Tolerance – a word often invoked as a moral ideal, a value we are told we should cherish. But what does it really mean when we say “tolerance”? Does anyone truly want to be tolerated? Imagine someone telling you, “I tolerate you.” Does that sound like acceptance, respect, or genuine appreciation? Hardly. Tolerance isn’t a sign that we are truly seen; on the contrary, it draws a line, a distance between us.
And I used to be such a cool gal, easy going. It all started with a visit to the ‘heart of Serbia’ and some strange people taking out and selling kidneys, and lives exactly there in the ancient habitat of all Serbian (if only Serbs would decide if their ancestors were Arbanasi or Slavs).
OK. The aim of this text is to fulfill certain needs. To begin with, it needs to fulfill my need to express a huge gratitude (not merely enough) to the Youth Initiative for Human Rights for inviting me to be one of the participants of a visiting program in Prishtina. Had it not been for this trip, the probability of me ever visiting Prishtina, would be equal to a statistical error.
We were not one of the people with prejudices. Some of us have already been in Prishtina, some have heard amazing stories from the others, and some had no idea where exactly they were going or what was waiting for them there. I belong to the second group. But no matter how many stories I’ve heard, nothing could resemble to what I have experienced.
I believe I’ll always remember the first time I went to Prishtina on my own. It was summer of 2013, and I took the long-forgotten Adio tours bus (at the bus station in Belgrade I told myself: goodbye dear life!) which offers everything but comfort and a safe trip. I arrived at Prishtina bus station around 5 pm. Squeezing the note which contained the address of the guesthouse where I was headed, I looked around myself and felt terrible fear.
