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Distance in Your Mind

There are places where one can travel to in this world where you feel distant and an outsider. Makes sense of course, you are an outsider. But here in Prishtina, time and time again, people who I’ve never met before make me feel like I am their neighbor and they’ve been expecting to see me. Perhaps it is the large number of foreigners who are here working as part of the development and security world. Or maybe it is simply that Kosovars are all over the world and sometimes, they return home for good. Whatever the reason, you’ll rarely meet someone who gets wide eyed if you mention New York or Paris, these cities are part of their vocabulary and in some cases, a familiar part of their lives.

It all makes for a strange and alluring atmosphere; wander into a café and one friend will introduce you to another. Before you know it, a conversation that transcends borders and the conventional small-talk erupts. They will want to meet up again, as often is possible, they will make time for you, don’t worry. No topic seems off the table. Even those probably tired and repetitive visitor questions about the country and its significant list of problems. Its no problem here, we can talk about it, we can even talk about problems in a far away land, no country or context is too distant.

Surely it is an old song. I came to Kosovo and made some fantastic friends that I shall seek to see again and surely never forget . I’ve said that of so many countries I doubt anyone takes it seriously. But this is no polite travel note, this is a seasoned veteran traveller telling it like it is in his experience. The world may often forget about Kosovo these days, but here in Prishtina, Kosovo is very much a part of the great big world.

The Man Who Spoke for Funny

Patrice Over the last ten years this website and my work has often revolved around those with a compelling story, the under reported actors who seek to somehow change or impact the world. Those individuals are often writers, activists, journalists, NGO workers in forgotten corners of the world, and sometimes public figures. One group of people that is hardly ever mentioned here yet has a tremendous role in our society, are comedians. They perhaps never get mentioned as I myself do not often meet them in person, but rather I admire them from a far. But I recognize their influence nonetheless, and take great meaning from the way they look at and explain the world. A world where it is increasingly hard to be a comedian as subjects and language get labelled as unacceptable, taboo, and even flat-out banned.

One comedian who stood up and refused to compromise with those who sought to tell him what not to talk about or use in his comedy, was the great Patrice O’Neal. The man who once explained that he “spoke for funny”, and believed strongly in the right to try and be funny. In his hilarious and sometimes bizarre wisdom he spoke truths that deserve to be remembered long after his tragic death. “Funny jokes and unfunny jokes come from the same place. You should be able to attempt to be funny.”

Much of the world has never heard of Patrice O’Neal. To them he was never famous so he shouldn’t be compared to any of the greatest minds in the history of comedy. As Patrice himself often said over the past year “I’ve got my phone on, but fame still hasn’t called.” Like so many amazing artists of this era, the mainstream market place didn’t want anything to do with him. Just as many young and lesser known content creators (including citizen journalists!) are often told to compromise their values and thoughts in order to make money and become known, Patrice was often given similar advice. Advice he famously shit all over as he would attend meetings with entertainment executives and proceed to make fun of their previous programming choices, instead of kissing ass to try and gain their favor. Not that he didn’t want to be known, he simply wanted to be known on his own terms.

Compare journalism and art today and you might find yourself being written off as insignificant, wrong and reckless. Compare comedy and journalism and you’ll surely hear similar or worse. But in the hilarious, creative, contreversial, bizarre, disgusting and beautiful mind of Patrice O’Neal, I have long found inspiration and reassurance. Though it is extremely sad that he has died, with the exception of his shitty diet, the way he lived should only inspire joy.

Black Friday – A Day of Resistance

Contrary to what the media tells us, Black Friday is not about shopping. The real Black Friday was about resistance, as on May 13, 1960 students in San Francisco stood up to the powerful House SubCommittee on UnAmerican activities which blacklisted and attempted to destroy the lives of countless creative and critical voices in the United States. The police turned the fire hoses on them and the crowd struggled to hold their ground. In the courtroom they sang and they chanted “We Shall Not be Moved!” That is the real story of Black Friday!

Remembering a Defiant Old Woman

Hanna Braun. In early 2006 this name was recommended to me by an enthusiastic listener who said something to the effect of “you should really interview her.” I did some reading and learned a bit about who Hanna Braun was, an stubborn old lady who had grown up in Berlin during the rise of Hitler, then moved to Palestine when it was under British control, and then lived the creation of the state of Israel. However the real story of Hanna Braun is one of resistance and speaking out – as she witnessed injustice run rampant in this newly created state. Beyond injustice, Hanna explains what few people are old enough to recall – this was not the original plan, the dream of a secular inclusive state was co-opted and would never be realized.

I had the great privilege to speak with Hanna for 2 fantastic hours for this podcast all those years ago (including during the most recent Israeli military incursion into Lebanon). We spoke about her life and the lessons learned from all that she lived through. We spoke about the beautiful moments and of course – her life’s work – exposing the injustices and the suffering in Palestine that deserve the world’s attention. Hanna was dedicated not only to speaking about it, but taking action herself; organizing projects and participating in demonstrations, conferences, meetings and more. She was an inspiring figure who taught me more about history than any school book in high school ever did.

Hanna died just over a week ago at the age of 84. I hadn’t spoken to her in a few years, but I have thought of her often whenever someone asks about my most favorite interview. I was very much looking forward to having her back on the program and hear more from her all these years later. Instead her voice as well as her words will have to suffice. Her memoir, “Weeds Don’t Perish – Memoirs of a Defiant Old Woman Author” was published just 2 months ago. I intend to read it, pass it on to my loved ones, continue to pass on the message, and carry on speaking out, just as Hanna did.

This Bus Goes to Kosovo

The border crossing looks new and partly unfinished. In different corners there are exposed wires and lamp fixtures that will probably soon find their permanent place. It is the middle of the afternoon on a quite holiday afternoon, the border guard in his nice new blue jacket and pants saunters onto the bus looking at each person’s passport. As he approaches a few other western passengers seated in from of me, I notice the nice blue patch on his arm featuring the yellow outline of the country, “Its your first time in Kosovo?” he asks each of us, “Just visiting?”

The whole process takes less then a minute and soon we’re passed the customs area, passed the 4 construction workers staring at an open hole in the ground, and back on the two lane highway. The mountains here are steep and drenched in red, yellow and orange autumn colors. Occasionally we pass a little hamlet and I notice a newly completed bridge or road, even the lonely single track railroad seems to have been recently renovated. As we drive into the heart of this infamous part of the world, I can’t stop thinking of how much it reminds me of mining country in Eastern Pennsylvania.

The towns we passed may have some new pieces of construction, but they don’t look like happy places. The typical unfinished houses look vacant and what becomes even more clear as we get nearer to Prishtina, is that there is an overabundance of empty office space in Kosovo. One after another we pass shiny new warehouses and storefronts that look abandoned before they could ever be occupied. This one would probably be good for selling tractors, that one over there looks more like a furniture outlet, neither has a single sign of life. We drive on slowly, passed the Greek KFOR military base, the speed limit reads 60kmph, I find myself thinking of how different this place is from my dear Portugal, where no one respects such speed limits on country roads.

The beautifully vast and empty horizon finally changes after what seems like an hour, there is clearly a city up ahead, and I think it is Prishtina. The two lane highway becomes 4 shiny new lanes, and the slow pace speeds up some. On either side of the road its a mix of motels of small scale commercial operations. Each one making heavy use of the following flags in this order: Albanian, Kosovar, American, followed by a hodgepodge of European Union member state flags. The favorite seems to be the French followed closely by the German flag. “Made in Germany” several of the advertisements for machine parts along the road read in smaller print. Pulling into the quiet bus station and it seems like the entire city could be on vacation. “Prishtina is quiet” is the first uncontrollable conclusion I make in my head. I could not have been more wrong.

7 Roads to Macedonia

I arrive in Macedonia just in time to enjoy the last bits of sunlight as the airport taxi whirls into Skopje. In a nation of just over 2 million people, its capital is a tiny place with a lot of history. And who’s their favorite historical figure? – Their very own Alexander the Great. And just like I observed at Mongolia’s Chinggis Khaan airport last year, Macedonia has also named their “Alexander the Great Airport” after their most famous citizen of all time. Coincidentally just this summer I was in another important site connected to this same historical juggernaut – Herat, Afghanistan, city that Alexander ruled back somewhere around 330BC. Herat would eventually be destroyed by an invasion by none other then Chinggis Khaan. Another reminder of just how connected the world is.
Talk about connected, this land locked nation borders Kosovo, Albania, Bulgaria, Greece and Serbia. Looking at the map and discussing travel options with a taxi driver, I suddenly had the urge to pop over to Albania for a day, then up to Kosovo for another day, and on and on… with all these nations nearby, it becomes clear that Macedonia continues to be what it has historically been, a place where many roads lead.