On my flight to Frankfurt, Germany, I found myself seated next to a recent university graduate from Novi Sad. After exchanging a few words, he told me he was immigrating to Germany for a better life. After a few minutes, our conversation took a more serious turn.
“There are some things that cannot be forgotten,” he said firmly, before launching into a passionate monologue about the historical grievances that still shape the Balkans today.
He spoke firmly and nonchalantly, convinced he is transferring common knowledge. He abruptly cut off when he opened the pastry given to us, talking about its texture with equal seriousness.
I couldn’t help but note the irony in his monologue. He spoke with great conviction, on a flight to Germany, a country once responsible for immense pain, destruction, and the murder of millions. Not to mention that Germany had occupied Serbia during World War II, operated five concentration camps there, and committed acts of genocide.
Yet, as he set out to begin a new life in Germany, he carried none of that history with him.
Although it sounds ironic, this is not uncommon. Across the Balkan region, people have been migrating for better jobs to countries with which they share an ambiguous past.
It is estimated that between 400,000 - 800,000 Serbs currently live and work in Germany. Nearly 500,000 Albanians have settled in Italy, a country that once created a fascist puppet state in their homeland.
When seeking opportunities in Germany or Italy, people from the Balkans display remarkable pragmatism.
The same individuals who claim that “some things cannot be forgotten” when it comes to their neighbors, somehow find a way to reconcile with former European occupiers in the pursuit of a better future.
The Balkans’ deepest political contradiction lies in the selective use of historical grievance: trauma is invoked when politically convenient yet readily set aside in the face of economic hardship.
While history is weaponized by political elites to divide, the lack of opportunity quietly drives the region’s best and brightest to seek futures elsewhere.
In Kosovo, where Serbs and Albanians have coexisted for centuries, political leaders selectively exploit historical trauma to fuel nationalist narratives. They insist that reconciliation is unattainable due to unresolved past crimes, all while using these divisions to deflect from widespread corruption, poor governance, and a lack of accountability.
Many of the historic grievances expressed by people in the Balkans are not without justification. They originate from deeply traumatic events that have left lasting scars and have profoundly shaped collective identities across the region. Memories of war, displacement, and systemic oppression form a crucial part of how communities understand themselves and relate to others.
The selective memory problem is not a conscious one. It is not a choice to view our neighbors through a mythic-historic lens while perceiving the rest of the world in a more realist way—but it must become a choice to correct this logical mistake.
While the last conflict in the former Yugoslavia is relatively recent, the collective memory the Balkans carry dates much further back.
To surpass historical grievances means to view society as it is: some will never go beyond nationalism, but with most, one can coexist easily. The ability to overcome it elsewhere reassures me of the Balkans’ ability to do so at home as well. In the absence of a political climate favorable to cultivating tolerance, it is much harder—but all the more important.
