(english / francais / italiano)
Regressione culturale su tutti i fronti
La guerra di questi anni contro la Jugoslavia e contro il socialismo,
mirata al ristabilimento dell'"ancien regime" nei Balcani, e' stata
accompagnata e sostenuta da una totale regressione culturale. Questo e'
palese in Kosovo e fra gli albanesi come d'altronde anche in tutte le
altre repubbliche ex-federate e tra tutte le altre componenti
nazionalitarie.
1. Sul ritorno della vendetta di sangue ("faide"):
- Résurgence des crimes d’honneur au Kosovo ("Le Courrier des Balkans"
/ IWPR)
- ALBANIA: DURO CODICE VENDETTA NON RISPARMIA PACIFICATORE (ANSA)
2. Sullo sfascio del sistema sanitario ed il risorgere delle
superstizioni:
- DESPERATE ALBANIANS PLACE FAITH IN OLD-TIME HEALERS (Jeton Musliu /
IWPR)
3. Sul massiccio abbandono della scuola dell'obbligo e sul repentino
arretramento della condizione femminile:
- GIRLS FACE PRESSURE TO STOP "WASTING TIME" IN SCHOOL (Zana Limani and
Driton Maliqi / IWPR)
=== 1 ===
( The original text in english:
"Blood Feuds Revive in Unstable Kosovo. Rise in “Honour killings”
blamed on collapse of respect for law and order."
By Fatos Bytyci in Gjakova (BCR No 481, 19-Feb-04)
http://www.iwpr.net/index.pl?archive/bcr3/bcr3_200402_481_4_eng.txt )
http://www.balkans.eu.org/article4117.html
Résurgence des crimes d’honneur au Kosovo
TRADUIT PAR PIERRE DÉRENS
Publié dans la presse : 19 février 2004
Mise en ligne : samedi 21 février 2004
Le nombre des « crimes d’honneur » ne cesse d’augmenter au Kosovo. Dans
les années 1990, une vaste campagne de réconciliation avait été lancée,
mais depuis 1999, la faillite du système judiciaire justifie le recours
à la vendetta traditionnelle.
Par Fatos Bytyci
Il n’y a aucun signe de vie à l’extérieur de la maison des Murati, dans
le village de Duzhnje, au sud-ouest du Kosovo. Les fenêtres sont
fermées et il n’y a pas de traces de pas dans la neige devant la maison.
Osman Murati, soixante ans, n’ouvre le portail central que pour sortir
la tête et voir qui frappe. Il a peur que des gens ne viennent lui
tirer dessus, pour venger le double crime que vient de commettre Valon,
son fils de 20 ans.
Les crimes d’honneur sont profondément enracinés dans la culture
albanaise et ont été formellement reconnus dans la collection des lois
tribales du Moyen Age, connue sous le nom du Kanun de Lekë Dukagjini.
Ce dernier précise que « si un homme en tue un autre, il faut qu’un
autre homme de la famille de la victime, rende la pareille ».
Sous l’ère communiste, les crimes de sang étaient relativement rares
chez les Albanais du Kosovo ou d’Albanie. Mais après les temps troublés
des années 1990, les principes du kanun de Lekë sont réapparus, d’abord
dans le chaos de l’Albanie post-communiste, puis dans le Kosovo voisin,
surtout après les frappes de l’OTAN et le retrait des forces serbes.
Pendant plus de trois mois, ni Valon Murati, ni son frère, son père et
son grand-père n’ont bougé de chez eux, par peur de la vendetta.
Les assassinats ont eu lieu le 10 novembre quand Valon Murati, membre
de la police du Kosovo (KPS) à Gjakova (Djakovica), a tué Sadik et
Safedin Zeneli, âgés respectivement de 55 et 30 ans, en rentrant chez
lui. Les victimes étaient cousins de Valon et venaient du même village.
Isak Zeneli a entendu les coups de feu. « J’ai vu deux personnes
allongées par terre », se souvient-il. « Valon courait vers le village
en criant : J’ai tué deux personnes ».
En attendant son procès, Valon Murati a été libéré sous caution. La
famille Zeneli est furieuse et croit que l’assassin a été relâché parce
qu’il s’agissait d’un officier du KPS. Maintenant ils menacent de se
faire justice eux-mêmes. Sadik Dobruna, leur avocat, affirme que le
tribunal a agi sans raison. « Cette décision a mis le suspect en
danger. Elle lui fera plus de mal que de bien ».
Faillite de la justice
Xhafer Zeneli, le frère de Sadik, n’a pas écarté la menace que la
famille ne prenne sa revanche sur Valon Murati. « Il n’y a pas de
justice au Kosovo. Il a tué mon frère et il est libre. Sadik a beaucoup
de fils en Allemagne. À leur retour, ils se vengeront ».
Selon le canon de Lekë Dukagjini, il faut qu’un meurtrier demande sa
sécurité à la famille de la victime - qui doit donner sa parole, sa «
besa » - pour ne pas être abattu en sortant de chez lui.
Dans le cas des Murati, la famille des morts a refusé de se plier à ce
code, laissant ainsi les hommes de la famille Murati se demander s’ils
n’allaient pas être les victimes d’une vendetta.
C’est précisément ce que craint Valon. En apparaissant à sa porte, il a
insisté pour dire qu’il avait tué les deux hommes pour se défendre, et
il a supplié les Zeleni de comprendre. « Comment les persuader que
j’étais attaqué et que je n’ai fait que me défendre ? »
Depuis la fin de la guerre au Kosovo, en juin 1999, jusqu’à la fin de
l’année 2003, le Kosovo a enregistré quelque quarante meurtres de sang,
selon le Conseil pour la Défense des Droits de l’Homme et des Libertés
de Pristina (KLMDNJ).
« Des cas de vengeance pour meurtre réapparaissent en conséquence du
faible fonctionnement de la loi et des institutions chargées
d’appliquer les lois », précise Pajazit Nushi, président de ce Conseil.
Des experts locaux mettent en cause le vide légal et politique qui
prévaut depuis 1999, quand l’administration serbe s’est retirée du
Kosovo, et que la communauté internationale n’a pas voulu remettre les
clés du pouvoir aux institutions albanaises du Kosovo qui auraient pu
revendiquer leur indépendance. Le système juridique lui-même, y compris
les juges, les procureurs et la police, est largement aussi corrompu et
ouvert à toute intimidation.
Les assassinats ne sont pas punis, et beaucoup de gens estiment que ni
la loi ni les tribunaux méritent d’être respectés. En novembre 2002, la
radio-télévision du Kosovo a retransmis une émission policière où un
père dont le fils avait été tué annonçait que si les assassins
n’étaient pas punis, « nous résoudrions le problème sans l’aide de la
police ».
Dans les années 1990, Anton Cetta avait lancé une campagne de
réconciliation
De 1990 à 1997, des centaines de familles impliquées dans des crimes de
sang, se sont réconciliées grâce à une campagne de masse lancée par le
regretté Anton Cetta, professeur à la retraite de l’Université de
Pristina. Ce dernier avait fait le tour de centaines de villages,
convainquant des hommes d’oublier leurs querelles de famille et
d’organiser des cérémonies de réconciliation, autour de festins, de
musique et de danse.
La tâche fut rude. Un jour, le professeur avait confié : « Ce n’est pas
facile pour des familles qui doivent se venger de pardonner parce que,
pendant des siècles, celles qui ne se vengeaient pas étaient jugées
lâches ». Ils ont été aidés par un sentiment largement accepté, selon
lequel les Albanais avaient besoin d’être unis contre le gouvernement
serbe.
Ce sentiment n’a pas survécu au passage au nouveau siècle, ni au départ
des Serbes. Pour Pajazit Nushi, « beaucoup de gens qui s’étaient
réconciliés dans les années 1990, sont à nouveau ennemis et relancent
la vieille querelle d’honneur familial ».
Pour Sadik Dobruna, les membres de la famille Zeneli ne cherchent pas à
se venger à tout prix, si la justice peut être rendue. Mais la mise en
garde demeure quand il ajoute que « si le tribunal se range du côté de
l’officier de police, alors tout peut changer ».
---
ALBANIA:DURO CODICE VENDETTA NON RISPARMIA PACIFICATORE/ANSA
(ANSA) - SCUTARI, 9 AGO - Per oltre dieci anni aveva girato tutto il
nord dell'Albania riconciliando decine di famiglie che, in base al
''Kanun'' - l'antico codice d'onore non scritto che impera nelle zone
di montagna - erano divise da sanguinarie e spietate faide. Ma alla
fine Emin Spahija, 43 anni, capo della Lega dei Missionari di Pace,
sembra sia rimasto vittima dello stesso fenomeno sanguinoso che cercava
di scongiurare: e' stato trovato morto questa mattina nella citta' di
Scutari, ucciso con quattro colpi di pistola. A questo sembrano
condurre gli indizi del delitto. La polizia ha fermato due persone
sospette. I due sono abitanti di Mes, un piccolo villaggio di Scutari,
il paese di origine di Spahija, la cui famiglia pare sia stata da anni
coinvolta in una faida con quella degli assassini, anche se poi
riconciliate fra loro. Gli investigatori escludono i motivi di furto o
rapina, poiche' accanto al corpo del missionario e' stata trovata anche
la sua telecamera e una macchina fotografica, mentre nel portafoglio
c'era ancora una consistente somma di denaro. Non escluse pero' altre
piste legate probabilmente a problemi personali. Oltre ai fermati,
molte altre persone sono state accompagnate e interrogate al
commissariato di Scutari. Ieri sera Spahija aveva partecipato ad una
cerimonia di nozze nella citta' dove si era fermato fino alle 2 del
mattino. Proprio verso quell'ora, mentre lui tornava a casa, sembra sia
stato consumato anche l'attentato, con quattro colpi di arma da fuoco
munita di silenziatore. ''Gli abitanti della zona non hanno sentito
nessun sparo'', hanno spiegato gli investigatori. Il corpo e' stato
trovato casualmente poco dopo le cinque da un passante. All'inizio
degli anno '90 Spahija aveva vissuto chiuso in casa per circa sei mesi,
per paura di una vendetta legata all'omicidio di un concittadino da
parte di un suo cugino. Spahija aveva tentato di persona di mettere
pace fra le due famiglie, riuscendoci con successo poco tempo dopo. Da
quel momento si era dedicato a questa missione. Ed in tutti questi anni
e' stato protagonista di numerosi casi di riconciliazione in diverse
zone del nord del paese. L'assassinio di Spahija si aggiunge ad una
lunga lista di decine di albanesi morti per motivi di vendetta. Un
elenco che non ha risparmiato neppure i bambini, anche se lo stesso
''Kanun'' lo vieta. Tre giorni fa, sempre a Nord, a Rreshen, una donna
di 37 anni, Vitjana Tarazhi, aveva massacrato a colpi di coltello il
nipote di suo marito, un piccolo di 11 anni, Gjoke Tarazhi. La donna
aveva compiuto l'omicidio per vendicare suo fratello, che lei
sospettava fosse stato ucciso dai parenti del marito. Altri bambini
come il piccolo Gjoke vivono rinchiusi nelle case in molte zone del
nord, senza poter andare nemmeno a scuola e con il timore di poter
essere uccisi. Il preoccupante fenomeno ha spinto il ministero
dell'Educazione addirittura a nominare un gruppo di insegnanti che
dovrebbe andare periodicamente a dare lezioni nelle case di questi
bambini. (ANSA). COR-GV
09/08/2004 19:03
http://www.ansa.it/balcani/albania/albania.shtml
=== 2 ===
http://www.iwpr.net/index.pl?archive/bcr3/bcr3_200408_511_5_eng.txt
Desperate Albanians Place Faith in Old-Time Healers
Unable to afford hospital treatment, impoverished villagers are turning
to local magicians for cures.
By Jeton Musliu in Pristina (BCR No 511, 12-Aug-04)
Sinan Hasani, from Terbosh, a village in Macedonia, is happy that he
and his brother have both recently become fathers after several years
of waiting and thank Basri “Hoxhë” Pecani, a white magician, or healer,
for what they call his “gift”.
Infertile couples are not the only ones coming to Pecani, whose title
of Hoxhe suggests he is a Muslim cleric. Among poor villagers in
Kosovo, Macedonia and southern Serbia, healers are doing a roaring
trade as impoverished locals find they cannot afford orthodox medical
treatment.
Unlike the communist era, when medicine was free, Kosovars now have to
pay for their medical services. In cases of serious illness, most
hospitals usually cannot help even when patients have the money, as
they lack modern equipment.
Doctors routinely advise sick patients to seek treatment outside the
country in Turkey or the West – trips that cost far more than most
Kosovars can handle.
Those who come to visit Pecani are not only the sick. Some are
Albanians searching for clues about family members who went missing in
the conflict with the Serbian military in 1998-99, and who turn to
fortune-tellers as their last resort.
Gani, an old man in his nineties, says he turned to Pecani after doing
rounds of hospitals in Pristina, Peja, Skopje and Belgrade, in search
of a cure for his constant headaches and bouts of paralysis. “Now,
after seeing Hoxhe Pecani, I feel much better,” he assured me.
Every Tuesday and Friday people wait in line for hours to get “checked”
in front of Pecani’s two-storey house in Bresje, a village four km from
Pristina. Pecani says his clients not only come from Kosovo but many
surrounding countries too, though the majority are Albanians.
Most people waiting outside the village clinic say they heard about
Pecani’s deeds by word of mouth, though he also relies on
advertisements. Plugs for his services are aired on Radio Dodona, a
local station in Drenas, about 30 km west of Pristina.
But lately, Pecani says his popularity has grown to the point where
even Albanians living in western Europe and the United States come to
visit him.
Though most of his clients are Albanian, Pecani is reluctant to discuss
his own ethnic background. He speaks only poor Albanian.
Pecani bases his ability to cure people on the fact that he once had a
near-death experience. When he was young, he says, he went into a coma
for several days, which he likened to a clinical death.
“The dead heal the living,” is one of his mottos written on the wall in
the small room where he receives his clients.
In this tiny space, which can barely hold three people at a time,
various items are on display, ranging from threads of hair to playing
cards and lights. A tape recorder constantly plays flattering
testimonies from former clients about Pecani and his deeds.
Two loudspeakers in the corridor beam the same messages to the lines of
people waiting outside. Though they all call him Hoxhe, the title is
not strictly accurate, Pecani admits. He says grateful people bestowed
this title on him. But of his reputation as a healer, he is more
bullish, “Don’t trust me - ask the people who come here.”
Local healers have a long tradition among Albanians, as among all
Balkan peoples. Pecani says he had many Serb patients before NATO’s
campaign in 1999 resulted in the flight of most Serbs from Kosovo.
Conservative villagers, few of whom could read, revered healers who
were often the only local people who had mastered a degree of literacy.
They were considered to be closer to God.
Pecani also claims that he can read and understand texts in Arabic that
most Arabic speakers cannot decipher.
Pecani, who says he has been practicing his trade since 1964, insists
his services are entirely legal and known to the authorities.
“Before 1999 I worked with permission from Belgrade - now it is with
permission from Pristina,” he said, pointing at a framed certificate on
the wall published by the Kosovo health ministry and bearing a United
Nations stamp. “This is my work license,” he explained.
In Pristina, the health ministry denies having issued any such
certificate. Skënder Berisha, a ministry spokesman, says his department
would never have released such a document. “No way do we grant licenses
for such things,” he said.
But Pecani stands by his story, claiming he has legitimately obtained
this license and that he is also one of only four people in the Balkans
with the ability to heal people in this way.
Pecani’s certificate is also displayed on the official webpage of the
Office for Business Registration, which operates under the auspices of
the ministry of trade and industry. There, Peçani’s business is listed
as “human health activities”.
When it comes to payment, Pecani says he has no set price, accepting
only voluntary donations.
These do not always come in the form of money. Pecani recalls one time
when a patient brought him a sheep.
“I am a humanist, I am here to serve the people,” he said. “They give
me whatever their heart tells them to give me.”
One Friday, Hata, a 14-year-old Albanian girl from Medvegje, in
southern Serbia, and her father Bislim, came all the way from their
home town to hand Pecani a carefully wrapped present.
Hata said that she had been “possessed” and Pecani had healed her. She
had come back to thank “the living dead man”, as she called him.
“I went to various different doctors but only Hoxhe Pecani found a cure
for me,” Hata insisted, beaming as she handed over her gift to one of
Pecani’s assistants.
Jeton Musliu is a journalist with the Kosovar Albanian daily Epoka e Re.
=== 3 ===
http://www.iwpr.net/index.pl?archive/bcr3/bcr3_200404_494_5_eng.txt
GIRLS FACE PRESSURE TO STOP "WASTING TIME" IN SCHOOL
The advent of political freedom in Kosovo has not freed women from the
widespread notion that serious education is men's business.
By Zana Limani and Driton Maliqi in Pristina and Peja
In the family home in Peja, western Kosovo, 23-year-old Afërdita Gruda
and her older sister Merita spend most of their day at home, doing the
odd bit of housework, watching television and flipping through
Kosovarja, a popular gossipy magazine.
Neither has much chance now of a career, after quitting school on
reaching the end of the elementary level. Both abandoned study under
family pressure. "My grandmother insisted we leave," Afterdita said.
"She said there was nothing for us to learn there."
The sisters' "choice" - such as it was - is all too typical in a
society still governed by most Albanian's conservative moral code,
which tells women their role in life is to perform household chores and
not "waste" time on education.
The result is that after decades of campaigns to improve schooling for
both sexes in Kosovo, there is still no equality between the education
of men and women.
According to Hazbije Krasniqi, of the Womens' Democratic Forum, an NGO
covering women's rights based in Peja, western Kosovo, illiteracy among
women remained high well into the 1990s in remote rural areas such as
Zahaq, a village 7 kilometres east of Peja.
"We found that almost 90 per cent of the women, young as well as old,
had not spent one day in school in their lives," Krasniqi said.
Under the Serbian regime, Albanians were too preoccupied with surviving
Milosevic's repression to give much attention to the matter. But after
the political earthquake of 1999, the Womens' Democratic Forum started
a rural projects in areas like Zahaq, including courses in reading and
writing.
Five years on, however, there remains a mountain to climb. Statistics
show women are far less privileged than men when it comes to education
and according to the Statistical Office of Kosovo, SOK, only about half
Albanian girls aged 15-18 attend school at all.
That alarming figure dovetails with joint findings produced by the
Institute for Development Research, Riinvest, a not-for-profit research
body based in the capital, Prishtina, and the World Bank.
Published on March 31, 2004, this research said only half Kosovo's
women aged 25 to 64 had received even a basic primary education.
By way of contrast, the percentage of girls pursuing higher education
in advanced European societies, such as Sweden and Finland, exceeds 90
per cent.
Hava Balaj, head of the adult learning section in the Ministry of
Education and Technology, says female illiteracy in Kosovo has actually
worsened since the 1990s.
"The number of illiterate women and girls increased during the 1990s
and continued to do so [even] after the end of the NATO bombings," he
said.
The causes of this phenomenon are many, ranging from poverty and
conservative attitudes to such banal factors as lack of transport.
A study in 2001, conducted by Kosovo's education ministry and the UN
Development Fund for Women, UNIFEM, said many of the factors that
contribute to a high "drop-out" level in school-age girls in other
countries are present in Kosovo.
"The reluctance of parents to send girls to distant schools, a lack of
women teachers and lack of financial resources", were among the leading
causes that the report listed.
Hava Balaj, from the ministry of education, says that in rural
communities, when families choose between educating a daughter and a
son, the son always comes first.
"They believe that investing in a son is good value, since he is more
likely to support the whole family with his education when he grows
up," Balaj said.
Balaj added that girls dropped out of higher education in large numbers
in the 1990s after the Serbian authorities effectively expelled
Albanian students from formal schooling from 1991 onwards. Poverty was
another factor.
Although Albanians set up their own parallel structures to counter
state discrimination, their improvised high schools were mostly located
in private houses, relatively far from transport links. This was more
inconvenient for women students than for men.
Since the advent of the UN-led administration in July 1999, new factors
have come to the surface, such as the lack of public transport from
villages to schools. This also affects women more than men. "Women need
public transport because they cannot walk long distances for safety
reasons," said Balaj.
There is also a persistent shortage of staff. Marta Prenkpalaj, head of
Motrat Qiriazi, a local NGO combating illiteracy in the Prizren region
of south-west Kosovo, says the shortage of teachers in rural areas
means teachers either have to come in from urban areas, or schools have
to close.
Prenkpalaj is highly critical of the closure of village schools. "It is
easier for ten teachers to travel to rural parts than for 300 students
to travel a long way to high schools in town centres," he said.
But the problem of women's education in Kosovo is not all to do with
money. Kosovar society is conservative and girls face pressure to marry
early, ruling out any chance of higher education. Motrat Qiriazi says
the average marrying age for girls in villages around Prizren is around
18 or 20.
Those who go on to higher education, and pass this all-important
threshold face the prospect of remaining single for ever.
"Most women in the older generation who finished higher education never
married," said Sanije Vocaj, of Motrat Qiriazi, in Mitrovica.
Unsuprisingly, many girls feel discouraged by this and leave school
early.
In Afërdita's family in Peja, three of her five brothers have gone on
to high school, while she and her sister dropped out.
She hopes that some or all of her brothers will go to university. "I
tell them everyday that they should study hard because school is
important," Aferdita added, wistfully.
"When you are educated you can get a good job, have your own money and
be independent."
Zana Limani and Driton Maliqi are trainee journalists attending a local
IWPR journalism course.
Regressione culturale su tutti i fronti
La guerra di questi anni contro la Jugoslavia e contro il socialismo,
mirata al ristabilimento dell'"ancien regime" nei Balcani, e' stata
accompagnata e sostenuta da una totale regressione culturale. Questo e'
palese in Kosovo e fra gli albanesi come d'altronde anche in tutte le
altre repubbliche ex-federate e tra tutte le altre componenti
nazionalitarie.
1. Sul ritorno della vendetta di sangue ("faide"):
- Résurgence des crimes d’honneur au Kosovo ("Le Courrier des Balkans"
/ IWPR)
- ALBANIA: DURO CODICE VENDETTA NON RISPARMIA PACIFICATORE (ANSA)
2. Sullo sfascio del sistema sanitario ed il risorgere delle
superstizioni:
- DESPERATE ALBANIANS PLACE FAITH IN OLD-TIME HEALERS (Jeton Musliu /
IWPR)
3. Sul massiccio abbandono della scuola dell'obbligo e sul repentino
arretramento della condizione femminile:
- GIRLS FACE PRESSURE TO STOP "WASTING TIME" IN SCHOOL (Zana Limani and
Driton Maliqi / IWPR)
=== 1 ===
( The original text in english:
"Blood Feuds Revive in Unstable Kosovo. Rise in “Honour killings”
blamed on collapse of respect for law and order."
By Fatos Bytyci in Gjakova (BCR No 481, 19-Feb-04)
http://www.iwpr.net/index.pl?archive/bcr3/bcr3_200402_481_4_eng.txt )
http://www.balkans.eu.org/article4117.html
Résurgence des crimes d’honneur au Kosovo
TRADUIT PAR PIERRE DÉRENS
Publié dans la presse : 19 février 2004
Mise en ligne : samedi 21 février 2004
Le nombre des « crimes d’honneur » ne cesse d’augmenter au Kosovo. Dans
les années 1990, une vaste campagne de réconciliation avait été lancée,
mais depuis 1999, la faillite du système judiciaire justifie le recours
à la vendetta traditionnelle.
Par Fatos Bytyci
Il n’y a aucun signe de vie à l’extérieur de la maison des Murati, dans
le village de Duzhnje, au sud-ouest du Kosovo. Les fenêtres sont
fermées et il n’y a pas de traces de pas dans la neige devant la maison.
Osman Murati, soixante ans, n’ouvre le portail central que pour sortir
la tête et voir qui frappe. Il a peur que des gens ne viennent lui
tirer dessus, pour venger le double crime que vient de commettre Valon,
son fils de 20 ans.
Les crimes d’honneur sont profondément enracinés dans la culture
albanaise et ont été formellement reconnus dans la collection des lois
tribales du Moyen Age, connue sous le nom du Kanun de Lekë Dukagjini.
Ce dernier précise que « si un homme en tue un autre, il faut qu’un
autre homme de la famille de la victime, rende la pareille ».
Sous l’ère communiste, les crimes de sang étaient relativement rares
chez les Albanais du Kosovo ou d’Albanie. Mais après les temps troublés
des années 1990, les principes du kanun de Lekë sont réapparus, d’abord
dans le chaos de l’Albanie post-communiste, puis dans le Kosovo voisin,
surtout après les frappes de l’OTAN et le retrait des forces serbes.
Pendant plus de trois mois, ni Valon Murati, ni son frère, son père et
son grand-père n’ont bougé de chez eux, par peur de la vendetta.
Les assassinats ont eu lieu le 10 novembre quand Valon Murati, membre
de la police du Kosovo (KPS) à Gjakova (Djakovica), a tué Sadik et
Safedin Zeneli, âgés respectivement de 55 et 30 ans, en rentrant chez
lui. Les victimes étaient cousins de Valon et venaient du même village.
Isak Zeneli a entendu les coups de feu. « J’ai vu deux personnes
allongées par terre », se souvient-il. « Valon courait vers le village
en criant : J’ai tué deux personnes ».
En attendant son procès, Valon Murati a été libéré sous caution. La
famille Zeneli est furieuse et croit que l’assassin a été relâché parce
qu’il s’agissait d’un officier du KPS. Maintenant ils menacent de se
faire justice eux-mêmes. Sadik Dobruna, leur avocat, affirme que le
tribunal a agi sans raison. « Cette décision a mis le suspect en
danger. Elle lui fera plus de mal que de bien ».
Faillite de la justice
Xhafer Zeneli, le frère de Sadik, n’a pas écarté la menace que la
famille ne prenne sa revanche sur Valon Murati. « Il n’y a pas de
justice au Kosovo. Il a tué mon frère et il est libre. Sadik a beaucoup
de fils en Allemagne. À leur retour, ils se vengeront ».
Selon le canon de Lekë Dukagjini, il faut qu’un meurtrier demande sa
sécurité à la famille de la victime - qui doit donner sa parole, sa «
besa » - pour ne pas être abattu en sortant de chez lui.
Dans le cas des Murati, la famille des morts a refusé de se plier à ce
code, laissant ainsi les hommes de la famille Murati se demander s’ils
n’allaient pas être les victimes d’une vendetta.
C’est précisément ce que craint Valon. En apparaissant à sa porte, il a
insisté pour dire qu’il avait tué les deux hommes pour se défendre, et
il a supplié les Zeleni de comprendre. « Comment les persuader que
j’étais attaqué et que je n’ai fait que me défendre ? »
Depuis la fin de la guerre au Kosovo, en juin 1999, jusqu’à la fin de
l’année 2003, le Kosovo a enregistré quelque quarante meurtres de sang,
selon le Conseil pour la Défense des Droits de l’Homme et des Libertés
de Pristina (KLMDNJ).
« Des cas de vengeance pour meurtre réapparaissent en conséquence du
faible fonctionnement de la loi et des institutions chargées
d’appliquer les lois », précise Pajazit Nushi, président de ce Conseil.
Des experts locaux mettent en cause le vide légal et politique qui
prévaut depuis 1999, quand l’administration serbe s’est retirée du
Kosovo, et que la communauté internationale n’a pas voulu remettre les
clés du pouvoir aux institutions albanaises du Kosovo qui auraient pu
revendiquer leur indépendance. Le système juridique lui-même, y compris
les juges, les procureurs et la police, est largement aussi corrompu et
ouvert à toute intimidation.
Les assassinats ne sont pas punis, et beaucoup de gens estiment que ni
la loi ni les tribunaux méritent d’être respectés. En novembre 2002, la
radio-télévision du Kosovo a retransmis une émission policière où un
père dont le fils avait été tué annonçait que si les assassins
n’étaient pas punis, « nous résoudrions le problème sans l’aide de la
police ».
Dans les années 1990, Anton Cetta avait lancé une campagne de
réconciliation
De 1990 à 1997, des centaines de familles impliquées dans des crimes de
sang, se sont réconciliées grâce à une campagne de masse lancée par le
regretté Anton Cetta, professeur à la retraite de l’Université de
Pristina. Ce dernier avait fait le tour de centaines de villages,
convainquant des hommes d’oublier leurs querelles de famille et
d’organiser des cérémonies de réconciliation, autour de festins, de
musique et de danse.
La tâche fut rude. Un jour, le professeur avait confié : « Ce n’est pas
facile pour des familles qui doivent se venger de pardonner parce que,
pendant des siècles, celles qui ne se vengeaient pas étaient jugées
lâches ». Ils ont été aidés par un sentiment largement accepté, selon
lequel les Albanais avaient besoin d’être unis contre le gouvernement
serbe.
Ce sentiment n’a pas survécu au passage au nouveau siècle, ni au départ
des Serbes. Pour Pajazit Nushi, « beaucoup de gens qui s’étaient
réconciliés dans les années 1990, sont à nouveau ennemis et relancent
la vieille querelle d’honneur familial ».
Pour Sadik Dobruna, les membres de la famille Zeneli ne cherchent pas à
se venger à tout prix, si la justice peut être rendue. Mais la mise en
garde demeure quand il ajoute que « si le tribunal se range du côté de
l’officier de police, alors tout peut changer ».
---
ALBANIA:DURO CODICE VENDETTA NON RISPARMIA PACIFICATORE/ANSA
(ANSA) - SCUTARI, 9 AGO - Per oltre dieci anni aveva girato tutto il
nord dell'Albania riconciliando decine di famiglie che, in base al
''Kanun'' - l'antico codice d'onore non scritto che impera nelle zone
di montagna - erano divise da sanguinarie e spietate faide. Ma alla
fine Emin Spahija, 43 anni, capo della Lega dei Missionari di Pace,
sembra sia rimasto vittima dello stesso fenomeno sanguinoso che cercava
di scongiurare: e' stato trovato morto questa mattina nella citta' di
Scutari, ucciso con quattro colpi di pistola. A questo sembrano
condurre gli indizi del delitto. La polizia ha fermato due persone
sospette. I due sono abitanti di Mes, un piccolo villaggio di Scutari,
il paese di origine di Spahija, la cui famiglia pare sia stata da anni
coinvolta in una faida con quella degli assassini, anche se poi
riconciliate fra loro. Gli investigatori escludono i motivi di furto o
rapina, poiche' accanto al corpo del missionario e' stata trovata anche
la sua telecamera e una macchina fotografica, mentre nel portafoglio
c'era ancora una consistente somma di denaro. Non escluse pero' altre
piste legate probabilmente a problemi personali. Oltre ai fermati,
molte altre persone sono state accompagnate e interrogate al
commissariato di Scutari. Ieri sera Spahija aveva partecipato ad una
cerimonia di nozze nella citta' dove si era fermato fino alle 2 del
mattino. Proprio verso quell'ora, mentre lui tornava a casa, sembra sia
stato consumato anche l'attentato, con quattro colpi di arma da fuoco
munita di silenziatore. ''Gli abitanti della zona non hanno sentito
nessun sparo'', hanno spiegato gli investigatori. Il corpo e' stato
trovato casualmente poco dopo le cinque da un passante. All'inizio
degli anno '90 Spahija aveva vissuto chiuso in casa per circa sei mesi,
per paura di una vendetta legata all'omicidio di un concittadino da
parte di un suo cugino. Spahija aveva tentato di persona di mettere
pace fra le due famiglie, riuscendoci con successo poco tempo dopo. Da
quel momento si era dedicato a questa missione. Ed in tutti questi anni
e' stato protagonista di numerosi casi di riconciliazione in diverse
zone del nord del paese. L'assassinio di Spahija si aggiunge ad una
lunga lista di decine di albanesi morti per motivi di vendetta. Un
elenco che non ha risparmiato neppure i bambini, anche se lo stesso
''Kanun'' lo vieta. Tre giorni fa, sempre a Nord, a Rreshen, una donna
di 37 anni, Vitjana Tarazhi, aveva massacrato a colpi di coltello il
nipote di suo marito, un piccolo di 11 anni, Gjoke Tarazhi. La donna
aveva compiuto l'omicidio per vendicare suo fratello, che lei
sospettava fosse stato ucciso dai parenti del marito. Altri bambini
come il piccolo Gjoke vivono rinchiusi nelle case in molte zone del
nord, senza poter andare nemmeno a scuola e con il timore di poter
essere uccisi. Il preoccupante fenomeno ha spinto il ministero
dell'Educazione addirittura a nominare un gruppo di insegnanti che
dovrebbe andare periodicamente a dare lezioni nelle case di questi
bambini. (ANSA). COR-GV
09/08/2004 19:03
http://www.ansa.it/balcani/albania/albania.shtml
=== 2 ===
http://www.iwpr.net/index.pl?archive/bcr3/bcr3_200408_511_5_eng.txt
Desperate Albanians Place Faith in Old-Time Healers
Unable to afford hospital treatment, impoverished villagers are turning
to local magicians for cures.
By Jeton Musliu in Pristina (BCR No 511, 12-Aug-04)
Sinan Hasani, from Terbosh, a village in Macedonia, is happy that he
and his brother have both recently become fathers after several years
of waiting and thank Basri “Hoxhë” Pecani, a white magician, or healer,
for what they call his “gift”.
Infertile couples are not the only ones coming to Pecani, whose title
of Hoxhe suggests he is a Muslim cleric. Among poor villagers in
Kosovo, Macedonia and southern Serbia, healers are doing a roaring
trade as impoverished locals find they cannot afford orthodox medical
treatment.
Unlike the communist era, when medicine was free, Kosovars now have to
pay for their medical services. In cases of serious illness, most
hospitals usually cannot help even when patients have the money, as
they lack modern equipment.
Doctors routinely advise sick patients to seek treatment outside the
country in Turkey or the West – trips that cost far more than most
Kosovars can handle.
Those who come to visit Pecani are not only the sick. Some are
Albanians searching for clues about family members who went missing in
the conflict with the Serbian military in 1998-99, and who turn to
fortune-tellers as their last resort.
Gani, an old man in his nineties, says he turned to Pecani after doing
rounds of hospitals in Pristina, Peja, Skopje and Belgrade, in search
of a cure for his constant headaches and bouts of paralysis. “Now,
after seeing Hoxhe Pecani, I feel much better,” he assured me.
Every Tuesday and Friday people wait in line for hours to get “checked”
in front of Pecani’s two-storey house in Bresje, a village four km from
Pristina. Pecani says his clients not only come from Kosovo but many
surrounding countries too, though the majority are Albanians.
Most people waiting outside the village clinic say they heard about
Pecani’s deeds by word of mouth, though he also relies on
advertisements. Plugs for his services are aired on Radio Dodona, a
local station in Drenas, about 30 km west of Pristina.
But lately, Pecani says his popularity has grown to the point where
even Albanians living in western Europe and the United States come to
visit him.
Though most of his clients are Albanian, Pecani is reluctant to discuss
his own ethnic background. He speaks only poor Albanian.
Pecani bases his ability to cure people on the fact that he once had a
near-death experience. When he was young, he says, he went into a coma
for several days, which he likened to a clinical death.
“The dead heal the living,” is one of his mottos written on the wall in
the small room where he receives his clients.
In this tiny space, which can barely hold three people at a time,
various items are on display, ranging from threads of hair to playing
cards and lights. A tape recorder constantly plays flattering
testimonies from former clients about Pecani and his deeds.
Two loudspeakers in the corridor beam the same messages to the lines of
people waiting outside. Though they all call him Hoxhe, the title is
not strictly accurate, Pecani admits. He says grateful people bestowed
this title on him. But of his reputation as a healer, he is more
bullish, “Don’t trust me - ask the people who come here.”
Local healers have a long tradition among Albanians, as among all
Balkan peoples. Pecani says he had many Serb patients before NATO’s
campaign in 1999 resulted in the flight of most Serbs from Kosovo.
Conservative villagers, few of whom could read, revered healers who
were often the only local people who had mastered a degree of literacy.
They were considered to be closer to God.
Pecani also claims that he can read and understand texts in Arabic that
most Arabic speakers cannot decipher.
Pecani, who says he has been practicing his trade since 1964, insists
his services are entirely legal and known to the authorities.
“Before 1999 I worked with permission from Belgrade - now it is with
permission from Pristina,” he said, pointing at a framed certificate on
the wall published by the Kosovo health ministry and bearing a United
Nations stamp. “This is my work license,” he explained.
In Pristina, the health ministry denies having issued any such
certificate. Skënder Berisha, a ministry spokesman, says his department
would never have released such a document. “No way do we grant licenses
for such things,” he said.
But Pecani stands by his story, claiming he has legitimately obtained
this license and that he is also one of only four people in the Balkans
with the ability to heal people in this way.
Pecani’s certificate is also displayed on the official webpage of the
Office for Business Registration, which operates under the auspices of
the ministry of trade and industry. There, Peçani’s business is listed
as “human health activities”.
When it comes to payment, Pecani says he has no set price, accepting
only voluntary donations.
These do not always come in the form of money. Pecani recalls one time
when a patient brought him a sheep.
“I am a humanist, I am here to serve the people,” he said. “They give
me whatever their heart tells them to give me.”
One Friday, Hata, a 14-year-old Albanian girl from Medvegje, in
southern Serbia, and her father Bislim, came all the way from their
home town to hand Pecani a carefully wrapped present.
Hata said that she had been “possessed” and Pecani had healed her. She
had come back to thank “the living dead man”, as she called him.
“I went to various different doctors but only Hoxhe Pecani found a cure
for me,” Hata insisted, beaming as she handed over her gift to one of
Pecani’s assistants.
Jeton Musliu is a journalist with the Kosovar Albanian daily Epoka e Re.
=== 3 ===
http://www.iwpr.net/index.pl?archive/bcr3/bcr3_200404_494_5_eng.txt
GIRLS FACE PRESSURE TO STOP "WASTING TIME" IN SCHOOL
The advent of political freedom in Kosovo has not freed women from the
widespread notion that serious education is men's business.
By Zana Limani and Driton Maliqi in Pristina and Peja
In the family home in Peja, western Kosovo, 23-year-old Afërdita Gruda
and her older sister Merita spend most of their day at home, doing the
odd bit of housework, watching television and flipping through
Kosovarja, a popular gossipy magazine.
Neither has much chance now of a career, after quitting school on
reaching the end of the elementary level. Both abandoned study under
family pressure. "My grandmother insisted we leave," Afterdita said.
"She said there was nothing for us to learn there."
The sisters' "choice" - such as it was - is all too typical in a
society still governed by most Albanian's conservative moral code,
which tells women their role in life is to perform household chores and
not "waste" time on education.
The result is that after decades of campaigns to improve schooling for
both sexes in Kosovo, there is still no equality between the education
of men and women.
According to Hazbije Krasniqi, of the Womens' Democratic Forum, an NGO
covering women's rights based in Peja, western Kosovo, illiteracy among
women remained high well into the 1990s in remote rural areas such as
Zahaq, a village 7 kilometres east of Peja.
"We found that almost 90 per cent of the women, young as well as old,
had not spent one day in school in their lives," Krasniqi said.
Under the Serbian regime, Albanians were too preoccupied with surviving
Milosevic's repression to give much attention to the matter. But after
the political earthquake of 1999, the Womens' Democratic Forum started
a rural projects in areas like Zahaq, including courses in reading and
writing.
Five years on, however, there remains a mountain to climb. Statistics
show women are far less privileged than men when it comes to education
and according to the Statistical Office of Kosovo, SOK, only about half
Albanian girls aged 15-18 attend school at all.
That alarming figure dovetails with joint findings produced by the
Institute for Development Research, Riinvest, a not-for-profit research
body based in the capital, Prishtina, and the World Bank.
Published on March 31, 2004, this research said only half Kosovo's
women aged 25 to 64 had received even a basic primary education.
By way of contrast, the percentage of girls pursuing higher education
in advanced European societies, such as Sweden and Finland, exceeds 90
per cent.
Hava Balaj, head of the adult learning section in the Ministry of
Education and Technology, says female illiteracy in Kosovo has actually
worsened since the 1990s.
"The number of illiterate women and girls increased during the 1990s
and continued to do so [even] after the end of the NATO bombings," he
said.
The causes of this phenomenon are many, ranging from poverty and
conservative attitudes to such banal factors as lack of transport.
A study in 2001, conducted by Kosovo's education ministry and the UN
Development Fund for Women, UNIFEM, said many of the factors that
contribute to a high "drop-out" level in school-age girls in other
countries are present in Kosovo.
"The reluctance of parents to send girls to distant schools, a lack of
women teachers and lack of financial resources", were among the leading
causes that the report listed.
Hava Balaj, from the ministry of education, says that in rural
communities, when families choose between educating a daughter and a
son, the son always comes first.
"They believe that investing in a son is good value, since he is more
likely to support the whole family with his education when he grows
up," Balaj said.
Balaj added that girls dropped out of higher education in large numbers
in the 1990s after the Serbian authorities effectively expelled
Albanian students from formal schooling from 1991 onwards. Poverty was
another factor.
Although Albanians set up their own parallel structures to counter
state discrimination, their improvised high schools were mostly located
in private houses, relatively far from transport links. This was more
inconvenient for women students than for men.
Since the advent of the UN-led administration in July 1999, new factors
have come to the surface, such as the lack of public transport from
villages to schools. This also affects women more than men. "Women need
public transport because they cannot walk long distances for safety
reasons," said Balaj.
There is also a persistent shortage of staff. Marta Prenkpalaj, head of
Motrat Qiriazi, a local NGO combating illiteracy in the Prizren region
of south-west Kosovo, says the shortage of teachers in rural areas
means teachers either have to come in from urban areas, or schools have
to close.
Prenkpalaj is highly critical of the closure of village schools. "It is
easier for ten teachers to travel to rural parts than for 300 students
to travel a long way to high schools in town centres," he said.
But the problem of women's education in Kosovo is not all to do with
money. Kosovar society is conservative and girls face pressure to marry
early, ruling out any chance of higher education. Motrat Qiriazi says
the average marrying age for girls in villages around Prizren is around
18 or 20.
Those who go on to higher education, and pass this all-important
threshold face the prospect of remaining single for ever.
"Most women in the older generation who finished higher education never
married," said Sanije Vocaj, of Motrat Qiriazi, in Mitrovica.
Unsuprisingly, many girls feel discouraged by this and leave school
early.
In Afërdita's family in Peja, three of her five brothers have gone on
to high school, while she and her sister dropped out.
She hopes that some or all of her brothers will go to university. "I
tell them everyday that they should study hard because school is
important," Aferdita added, wistfully.
"When you are educated you can get a good job, have your own money and
be independent."
Zana Limani and Driton Maliqi are trainee journalists attending a local
IWPR journalism course.