The more normalization, both social and neighborly, the more we can have intercommunity normalization as well. More development and employment. Especially for the Ashkali community. Especially from the normalization between Kosovo and Serbia.
Written by: Selamir Qerimi
“Selamir, you are not like the others, you are like us.” This is a sentence I often heard in elementary and secondary school. It was as if they were telling me that I was not like the other members of my Ashkali community, that I was “better”.
I don’t deny that this made me proud and relieved. I believed I was different. That I had crossed the boundaries of my community and had a special status. What a joy! I was accepted by others who saw me as “one of their own”.
But now, when I remember it, I feel ashamed. I realize that this kind of distinction was not an honor, but a clear expression of racism.
This experience was a bitter awakening. I realized that what had seemed like appreciation was actually a form of internalized discrimination. I had unknowingly accepted the narrative that my community was “inferior” and that my success was measured by how far I distanced myself from it.
This made me distance myself and try to conform to the expectations of the “superiors,” unintentionally rejecting a part of my identity. This internalized discrimination was not harmless. It influenced my decisions, the way I saw myself, and my ambitions.
A similar experience is also lived by the Ashkali community in areas with a Serb majority—among other “superiors”.
To live as an “inferior” caught between two antagonistic “superiorities” seeking normalization of their relations. This is almost the daily reality for the Ashkali people. Or at least, it was mine.
But no matter how much I tried to erase my distinctiveness in the eyes of the “superiors,” it was still there. I could feel it. Especially when it came to the public, social, and state spheres — integration, representation, inclusion in the common. That was where I didn’t feel “better” than other members of my community. That was where I was simply Selamir, the Ashkali.
I experienced how stigma and prejudice, even when subjective, lead to self-exclusion already in high school. I dreamed of enrolling in the Military Academy. It was a calling I felt deeply—a desire for discipline and to serve my country. But every time I thought about taking that step, I hesitated and felt afraid. Not because of physical or intellectual challenges, but because of the prejudice about the prejudice—that I would be seen as Ashkali. The idea of being judged terrified me. I feared that sooner or later I would have to face how I was truly seen.
I didn’t have the courage to apply. I convinced myself that maybe it wasn’t the right path, that maybe I didn’t love the profession that much. It was an escape fueled by fear.
The deep internalization of prejudice made me my own biggest obstacle. When I realized I couldn’t continue like that, I had to find a way to break this chain and reclaim what had been denied to me—not by others, but by myself.
I began working on rebuilding my self-confidence. In fact, I realized quite late that success isn’t measured by how far I distance myself from my culture, but by how much I can leverage what it offers me to enhance my potential.
This was the moment I began seeking opportunities that connected me with my passion, with what truly belonged to me. While trying to develop myself and challenge the norms, I learned that the opportunities available are endless for those who dare to break the barriers set by others.
I chose journalism. I knew it was a bold step, but also an opportunity to express myself and challenge the perceptions I had about myself. Journalism gave me the chance to change my approach and to fight for the rights of those who often don’t have the opportunity to speak up for themselves.
During my professional journey, I have faced challenging moments, but also moments that helped me better understand myself as a journalist, and above all, as an individual.
One experience I must highlight was a job interview at a media outlet. After a long conversation, the person in charge reviewed my application and told me, “I’m glad you are part of the Ashkali community and I want you on the team.” At first, his words seemed like a welcoming door. But the longer I thought about them, the more I felt an invisible weight, a shadow of doubt hanging over those words.
It was clear — he didn’t see me for what I had built with dedication, but for what I represented in his eyes. It wasn’t my skills that weighed on his decision, but my ethnic identity, a label that, instead of affirming me, confined me within a preconceived framework.
At that moment, I felt an urgent need to set a boundary, a line that should not be crossed. Calmly, but with determination, I told him: “If this offer comes solely because of my ethnic background, then I cannot accept it. Above all else, I want to be valued for my professionalism, my skills, and my dedication — not for something that has nothing to do with the work I know and want to do”.
He was silent for a moment. Then, after reflecting, he said: “I understand, and you are right.” At that moment, I knew — I was not rejecting an opportunity, but affirming my value as a professional.
This is my personal experience of the benefit of the normalization of an individual from a community that tends to be stigmatized collectively. A normalization that creates opportunities for everyone and should be encouraged by all.
The more normalization there is both socially and between neighbors the more intercommunity normalization we can achieve. More development and employment, especially for the Ashkali community. Particularly from the normalization between Kosovo and Serbia.
(The author is a journalist at T7 television based in Prishtina, Kosovo. This publication was made possible within the framework of the project “Dialogue, Solution, Future,” supported by the Federal Foreign Office of the Federal Republic of Germany, implemented by the New Social Initiative (NSI) and the Musine Kokalari Institute for Social Policies. Its content is the sole responsibility of the New Social Initiative (NSI) and the Musine Kokalari Institute for Social Policies. It does not necessarily reflect the views of the Federal Foreign Office of the Federal Republic of Germany).