becomes a complicity too heavy to bear, a moral abyss into which all claims of justice, democracy, and human dignity are swallowed. In Kosovo, a young boy, Belgin Jashari, fifteen years of age, a child, a citizen, a sportsman, and a member of the Ashkali community was physically and verbally assaulted during a football match. The aggressor: not another youth acting in the heat of play, but a grown adult, a parent, who stormed the field with the fury of inherited prejudice, delivering not only blows to a child’s body, but to the very soul of a society still claiming to recover from the wounds of systemic oppression and ethnic hatred.