In the Preševo Valley, the thought of military service does not bring pride or duty. It brings back the image of sealed coffins, telegrams that shattered families, and young men who never came home.
For 71-year-old Sadik Sadiku from Rahovica, near Preševo, the news that Serbia is preparing to reintroduce mandatory military service has reopened wounds that never healed. “When they say ‘army,’ I don’t think of defense,” he says quietly. “I think of coffins. Closed coffins. I think of Yzeir.”
His nephew, Yzeir Sadiku, was only 25 when he left for service in the Yugoslav People’s Army in 1981. He never returned alive. The army told the family he had jumped from a building during questioning. The coffin they received was sealed. But his father, a local imam, managed to see the body before burial. “He saw bruises, signs of torture. Yzeir didn’t kill himself,” Sadik says. “He was killed.”
A Painful Past Returns
That family tragedy is not unique. Dozens of Albanian families in southern Serbia and Kosovo carry the same scars. From the early 1980s, at least 135 Albanian conscripts died in the army under what were described as “suicides” or “accidents.” Families often buried their sons without answers, under the watch of military officials.
Now, with Serbian officials confirming plans to bring back military service—75 days for young men aged 18 to 30—old fears are returning. For many Albanians, the draft is not just about duty. It is about survival.
Eighteen-year-old Valon, who lives in the Preševo Valley, puts it bluntly: “If they send me the call, I will not go. I would rather leave my home, even my country.” Among his friends, this has become the talk of every evening—whether to obey, resist, or flee.
Calls for Truth
Shaip Kamberi, the only Albanian MP in Serbia’s parliament, has demanded a special commission to investigate past deaths. “Families deserve to know what happened to their sons,” he says. But with the government dominated by President Aleksandar Vučić’s party, he doubts the proposal will even reach the agenda.
Human rights activist Nataša Kandić recalls how her team collected records of Albanian soldiers who died in “strange circumstances.” “Families were told it was suicide, but the evidence often suggested otherwise,” she says. “The truth still lies in military archives.”
Between Fear and Silence
The memories are not distant history. In Bardhi i Vogël, near Fushë Kosovë, Mihanja Krasniqi still cries for her son Abedin, who died in 1992 while stationed in Knin, Croatia. The army said he was “accidentally” shot by another soldier. She opened the coffin against orders and saw enough to doubt their story forever. “There is not a day I don’t cry,” she says.
For Albanians in southern Serbia, the return of conscription feels like a cruel circle. It is not only about reliving the past—it threatens their future too. “This law could drive young Albanians away, just as it once silenced them,” says Kamberi.
Sadik Sadiku still sits in his modest home, surrounded by memories of his nephew. “It has been more than forty years,” he says, his voice breaking. “But for us, it is like yesterday. If they force our sons into the army again, I fear more closed coffins will return.”
