This third extract from Ian Bancroft’s new book, ‘Dragon’s Teeth: Tales from North Kosovo’, tells the story of the so-called ‘University of Pristina, temporarily located in Kosovska Mitrovica’ and how it has become the lifeblood of north Kosovo.
The northern part of Mitrovica is to all intents and purposes a university town, its hustle and bustle determined as much by the term-time calendar as the changing of the seasons. Whilst there are no historic places of learning, manicured lawns, or infinite libraries replete with historic tomes, the sounds deriving from the town’s bars and cafes are testament to its large student body. As Miloš Subotić, who has nurtured the university’s international relations for many, many years, explains, “It is not normal to see so many young people in a Serbian town, especially a town the size of this one.” Kosovo is fabled for its youthful vigour – it boasts the youngest population in Europe – but few places can compete with north Mitrovica, at least during term time.
Some 40 per cent of the entire student body comes from outside Kosovo, with some 30 per cent hurdling the border/boundary from central and southern Serbia, from towns such as Kragujevac, Kraljevo, Valjevo, and Niš. Then there are Serbs from both Croatia and Bosnia and Herzegovina, respectively, or students from Montenegro and the Republic of North Macedonia. Tuition is free for those with Serbian citizenship, or declared as being of Serb nationality in another state. There are other members of the non-majority community from throughout Kosovo who speak “Serbo-Croat” (the preferred name for the language amongst linguistic purists), plus a smattering of Albanians from Bujanovac, Preševo, and Medveđa in south-west Serbia. Unsurprisingly, Mitrovica is served by frequent coaches that once departed from makeshift stopping points throughout the town, before someone had the good sense to build a fully functioning coach station; though I do miss the cry of random place names as ticket sellers targeted potential passengers on the pavements.
For most new student arrivals, it is their first experience of a territory regarded by many Serbs as the heart of their country; though a heart that neither they nor their friends and family will likely have ever visited. Though understandable, given Kosovo’s recent history and lingering concerns about security, it is still striking the number of people who proclaim an interest but have never made a voyage to what they and many others still regard as Serbia’s southern province. One of the much-vaunted examples of post-World-War-Two peacebuilding – aside of course from what we now know as the European Union – pertains to exchanges between French and German students and young adults. Hundreds of thousands of individual visits – some contrived and invariably condescending, others more spontaneous and inevitably liberating – were made to explore each other’s countries. Such a dynamic is yet to be truly ignited anywhere in the former Yugoslavia, save perhaps the obsession of Slovenes with Brutalist, socialist-era monuments, and of everyone else for the Croatian or Montenegrin coastline.
Life in the north is a confounding experience for many. The day-to-day conditions almost certainly fail to live up to the grim reality often presented by the media. “They are surprised that life is normal and not how it is presented on television,” Miloš tells me, a point that will seem obvious to most with a healthy cynicism about media portrayals (or propaganda), but worth relaying nonetheless. I also learn how many leave feeling somewhat more impassioned about the Kosovo question, despite never previously having given it a great deal of thought or consideration. Their encounters with the daily conundrums of life in the north are sufficient to ignite sympathy within even the most seemingly detached or passive student. Their first-hand experience of Mitrovica was such that they left radicalized, not reconciled, with vows to defend Serbia’s historical heritage in Kosovo; new dragon’s teeth sown in the pursuit of knowledge. This is a university town like few others.
The immediate economic benefits are obvious and indisputable. Over 1,000 students use dormitory facilities, with the others renting local apartments. As Miloš emphasises, “there is one large industry here –support to the student community in Mitrovica”. It is an industry whose tentacles reach into all walks of life; fast food outlets catering for their meagre means and bars that serve their final rounds as dawn surfaces (though Ex Ponto in Zvečan, described to me once as the “world’s best-worst, worst-best bar”, is alas no more). It means of course drink and drugs in not quite equal measure; the availability of the latter attracting ever more disquiet as the substances get harder and more synthetic. In this regard, it is a university town like too many others.
Where once Trepča brought skills and knowledge to this part of Kosovo, it is now the University which entices talent from across the region. Many choose to stay and build their lives here, providing a vital boost to the local demographics. “One day these people will be the new elite of Mitrovica – those who have grown up, studied and excelled here”, states Miloš with a newfound bout of confidence. Despite the University’s presence, its intellectuals are nowhere to be heard, making a meek contribution to articulations about the University’s future, let alone that of Mitrovica and north Kosovo. The University doesn’t enjoy the autonomy of others in the Serbian system, such as those of Belgrade or Novi Sad.