Imam Edin Gjoni/

In the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful. Honorable members of the City Council, esteemed Mark Gjonaj, distinguished diplomats, honored guests, ladies and gentlemen, dear brothers and sisters,

May God’s Peace (Salam) be upon you all.

Tonight, we gather with hearts filled with gratitude and remembrance to mark the 17th anniversary of Kosova’s independence. My duty is to offer the invocation, but tonight, it will be a little different. I will touch upon history—not as a lesson, but as a part of our collective memory, to reflect on Kosova’s journey from occupation to liberation, from oppression to independence. At the same time, I will highlight the deep and enduring bonds between our two peoples—the Albanian and American people—who stood together and directly safeguarded Kosova throughout this journey. I have chosen this approach because when we express our **gratitude—to God, to our allies, and to all who stood by us—**I want us to do so with full awareness. So that when we invoke the blessings of the Almighty, we do it with every fiber of our being, fully engaged in this solemn moment.

1. I hold a firm conviction: as individuals have their destinies, so too do nations. There is an old Albanian saying: “Vëllanë dhe kojshinë (fqinjin) nuk e zgjedh ti” —”You do not choose your brother or your neighbor; they are destined for you.”

Albanians have not always been blessed with their neighbors. Driven by expansionist ambitions, they have contested, divided, and seized Albanian lands, turning Albanians into minorities on their own soil. As a result, even today, on every side of Albania’s borders, beyond those lines, you will find Albanians—in Montenegro, Macedonia, Greece, and, of course, in Kosova. Albania is perhaps the only country in the world whose borders enclose its own people. Yet, if history has burdened us with difficult neighbors, God has also blessed us with great friends. And among them stands the greatest of all—the United States of America.

Only seven years after Albania’s independence, when its neighbors from the north, west, and south attempted to divide it among themselves, President Woodrow Wilson, a firm advocate of national self-determination, stood against them at the Paris Peace Conference in 1919, declaring with firm resolve:

‘Albania ought to be independent!'”

That moment was essential—it affirmed that America was, and always would be, a loyal friend of the Albanian people. But what of the Albanians left outside Albania’s borders—those in Montenegro, Macedonia, and, most significantly tonight, in Kosova? They found themselves trapped within a foreign state “Yugoslavia” that was never meant to include them. Yugoslavia—its very name declared its purpose: a land for the Southern Slavs. But Albanians were not Slavs —with all due respect to all ethnicities. We were Illyrians, descendants of the ancient Alban (comes Arban = land or gold makers)—a people whose land was their treasure, with a distinct ethnic origin, culture, and language. Yet, in Yugoslavia, Albanians were forced to forget who they were. Their names were stripped of their identity, burdened with Slavic endings. Their language was silenced. Their history was erased.

Yugoslavia was not built to include Albanians; it was built to erase them. My grandfather—whose last name was Gjoni—was forcibly made to change it to Djonovic, just like many other Albanians—a systematic attempt to assimilate them into Slavs. Yet, my grandfather did not speak a single word of the Serbian, or any Slavic language—just like so many of our grandfathers.

He told me that during his military service, in early 1930’s, when teachers or officers addressed the Albanians in Serbian, they remained silent—not out of defiance, but simply because they did not understand. And instead of patience or inclusion, they were met with humiliation: “Sjedi, drvo na drvo.”—”You piece of wood, sit on the wood.”  The second “wood” referred to a stump where they were made to sit, while the “piece of wood” was an insult directed at the Albanian conscript. A phrase meant to degrade them, to make them feel small, to strip them of their dignity and identity. Even the Yugoslav national anthem made it clear where Albanians stood:

“Hey, Slavs, there still lives

the spirit of our grandfathers…”

But what about the spirit of our grandfathers? The Illyrians—our ancestors—who lived on this land long before the Slavs arrived? Their presence, their history, their identity—none of it was acknowledged. From the very beginning, through the very structure of the state, it was evident:

There was no place for Albanians in Yugoslavia.

If they had truly wanted to include us as equals, they would have built a state where all people could see themselves in its symbols, where identity was not dictated by one group at the exclusion of others. But that was never the intent, because Albanians were different. The difference, indeed, is what makes us humans. And a society that has no room for differences, has no room for humanity. And when Albanians in Kosova, Montenegro, and Macedonia refused to abandon their identity, they paid a heavy price—expelled from schools and jobs, imprisoned under fabricated charges, and marginalized even after their release. Take, for example, my senior colleague from the very mosque where I serve, Imam Jusuf Balaj, who, along with many of his compatriots from Kraja, spent four years in prison on charges of “Kosova irredentism”—a label negatively used to brand anyone who simply demanded that Albanians in Kosova be granted the same rights as other peoples of Yugoslavia.

Or the Paraćin affair of 1987—a staged crime pinned on Aziz Kelmendi to justify further oppression and strip Albanians of their constitutional rights. A typical example of a fabricated accusation used to target an entire ethnic group, the incident was immediately politicized, leading to repression of Albanians in the Yugoslav Army, mass arrests in Kosova, and fueling Serbian nationalism, which was later exploited by Slobodan Milošević to intensify anti-Albanian sentiment. Or the Tivar massacre, where 4,000–7,000 innocent Kosova Albanians were slaughtered by the Yugoslav Partisan Army. That truth remained buried for forty years, until the fall of Yugoslavia finally brought it to light in early 90’s.

Yes, for a brief moment, Albanians in Kosova gained limited rights under the 1974 Yugoslav Constitution, which granted Kosova autonomous status. But even those rights were not freely granted. Under President Nixon, the U.S. indirectly supported Yugoslavia’s decentralization reforms by providing economic aid, debt rescheduling, and funding for infrastructure and investments to stabilize the country. It is important to recognize that this support played a key role in the emergence of Kosova’s new status.

2. Yet after Tito’s death in 1980, those hard-won gains were quickly stripped away, paving the way for the brutal oppression.

And then came Slobodan Milošević.

Serbia’s leader waged a campaign of war, bloodshed, crimes against humanity, mass rapes, and ethnic cleansing. From Slovenia to Croatia, from Bosnia to Kosova, rivers of blood flowed. And yes, President Biden—then Senator Biden—was absolutely right when he compared Milošević and his companions to the Nazis, declaring:

“He is no better than Goebbels, he is no better than Himmler, he is a war criminal.” When the world witnessed the Reçak Massacre on January 15, 1999—when Albanians were driven from their homes, hunted and brutally executed—it was the United States, under President Bill Clinton, that finally said: Enough! The U.S. and its allies intervened, halting Serbia’s crimes, paving the way for Kosova’s freedom, and ultimately securing its independence under President George W. Bush in 2008—seventeen years ago.

3. Today, America continues to stand guard, protecting Kosova’s survival and its rightful place among the nations of the world.

As we celebrate Kosova’s independence, let us never forget the sacrifices made—the lives lost, the struggles endured, and the unbreakable resilience of the Albanian people of Kosova, and outside Kosova, not only during the war but through nearly a century of occupation. Despite oppression and hardship, they preserved their roots, held onto their identity, and endured with dignity. Let us also honor the unwavering efforts of our Albanian diaspora in the United States, whose voices and persistent advocacy helped bring Kosova’s cause to the world stage. And let us always remember the friends who stood by us in our darkest hour. We must never forget Presidents Wilson, Nixon, Clinton, Bush, and Biden, and their administrations, for their firm support of Albanians and Kosova.

Thank You, God, for our independence!

Thank You for our allies!

With full hearts, we are grateful to You and deeply thankful to this country!

Tonight, if we truly mean NEVER AGAIN, we pray that President Donald J. Trump will take the decisive step of bringing Kosova into NATO, ensuring its security, its sovereignty, and its future.

So help us, Almighty God!

May God bless you!

May God bless Kosova!

May God bless the Albanian people wherever they are!

And may God bless this great nation—the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA!