Fleeing Persecution: My Fight for Survival and Justice from Kosovo to America

Content Warning: This story and its accompanying photos include detailed descriptions of war, violence, physical assault, and threats against children.

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Twice in my life, the United States has been my salvation, offering refuge and a path to survival during moments of profound crisis and imminent death. 

The first time was in 1999, during the Kosovo War, when I was a teenager, praying with my two younger sisters for a quick death by a bullet rather than being massacred. NATO’s intervention, led by the United States, brought an end to the violence and restored hope to a generation devastated by conflict.

Nearly two decades later, in 2018, I fled Kosovo as a mother of two to seek asylum in the U.S. after years of being an investigative journalist uncovering corruption and religious extremism. My work made me a target of relentless threats and brutal physical attacks.

These two moments, almost 20 years apart, are bound by a shared promise of protection, justice, and hope. My story is a testament to the United States’ enduring role in protecting those who seek freedom and safety. Yet, the journey was anything but easy. I faced enormous challenges, relentless struggles, and countless uncertainties.

From Kosovo’s War to seeking refuge: my path to journalism

On May 2, 1999, my family and I found ourselves at the Albanian border, escaping as refugees from the war in Kosovo. Surrounded by reporters and with little English at the time, I spoke to the world about the atrocities I had witnessed, the killings, and the burning alive of civilians. In that moment, I truly understood what it meant to be the voice of the voiceless.

In 2001, I began working for Kosovo’s largest newspaper, Koha Ditore, while attending college for journalism. Becoming a journalist was not just a profession or a career to me; it was a cause to raise awareness about corruption and religious extremist groups that found fertile ground in the youngest country in Europe, which was soon to gain its independence.

I spent the first ten years of my journalism career reporting on corruption in a country where locals and internationals were taking advantage of state institutions. Following the money led me to uncover major scandals, from nepotism in public institutions to government officials misusing taxpayer money. The biggest scandal involved businessmen who financially supported political campaigns in exchange for lucrative contracts at the Kosovo Energy Corporation (KEK) worth over 60 million euros through a single-source tender.

Soon after publishing the KEK story, I was sued by a businessman linked to the government for damaging the image of his business, demanding financial compensation of 700,000 euros. In April 2012, Reporters Without Borders expressed their full support for me, confirming that I had based the article on independent reports and public data.

At a young age, I became a mother of two boys. I spent 12 hours a day working, not fully realizing the danger I was exposing myself and my children to. After ten years of writing about corruption, I made the challenging decision to shift my focus to a new and terrifying threat emerging not just in my country but worldwide: the spread of religious extremism.

A journey of courage and survival

Despite being the target of numerous attacks and threats for over a decade, I never imagined the level of harassment and physical assault I would experience once I started to investigate the spread of religious extremism in Kosovo and other neighboring countries.

Soon, this issue became my cause. I became the face of fighting extremist individuals and groups in the region. I began receiving online threats, and coordinated campaigns against me spread across the internet. I reported most incidents to the Kosovo Police, but no real action was taken. Concerned for the safety of my children, I was forced to change my older son’s school four times. The one door that remained open to me was the U.S. Embassy in Pristina/Kosovo.  

In 2015, the U.S. Department of State honored me with the International Women of Courage Award for exposing corruption, bribery, and the ties between extremist groups, local imams, and organizations. This recognition was a profound validation of my efforts and gave me even greater courage to continue.

However, by 2017, the attacks against me had escalated dramatically. Vandals painted a blood-red cross near the apartment where I once lived.

I received a terrifying threat on Facebook: a photo of a murdered person, drenched in blood, accompanied by a message targeting my children:

“We know how much you love your children. We will find you.”

A few weeks later, on May 13, 2017, I was brutally attacked in my parking garage after returning from a TV show in Albania where I had spoken about illegal mosques being built in Kosovo and the unregulated flow of money bypassing banks to finance dangerous agendas. The Kosovo police took photos of my injuries but only interviewed me after I raised concerns with the U.S. Ambassador to Kosovo at the time, Greg Delawie, about the lack of serious investigation.

Starting over in the land of safety, unaware of new challenges

As the threats continued and the state failed to take any action to find my attackers, I decided to leave Kosovo—not for myself, but to protect my children. The thought of putting their lives in danger was unbearable.

As a journalist, I had visited the U.S. on thirteen occasions, but this time was different. I wasn’t just crossing an ocean; I was leaving behind my entire world—my home, family, career, my identity. It was one of the hardest decisions of my life. Still, the promise of safety for my children gave me the courage to start over on a distant continent, clinging to hope in the face of uncertainty.

On February 21, 2018, I arrived in New York with Andi (age 13) and Arti (age 8). The U.S. government was already informed about my case, and my story was widely covered online, including photos of me in the hospital after the attack. Despite having a strong case, the journey ahead was far more difficult than I could have anticipated.

Human Rights First, an organization that helps those who can’t afford an attorney and need help with their asylum claims, offered me pro bono legal representation. It took four long years but my children and I were granted asylum.

During those four years in limbo, every day felt like walking a tightrope. Raising two kids as a single parent in a new country—the constant uncertainty weighed heavily on me. I was only eligible for a limited term of work authorization, and I had to apply for extensions, fearing a delay would cost me my job. The pressure of not knowing if I could continue to support my family haunted me daily. I was praying that by the time my oldest son could apply for college, we would have an answer on our asylum case.

After two decades of standing strong in the face of threats back home, I began to confront the harsh reality of post-traumatic stress disorder. The trauma I had endured could no longer be buried or ignored. My children were forced to cope with my depression. I would wake up in the middle of the night, overwhelmed by a sense of dread, and quietly open their door just to make sure they were alive. Even in the safety of this country, when they momentarily disappeared from my sight, I would panic and scream their names in fear. It was a battle, not just with the fear of the unknown but with the scars of my past. 

Like me, countless other immigrants face hardships and challenges while working tirelessly to build a better life for themselves and their families. Despite our struggles, we were grateful every day for the opportunities this country gave us to be safe. 

In 2023, my older son, Andi, was accepted into one of the best colleges, Penn State. My youngest, Arti, was accepted into two renowned art and performance high schools in New York, LaGuardia and Frank Sinatra. These accomplishments are a testament to the strength and resilience of all three of us.

The United States must remain a beacon of hope and refuge

After everything we’ve experienced as a family of immigrants, I can’t help but reflect on the strength and resilience that immigrants and asylum seekers bring to this country. My children, who have overcome so many challenges, continue to prove their potential, ambition, and ability to contribute to their communities meaningfully. Their success, like that of countless immigrant families, speaks to the opportunities this nation offers and the promise that we, in turn, uphold.

Immigrants are not simply numbers or headlines; we are individuals with hopes, talents, and dreams, each story adding to the fabric of this nation. For generations, immigrants have built businesses, enriched cultures, and strengthened communities, driven by the belief in a better future. We come not as threats but as neighbors, coworkers, and friends who seek safety, opportunity, and a chance to give back.

I hope we can shift the conversation to recognize the shared humanity and the extraordinary value immigrants bring. By fostering compassion and understanding, we can create solutions that honor the dignity of every person, ensuring America remains a place where differences unite us, not divide us. 

This is not just my story. It’s the story of so many families who, like mine, have sought a better, safer life and are eager to contribute to the country we now call home.

Watch Arbana’s video interview with Human Rights First here.