By Liridona Beqiri
Today, July 29, 2025, Kosovo is a state without a head, without a spine, without a backbone, without a pulse, without nerves, without a voice. A state stripped naked before the world, paralyzed by ego, exposed to its allies, and soaked in 50 Shades of Incompetence. A silent country, submerged in political fog.
Since the February 2025 elections, political life has been unable to get back on track. With more than 50 failed parliamentary sessions, the Assembly of Kosovo remains a monument to dysfunction—without a Speaker, without a Government, without legitimacy, and without a shred of sensitivity toward the citizens who elected this political class. What it does have, however, is one single name—one that somehow weighs more than the voices of 1.8 million people. The Parliament is no longer a chamber of the people’s will—it is a bazaar of ambition.
Kosovo today is not merely hostage to an institutional deadlock. It is hostage to a twisted political mentality that resembles more a third-rate soap opera of vendettas and pettiness than a functioning state in the heart of Europe. This is not a case of technical delay or procedural error—it’s a direct collision with a name that has become non-negotiable, even as the Constitution is dragged like a party rag. The name in question: Albulena Haxhiu, proposed as Speaker of the Assembly, but lacking the essential consensus. An irrational insistence that has brought an entire country to a standstill for a name that divides more than it unites.
A country once forged in blood, that endured war, exodus, international intervention, and declared its independence to the world, now finds itself stalled by petty political brawls. This name has become the blockade that separates the state from normalcy. And for what? One ambition. One position. One personal crusade. The democratic process is being burned down for it. This is not political disagreement—this is a moral crime against the state.
This crisis doesn’t just disappoint the people of Kosovo—it humiliates the country before the international community. At a time when Kosovo must prove maturity, stability, and readiness for Euro-Atlantic integration, it is sending the opposite message: that it remains captive to small-minded politics and incapable of basic governance. While Kosovo should be telling Brussels and Washington, “We’re ready,” it has lost itself in the petty courtyard of internal ego.
Kosovo stands at a crossroads: either it is rescued by responsible leadership, or it continues its descent into institutional self-destruction. And the politicians must remember one thing clearly: Kosovo’s statehood was not built in isolation. Its survival—and its future—depends on strong partnerships. And those partners are watching.
Being right is no longer enough. Acting responsibly is what matters now.
Tone matters. Timing matters. Allies matter.
The message Kosovo must send today is one of maturity, seriousness, and preparedness—not nationalist chest-thumping or tactical stubbornness.
This political class does not represent the people.
They sabotage the state.
A state won through blood and sacrifice—held hostage now by politicians who cling to power like predators to prey.
If an international crisis were to erupt tomorrow—who would speak for Kosovo at the UN? In Washington? In Brussels?
If the United States—Kosovo’s most vital ally—requested a high-level meeting today, who would show up?
Who would represent this country?
With no constituted Assembly, no legitimate Government, and no political figure to stand on the international stage, Kosovo is a country stripped of institutional dignity, shattered by personal vendettas, and disgraced by a political elite that has chosen to hold the nation hostage for the sake of posts.
Kosovo today is consumed by small-time power games, and embarrassed by a political elite more invested in titles than in the state itself.
In the absence of a solution within 30 days, the Constitutional Court (which has long since lost even its symbolic authority) may declare unknown legal sanctions, and President Osmani will be forced to consider the next steps—including potential snap elections. When the Court sets a 30-day deadline to conclude the constitutive session, it’s not just a legal notice—it’s a political fire alarm.
In any serious state, such a deadline would be enough to reach a compromise and avoid a crisis.
In Kosovo, it becomes just another date on the calendar of collapse.
In any normal country, failure to form a Parliament would result in resignations, political accountability, and public responsibility.
Kosovo had a historic chance to demonstrate political maturity, to rise above ego, and to offer stability, functionality, and trust in its institutions. But this chance was wasted. Blinded by the comforts of power, this political class chose convenience over country. They deliberately sacrificed the Republic on the altar of control.
These politicians proved that their love for the state was never about service—it was always about luxury, power, and personal gain. They traded statehood for status.
They confused governance with entitlement.
This is not a crisis.
This is not a political disagreement.
This is a moral collapse.
This is desertion from statehood.
This is political suicide.
Kosovo doesn’t lack leaders.
It lacks adults